Merry Christmas, My Friend.

"Merry Christmas, My Friend"
LCpl James M. Schmidt, USMC
1986

Twas the night before Christmas, he lived all alone
In a one bedroom house made of plaster & stone.
I had come down the chimney, with presents to give
and to see just who in this home did live.

As I looked all about, a strange sight I did see,
no tinsel, no presents, not even a tree.

No stocking by the fire, just boots filled with sand
On the wall hung pictures of a far distant land.

With medals and badges, awards of all kind,
a sobering thought soon came to my mind.
For this house was different, unlike any I'd seen.
This was the home of a U.S. Marine.

I'd heard stories about them, I had to see more,
so I walked down the hall and pushed open the door.
And there he lay sleeping, silent, alone
Curled up on the floor in this one-bedroom home.

He seemed so gentle, his face so serene,
Not how I pictured a U.S. Marine.
Was this the hero, of whom I'd just read?
Curled up in his poncho, a floor for his bed?

His head was clean-shaven, his weathered face tan;
I soon understood, this was more than a man.
For I realized the families that I saw that night
owed their lives to these men, who were willing to fight.

Soon around the nation, the children would play,
And grown-ups would celebrate a bright Christmas day.
They all enjoyed freedom, each month and all year,
because of Marines like this one lying here.

I couldn't help wonder how many lay alone,
on a cold Christmas Eve, in a land far from home.
Just the very thought brought a tear to my eye,
as I dropped to my knees and started to cry.

He must have awoken, for I then heard a voice,
"Santa, don't cry. This life is my choice.
I fight for freedom, I don't ask for more.
My life is my God, my Country, my Corps."

With that he rolled over, drifted off into sleep,
but I couldn't control it and I continued to weep.

I watched him for hours, so silent and still.
I noticed he shivered from the cold night's chill.

So I took off my jacket, the one made of red,
and covered this Marine from his toes to his head.

I didn't want to leave him so quiet in the night,
this guardian of honor, so willing to fight.
But half-asleep he rolled over, and in a voice clean and pure,
said, "Carry on, Santa, it's Christmas and all is secure."

One look at my watch and I knew he was right,
Merry Christmas my friend, Semper Fi, and goodnight.

The Heart of Joseph

I definitely didn't intend for this much of a break between posts, but since my computer stopped feeling like turning on (I know... everyone who I've harassed for having a PC is laughing at me...) I haven't really had much of an opportunity to write. Sorry.

Anyhow, I've just finished listening to a podcast from True Life Church by Pastor Mark Carr. I'm glad he started down this path, mostly because its been on my heart for a few weeks already, but I didn't quite know how to tie it in with the previous "podcast promise."

To start, let's revisit the story of Christ's birth. We're all familiar with it: Mary becomes pregnant with a child from God, they go to Bethlehem for the census, but there's no room in the inn, so the baby is born in the manger. Add some shepherds, three wise men, and a few angels and you have the makings of a very cute Christmas pageant. And many, many things are lost. This season, I can't help but think about the heart of Joseph.

Now, Mary is often discussed. The angels came and visited her, she was the mother of Jesus, the Catholics pray to her... I don't mean to detract from her at all. Seriously. But how many people even stop to consider Joseph in all of this? Let's set the scene a bit.

Joseph has recently become engaged to his beautiful, young bride-to-be. He's excited, in love, and the wedding draws close. However, one day she comes to him with news that must have been heart-breaking. "Joseph, I'm pregnant." Now, we know from the scripture that they had not had sex, and Mary is telling him that she didn't cheat on him, but that she's pregnant with the Son of God. Joseph didn't believe her (would you?) and as scripture continues on, it describes how, being a righteous man, Joseph decided to divorce her quietly. Clearly, he wasn't falling for the "I didn't cheat on you, it was God" line.

According to the law, Joseph could have had Mary executed for adultery, but he didn't. Despite believing she had slept with another man, he didn't seek revenge. Despite the embarrassment and humiliation this would have caused him and his family, his intentions were to "dismiss her secretly." How many of us would have been man enough to do that?

Fortunately, the story continues. Joseph goes to bed and is visited by an angel in a dream. "Joseph, it really is the Son of God. Seriously. Mary isn't lying. She is to be your wife."

What do you think that did to him? First, Joseph has to convince himself he's not crazy. For me, this would be no small task. Next, he has to go back to Mary, apologize for not believing her, and then explain this all to their parents. Just throw yourself in his shoes. "Mom, Dad, you know I've been dating Mary for a while now. Well, she told us she was pregnant and that I wasn't the father. I know we had discussed how I couldn't marry her, but I had a dream where an angel from God spoke to me, and so I think I'm gonna go through with it after all. Oh, and she's pregnant with the Son of God." Yeah... I bet that went well for him.

Lets think about this a little deeper. Joseph, a young up-and-coming carpenter marries a young pregnant woman. Do you think anyone else believed they didn't have sex? Joseph would have lost customers, his standing in society, his place in the temple... this would have been catastrophic for him. Not to mention being made an outcast from his family, his friends ostracizing him... Who willingly would accept this?

And then, there was the census.

Joseph puts Mary on the back of a donkey, 9 months pregnant, the baby due any day, and they travel 80 miles to Bethlehem. So, how would this sit with you? Your wife pregnant on the back of a donkey? Wouldn't this make your heart ache if someone you cared about was forced to endure this? To see them in pain, and be completely helpless to do anything except trudge along? But, they eventually make it to Bethlehem... and the city is packed. People from all over the region were there partying and enjoying themselves, there for the census. No solitude. No peace. Aching and blistered, still covered in dust and sweat, knowing his wife was enduring far worse than he could comprehend, Joseph walks the city searching for a room to stay the night. We all know the outcome. There is no room. They have no choice but to sleep out back with the animals.

Another word for "manger" is "feeding trough" and the place where the animals sleep? Oh yeah... back home we call that a barn. The inn keeper lets them sleep in his barn. Can you imagine Joseph explaining this to Mary? Can you imagine her response? I think she probably cried, overwhelmed with hormones, emotion, and fatigue, Joseph's heart breaking a little more as the tears run down her face. Helpless to do anything but put an arm around her shoulder and try to make her feel a little more comfortable as she collapses onto a pile of hay. For those of you who have never slept on hay... it isn't comfortable.

Oh... I almost forgot that she was pregnant. 9 months pregnant, precisely. As if things could get any worse, Joseph wakes up to a panic-stricken Mary screaming something about the baby coming. Away from home, away from any sort of physician they know, Mary is about to deliver her first child - the Son of God - in a barn. Joseph probably tried to run and get help. We don't know... its all speculation, but I think that's what I would have tried to do. Still, no help comes. Mary delivers baby Jesus, the Son of God is born in a barn, and Joseph's heart... what? Swells with pride? ITS NOT HIS SON!

The point is, Joseph is an overlooked character, like so many in familiar Bible stories. The spectacular happens, God moves, and we forget how incredibly uncomfortable the characters must have been as the drama unfolds. While this is one direction a person can follow the rabbit hole (and is, in fact, the way Mark Carr did... God often moves in the unexpected), I choose to diverge and discuss something else.

Fear. The story of Joseph strikes particularly close to home with me because it reminds me of my greatest fear: not being able to come through when someone I care about needs help. I actually wrote a post on this several months ago, and I seem to recall it being pretty good. I'm sure Mary understood Joseph was doing everything humanly possible, but it wasn't enough. And so, I wonder about Joseph's heart and how he recovered. Did he recover? There is little more written about him in the Bible.

How did Joseph heal his heart? And should this ever happen in my life, how will I?

Ah yes... podcasts

Its been forever since I've written, I know. Life is busy. It seems I take a breath, close my eyes, and wake up a month later. Halloween still feels like yesterday and we're already a mere 2 weeks from Christmas. Incredible how things can change, and yet still stay very much the same.

Perhaps one of the biggest "discoveries" of recent is that I stumbled onto podcasts. I know. I'm a troglodyte to have - just - figured them out. In all fairness, I should clarify. I've followed newHope church via podcast for a while. Usually I can attend service on Sunday, but I also am required to drill some Sundays and its nice to be able to catch the message, if not in person. What I mean by "discover" is that I've realized that I spend an absurd amount of time doing chemistry that doesn't require any intelligent thought, and as such, I generally have several hours each day that I can spend listening without risking my life due to poor multi-tasking abilities. So, at present I have been catching up (and reviewing) the sermon series from newHope from Pastor Benji, listening to the sermons given by Pastor Mark Carr from True Life church, and reviewing my Spanish with Coffebreak Espanol. (Two Scottish people teaching Spanish. Like, Spanish spoken in Spain. Not "Mexican," which is apparently what I've learned...) I'm also thinking about picking up the podcast from C3 Church. I guess it depends if I can get caught up with the other two of that genre.

Anyhow, what is coming from this is a declaration of my intentions for the next few days (or weeks... maybe months, given the frequency with which I have been posting). I'm going to do a little series of posts on some of the profound things I've heard from these podcasts. I'm not sure how this will go, but I know some of these thoughts really struck a chord with me (and were written down on my fume-hood, coincidentally). So, I'm going to share them with you as time permits -- which is evidently not today.

Back to the nerdery.

Hold Fast

As always, it seems to have been awhile since I've written anything... and the impression I have is that my last collection of ramblings may have been poorly timed. Its impossible to know for certain, of course, but that's just the feeling I have.

Its strange. Oftentimes I'll have something I really should write up here -- a thought strikes me differently, or something I just feel like sharing (assuming that anyone reads this) -- but if I don't sit down and type it out, it seems to loose all of the significance by the time I get around to it.

Anyhow, what I've got this morning is fairly odd for me. I need to clarify before I even begin... when I say "God is speaking to me" or "God spoke" please don't take this to mean I'm hearing voices. I'd say that I'm completely sane, except I'm not entirely sure that I am -- I just know that I don't hear voices (yet).

So, like I was saying before I derailed myself: God has been speaking fairly clearly to me these past few days. Not that He hasn't spoken clearly in the past, just not like this. Its a little disconcerting. The course of action which I am currently following is surprising, and I've never found myself in a situation similar to this one. That said, even though this is the first time I'm doing something, I want to do it right. Anyhow, this journey began with prayer and the distinct impression that I was to "go and live." Considering this was occurring right about the time I found out about my deployment, that was a little interesting. I'm pretty sure I even wrote in my blog about it, though I don't know how to link to that particular post. It was in September, if you want to search for it.

After this initial "Go and live" message, I went and did. I was immediately dealt a setback -- something that I hadn't expected and actually seemed to contradict the "go live" intentions. (Unfortunately, I cannot provide the details, so I'll have to talk in fairly broad generalizations. I know some meaning will be lost in this, but a lesson I learned early on is that I never know who will get word of what I'm writing and I try very hard not to offend or be inconsiderate of others.) Despite this initial failure, further prayer revealed that it was less that I wasn't meant to "go and live," but more that I was going to have to be patient and wait for what I thought I was meant to have now. An interesting notion, considering I was counting the weeks to mobilization. Still, God was reaffirming and my course was set. I would have to be patient and persistent, but ultimately I would persevere -- it would just likely be after I got home from Iraq.

Last week Friday I found out my deployment was canceled. Canx'd. No more. (So... I didn't know we were in the habit of doing this. More on that some other day though.) This changes things somewhat.

God has continued to be reaffirming, and I've received hints and fragments of what is meant to become, providing I can be steadfast. This hasn't ever happened to me before. I haven't ever had this much encouragement (or experienced this much attack) about anything, and I don't know what to make of that. Its encouraging, yet disheartening at the same time. I know that I must draw a line in the sand and not retreat, be resolute and immovable. Unrelenting. Solid and steadfast. I have entered into a battle, only this is more a war of attrition than I might like. I can see in the end that the victory will be mine, but only because God is with me. That said, with this amount of encouragement I cannot help but think it will be long and hard-fought -- months and years, rather than days and weeks -- but victory here is so very worth every minute of fighting, while the consequences of loss are staggering and tragic.

In the end, I know I will be changed. Broken, likely. Exhausted, definitely. But so often the truly important things in life must be fought for and it is that sacrifice which bestows value.

I must hold fast.

The Great American Tragedy

There aren't many things that I genuinely hate. Really. That said, I am convinced I do genuinely hate two things: USC football and the entire state of Ohio. You can imagine my conflict when I found out Ohio State University was playing USC in football several weeks ago. This was unprecedented... usually neither team would play anybody of substance until late in the season -- if at all -- allowing them both to climb the polls and battle for one of the top spots in the BCS. Otherwise, they would avoid playing each other and taking the risk of losing. Without direct competition, each team can always claim superiority and that they were victims of politics or unfair ratings.

For me, I had a hard time figuring out who I hated more. USC, who always seems to be ranked #1 and routinely redefines the word "arrogant," or OSU, who beats up on other teams in the Big Ten, but fails to make adjustments anywhere else and thus gets embarrassed when they play mediocre teams from other conferences. The same team who gained back-to-back championship bowl game losses (blow-outs, really) in 2006 and 2007... I think they managed to loose the championship in basketball in 2007 as well. Yes. Hate, despite being a strong word, is the correct one to use here.

I think the point I was trying to get at is that I wanted both teams to lose. Knowing this to be impossible, yet unwilling to find the lesser of two evils, I was somewhat miserable. In the end, I'm pretty sure OSU was blown out (again!) and Big Ten football lost what little respect it may have previously had from other conferences.

But where am I going with this? Oh yeah... here's my second greatest segué ever:

POLITICS: origin, Latin. poly - meaning many; tics - meaning blood-sucking arachnids.

If there is an argument for anything I hate worse than OSU/USC football, its probably politics. I am tired of the negative campaigns, tired of receiving mass-mailings from the democratic party (I'm sure I'd get them from the republicans too, except all of my roommates are democrats...), automated telephone calls, and people who think that anyone with a different opinion from them can be shouted into agreement.

I'm tired of voting based on a "lesser of two evils" philosophy. I started out this presidential campaign feeling like regardless of which candidate won, things were going to get better. After all the mud-slinging and slander, I'm feeling firmly convinced of the opposite. Rather than drawing together behind a candidate, I feel as though we have polarized America and everyone is on edge. Really, I want them both to lose.

Mr Obama, how is it that you feel qualified to run for president of a country with only 1 year of political experience? As our former President Clinton pointed out, we could substitute a popular television star in your place and they would have only marginally less political experience than you. (That said, Hillary scares the hell out of me... Definitely not a fan.) I mean, really... you pretty much started a run for the presidency as soon as you hit the Senate. And why can you not admit the Surge actually worked in Iraq? Can you not admit that despite absolutely botching things after deposing Sadaam, the military has made significant headway and vast improvements to life for the Iraqi populace?

Mr McCain, what on earth made you think selecting a completely unexperienced running mate with minimal common sense and an outrageous Minnesota accent was a good idea? Someday, you're going to die. God forbid it will be in the next 4 years, but how do you think Palin will run the country? And why do you have to be so incredibly mentally scattered and awkward on television? And what the hell is up with this Joe the Plumber crap? And why do you want to bomb Iran?!?

To the American people, why is it that we are so ignorant? If you're paying attention at all, you should see this rift forming in our country, and it should be breaking your heart. We've lost all common sense and become so polarized that it borders on the imbicilic. As a generalization, we seem to be forming a country composed of workaholics and parasites. Either one works themself to death in a pursuit of their career, or one refuses to work to improve themself, then expects better benefits, better pay, fewer hours, and the government to support them in their shortcomings. I place blame firmly on us all for the state of our economy... which is something that can't be fixed by any bailout or government stimulus package. And should your candidate not win, will you remember that whomever is elected is your new president? I believe Thomas Jefferson, after losing his first campaign for president, was instrumental in keeping this country together. When his supporters said they would never follow the elected president, Mr Jefferson corrected them and reminded them that is NOT how democracy works. Can we be as mature in this day and age?

To the government, when are you going to stop wasting our time and money? When are you going to consult scientists, educators, and informed people before imposing ignorant, expensive, and frequently, impossible legislation? When will you break this country's additiction to war and oil? When will you get out of the pocket of big corporations? Why can you not consider the good of the people more important than the good of yourself? What makes you worthy of another raise? From what I can see, you're in session far less often than I'm in lab, and yet I'm right around the national poverty line. Are you doing anything other than trying to ruin our lives and wreck this country? Quit being distracted by special interests. We don't need more feel good projects, we need jobs and education.

To Kay Hagin and Elizabeth Dole: My God, you're both incompetent -- though legally retarded is maybe more accurate, and less politically correct. (I wrote myself in for Senate, simply because I cannot bring myself to vote for either of you.)

The way I see it, we're doomed to make history. Either we elect the first black president, or the first woman vice-president. Neither ticket is sound, and clearly, it requires a different set of attributes to become president than it requires to be a good one. In the words of one of my fellow graduate students, "Truly, this is the Great American Tragedy."

Hey. Remember me?

Its been a long time. Blogger says my last post was on October 11... Not that I haven't had anything to write about -- quite the contrary, actually -- I've just been absurdly busy. Still, its good to be back. While I wish I had some cohesive story to tell, I think much of what I've got for tonight is collections of unrelated thoughts. But who knows? Maybe something interesting will come out.

1. A 30-year old child. I realized that working with my post-doc, Sam, is a lot like working with a small child. Albeit, a brilliant small child. He plays on his computer a lot, likes to stay up late, walks away in the middle of a conversation, and is easily distracted by loud noises and shiny things. That said, I think he makes me laugh more than any other person I know... but I don't think he means to. Anyhow, we wrote a review article together and submitted it last Friday for publication (my first!). English is not Sam's first language... same can be said for my professor. So, we have some interesting phrases in our article. Despite my strong objections and best efforts, it reads exactly like it was written by a pair of Asians. They don't seem to appreciate the use of pronouns, compound sentences, or subject-verb agreement (Sam: "It is not necessary. Does it change the meaning of what we are saying? No. It is okay to use the same word 4 times in one sentence. It is scientific writing.") I think my patience has developed a lot. Its hard to work with someone who reminds you of a child, yet can still tell you you're always wrong.

2. All is fair in Love and War. Don't ask me how I came to this point, because I'm not sure I know. Anyhow, in warfare, perhaps the two most contrasting strategies are a war of attrition versus maneuver warfare. In a war of attrition, opposing armies attack each other in relatively direct fashion (think WWI and - to an extent - WWII). Toe-to-toe, they slug it out with great loss of life and collateral damage. In the end, there will be a decisive winner, but for the most part, both parties are wrecked. Contrast this with maneuver warfare. Here, time is utilized as a weapon. The objective is to make surgical strikes on key positions to collapse the enemy's ability to effectively make war -- not necessarily destroy his troops or weapons. Momentum is gained early on, and the operational tempo is extremely demanding. By acting and making decisions faster than the enemy, we force him to react to us and cause confusion within his forces, rendering them ineffective for combat. This type of warfare, if done correctly, comes with minimal loss of life. A "clean" war, if there ever can be one (think First Gulf War).

Here's the issue. With a war of attrition, both parties are decimated by the end, but there is a decisive winner. The loser simply is no longer capable of continuing the war due to insufficient supplies, troops, etc. With maneuver warfare, both armies are - for the most part - largely intact. The loser simply cannot function as a cohesive unit, and thus loses the war. The point is, despite losing the war, their military is not destroyed and within a short time, things are back to normal. There has to be a middle ground, where loss of life is minimized, yet the opposing force is defeated with sufficient decisiveness as to not present a threat following extraction of allied forces.

I see romance as being similar (and perhaps this is why I don't have a girlfriend...). The "war of attrition" would be where two people meet, become friends, and over a long period of time decide they have "feelings for each other." It takes forever, and while there is the definite relationship, both people are drastically changed by each other during this long ascent to togetherness. Contrast this with a "maneuver warfare" model. The two may know each other, but are not close. Then rapid action on the part of one leads to a relationship. Again, there is the success of a relationship, but both people are largely unchanged from where they were to begin with... they're just in a relationship.

Okay... really I have no point. It just seems like a middle ground would be best here as well.

3. iMasochist? I realized I have a love/hate relationship with both the Marines and with grad school. I can simultaneously be proud of what I am doing, yet despise the institution with every fiber of my being. This quickly degenerates into me thinking I may actually have legitimate masochistic tendencies. I dunno... it made for a long day.

4. And then, the attacks come. Despite all the cynical things I have been known to say, life right now is really pretty good. Research is going well, I'm recognized as a solid leader in my Marine unit, and I even have something which could be vaguely considered a "social life." Honestly, it makes me happy... and surprises me. I don't actually remember things being this good in my life for a long time. I remember driving in my jeep... yesterday, I think... and wondering how long this was going to last. Well, apparently until today. Welcome back to reality.

5. What?! My cousin is engaged. I found out on facebook.

There's always more to say, but not always time to say it. As such, I'll just wrap up for the evening. A hot shower is sounding pretty good and my bed is looking more comfortable by the minute.

Cheers.

Home

I can't believe I was home more than a month ago. This is a post I've been meaning to put up almost as long as I've been back, but time just seems to fly so quickly these days. Anyhow... this post is dedicated to my home and family.

Anyhow, my home is Crandon, Wisconsin. While I grew up in Prentice, Clintonville, and Phillips, my grandparents always lived in Crandon and for whatever reason, it has always felt like "home." The picture on the top is my parents' house. It was originally built by my great-grandfather and my dad lived in it when he was much younger. On the North face of the house, which you can't see in the photo, is the window out of which my dad saw Santa Claus when he was 8. After my great-grandparents moved out, the house was used for decades as storage by my grandfather. About 4 years ago, my dad decided he was going to renovate it as a "retirement project" (despite the fact he wasn't yet retired) and so we gutted the place. After years of labor - literally - the above picture is the current state of things. I love it, and only wish I had a picture of how it had started. I promise you would be amazed with how far it has come.

The picture to the above left is of my parents, Wendy and Jerry. Great picture, eh? It wasn't even posed. A regular Modern American Gothic. Anyhow, my mom works for Project Headstart and my dad is a retired high school history teacher and elementary school principal. They're great. I'm sure better opportunities will come for me to brag about them in the future, but following a bit of thought, I am convinced I couldn't have had better parents. I am extremely thankful for them, and consider myself blessed because of them.
Enter "el hermano." Yep. That's my brother Jackson. Needless to say, he's a classy guy. He pretty much personifies the phrase "Jack of all Trades." At present, he lives in Spokane, WA and works as an electrician's apprentice. This is a recent development for him, as in the past he has worked as maintainence personnel for a housing complex, a herdsman for a Dairy farm, as an Assistant Engineer on a Cruise boat out of Alaska, and as a deckhand on a Tug boat. Now, that all said, there isn't anyone I'd trust more to fix my car or have my back in a fight. He's my brother and, honestly, he's my best friend. Now, I know this picture doesn't show it, but he is also an impressive ladies man. The joke is that we were both born with half of each other's brain. He can't do science, and I can't talk to women. Go figure.

The picture to the right is of Jackson and me following a good ride. Not sure if I mentioned, but we live on a horse farm. I've been riding horses for longer than I've been walking, and I think Jackson is the same way. Anyhow, he's on a new 3 year-old filly "Fleck" (I think) and I'm on Spud. Take a guess at his temperament...
Right, so like I said, we have a horse farm. I think our current herd count is somewhere around 29 horses, including our two Belgian Draft Horses, Mike and Tony. To the left is a picture I took off of our deck.

Now, it occurs to me I haven't mentioned my sister. My sister, Morgan, lives in Australia and works for the Queensland state government. She recently obtained dual citizenship, and as best I can tell, she isn't planning to leave anytime soon. All the pictures above were from my trip home at the end of August, and sadly, she wasn't there at that time. No worries though, right is a picture of her from Christmas, 2007 during our family expedition ice fishing.

Okay... its not really THAT cold in Wisconsin. Anyhow, I'm told she's very pretty, so below is a better picture of her.

Yeah. Okay... so that's better.

And that's my family. Granted, I've got grandparents, Aunts and Uncles, cousins, and my siblings significant others, but I'm actually really tired of searching through endless photos to try and find the ones I have in my mind.

So...This is my family and my home.

Obtaining the 9th Level of Power...

I had a startling realization the other day while I was in lab. I was sitting at my desk, and spent a solid 2 minutes trying to find my pen, lost somewhere beneath a pile of papers, notebooks, scratch paper, and wrappers. Now, those of you that know me realize this is somewhat uncharacteristic. I'm a fairly ordered person and I try to keep my areas organized and clean... so what's the deal?

My suspicion is that I am entering the realm of the true nerd, from which there is no return. I remember when I was younger, I would look at the work spaces for graduate students as well as the offices of my professors and wonder how they could possibly work in all that mess. Everything is in piles, papers are scattered everywhere, and there is seemingly no organization. The fume hoods for synthetic chemists are worse. Half-finished reactions, completed reactions that aren't worked-up, fritted funnels with stuff still in them, overflowing wash basins, unemptied columns... Well, at least that's what my fume hood looks like right now. Somehow, my post-doc's hood looks worse. I now realize this has nothing to do with how orderly a person is, and so much to do with being sleep-deprived, overworked, and perpetually behind.

Its interesting to realize how my day goes. From the moment I get to lab, I single-mindedly pursue some product or objective until I get distracted by something else, which I then proceed to pursue single-mindedly until I remember the first thing I was pursuing. Chances are I'll get distracted by something else before I get back to the first thing, and so completely abandon the second in deference to the third. This will repeat all day.

So like I said, my mannerisms and behaviors are beginning to mimic some of the more brilliant, albiet absent-minded, scientists I've worked with. In my opinion, this should be enough to justify me earning a Ph D, so while this is destroying my (notional) personal life, it is great for my research. Anyhow, let's walk our way through the list:

1. Decreasing social skills and an overall persona of awkwardness
2. No appeal to memebers of the opposite sex
3. Desk/Fumehood an absolute scattered mess.
4. Absent-mindedness. I completely blew off seminar yesterday. I maintain I didn't know it was Tuesday, but my friend Joe says he reminded me at 10:45 (seminar is at 11:00). I personally do not remember the conversation, but apparently I had a solvent trap in my hands and was headed towards the rotovap. I do remember wondering where everyone was around 11:40... I figured they went to lift weights (something we usually do at noon) and didn't tell me they were going early. Nope. It was seminar.
5. Following work, I go home and play video games to escape the tragedy my life is rapidly becoming by vicariously living an adventure through imaginary characters. Sweet.
6. Increasing sarcasm
7. Frequent references to obscure cartoon characters or shows.

Figure 1. Example of a reference to obscure or semi-obscure cartoons. One
can see the obvious similarities established between all parties pictured above.

Anyhow, I'm writing this in lab instead of doing my research. I just thought it was worth sharing. But since always seem to have plenty to do, I most regretfully must wrap-up this rant.

In the words of my brother, "Back to the Nerdery!"

Complementary and Synergistic

A few days ago I was at a leadership meeting for the Christian group of which I'm a member. We were talking about prayer and our experiences with it from when we were younger, and I remember my friend talking about how prayer had become a crucial part of his relationship with his girlfriend. He spoke about how they would often pray for each other, and how much closer they had grown together as a result of it. I have to confess I was really touched by his story.

The thought of two Christians praying for each other, especially if they're dating, I would hope should seem like a normal and natural thing. Unfortunately, in the post-modern world we live in, stories, stereotypes, and even experience suggest otherwise. Yet when I take a moment and think about it, this really must be what dating is all about.

So...I'm probably not going to make a whole lot of sense here -- at best, I'll just sound radically conservative and probably offend a bunch of feminists, assuming they ever stumble their way to this page. I remain unapologetic.

Anyhow, the basis for my thinking is derived from claims made in numerous books by John Eldredge. He argues that men need three things to truly be alive: an adventure to live, a battle to fight, and a beauty to fight for, whereas women require three very different things: an adventure to share, a beauty to unveil, and to be worth fighting for. Both man and woman are formed in the image of God, and our differences reflect different parts of one God. Men tend towards doing things together, women tend toward talking with each other. I don't mean to be sexist, and I don't mean to say this is absolutely true for everyone. I certainly don't mean to judge, but as a general statement I feel its a relatively accurate one. The thing is, without the other half we wouldn't have the complete picture of God.

Men generally accept different roles for their lives. We tend to be more physical, less emotional, and bonding comes through overcoming adversity and challenges in a literal sense. Our bodies are built with broader shoulders and stouter limbs for this purpose. We are designed to be physically stronger. Women seem to function differently. They appear to be based on relationships and bond through conversation and overcoming adversity and challenges in an emotional sense. Their bodies are strong -- but designed for nurturing. The simple fact is that we are different, but we both reflect the image of God.

When one studies the creation story, they see that God created man, but knew that "it was not good for man to be alone." So, God created woman. And here's where the wheels come off. Woman was intended as more than just a "companion" or "help-meet" (which makes no sense, but is actually used in some translations of the Bible). Those words do not impart the necessity or importance of Eve. I believe the word is "ezer kenedego," (or something close to it) which would be more accurately translated as "essential partner or life-saver." Suggestive in this should be that man and woman were designed to work together and support each other. They're synergistic. How perfect and how incredibly beautiful.

This brings us back to the story my friend was sharing. I don't think he could have been any more on target. To grow in a relationship together, moving towards God and in complete harmony with each other. In my mind, it works by the man donating the strength and the woman donating her compassion. I know, this sounds sexist, but let me again emphasize that is not my intent.

The only problem here, is what happens when man and woman are not together? To whom does man donate his strength? To what end does a woman show her compassion? The reason I ask, is because it seems to be the season that I am currently in. I feel as though there are many good things to which I can devote myself and my strength, but really, what good are they? Moreover, where is my support coming from? Who will show me compassion and caring? While guys are decent to each other and will listen and try to help their freinds, this really isn't the area where we excel.

So, a bit of honesty here -- and hopefully I won't sound too terribly... what? Soft? Weak? Feminine? I look at my life, and realize that regardless of what I do, nothing matters if there is nobody special to share it with. I can accomplish my wildest dreams, become famous, make a fortune, and none of it matters at all. Though it could be used to buy many things, all they would be are distractions from the emptiness I would feel all the more clearly. It is not good for man to be alone, and in my heart, I know it is not good for me to be alone. And, though I am thankful that I know to be patient and persistent, that doesn't help things make sense in the present when I feel all I am doing is working hard at things that don't really matter.

Its not like harassing a cat

Well... I'm really glad I didn't post anything yesterday. As nice as it would have been to process here, apparently people actually read my blog -- which is fine, but should also influence to some degree what I can and cannot write for the general public.

Anyhow, yesterday was pretty interesting. I went to bed pretty sorrowful and depressed (though I have found my propensity to immerse myself in self-pity correlates directly to how tired I am), and some of that evidently carried through to the morning. The day had its ups and downs, and though I was beginning to cope well by the evening, there was still no resolution. So, God and I had a chat last night.

I'm not sure if I've ever written anything about this, but God and I have an interesting relationship. I know He isn't doing things to me maliciously (to loosely paraphrase one conversation: its not like He's harassing a cat -- and you're the cat...), but I do take my life as tangible evidence that God has a sense of humor. While I've experienced challenge and hardship, it seems he has stretched me enough (for the moment) in those regimes and he is now teaching me not to take myself too seriously. I think I end up laughing directly at myself at least daily, and I can't help believe God has His hands in this -- I just hope He's laughing too.

Anyhow, what prompts this brief digression is how our conversation went last night. Now, I know God works in mysterious ways, and that He speaks differently to everyone... but through a country song?!?

The message he gave me was: "Persistence." Not quite what I expected, and definitely not in a manner I expected to hear it, but there it was all the same. The song I heard is called "The One" by Gary Allen. The Disclaimer: If you click on the link above, I am not responsible for the fact that, despite writing and performing fantastic music, Gary Allen can't make a decent music video to save his life...

"Don't rush. Though I need your touch,
I don't wanna rush your heart,
until you feel on solid ground,
until your strength is found.

[Chorus]: Girl, I'll fill those canyons in your soul
Like a river lead you home,
and I'll walk a step behind
int he shadows so you shine
Just ask it will be done,
and I will prove my love
until you're sure that I'm the one.

Somebody else was here before;
he treated you unkind.
Broken wings need time to heal
before a heart can fly.

[Chorus]

Trust in me, and you'll find a heart so true.
All I wanna do is give the best of me to you,
and stand beside you.

Just ask, it will be done,
and I will prove my love
until you're sure that I'm the one."

My Greatest Segué.

I think some of the most worthwhile things I've done in my life have been difficult. I mean, excruciatingly difficult. Grad school for chemistry is challenging and exhausting, Ironman physically broke me, and claiming Marine Corps boot camp was "intense" doesn't quite capture the moment -- but in hindsight they were all difficulties and struggles that shaped and defined me. They were all worthwhile experiences. They pushed my limits, expanded my thresholds, and helped me become who I am. They built character, grew resolve, and most importantly, forced dedication on my part. Yet, none of the above were easy or painless.

There is a certain amount of respect that tends to be given to people who have done such things. They have tangibly demonstrated that they are not afraid of a challenge and that they have dedication to something greater. Even amidst adversity they don't quit. They are relentless in their pursuit, and their reward is completing what they have set out to do. In short, challenge and difficulty bestow value more powerfully than anything else.

The last thought that occurs to me, is that when challenging things are done with other people, they become very close. They are refined through the trial and have learned how to depend on each other. One sees this all the time in the military -- having endured the same suffering and hardships, and having overcome challenges together, a brotherhood is formed by soliders returning from combat.

To summarize: difficult circumstances and challenging trials force commitment while bestowing worth and value and deepening relationships between people.

So, where am I going with this? Just one word: Sex. (I told you, my greatest segué ever.)

Yesterday I listened to a podcast on Dating Relationships by Dr. Benji Kelley of newHope Church. (And those would be the most links I've ever put in one sentence.) While there was much that was said, he emphasized that sex was intended ONLY after marriage, as that preserved the sanctity of the covenant formed between husband and wife. He didn't pull any punches either. I think we all can relate to how challenging, tempting, and difficult things can get while dating.

Which means, this is where things should be coming together. Remaining committed to not having sex before marriage is hard. Very hard. But overcoming that challenge, especially with a significant other or fiancé, gives it value. It makes it worth so much more. Through the challenges and trials, overcoming them together will lead to a stronger degree of commitment, a greater fullness in the relationship, and a deeper level of intimacy. Though I speak from a position exclusively formed upon speculation, isn't that what marriage is about?

So yeah, marriage and sex are sacred. We need to be viewing them in that light and realize that in having sex before marriage we lose out on one of the most beautiful gifts God has for us and some of his greatest blessings. So say no. Please, say no. We're all worth waiting for.

Questions

I often wonder what other people are thinking. Not so much in a "What Women Want" sense (though this would be helpful - and fun - in many circumstances), but really... what they're thinking. How do different people approach problems differently and what makes them do it? What does math look like to a brilliant mathematician? Why is it that same brilliant mathematician seems to be oblivious to everything else? Or even more basic... what do colors look like through other people's eyes? Is the blue I see the same as the one you see? How strange would a world be if it had a pink sky and our skin was green... but who is to say if I would look through your eyes it wouldn't? And how does this make me smell to you?

What about my actions? Words? What do they make you think and feel? Have I said or done something hurtful and been completely oblivious to it? Why does it hurt you and why didn't that occur to me? Why is it that women can sit and talk for hours, but men communicate more frequently in grunts and gestures made in passing?

Why is it that cultures can be so different? Our blood is all red and our hearts do the same thing. Why do certain people like music that, to me, can only be called that in the most liberal of definitions? Why do I like guitar solos and singing country music A 'capella? How is it that I can list a bunch of questions with no truly satisfying answers? Why do I hate Gertrude Stein? Who is John Gault?

And really, what does it all mean? How much does any of it matter? If we're all the same, if we're all very different, does it even matter? Still, why do people work so hard to kill each other? What would happen if we devoted our labor to productive and benevolent efforts? What if we really did onto others as we wanted done onto us?

Now what about our planet? How is it that we can be furious about gas prices, yet people still try to hit me in their SUVs when I bike to class? Are you willing to sacrifice comfort to save the future of our children? How will you feed the starving with only organic food?

And what about you? What has changed you and shaped you to who you are today? If you could take back one thing from your past, would you? Are you living your dreams? Do you know where you're going, or do you feel as lost as me? Who am I in your eyes and how do you think I see you?

And do you know just how very special you are?

What I'm worth

I've had some interesting conversations regarding my deployment over these past few days. The first one was with my professor, who inquired if there was anything the Chemistry Department could do to prevent me from mobilizing. The other was with one of my friends, who happens to be well-connected in the political arena. He is planning on writing some letters regarding the misallocation of important resources in fighting this war in Iraq. While I am genuinely flattered and humbled by other people readily coming forward to fight on my behalf, I most regretfully cannot accept it.

Its an important distinction that must be made here. Its not that I feel I'm too good for their help, or that I believe their efforts to be futile. It certainly isn't that I desire to spend a year of my life in a desert, while my research stagnates and the lives of my friends and family go forward. The heart of the matter is the simple fact that I am, and will always be, a United States Marine. In accepting that title on the day I earned my Eagle, Globe, and Anchor, I also accepted 233 years of tradition and history. My direction and motivation changed, as I sought to live my life by the values of honor, courage, and commitment. Perhaps above all, my loyalty now truly lies with my God, Country, and Corps, and the words "Semper Fidelis" ring home with remarkable clarity and power.

"Semper Fidelis" is Latin for "Always Faithful." It is the motto of the US Marines -- a creed by which we live, and if necessary, by which we will die. It means not only will we never flee from battle nor surrender, but also that we are fully committed to our loved ones and to each other. This is the crux of the situation, for it seems that everyone who seeks to keep me here has the belief that my life is worth more. They believe the Marines will not use me to my full potential, that I can do more good through my research, and that someone else can fill my position. Well... there is always more to research, and though the Marines will undoubtedly view me as a filled quota, I cannot help shake the feeling that I may have been given warrior spirit and that this may finally take me to where I truly belong. Sometimes I feel as though I was born to be a Marine. But as for my life being worth more... I cannot help but feel nothing is farther from the truth.

I am reminded of a scene from Braveheart. William Wallace has just spoken with the Scottish nobles following their first defeat of the English army. As the nobles break down into squabbling collections, Wallace leaves the hall and starts returning to his men. Robert the Bruce, perhaps the one man behind whom the nobles would unite, chases after him. In the dialog that follows, Robert the Bruce implores Wallace to be patient with the nobles and reminds him that in a war with England, they have much to lose. Wallace's reply is perfect: "Does the commoner stand to lose any less if he falls in battle?"

What is it that would make my life worth more than another man's? Friends? Posessions? Education? While they are all important, none of them really matter. If anything, being a Corporal and having Marines under my command makes my life worth less, as I know I would die for any one of them, just as they would die to defend their friends, family, and each other. That was the Spartan way, and that remains the Marine Corps way, because when diplomacy fails and the enemies are no longer imaginary, your life depends on the Marine to your left and right. "Come back with your shield or come back on it..." "He who sheds his blood with me today shall be my brother..." "Greater love hath no man than this..." Throughout history, the life of another has always been worth more than ones own.

So let me be a quota. Let me stand post. It means another Marine will be able to stay home with their loved ones. It means that in every American conflict my family will have been present, and I will not have to wonder if my life has made a difference. It means I will have placed my offering upon the alter of freedom and the sacrifice is mine alone to bear. So please, if you remember nothing else, know this: Ones life is worth only what it can be given for. My family, my friends, my Marines, and you dear reader -- whomever you may be -- my life for yours, without hesitation or regret.

That is what it means to be a Marine.

How can I be lost if I've got nowhere else to go?

I have 2 1/2 months before I am activated. This is nice in a way, but a little frustrating at the same time. How can one really plan for their future when the knowledge that in 10 weeks, it won't even matter? And yet, one cannot really live with the reckless abandon that would be so appealing if there was to be no return (think: bucket list). I know this is something active military personnel do on a regular basis, but the circumstances are different for them too. They aren't leaving a job, its their job that's moving them elsewhere on a temporary basis... so the expectations to perform at work are pretty much constant.

So, this is a bit challenging for a reservist and I think everyone deals with it differently. My friends back in Wisconsin had perfect timing for their deployment (if that is possible) in that they were shipped out in the early fall, and returned in the late summer. Perfect for students. They had the whole summer, which is usually a blissful time consisting of a lack of responsibilities, to catch-up with friends and spend time with family and loved ones. Another friend (who activates today, coincidentally) quit his job, sold his truck, and drove cross country on a crotch-rocket (which is ill-advised, by the way, if you ever want to have children) for the month leading up to his deployment.

The thing is, neither of those seem like great ideas for me. Don't get me wring, completely blowing off all cares and responsibilities would be fun for a while, and it would be really nice to be at home for some extended period of time, but I also plan to come back and finish up my Ph D. My actions now will have consequences when I return. Of course, the opposite mentality would also be harmful, I should think. I could pour every ounce of my effort and being into getting results in lab and attempt to blunt the effect this deployment will have on my academic career. For whatever reason though, I just don't want my memories of "home" to come predominantly from inside the chem building...

I'm sure everyone would have their own priorities, given a similar situation to the one in which I find myself, but the bottom line is that I don't want these last months to go to waste. I want to really live in a way that takes advantage of every breath, every friendship, every second. I refuse to adopt the mentality that would guard me from meeting new people, making new friends, or even starting a new relationship. So while it is true, now is not the best timing and it is not the perfect moment for -- well, anything really -- something I have come to realize is that there are no perfect moments, and that even the best-laid plans usually work as poorly as any other. Its even written in Matthew 6:34 - "Do not worry about tomorrow."

While that verse may be as impressively cliche as my intentions to live without regret, it is always the application and not the concept that is most difficult. Yet, that is my plan. I will live intentionally and without hesitation, in complete defiance of this looming deployment, and with a sense of anticipation to see how it all works out in the end, when the dust finally settles.

...but I don't want to be cold & prickly

So... what is it about me? Really? Why is it that people shy away from me and use words like "intense" and "intimidating" to describe me. Why are people scared of me? Why is it that I can shave, shower, and dress cleanly and still be sitting next to the last available seat on an otherwise packed bus? I don't bite, I don't swear, I don't yell... I don't get it...

I see myself as a person who works hard and focuses on what he's doing. I am not a person of half-measures, and I believe in commitment. I push myself hard and have high expectations of myself, so as a result I've been able to do things to which few others aspire -- but I don't think that make me any less friendly or kind. Why don't I have a chance to demonstrate this before being labeled as intense? Even when I do get the chance, why doesn't it make a difference in their ultimate description? Have the characteristics of commitment, hard-working, and focused stopped being virtues? Why is it that I am seen as a monster or, at the very best, someone to be kept at a distance?

Why can't people see that what I do is only what I do, not who I really am?

More importantly, what can I do to change this?

He who sheds his blood with me today shall be my brother

Today I had the unique experience of telling four of my Marines they were deploying to Iraq. My supply company had the responsibility of providing 20 Marines total for Operation Iraqi Freedom 9.1, and today we received the deployment roster.

I received the news in an e-mail this morning. Initially, it didn't seem so bad. I thought I would only have to contact one Marine because they were only taking one specific MOS (Marine jargon for "profession"). I contacted him at about 4:00 this afternoon, but really didn't know what to say. This Marine is one of the newest to my unit. He just graduated from boot camp this summer and was in my class at supply school. He has a close family and a long-term girlfriend who he was thinking about proposing to. He's in his first semester of study at Wake Tech... and I told him to put life on hold, starting in December. I don't know exactly what I said... it all seemed a blur to me, explaining the dates and the mobilization process. The bottom line is he's still giving up a year of his life that he can't ever get back. Hopefully his girlfriend will wait for him to get back. Deployments can get long...

After I got back from calling my first Marine, I noticed I had a new e-mail from my Master Sergeant:
"Cpl Abney - Please inform the Marines from 2nd listed below their time has come."

Three more names. Three more calls. One seemed prepared, and said he figured this call had been coming for a while. Another asked a bunch of questions about what would happen with his apartment lease. The third just had stunned silence.

I remember the first time I was told I might be deploying. I had just joined with my infantry company back in Madison and got a call from my team leader one evening. He said he was contacted by the chain of command and that all of us "new joins" who hadn't deployed the first time were going to be augmented to another unit for the duration of their deployment. Anyone listening to the phone call could tell it was killing him to break the news this way. I was his Marine, and I was deploying and he was the one who had to tell me. I didn't think much of it at the time... I was more concerned with whether I was really going to deploy or not. Today I got to experience what my former team leader did. I got to experience it three times. But there is a difference though that makes it easier for me than it ever could have been for him:

They are my Marines, and I am going with them.

What happened to the Lion?

Last evening I heard a message given on Grace. The speaker defined it as "something done with no expectation of getting anything in return." I guess I feel that is part of it, but the way I always viewed it was "receipt of something completely undeserved." Perhaps the combination of both is really what sums it up the best.

It was a good message and caused me to think a bit. It was geared to a more feminine personality (which makes sense, as it was given by a woman to a predominantly female audience), focusing on love, grace, patience, kindness... Not that these are to be understated or that they aren't wonderful and necessary things, but to focus exclusively on this portion of God really causes one to miss the big picture.

It is definitely true, God is love, slow to anger, full of mercy... but He is a Warrior as well! (check Exodus 15:3) In Revelation it describes him as leading His heavenly army, the Lord of Hosts (which is a military term, by the way), wearing a cloak dipped in the blood of his foes! How about the Lion and the Lamb. Why do we completely ignore the Lion for the sake of the Lamb? God is powerful, just, and mighty. Combat, strength, and aggression (yes, He is aggressive) are in His nature and we would do very well to remember as much!

God is the fullness of both masculinity and femininity. He is compassionate, desiring a deep and personal relationship with each of us, but still strong and mighty. We need to remember that the birth of Jesus was not only the physical embodiment of God's love and grace which brings our forgiveness, but also a bold attack into the devil's stronghold by an elite warrior sent from a brilliant and aggressive general! How much does this change the way we pray? The way we think about God?

We can't function with only one part of God. Love and kindess, grace and compassion are often lacking in this world, possibly because the people that manifest them are so routinely run over by the calloused masses who cannot comprehend what love truly is. Similarly, those who only embrace aggression, conflict and battle become so consumed with them their lives fill with hatred and violence. A balance must be found, and we can only find it by remembering that God is both strong and kind, full of grace and power. Mighty to save.

So love your enemies, but remember they're still your enemies.

Stronger

"Stronger"

Performed by Hillsong

From the CD "This is Our God."

Words and Music by Reuben Morgan and Ben Fielding

There is Love

That came for us

Humbled to a sinner's cross

You broke my shame and sinfulness

You rose again, victorious.

Faithfulness none can deny

Through the storm

And through the fire

There is truth that sets me free

Jesus Christ, who lives in me.

You are stronger

You are stronger

Sin is broken

You have saved me

It is written

Christ is risen

Jesus You are Lord of all.

No beginning 

And no end

You're my hope

And my defence

You came to seek and save the lost

You paid it all upon the cross.

You are stronger

You are stronger

Sin is broken

You have saved me

It is written

Christ is risen

Jesus You are Lord of all.

A Knot of Rust

My thoughts are loud in my head again today... as a result I have a generic feeling of discontent, but really have no means by which I can get rid of it.  To put it in fewer words, I don't feel happy and I don't know why.  This is a rather frustrating predicament to be in, as one might guess.  I suppose the silver lining is that by not knowing what is making me unhappy, I have very little to complain about.

I haven't been on the worship team at church for several weeks now.  I believe I was scheduled to be on last Sunday, but I was away with the Marines on the rifle range.  Now, while I love helping to lead worship, I think this break has been good for me.  When I started singing, I was entirely unsure why I had volunteered.  I had limited experience, and the WAM team is so much more talented than I am.  Still, I felt compelled to volunteer.  When it turned out I had auditioned well enough to sing tenor, I was thrilled -- terrified, because I'm not a person who desires to draw attention to myself -- but thrilled because I genuinely love to worship.

As time progressed, I think I lost some of the passion and sincerity that I started out with.  I think I started relying more on my own abilities, which I can assure are not impressive, and stopped giving it all up to God.  To put it simply, I think I stopped worshipping and started singing instead.  I think I had gotten a little burned out due to the frequency with which I was helping lead, and losing sight of the Caller because of the calling is what eventually happened.  (Curtis, I have no idea how you do it.  Just one more reason I have to look up to you.)  

So, I'm on a scheduling break, and I think the timing is perfect.  My life feels very turbulent, and spiritually I feel very tired.  Maybe I need to recharge for a little while.  Its time to remind myself how great and good God is and remember how to really worship passionately, before I should have any thoughts about getting back on the stage, helping lead others in worship. 

My prayer today was very interesting... I had no idea where these words came from until well after I had said them.  My prayer was, "Lord, may I be a knot of rust."  Cryptic, right?  I don't even actually know what a "knot of rust" is, let alone how one would bring that phrase up in common conversation.  Now, here's the thing... rust forms when iron is oxidized due to being exposed to air.  So, under that red, rusty coating is actually a lump of iron, and iron is something that can be molded and shaped into something useful.  Moreover, iron can be used to sharpen something else of iron.  So, I think that's the prayer of my heart today.  I don't need glory, and I admit my shortfalls and inabilities.  I don't want to be the center of attention... to be flashy, or very high-profile.  All I want to be is that knot of rust:  Nothing flashy, yet made of something worthwhile.  I want to become something useful, and then I want to be used to help sharpen and refine others who are of the same quality as myself.  

"Lord, may I be a knot of rust."

Fall is in the Air

Fall is coming... I can feel it in the mornings and I can smell it in the air.  The days aren't as hot, and I find myself wearing sweatshirts and blue jeans to research.  The Packers played a few nights ago in their first preseason game, and I know the college football season kicks off in just a few short weeks.  Its fall again, and I absolutely love it.

To be honest, I'm not exactly sure what it is that makes me so fond of the fall.  Yes, football is my favorite sport, and I do enjoy the cooler weather (though I am aware it will get warm again tomorrow).  Still, there's just something sp

ecial about this time of year.  The world feels new again... the air crisp and clean, and it seems everyone has a fresh start at things.  Maybe that's just an artifact from numerous years of school, college, and now graduate study, but I still feel there is more hope in the fall, and more willingness to give everything a new chance.

Fall brings a lot of great memories too.  Technically, my birthday is in the fall (though I got a test question wrong in Spanish when I wrote my birth month, November, was in the winter... apparently it only feels like winter in Wisconsin).  More importantly, hunting season is in the fall.  Its not so much that I like the killing, or even that my family needs the meat (we could buy it like most other families), but more that it gave me an opportunity to spend time with my dad and to be outside.  There's nothing quite like walking down a woods road with ones father, with all the leaves turning colors, carrying a break-action shotgun given as a gift by a grandfather.  It didn't even matter if we got -- or even saw -- any birds.  Once we finished the morning hunting, we'd get back to the truck and turn the radio on to listen to the Badger game.  It seems those days, they were just starting to get good as it was the beginning of the Barry Alvarez era.  

Another great memory of the fall is boot camp.  Rather, graduation from boot camp.  That year, my sum experience of the fall was when I was on the rifle range with my platoon at Camp Pendleton.  The first week of rifelry was spent sitting on aluminum bleachers, learning about trajectory, windage, and proper shooting form and technique.  What I remember most vividly was the small tree about 300 yards in the background, and watching it change color each day that week.  That was my fall that year.  Boot camp ended for me on October 29, 2004.  I flew back to Wisconsin that night with my family.  Leaving the Marine Corps Recruit Depot in San Diego and watching it disappear as the plane banked towards home was an amazing feeling.  

While I was home on boot leave, I went down to visit my buddy in Madison -- where I would later attend college.  I remember him taking me to my first Badger game ever.  I don't remember who we played or what the score was.  All I remember was that absurd grin that must have crossed my face as the student section spontaneously burst into some hilarious off-colored cheer at the expense of the visiting team.  Its not only me... it happens to everyone the first time they experience historic Camp Randall stadium as the students see it.  Its amazing how fond I have grown of Madison.

September 10, 2006 was when I finished Ironman Wisconsin.  That was a brutal day, and I suspect my pain-induced delirium may be the reason I seem to have so few memories from it.  I remember my roommates threw a house party the night before (thanks again, by the way), and that I was extre

mely nervous as I arrived at the Monona Terrace at 4:00 am to stage my gear and get ready for the event.  I went to the bathroom 5 times in the 45 minutes leading up to the start of the swim, which becomes an even more impressive feat when one considers I was wearing a wet suit.  I got very good at getting that thing off and on in little time.  The year I competed was cold -- highs in the low 60's and rainy -- but we still had the largest group start in Ironman history with over 1700 competitors.  I remember the waves breaking over me as I swam.  I remember freezing in the rain on my bike.  By the time 

I got back to begin the marathon, I seriously considered quitting... then got up, wrapped a safety blanket around my shoulders, and started running.  The first 13.1 miles went pretty easily.  They had the course going throughout much of campus and the capital area, which I was very familiar with.  I ran one block past my ho

use, in fact.  As I wrapped up that first loop, my dad (in cowboy boots and carrying a coffee mug of whiskey & 7-up) ran for a few blocks with me to make sure I was still lucid.  The second loop was less pleasant, but as I rounded the corner by the White Horse Inn and headed down State Street, I knew it was almost over.  Everyone was cheering, and it didn't even matter that I was broken and running on fumes.  I still managed a fast clip down to the finish and was smiling for the pictures.  I didn't remember that we walked home or that my roommate bought me a sub until someone reminded me several weeks later.  I remember crying though, having been overwhelmed with exhaustion and emotion.  Truly an epic moment in my life.

Fall is, also, when my buddy Pete -- the one who took me to my first Badger game -- proposed to his girlfriend Annie.  She said yes... and I just found out.  It puts a nice exclamation point on my story.  Congrat's Pete, and best of luck Annie!

I guess fall is my season.  I love winter -- snow and skiing truly are joys of mine -- and I like how the world greens back up during the spring.  I even enjoy the deep green colors of summer, and grabbing a cold beer on a really hot day.  But that said, they can't compete with the fall, and like I said, the fall is coming... and I can't wait!

"Haste Thee to help me..."

Its been a while since I've posted, but life gets a person busy.  These past 4 days I've been training with my Marines on the rifle range at Camp LeJeune.  Our company recently got a new First Sergeant, so we're all adjusting to the changes.  Life is considerably less relaxed than it was previously, but it really feels as though in conjunction with our new Commanding Officer, these Marines will help take us in a more constructive direction.  I'm pretty excited about it, but that doesn't mean life has gotten easier for anyone.  (I think the latest I slept throughout the duration of training was 3:45 am... and people wonder why I usually get to research between 7:00 and 7:30.)

Anyhow, the rifle range.  The Marine Corps prides itself on every Marine being a rifleman.  We have the most rigorous course of fire out of any of the four services, and it is not trivial for any Marine.  There are no scopes -- everything is iron sights -- and we hit targets up to 500 yards away, requiring that one accounts for windage and weather conditions.  The course of fire consists of two major parts, known as "Tables."  Table 1 is the known-distance (or KD) course, which is what we shot this past week.  Table 2 is combat marksmanship.  Tables 3 and 4 exist, but they are intermediate and advanced combat marksmanship (which I shot with my old unit, but is not essential for supply or most Marines in general) and are thusly not required for qualification.  

Table 1 consists of five courses of fire over three distances.  First, from 200 yards, fifteen total rounds are fired in the sitting, kneeling, and standing positions (five rounds  at each) in 20 minutes.  Then, the shooter stands and waits for the target to reappear before dropping back to the sitting position and firing 10 rounds in under 1 minute, completing the second course of fire.  The third course of fire is five shots from 300 yards in the sitting position.  Then, dropping from standing to prone to deliver 10 shots in 1 minute.  The fifth and final course of fire is 10 rounds from 500 yards in the prone position.  Each shot is recorded and scored from 2 to 5 points, with more points awarded as one hits closer to the bulls-eye.  Each shooter receives the 50 rounds required to complete the firing for a total of 250 points max.  If one scores from 190 - 210 points, they are a Marksman.  211 - 219 points is a Sharpshooter.  220 - 250 points is an Expert.

Prior to leaving for training, I told my parents I was going to the range.  They said they would pray for me, as they know how important riflery  is to a Marine.  As I began the course of fire, my shots were hitting pretty well, but a few key mistakes found me in a delicate point as I walked to the 500 yard line to begin my final course of fire.  From the crude arithmetic I performed in my head, in order to qualify expert, I needed to hit a bulls-eye almost every time from the 500.  I approached the range with the somber knowledge that in all likelihood, I would be a sharpshooter -- something I was not pleased with.  I conceded that I must not have been as good as I thought I was, and that shooting expert at this point was out of my control.  For me to break 220 would take a small miracle.

As I lay down and assumed my prone position, I remembered my parents saying they would pray for me.  As I obtained good sight alignment and sight picture, focusing on the front sight post and sighted in on the black silhouette of the bulls-eye, I humbled myself and started praing.  "Lord, haste thee to help me..."  I slowly began to squeeze the trigger, felt the recoil of the rifle, and saw the target pulled into the pits to mark the shot.  

Bulls-eye.

I slowly refocus on the target, and prepare for my second shot.  "Blessed be the Lord my Rock, who trains my hand for war and my fingers to fight..."  Slow gradual pressure on the trigger... the hammer falls, the round travels downrange and the target drops for marking.

Bulls-eye.

I breathe slowly, methodically, exhaling completely as I gently press the trigger.  "Lord, be my Strong Tower, the Rock in Whom I trust..."

Bulls-eye.

The wind is starting to pick up.  500 yards, 10-15 mph left winds at a half-value... I adjust the rear sight aperture two clicks to the right.  "Bow down the heavens, O Lord.  Touch the mountains and they shall smoke..."

Bulls-eye.

"Oppose those who oppose me, stand against those who stand against me.  Lift up Your spear and buckler, and declare 'I am thy salvation'..."

Bulls-eye.

Nine shots.  Nine bulls-eyes.  One round in the chamber and 2 minutes remaining in the course of fire.  My non-firing hand is numb from the position I am laying in and the midday sun is causing sweat to drip into my eyes.  The sling keeper is pressing painfully into my wrist and rubbing my arm raw.  My vision blurs, then refocuses as I stare downrange at the target.  It has all come down to this one final shot.  I pull the buttstock of the rifle tight to my shoulder and begin to sight in, trying to focus on the fundamentals rather than the importance of this last round.  I center the front sight post in the rear sight aperture and align the pair to the center mast of the silhouette.  I focus on the front sight post, making it clear.  I breathe out and apply gentle pressure to the trigger as the sweat pours into my eyes.  "God... thank You.  To You be the Glory."

The round goes off.  I feel the recoil of the rifle slam through my body as the cartridge ejects and I hear the bolt lock to the rear.  The smell the gunpowder wafts in the air as the target drops for scoring.

I wait, eager... but terrified.

The target reappears, slowly revealing the strike of the round the the corresponding score...

Bulls-eye.

God, Thank You.  I could not have done this by my own power.  To You be the glory.  -Amen.

Hey! Its getting loud in here...

Yesterday was a brutal day for me.  Start to finish it seemed everything was painful.  The only way I can describe it is that the day was very "loud" in my head... which makes no sense.  Everything seemed overwhelming and I didn't have anywhere to turn for solace.  It felt as though the world was spinning at top speed and completely out of control.  I was a wreck.

My blog post from yesterday I think reflects this.  Its forever long and I don't think it ever really gets to any point.  Still, it helped silence the loudest thoughts and maybe that was all I was looking to do.  I felt some better after writing it, but it wasn't the comprehensive panacea I might have hoped it to be.

I think part of the driving force here is just the precipitous point my life has arrived at.  Looking in on it, one would believe my life is all together and nicely organized.  I have a job which, though not making me rich, does pay enough for me to live comfortably.  Intellectually I am challenged, and I have hobbies I enjoy to keep me distracted.  However, I feel incredibly uncomfortable in my comfort.  The days seem too routine and I wonder if I'm actually accomplishing anything.  It is as if I am sitting on top of a pillar, with the ominous knowledge that my next step will take me right over the edge and to whatever waits below.  

From talking with my mom yesterday, it sounds like my brother and sister are in similar circumstances.  Morgan has been granted citizenship in Australia (and is double-checking to ensure she won't lose U.S. citizenship if she accepts it), but she doesn't know where her life is leading her over there.  Jackson has moved home until late October, broke and without work.  He seems to physically drift as much as I do mentally.  I can tell this weighs heavily on my mom.  I feel bad for her... somehow I have the impression she thinks this is her fault.  She said she has been praying what she wanted for us, but that she was convicted to simply give us over to God.  I know how difficult that is for one's own life, but I can only speculate the difficulty that would present for a parent who loves their children.

It seems there is no real closure to the above.  Lives still go on and I write this from the perspective of a new day, and with each day comes renewed hope -- the confident expectation that something good is going to happen.  And so, as with so many things in the past, I will continue to wait with confidence for whatever good God is working in these circumstances.  

I'll let you know how it goes.

Torn Out from my Chest Today

I know its still early, but its been an interesting day for me.  Introspective and painful might be the better way to phrase it.  Every so often I find myself in this frame of mind, but usually it happens when it is late and I am very tired.  The solution is really quite easy at that point... but as it is just the beginning of the day and I am well rested, I can tell I'm in for a battle.

Its amazing how confusing little things can become and I can't help but wonder how much of what I'm experiencing is Satan's attempts to steal, kill, and destroy.  In complete honesty, I don't know why I feel the way I do right now, and so  I don't expect anyone else to understand, let alone sympathize.  That said, I need to get some of this off my chest while the thoughts are in my head and maintaining some form of clarity.  A disclaimer, though:  if there are any newHopers who read this, well... you'll be able to know exactly who I'm talking about even if I change the names, so I'll just use them.

I serve on the Worship Arts Ministry team at my church, singing as a tenor.  Something you should know about me, is that I do not particularly like being the center of attention.  I'm not bothered by public speaking or being in front of people, but that doesn't mean I seek out opportunities to be there.  When I auditioned for the WAM team, I knew it was God working in my life.  He put me there on purpose, because its not really something I would have done if left to my own direction.  I never sang in any choir, nor do I consider myself particularly good.  I simply enjoy singing and I love to worship.  When I was taken on as a tenor (apparently I can harmonize), I was completely ecstatic... not to mention terrified.  I'm not sure I actually sang at all my first week on stage and I remember being more tense than ever before in my life.  I was probably not the best person to help others engage in worship, but I was willing.  With time, I found myself relaxing more and singing with more confidence.  Often times, I would be on WAM every other week (we rotate different teams through every week with each team serving approximately once every month) due to not having enough tenors.  I loved it.  

Several weeks back, while I was still training at Camp LeJeune with the Marines, it was my turn to serve on the WAM team.  Again, myself and another tenor had been rotating every other week due to low numbers.  Josh, the other tenor, is particularly good.  I don't know his singing history, but I know he is comfortable on stage, sings with confidence, and does a really outstanding job.  I aspire to be more like him in those respects.  Usually, we will have rehearsal for a few hours one of the days prior to Sunday so the band is up to speed with the music and so the vocalists have the opportunity to learn the music on their own.  However, that week Curtis, the worship arts pastor, cancelled the practice and had us show up a little earlier on Sunday instead.  I think he maybe thought we were more familiar with the pieces than we truly were, or didn't realize we would struggle as much as we did.  To exacerbate this situation, we were short 2 other vocalists that week, meaning it was myself, Curtis, and an alto on stage.  

To say I was tense and nervous for the first service (we do three services) is a bit of an understatement.  In hindsight, I think the only time I was more uncomfortable and sang worse was my first time.  However, as the day wore on I felt myself growing increasingly confident and more comfortable, and by the end of the third service I felt as though I had done okay.

The following week, I received an e-mail from Curtis encouraging me to relax on stage and really try to worship.  Raise my hands, take my eyes off the monitor, and really worship.  I know there was no malice in his sending it, but for whatever reason, I felt as though I had been punched in the gut.

All I wanted to do was scream about how I had been working hard, trying to relax on stage, had been doing better on previous Sundays, and had even gotten better as the services progressed.  I wanted him to know how hard I work both in and out of church, how I was entirely uncomfortable with the songs he chose (none of which I had ever sang before), and how we only had a few minutes prior to the services starting to practice -- the majority of which were spent working on the band and fixing sound issues.  I wanted him to know how frustrated and hurt I felt... maybe even feel... because of that e-mail.  I wanted to tell him how his e-mail was completely unfair and that he had been misinformed.  But I can't.

I sent an e-mail back to him thanking him for his guidance and promising I would work harder at it.  Its true.  There are few people who I respect more than Pastor Curtis and his patience and guidance with me are priceless.  I think that may be why it hurts so much.  We seek to get respect from those whom we respect... and this one just kind of cut my legs out from under me.

Last week Josh was the tenor for WAM.  He was on again today as well.  Both weeks were set lists with songs I was comfortable with and truly enjoy singing.  Next week I was scheduled, but I won't be around due to training with the Marines.  I think the time I am scheduled after that is Labor Day weekend when I am going back to Wisconsin to visit my family.  I have no idea when, or even if, I'll get to sing on WAM again.

Now, while all that mess took a long time to tell, its really only part of what's aggravating me.  I look at this rift I feel forming within me, and it is all I can do to not be childish and petty.  Worship is by no means about me, but how can I truly worship when its all I can do not to think about how I feel snubbed and unappreciated?  Perhaps most frustrating of all is that I can clearly see how Satan is trying to use this situation to destroy something good.  Really, it shouldn't be this big of a deal... but to me it really is.

It seems in general my life is unsettled.  I don't know where I'm going or if the direction I'm traveling is the right one.  It seems whenever someone else has success, pride rears its ugly head, and once again I am battling.  Whenever someone else gets recognized for their accomplishments, I have to fight not to be angry or jealous, because not only do I want it to have been me, but often I feel that it should have been me.  Some days I feel angry with people for no good reason... they left dishes in the sink at home or didn't clean up their bench in lab.  Maybe they were driving too slowly... or too quickly.  I know how dumb it is, but I can feel it just pulsing through my body and it is all I can do to not say or do something that will be hurtful or destructive.  I find myself biting my tongue a lot --- even when they haven't done anything wrong!

God grows us through challenges and struggles.  I have every confidence that this point in my life is just another time God is shaping me into the person He wants me to be.  Growth is painful though, as is any change, and I really don't like it at this moment.  While I have faith that everything will be taken care of, that all needs will be met, that God works everything for good, and that I will ultimately get to where I am meant to be, that doesn't mean I am particularly pleased with where I am right now.  I feel alone, having isolated myself from all of my friends lest I find them making me angry for no reason, and wonder if this is me withdrawing of my own accord, God bringing me into solitude so He can work on me, or something darker and more sinister that I haven't managed to fully resolve.

So while all of the above is not important in the grand scheme of things and these battles are of little consequence, the macrocosmic view reveals there is no clear picture of what I am to become or how long it will take, and he uncertainty of everything may be the biggest frustration of them all.