When the Roomies are Away, the Mere Will...CLEAN!!

Yes that's right...Susie Homemaker has stolen my soul. I spent the whole afternoon cleaning up our common area, kitchen, and my bathroom. I also reorganized our kitchen cabinets so everything is all neat and in its own place. My apartment looks so cute right now, and it makes me really happy.

Which is probably sad.

But I so don't care. Thus is the fabulous life of Meredith Cooper. Perhaps now I will take a bubble bath and read a book :)

Playwriting: A Monologue

Hello?

Hi.

Yeah...it has been a pretty long time...

I've called because...well...I just wanted you to know that I'm getting married. I just needed you to know. And I wanted to say I'm sorry.

Because I still hate you. And I'm sorry. I've tried a thousand times to forgive you, to forgive myself...but no matter how many times I say it in my head. "I forgive you." It won't ever sink in.
I forgive you.
You were my first. Before I knew what I was doing. I was so innocent. I didn't think I was. But I was...I was innocent. And you took my heart...because I gave it willingly...because I didn't know any better. Because you felt safe. Because I trusted you.
I forgive myself.
You're an era that I can't block out. I see you in all sorts of little things. I mean...there's the necklace and the cd with your handwriting...but it's not just those. Those things make sense...but it's...anything that has to do with my life during that year or so. It's my art. It's my car...my clothes...my glasses...vanilla... It's all stained, all tainted.
I forgive you.
I don't have any pictures of us together...actually together. I have one picture of you from the bus...you're frowning at me. I can't remember how I made you frown. I don't know why I made you frown. But it sums up everything.
I forgive myself, too.
And I still hate you. And I'm getting married. He's everything I've always looked for. And I just needed to call you because I needed you to know.
And I'm sorry. Because I still hate you. I still hate you because I still love you.
So much.

The Pathetic Fallacy

This a f t e r n o o n it rained.
I was wearing w h i t e.

My sunroof was cracked.
3 1 1 in S G M
is a long way
from Menlo.
I walked.
T h e
rain
fell.

This has been an interpretive poem by Meredith Cooper.

In a movie or play, stormy weather heightens the emotions of the audience. Being chased by a killer through the woods is scary...but it's more scary when the poor D-cup blonde must fight her way through muddy brambles (see also the "wet clothes" effect invoked) and avoid being struck by lightning. In Shakespeare's King Lear, Act Three takes place in a dramatic thunderstorm where Lear, locked outside, runs around like a crazy person. The literary term for this is "pathetic fallacy." The term I use for this in my own life is, "yeah, that figures." Is it ironic that both today (Monday) and last Monday, I was in a crappy mood AND it was raining?? I think not. To use another rain analogy, in my life, it never rains--it pours. When I have a bad day, it's raining, I destroy the interior of my car, I break a nail, my toilet gets stopped up, my internet won't work, and someone steals all six of my Bibles--including the two on my computer!

I blame the parents.

Of course I didn't think about the weather when I got dressed this morning. All that mattered was wearing something that would be cute and also work for my costume in the scene I was performing for a friend's directing class. My pants were perfect for the scene. They were not perfect, however, for the rain later in the day. I don't think about these things because until college, I woke up every morning to my mom telling me to "wear a coat" or "bring an umbrella."
I don't know how to function in society as a single adult. If I don't get married (or hire one of those in-home nurses), I might die of a freak teeth-whitening accident then have my face eaten by my sixty cats before the police discover my body!!

I don't really think I was meant for the working-woman society. I mean...I sew...and arrange flowers...who does that?? Like Blanche Dubois, I was raised for a society that is slowly dying out. Perhaps I really belong somewhere in the 1950s. Then, my biggest concerns about today's rain would be how to alter dinner plans so I don't have to make a trip to the store. That might take ten minutes of thought before I would go back to knitting booties for the baby on the way and listening to the record player. Of course I wouldn't let it stress me out--wouldn't want to miscarry or anything...

Fast forward to 2006 and now I have to change for my spinning class and brainstorm for the two short essay questions that I need to email to my TA by midnight. No boys, no babies, and no booties.

Music and God's Will

I had a moment of clarity tonight at AGO's worship about how I sing. In recent years, as I learn more about music, I've started playing around with different harmonies, echoes and so forth. So now, when I worship, I rarely sing the melody but make up my own version to compliment what the band is playing. Really, the way I sing sometimes is like dancing around the melody.

And that brought me to God.

I get this mental picture of the throne of God radiating light and a beautiful music. My voice, personified, is dancing around Him in praise. What a cool thought! Because that's really how I'd like to be living my life. If God's will is a rich and wonderful song, then when we are walking with Him, our harmony weaves through His song, dancing beautifully. Can you picture what an amazing song it could be if we all add our unique vocal nuances? (granted, the analogy fails in the sense that God doesn't need us to make His song more full, though He does allow us the opportunity to sing) I just think it's soo cool that God taught me that tonight. So now any time I sing, I can picture my life blending with Christ's.

The Hurt

"Then the soldiers of the governor took Jesus into the governor's headquarters, and they gathered the whole battalion before him. And they stripped him and put a scarlet robe on him, and twisting together a crown of thorns, they put it on his head and put a reed in his right hand. And kneeling before him, they mocked him, saying, "Hail, King of the Jews!" And they spit on him and took the reed and struck him on the head. And when they had mocked him, they stripped him of the robe and put his own clothes on him and lead him away to crucify him."
Matthew 27:27-31 ESV

Sometimes in life, people stop reading the story right here. Sometimes it feels like this is actually the last verse. Like it's really the end. But it's not.

"Now after the Sabbath, toward the dawn of the first day of the week, Mary Magdalene and the other Mary went to see the tomb. And behold, there was a great earthquake, for an angel of the Lord descended from heaven and came and rolled back the stone and sat on it. His appearance was like lightning, and his clothing white as snow. And for fear of him the guards trembled and became like dead men. But the angel said to the women, 'Do not be afraid, for I know that you seek Jesus who was crucified. He is not here, for he has risen, as he said...'"
Matthew 28:1-6a ESV

The pain of watching Jesus go through such torture is depressing and sickening, at best. But you can't...I mean it--you can't stop there. The story goes on and there is hope and joy.

Sometimes in life the hope and joy aren't quite so radiant like the proclamation of an angel. In the midst of the flogging and the mocking, hope is a vapor and joy merely dust within it. Because pain and disappointment seem to darken everything else around. The hurt is real.

But so is the good.

I wait and hope patiently for my First Love,
knowing full well that there is healing.
Soon I will dance again, laugh again, smile again,
and completely
feel
the fullness
He promises.

Why God Will Always Out-fab Shakespeare

This won't be a new series because it's actually a life theme and hopefully comes out in a lot of my blog posts...

*God brings people into our lives to teach us new things and love us in new ways.
*God lets us have a really crappy night in order to teach us something about ourselves and Him.
*If during the crappy night, all you can do is cry and murmur "why?" over and over, its ok. God is still listening to you.
*When you keep wondering why God won't talk to you, you hear His still small voice saying "stay." That's all...just one word but with that word comes all the reassurance you really need.
*God is practical and won't leave you with just one word but speaks through others' encouragement and love.
*God has made others older and wiser so that we may learn from them.
*God doesn't measure our success in ministry by how much immediate fruit we see, but by whether or not we were faithful with the seeds he gave us to plant.
*If you aren't patient with a puzzle, you will get frustrated and walk away. If everything in your life is a different piece of the puzzle, you must likewise be patient with those things to see how they are going to fit. It's ok to take your time, set pieces down for a while, look at them in a hundred ways and still not know where they are supposed to go.

These were the events of my Saturday night. I felt like such a lame-o for sitting at home when the rest of the world was hanging out with friends and doing all sorts of normal Saturday night activities. But God knew that I needed to spend some time with Him. So He kept me home, which I was pissed about at the time. But in retrospect, I'm glad. Which all points back to my life-theme:

Life sucks sometimes...but God is good.

A New Series!!

So I've decided to begin a new series here on my blog, though in all likelihood I may never get around to posting a follow-up. We will call it...

Why Shakespeare is UberFab :)

This semester, I'm in a Shakespeare class that, at the pace of about a play a week, examines just how cool this cat really is. Today, I will discuss King Lear...because that's the play we're at right now. There are a couple of things that really stood out to me when I read it through the first time that I basically just want to post on here so that I can see if I have any pro-Shakespeare readers. Because I think he's wonderful, and you should too.

The King of France's speech in the play's first scene, praising his wife-to-be, just after she is banished and disinherited by her father for not flattering him:

Fairest Cordelia, that art most rich, being poor;
Most choice, forsaken; and most lov'd, despis'd!
Thee and thy virtues here I seize upon:
Be it lawful, I take up what's cast away.
Gods, gods! 'tis strange that from their cold'st neglect
My love should kindle to inflam'd respect--
Thy dowerless daughter, king, thrown to my chance,
Is queen of us, of ours, and our fair France:
Not all the dukes of waterish Burgundy
Can buy this unpriz'd precious maid of me--
Bid them farewell, Cordelia, though unkind:
Thou losest here, a better where to find.

Reading stuff like this reminds me why I generally kill my 6.2% feminist.

My other Shakespearian shout-out comes from Act IV, Scene III--nothing personally moving perhaps, but just a beautiful image of fighting back tears.

Ay, sir; she took them, read them in my presence;
And now and then an ample tear trill'd down
Her delicate cheek: it seem'd she was a queen
Over her passion; who, most rebel-like,
Sought to be king o'er her.

And this has been the Cliff's Notes fabulousness of Shakespeare, brought to you by yours truly.

Battling My Inner Feminist

Fact #1: Today I wore the gold shoes to my classes (see previous post).

Fact #2: Uncomfortable shoes make for uncomfortable feet.

So I start thinking (oh geez...not again...) about the feminist idea that fashion trends are a way to keep women oppressed--think Chinese foot-binding, corsetting, etc. Perhaps my shoes are oppressing me! I mean...I definitely can't walk very fast. I'm taking two steps for my usual one (for those of you who've never worn intense heels before, they help with posture because you have to stand up strait, but the downside is that you have to take much shorter steps), and I think I feel a monster of a blister developing on the pads of my feet because of the pressure focused on them. They are keeping me from functioning in life and that can't be good. Then my next question becomes, "Ok Mere, would you rather be physically attractive--yes, I know that fashion has nothing to do with real beauty, but go with me for a second--or useful?" My Inner Feminist instantly responds:

"Useful, of course!"

Then the other 93.8% of me takes a thoughtful pause. Useful? Word associations fly through my brain. Useful, in a physical sense, implies sex toy, cook, cleaning lady, and so on. So if that is my alternative to looking cute in great gold platforms, then I actually do prefer being physically attractive to physically useful. Well...maybe excepting the whole sex toy thing...but that's for a whole other post, my friends ;)

So my hypothesis: fashion is not directly correlated to women's oppression because it doesn't really oppress us. That is to say, we choose physical attractiveness because we are not as much concerned about being useful in a physical sense--we don't care about plowing a field or changing the oil in our cars. And if we do, we won't let the shoes get in the way. That's why we have old grubby tennis shoes...and workboots...and rain golashes...and sort of decent tennis shoes...and...yeah. Point is--women don't let clothing oppress them because we prefer to be considered valuable emotionally and intellectually, not for our brute strength. Plus, the uncomfortable but hot shoes are especially powerful for getting what we want because, let's be honest, using what your mama gave you is often the quickest route to success and power. Of course if you personally accuse me of this, you realize that I'm going to deny all charges...

Feminist Fashion Theory-0
Inner Feminist-0
The Rest of Me-2 (c'mon this was a good one...so I get double points)

I think I'm going to wear the purples shoes tomorrow.



*I just noticed that I'm obsessed with the parenthetical, elliptical, and dash-ical interjections. A gold star goes to whoever can tell me how many times I interrupt myself during my own story. I swear...I've got like eight people running around in my brain....uh...don't tell that to my doctor...

Shoes!!

I just needed to share my joy with the world over the shoes I bought on Sunday :)

The purple pair was only $5!!!

Reminds me of you...

Well every single time I see you I start to feel this way
It makes me wonder if I am ever gonna feel this way again.
There's a picture that's hangin in the back of my head
I see it over and over
I wanna hold you and love you
In my arms and then
I wanna need you
cuz I need to be with you till the end
Then I hear myself reply "You've got to hold it in" this time tonight

If only I had the guts to feel this way,
if only you'd look at me and want to stay,
if only I could take you in my arms and say,
I won't go cuz I need you

Sit here waiting, wondering, hoping that I'll make this right
Cuz all I think about is your hands, your face and all these lonely nights
There's a feeling screaming in the back of my head
Saying it over and over
I wanna hold you and love you
In my arms and then
I wanna need you
cuz I need to be with you till the end
Then I hear myself reply "[He'll] never let you in" this time tonight

If only I had the guts to feel this way,
if only you'd look at me and wanna stay,
f only I could take you in my arms and say,
I won't go cuz I need you
I wanna hear you say it'll always be this way

And we'll be hand in hand for everynight and everyday...

311 Video Report

This is a paper I had to write for one of my theatre classes on a film from the Spanish Golden Age. Like the huge dork I am, the more I worked on the paper, the more stoked I got about the movie I chose--so much so that I actually want to post the paper on here.

I include this here with a very reserved recommendation. While I thought the movie was incredible, there is a great deal of sexual content, so this definitely isn't something I'd recommend to most people I know. But for those of you art weirdos who dig bizzaro stuff like this, it's worth Netflixing (though I don't know if you can get it on DVD). Make sure you look for the 1986 version.

“To Stop Killing is to Stop Living”

The central force driving Diego Montes in Pedro Almodovar’s Matador could be summed up by this infamous line by Montes, a retired matador whose love for bull-fighting and sexual passion overlap in his fetish for killing his lovers during sex. When his mentally disturbed bullfighting student, Angel, turns himself in for several unsolved murders about which he hallucinates, Diego discovers his equal in the woman representing Angel’s case. An avid follower of Diego’s career, Maria, Angel’s lawyer, developed her murder technique, which involves stabbing her victims in the neck with a hairpin, to mimic Diego’s perfect bullfighting form. While the police investigate Angel’s case, Diego and Maria investigate each other, and all parties succeed in discovering the truth. The murders that Angel claimed were not his own, but visions of Diego’s crimes. As police follow Angel’s strange hallucinations to find the disappeared Diego, they come to Maria’s secret home—a shrine to Diego’s career—where the lovers have fled to consummate their passion. The story climaxes as they do. While Diego and Maria peak, the moon comes into full eclipse, and they watch each other die—mutual victims, mutual lovers.

Though released in 1986, Matador is a picturesque Spanish Golden Age production. As its plot dances through the mystery of a duel, a bullfight, and a love scene, Almodovar reveals the strong Spanish ideals that continue to drive present-day society, thus proving that such a mentality is not quite as archaic as one might think.

Even as the opening credits roll, Matador instantly establishes the connection between sex, murder, dance, and a bullfight. The film switches between clips of Diego explaining proper bullfighting technique and a woman, who we later learn is the lawyer Maria, seducing, sleeping with, and then slaying her lover, a terrible but beautiful “Dance of Death.” To a flamenco underscore, Diego and Maria perform nearly identical steps, building up to the moment where both victims, man and bull, die from a perfectly placed stab in the back of the neck. Maria’s obsession with Diego, fueled by the way his performances both arouse and inspire her, develops into her own style of bullfighting. The lovers even mimic a bullfight with each other, including horns and cape, as a part of their foreplay in the final scene. Like Spanish Golden Age theatre, sexuality permeates the piece in a way that challenges the boundaries of social acceptability. Though the Golden Age Spanish did not include full sex scenes in their plays, bringing out a blood soaked woman in nothing but a nightgown in Love After Death, was equally raunchy for the time. Besides blatant sexuality, Matador also includes strong innuendos. For example, Diego is well known for making amazing sausages, which he holds during the scene in which he initially sees Maria, then offers to her during their first meeting. Along with sex, Almodovar does not shy away from gore and violence, another strikingly Spanish element. Angel’s disturbing visions are filled with slaughter and dead bodies. While the violence and sexuality portrayed are initially shocking, the erotic undertone to the scenes makes them both repulsive and compelling. Like the Golden Age audience, a modern viewer is inappropriately turned on by the same material that he knows should be offensive.

As a balance to the passion and sexuality, Almodovar, like his theatrical ancestors, builds the story upon the foundational ideals of honor and the Catholic faith. While nearly all of the characters profess to be religious, only a few, like Angel’s mother, follow Catholicism closely. When pressed, most consider honor and passion to be more important than following all of the rules—better to live now and repent later. Also like multi-cultural Spain, this community adopts superstitions from traditions outside the church, like the idea that an eclipse portends danger. Especially for the central lovers, though, honor trumps religion. For instance, Maria, a traditional dama character type, holds such power through her intelligence and strength that the media considers her a “cold-blooded feminist,” and Angel’s mother accuses her of being an atheist. Like a Golden Age Spaniard, she prefers to die in the peak of glory than to be dishonored. In a way, Maria’s reputation as a lawyer and the secret pleasure she gets as a sexual matador constitute her honor, so as a way of preserving it, she prefers dying while taking her prize bull over being discovered for her crimes. For Montes, the same holds true. As he begins to understand that he will soon be charged for Angel’s alleged murders, Diego craves a dramatic, blazing finale. From their perspective, the lovers die well. Moreover, Diego’s dishonoring Angel by questioning his sexuality ignites the main action of the play. In a desperate response to prove himself a man, Angel tries to rape Diego’s girlfriend, Eva, in a darkly comical scene where he threatens her with a pocket knife. After several failed attempts to locate which part of the device is the actual knife, Angel ejaculates prematurely between her legs, a comically pathetic moment in an otherwise dramatic scene. Such Spanish blending of comedic elements into a tragedy helps balance the intensity of the subject matter.

Lastly, Matador includes the classic Don Juan archetype in both the characters of Diego and Angel, and to a strong degree in Maria. Diego Montes, however, exemplifies the most pure version of Don Juan as a famous, retired matador, who achieves greatness in all his ventures. Still as suave as ever, fans adore Montes. He succeeds as a bullfighting instructor and sausage maker, an obvious innuendo suggesting his sexual prowess, which is further confirmed by his utterly addicted girlfriend, the famous model Eva Soler. Like Tirso de Molina’s Don Juan, Diego seduces many women to the point that they recklessly submit to him. However, to more strongly shock his audiences, Almodovar allows Diego’s women to surrender more than just their sexual purity. In writing the story thus, Almodovar modifies the classic Spanish concept in order to test the boundaries of social toleration in the same way that parallel subjects would challenge Golden Age viewers. To further qualify Diego’s status, Almodovar uses Angel as a foil. As a “wannabe” Don Juan, Angel definitely has the sexual appeal, evidenced in how the psychiatric nurses are seduced by his charms despite the fact that he is rumored to be a serial murderer. Like Don Juan, they know his reputation, but fall for him anyway. However, unlike the teacher he idolizes, Angel’s weak stomach at the sight of blood undermines his masculinity. Arguably, Maria surpasses Angel in this, and though a woman, proves a powerful Don Juan herself. Clearly equal to Montes in seduction and murder, Maria even confronts Diego while using the men’s restroom and seems to take the lead in their double suicide. Bringing Montes into her chosen location and actually executing both suicides, she exemplifies a commanding Don Juan.

Still, comparisons of Almodovar’s classic could fill pages more. The “aggressively different” style defines classic “Spanish-ness” as it continues to pertain today. Forget Shakespeare, the Spanish have a truer grasp on romance. With lines like, “I’ve looked for you in all the men I’ve loved,” and “Nobody has ever kissed me like this—before now I’ve always made love alone,” viewers could only hope to find a love so intense. The lovers’ passion and eroticism nearly glorify their heinous crimes, solidifying this film within the ranks of Golden Age greats from centuries ago.

For the Ones Who'll Never Know

Did I disappoint you or let you down?
Should I be feeling guilty or let the judges frown?
'Cause I saw the end before we'd begun,
Yes I saw you were blinded and I knew I had won.
So I took what's mine by eternal right.
Took your soul out into the night.
It may be over but it won't stop there,
I am here for you if you'd only care.
You touched my heart you touched my soul.
You changed my life and all my goals.
And love is blind and that I knew when,
My heart was blinded by you.
I've kissed your lips and held your head.
Shared your dreams and shared your bed.
I know you well, I know your smell.
I've been addicted to you.

Goodbye my lover.
Goodbye my friend.
You have been the one.
You have been the one for me.

I am a dreamer but when I wake,
You can't break my spirit - it's my dreams you take.
And as you move on, remember me,
Remember us and all we used to be
I've seen you cry, I've seen you smile.
I've watched you sleeping for a while.
I'd be the father of your child.
I'd spend a lifetime with you.
I know your fears and you know mine.
We've had our doubts but now we're fine,
And I love you, I swear that's true.
I cannot live without you.

Goodbye my lover.
Goodbye my friend.
You have been the one.
You have been the one for me.

And I still hold your hand in mine.
In mine when I'm asleep.
And I will bear my soul in time,
When I'm kneeling at your feet.
Goodbye my lover.
Goodbye my friend.
You have been the one.
You have been the one for me.
I'm so hollow, baby, I'm so hollow.
I'm so, I'm so, I'm so hollow.

James Blunt

Because I'm on a roll...

I figured I'd go ahead and round out my posts for the day to three with some last minute thoughts:

*My daddy sent me beautiful flowers today because he is my Valentine. They are wonderful--no carnations or ugly greenery, with statice and wax flower as fillers, purple and red color scheme. My slightly snobby floral design side is greatly pleased :)

*Read a fabulous snippet of journalism this morning in an article about whether or not Shakespeare wrote his plays: "Of the man from Stratford we have only a sheaf of facts slimmer than a Gospel redacted by athiests." Fabulous analogy.

*My phone meowed during my discussion section today. Everyone looked confused then stared at me awkwardly.

*I finished class at 2. It's now five and all I've done is played on my computer. Perhaps I shall start on my homework. Although a nap sounds good...

A cool passage from 2 Samuel

But when David saw that his servants were whispering together, David understood that the child was dead. And David said to his servants, "Is the child dead?" They said, "He is dead." Then David arose from the earth and washed and anointed himself and changed his clothes. And he went into the house of the Lord and worshiped. He then went to his own house. And when he asked, they set food before him, and he ate.
Then his servants said to him, "What is this thing that you have done? You fasted and wept for the child while he was alive; but when the child died, you arose and ate food."
He said, "While the child was still alive, I fasted and wept, for I said, 'Who knows whether the Lord will be gracious to me, that the child may live?'
But now he is dead. Why should I fast? Can I bring him back again? I shall go to him, but he will not return to me."
II Samuel 12:19-23 ESV

An interesting perspective on death. It's amazing to see how David has peace about God's decision, and it makes me reflect back on how I feel when bad things happen to me. Is my first reaction like David's, to clean up and go worship God? Probably not. But the truth still stands: no matter how bad life gets, there is always joy in Christ and reason to praise Him.

My whole body aches...

...and no it has nothing to do with nights out in the barn with Pepe el Romano (shout out for that one goes to anyone who remembers Bernarda Alba--man I miss you guys).

It's Tuesday and I'm still feeling the effects of my weekend in my legs, back, and arms. Plus, my legs are all cut up and there's a tear in my nose piercing. And I feel absolutely fabulous.

I'll explain: for my birthday, my parents helped me pay for a weekend trip with the Quest to Mammoth to go skiing. It's been two years since I skied last, and it was totally killing me--I missed it so much! So on day one (Friday), Derek arrived at my house at 4:45 am to pick me up, then we headed over to Kimmie's to get her and Lauren. We rode up the five hours in his parent's minivan with the girls taking a row each in the back and Derek and I took the mom and dad seats up front. I felt especially maternal when we stopped for breakfast and I woke up the girls, who wanted to know if we were there yet. When we finally arrive, Kimmie and Derek did a half-day while Lauren and I had some great chat time in the village.

Injury Number One strikes the first evening, pre-mountain time. A group of us is sitting in the hot tub when Niko dares me to climb the metal fence next to us. In a moment of sheer brilliance, I reply, "I'll do it if you do it." So when he agrees, my pride won't let me go back on my words and the two of us climb on top of the railing, count to three, and jump. Mind you, I'm in my bathing suit right now, so it's very cold. His exact words were something about "face-planting" in the snow bank, but instead of attempting a full-on belly flop, I opt to pounce on my hands and knees, not at all worried about the fall (but rather the cold) because I assume the snow will give a little. It doesn't. By now, I'm shaking because it's freezing, but I manage to stand up and try to get down the fence. That's when I look down at my legs and realize there is blood all over them. Uh...awkward... For the first 30 minutes or so the pain is numbed by my pride and the amusement I feel in doing something stupid at the risk of my body's safety. For whatever reason, I kind of like the part of me that rashly and passionately attempts things without thinking them through. Kind of like Peter who jumps out of the boat to walk on the water to Jesus (when passion works in my favor) or draws his sword to cut off the ear of the guys trying to arrest Jesus (when passion makes me do something stupid on a whim--see also the teeth whitening and Nair incidents). But I digress...my second injury for the weekend comes a couple of hours later. Kimmie, Lauren and I have a room together in one of the condos where we share a king-sized bed. Around the time we are ready to go to sleep, Jared, Bryan, and Mike show up and want to come hang out. Somehow amidst all the talking, we get into a wrestling match (this happens to me much more often that you'd think) in which I lose my glasses. Just after I'm deprived of all sense of vision, my nose ring snags on something and Kimmie and I go tumbling into a heap on the floor. As I lie there partially winded, I ask if my nose is bleeding. It was...and not in the traditional I-got-punched-hard kind of way, but instead I've got USC cardinal dripping from the tiny diamond look-a-like. Not cool. Luckily it was only a small tear, which after rinsing by putting my face under the faucet, finally clotted and is now on it's way to healing. These events pretty much sum up my pre-mountain time on Friday.

On to day two...driving up to the mountain, I was almost in tears of joy and excitement. I got my skis and headed up with Derek, Bryan and Mike. Mike, who has been skiing with his instructor/father since he was five, gave me some tips on perfecting my form. By the end of the day, I was markedly better and VERY sore/exhausted. Kimmie joined us in the afternoon, but we lost Derek to the ski patrol on the last run of the day. No...he wasn't injured...but he had to fill out a report about the poor girl he bashed in the back, full-speed. To his credit, she cut right in front of him at the last second, and there was no way for him to avoid a collision except to yell, "Watch out!" after it was already too late. She ended up ok, though, and we finally got to the car to head home. The evening was filled with great conversations and worship time with the rest of the group. I probably hit my bed around 2.

Day three started a little slower. I already had a full day pass for Sunday, but no one in my group was going in the morning. No need to waste a good day of skiing, I headed out on my own (hope Mom and Dad aren't reading this). With my iPod as company, I attacked the mountain good and hard. Really hard, actually. I didn't really pay attention to the map, but just followed trails and lifts that looked fun. So I get around to lift 9, which if you know Mammoth you will notice as foreshadowing what comes next, and as I'm riding up, I look down at the runs below me. I see trees. And if you know me, you know that there's nothing I love more than cruising the tree line. I plan to take that run, and at the top, I turn left, disregarding the Experts Only sign, thinking, I'm good at trees...this won't be too bad. Well it wasn't...once I got down to the actual trees. The first part, however, was miserable--super steep with intense moguls. To really do the run properly required great form (read: holding self in a wall-sit position, sans the wall), which nearly killed my already dead legs. After finally making it down--without crying, by the way--I opted to chose a different lift and moved to slopes that were more my size. Lunch came and went, then Mike and Bryan called to meet up with me. We cruised the gondola for a run at the peak, which Mike promised would be easier for me than I expected it to be. Really, he was right about it being easy for me...it didn't turn out quite so easy for him though. He went ahead of me to coach me down and I started wide turns. It sort of went like this:
"Mike there's no way I can do this. I'm getting freaked out."
"Meredith. You can do this. You're fine."
Mere makes a turn, loses control, loses confidence, and keels over on her side.
"It's really steep, Mike. I've lost all confidence."
"You can do this!"
Mere makes another turn, keeps slight control, coasts way-the-hell across the mountain, tries for another turn, same thing.
"Ok, Meredith, make another turn and come down to where I'm standing."
And this is where the story gets fun...I'm turning and speeding up, so I cut parallel to the mountain, again planning to coast as long as it takes to slow me down. Thinking I'll cut right above Mike, I head his direction, only what I don't realize is that I'm sliding downward much more than it seems, which sets me on a bee-line strait into Mike.
"You're ok Meredith. I got you."
But he didn't. I guess technically I got him. I slid pretty fast into him and took out his legs. We were a mass of skis, poles, legs, and perfectly shaped eyebrows. I half expected to pick up snow and roll all the way to the bottom of the mountain as a massive snowball like they always do in cartoons. No such luck. We did manage to skid about thirty feet or so and I lost a ski and a pole. A nice man picked up my pole to bring it down to me. Then his ten year old daughter came down with my ski. Awkward. The rest of the way down went fine. Mike opted to go all the way to the bottom so I wouldn't hit him again. So I guess this means I'm a fairly competent skier...just not so good with obstacles... We finished up the day with some more blue/blacks and I did a great black mogul run and found that I actually kind of like them. After the lifts closed, we maneuvered back to the Lodge where my final mountain moment involved the wind over-drying my contacts so much that they shriveled almost to clover shape and I had to ditch them. Half blind, we gondola-ed back to the village where I soothed my sad self with Starbucks.

Thus ends our adventures up at Mammoth. Expensive but well worth it. Arguably the best birthday ever.

19 + 1

Holy geez I'm old!!!

Another Nugget from 311

Today's quote from my Theatre 311 class comes to us from a 17th century lady, Sor Juana Ines de la Cruz, spoken about her choice to join a monastery:

"A single woman is like a white wall on which everybody wants to smear a mark."

um....ok??

Thank you Los Angeles culture. Thank you Paul Backer. And thank you Pessimism.

A Better Day

Woke up on time.
Spent some time in prayer.
Read from the book of Joshua.
Made coffee.
Checked email.
Still left for class on time.

It's the little things.

I have completely lost my mind.

Meredith's press rep refused to confirm or deny the charges and declined to make any further comments.

What happens when Mere gets bored on a Thursday night...

I'm calling this "The Camera Adds Ten Pounds" and I dedicate it to my sister who always discovers something different in artwork.

I'm eating rice with butter and sugar

No really--family tradition. It's good stuff. Don't knock it before you try it.

In other news, I should be working on my paper but since it isn't due tomorrow, I feel little need to do it today. Perhaps I will attempt some sort of outline later...

Anyways, this post is going to be a bit less philosophical (sorry to those of you who were looking for some sort of wisdom a la Mere) but just a this-is-what-I've-been-up-to post.

Last weekend I went on a retreat with my fellow Bible study leaders, which totally rocked. We spent the weekend relaxing and listening to life stories. Then on Saturday night, we did written and verbal affirmations. I think this was my favorite part--not so much because I enjoy being praised (actually, it sort of freaks me out), but it was so encouraging to know that the other girls actually like me. What's that all about? Why is it I have such a fear of being liked? There's definitely a part of me that has always yearned to be as perfect as possible so that no one could find a fault in me that would make them deny God. It was as if I had to be as perfect as possible if they were going to see God in me. I know now that more often that not, that is less of a motivation to seek God, and more of a condemnation of me for being self-righteous. I'm learning now to share Christ through my weakness, but there is still something inside that wonders, am I good enough? If Christ's strength is made perfect in my weakness, why do I feel like I still have to strive so hard for approval from others? It's a proven fact that those who rise to leadership socially and in the work place are generally attractive people (physically and in their personality) because people would rather follow someone they'd want to be more like. So how does that translate for me? Is it possible that God would use my appearance and personality do draw people to me, so that I can point them to Christ? And why does that theory seem so self-centered?

I guess what I've come to (a rough theory) is that since Christ made us who we are, he will use us as such. That is to say, if we have an especially quick wit or high intelligence, he uses those if we let him. Really, it comes back to the fact that anything we are is a gift from God. When treated as such, my personality is not useful to win people because I am fabulous or something, but instead God gave me such a personality because he wanted to work through it. The big question is, when we are praised, do we look to ourselves for credit or point to Christ?

Really if I think about it, I shouldn't feel weird receiving affirmations or encouraging words from others because they affirm things about me that I could never have developed on my own. If there is anything in me worth praise, it is there because Christ is alive in me.

Ok--so much for not trying to be philosophical. I think too much..

Anyways, on Sunday evening, I went out with a few friends after church and we got into a discussion about dating vs. hanging out. Let me tell you--it was pretty intense. The problem we wanted to solve was how guys and girls can be less ambiguous about initiating so that they are not leading someone on. For instance, when a guy says, "we should hang out," what exactly does that mean? Does he want to take me out on a date? Does he want to hang out as friends? Does he want it to be a group thing? It can be kind of hard to tell. Well we got into all sorts of do's and don't's such as, guys (or girls) can be more intentional in the way that ask you out if they want it to be a date (can I take you out sometime?), or the receiver can avert a date situation by suggesting friends come along, and so forth. What I really want to get at is the reason why all of this is so difficult. Honestly, I'd be completely happy if my parents wanted to arrange a marriage for me. They know me well, and I trust them to pick the sort of person that would make a good match for me (read: not the highest bidder). However, I really have no right to complain about how complicated it has all gotten in the past couple of years because I'm the one complicating it.

My problem is that I have forgotten my first Love. Some days feel lonely, so I get more desperate to "try out" any guy that seems interested--even if I'm not too impressed so far, I might have misjudged him, so I don't want to discount him just yet. Really though...I know what I want. It's been almost the same since our first dating talks in junior high. Granted, I had no clue back then, but when I said I wanted a man of Godly character, I meant it, even if I didn't quite know how that would look. As time goes by, I am better able to define those characteristics and distinguish them in guys I meet. Point is, am I really trying not to be judgmental by going out with random guys just to "check them out" or am I just making excuses to receive the attention that a date brings? Yikes...kind of convicting. At this point in life, my priorities are more about building friendship relationships and serving at church (or elsewhere)--oh yeah, there's school too--so going out with a new guy is probably more of a dating "fix" for me. What I really want is not just someone that may be cool somewhere deep inside if I really dig for it, but someone who really intrigues me.

Alright, so what does that look like for me? Well if you ever read any of my stuff, you might pick up on the fact that I kind of like God. He's like...ultimate fab. It's not about looking cool or trying to be super-spiritual, but sometimes God gets me all sorts of riled up and I just have to share with other people the cool things he's done. So if that is what's most important to me, it's naturally the most important thing I look for in a guy. I want someone who gets excited with me when I talk about God. Someone who inspires and encourages me but also challenges me--in Christ. If I can't share what's at my core with him, we will never really connect. Obviously there are other things that I'd like to find--someone who is tall and musical, wants a family, and likes to cuddle--but those things are second and potentially compromiseable. The God Thing is the Main Thing. Without that, there's really no point as far as I'm concerned. I want someone who really turns my head.

Some additional thoughts:
Sorry if that was too Christian-y or bizarrely worded, but it's just how my mind works and what comes into my head, comes pretty much strait out, with little filtration.
A note for any male readers--not all girls think like this. I have no intention of representing the views of anyone but me, so it may not be to your advantage to apply these ideas to others.
Finally, this post is in no way intended to come across like a personal want ad, so please don't comment with any awkward theological discussions meant to impress. Because...yeah...that's.... awkward...

The person who can finish this quote may very well be my soulmate...

"What'd you wanna marry me for anyhow?"

Aslan's Country

So as cliche as it is to be one of the hundreds of people dusting off their set of the Chronicles of Narnia due to the release of the movie, I got the series for Christmas, and I just finished The Voyage of the Dawn Treader.

I don't quite know what it was about the ending (though I'll try to explain) but as the story drew to a close, God surprised, amazed, and delighted me so profoundly that I wept--purely and deeply--the sort of weeping that comes with a thousand indefinable emotions. I'm not going to quote anything because I don't know that the words from the page are really what did it, nor do I think this specific part will have a profound effect on everyone else. But something in those words reached down into the deepest part of me, and I knew it was God. Then the tears came, except they weren't really tears. One moment I was reading the fairy tale, then the next I gasped and the weeping began, full-force. It felt as though God intended me, Meredith Yvonne Cooper, to read those very words at that very moment, as if to say, "I hear your prayers, Beloved, and I know your deepest desires. Rest. I meet them." I was instantly humbled and broken. Who am I that God would speak to me so personally and so deeply?

It's moments like these that I wish I could capture and bottle to share with everyone else. This will have to do.

I believe in the power of prayer.

(Ok so to prevent having my man-hating blog entry be the first thing people see when they look at this page, I'm going to add a new post.)

I believe in the power of prayer.

One of the great blessings (of which there are many) that God gives us is the ability to talk to him and make our requests known to him. I fully believe that He hears our prayers, and when they are asked in pure faith, as our hearts seek after Him, they will be answered. I also believe that bearing others' burdens through prayer is a blessing. So many people have prayed over troubled times in my life, and God has been faithful to them and me.

So here are some things that have been on my heart and in my prayers lately:

* that the Lord would develop in the hearts of all the girls in my Bible study the desire to understand and know Him more, that we would be excited to spend time in the Word because it allows us to know Him more, and that we would seek together during our meetings to learn and understand the God that Paul describes in 1 Corinthians
* that the Lord would provide ten people to go to Sprachcamp this summer (ask me about this if you don't know what it is)
* that God would teach me how to find satisfaction and completion in Him, that I would learn patience and discernment in relationships with guys, and most of all that they would never consume more of my thoughts, energy, or time than God does.

Feel free to post your prayer requests on the comments section. I'd love to pray over you :)

I'm blaming this on how late it is right now

I hate men right now.

Please die.

Taming the "Don Juan"

In my Theatre 311 class, Paul Backer has been talking the last couple of weeks about the Don Juan archetype that runs through theatre history. For those unfamiliar with the term, Don Juan is this fabulously romantic guy who is mostly a huge womanizer--women are drawn to him because he has all the right lines and is so hot and suave and all those other things, and yet they are repulsed by him because they know that he loves em and leaves em. In the end, though, the woman always falls for Don Juan and convinces herself that this time he really does love her...which he does, but not for very long.

This story changes some throughout the years as different cultures look at life in different ways, but I think that Don Juans have been around through all of history and will never really die out. Why? Because we don't want them to. There's something in our nature that is intensely attracted to him.

Now before you start thinking this is another of Meredith's man-hating posts, I will be the first to admit that Don Juan is just as often a woman. I will get to more of that later, but for now I will refer to Don Juan as a him for simplicity's sake...only because I have never heard of a girl named Don or Juan and he's generally male in the stories we read in class.

So what is the attraction to this said Don Juan? I think this goes back to the way God designed us as humans. Don Juan promises adventure--he is passion in human form and sparks that part of us that desires to be a lead in an epic story. Everyone wants to have the type of life that would make a good movie or book--something with excitement, and that's what Don Juan offers, though he is dangerous. Though the practical side of us desires safety, there is something alluring about danger, so without the possibility of danger, nothing really seems that fab.

Now when we look at people, they seem to fall into two categories--the type you date (or in the worst cases, one-night stand as long as you don't have to talk to them) and the type you marry. Despite our adventurous side, we all have a practical side that wants to make sure we are secure, so for a lot of people, they come to a point in life where they give up Don Juan for Lame John because he'll help pay the bills and sit in the rocking chair next to you on the porch once you retire. And if you're lucky, there is a passionate or adventurous moment or two that could make for an adequate short story.

But if all of us yearn for the full epic, why do we settle for Dr. Seuss? I think it's because most of us have forgotten that there are all sorts of categories in between, different versions of the Don Take-Home-to-Your-Mom. Why are we as people confining ourselves to one group or the other? And I say "we" because I think a person's categorization is partly his or her own fault...or society or whoever you like to blame for inherent problems. This ties into my new theory about how Christian women need to learn to be sexy. I don't understand why society thinks you have to be a slut or a virgin...and I really don't think that's how God intended it to be. Inside all of us is a sexy, adventurous side that desperately needs air. Yes, it's important to be pure and holy, but God made sex for us to enjoy. It's supposed to be hot and dirrty (thank you Christina Aguilara for adding the extra r) and awesome--within certain confines. But for some reason passion is associated with sin and chastity is safe and holy, though mildly boring.

Though rare, I fully believe that there are people out there that are more of a blend of adventure and security. This part of life is definitely not black and white--and if all of us secretly want a "bad boy" why do we (as the Christian community) try to blot out all things sexual. This isn't an encouragement to foster sin, because the Bible clearly says there are certain things that are sin and are wrong. What I am suggesting is that we embrace and appreciate the nuances of our personalities and nature in Christ. Yes, I strive to be pure and holy. Yes, I'm a virgin. And yes, I want to wait until I'm married to have sex, but that doesn't make me a prude. Undoubtedly, there is a very sexual and playful and fun side of me--that God created--that will really please my husband someday.

Of course this still leaves us with the Don Juan problem. I, like everyone else, find myself strangely attracted to him, and a time or two, I've been the Don Juan myself. It happens. But like all good things in life, finding the right balance is best. Not everyone is quite so one-dimensional. And the cool thing about people is that we are all looking for a slightly personal blend (think your Starbucks' usual)--there's not really one personality that works for everyone. Though I'm not a big proponent of the whole "The One" theory, I think each of us is looking for a different combination of Don Juan and Ward Cleaver.

And as for me, I'm not so sick of Don Juan that I really want to give him up completely, but I'm certainly a little much for Dr. Seuss to handle ;)

I want the epic, with all the ups and downs--a real fairy tale. And it's not really my style to settle for less.

Wise words on the second day of class

I switched some stuff around so now I'm taking this Shakespeare class instead of acting, which makes my schedule a lot nicer because my Tues/Thurs classes are back to back and I can go home and get work done at 2 when I am done for the day.

Anyways, here was the highlight of today's classes, wise words from the title of a book:

Shakespeare is Hard...But so is Life

Carnike says its kind of a crappy book, but we'll give credit to the genius of its title.

Adventures!

So tonight Justine and I went on one of our fabulous adventures, which tonight found us on Hollywood Blvd. The purpose of the trip was to go get my nose pierced, but as always there were other fun adventures like getting mooned by some guy in a van and going up the seedy-looking stairs to the place where a very kind looking gentleman would soon jab a bit of medal into my flesh...

Overall, quite a successful journey. Here's me ^^ looking dorkishly excited (not to mention eyes watering) just after the event.

It didn't really even hurt too bad...but of course I'm not looking forward to the whole healing process. It's so small...maybe it will heal fast. *crosses fingers* Man I love college.

A part of me died tonight at the Rose Bowl...

So uh...great way to spend my last night in College Station...

I kind of want to die.

Narnia and the New Year

Tonight I went to see Narnia with my parents and sister--awesome movie...granted, not the most fabulous from a cinematic standpoint, but I adore the story, which I have also recently read. Being an allegory, it's one of those movies you really want to talk about after you've seen it to discuss the different aspects of the analogy...so here are a couple of my thoughts:

The characters of the children are really interesting because how they relate to their calling (to fight a war and be kings and queens of Narnia), the other creatures, and Aslan Himself (the Christ figure). I can see bits of myself in all of the characters, though what I thought was interesting was how certain male and female characteristics were displayed. Especially in the characters of Edmund and Lucy, the movie showed how certain male and female characteristics are used both for good and for temptation. For instance, Edmund's ego is arguably the driving force in his turning to the White Witch--he's angry with Peter and wants to prove he is better. Also, his selfishness in devouring the Turkish Delight and eagerness to become king tempt him to the dark side. However, in the end, his pride and desire for honor motivate him to fight the Witch, which ends up saving his brother's life and turning the tide of the battle. Lucy's feminine quality of caring finds her in a dangerous situation with Tumnus, who at first was going to kidnap her, but then her caring pushes the children further in their journey. It was all as if to say, God meets us where we're at. As men and women (or just people in general) we have certain traits and characteristics that often get us into trouble. But if we let Him, God can work in us in really cool ways, using those traits for His glory. Basically, He rocks.

The other part I noticed about the movie connects to my New Year's evaluation. Every New Year I evaluate myself in different areas in my journal--just to get an idea of where I am and to track where I've come. It's all dorkishly objective commentary in areas like physical, emotional, spiritual, relational and so on. I write about how I feel I'm doing in each area. Anyways, what I really noticed this year was that though I am not really satisfied with where I am in any of those areas, I am definitely "in process"--a term that Lyndsey uses that I've really picked up. It's not that I'm wallowing in dissatisfaction. I am finding myself mostly content with the fact that I know God is working in me. I'm not there yet (and I know I never will be) but I think if we can learn to see where we are going--what's ahead that we want to get to, without hating ourselves for being where we are right now, then that's what contentment means. I see where God has brought me if I look back, and am excited about where God is going to take me when I look ahead, which makes me happy with where I am right now. Accomplishment behind and an adventure before me makes right here a pretty cool place. This is all sort of funny because if I made a laundry list of the year, it would look kind of sketch and pretty pathetic at times. But through it all, God has been there, and He is good. So this brings me to the Narnia connection. I wish they had kept the dialogue just as it is written in the book, though moving the conversation to the end of the movie allowed it to really make a point. This is what I consider the best part of the book...as well as a bit of a life-theme for me:

"Is--is [Aslan] a man? asked Lucy.
"Aslan a man!" said Mr. Beaver sternly. "Certainly not. I tell you he is the King of the wood and the son of the great Emperor-beyond-the-Sea. Don't you know who is the King of Beasts? Aslan is a lion--the Lion, the great Lion."
"Ooh!" said Susan, "I'd thought he was a man. Is he--quite safe? I shall feel rather nervous about meeting a lion."
"That you will, dearie, and no mistake," said Mrs. Beaver; "if there's anyone who can appear before Aslan without their knees knocking, they're either braver than most or else just silly."
"Then he isn't safe?" said Lucy.
"Safe?" said Mr. Beaver; "don't you hear what Mrs. Beaver tells you? Who said anything about safe? 'Course he isn't safe. But he's good. He's the King, I tell you."
--C. S. Lewis, emphasis mine

Really, that's been my year--and a lot of my life. It's not so much safe, but God is good.

I wish blessings for you all this New Year :) I'll be back in Cali in a couple of days. Can't wait to see everyone!

Congrats Neil :)

Congratulations to my brother, Neil, on his graduation and (*Mere lets out a squeal of excitement*) ENGAGEMENT! His fiancee Christina is so fabulous and it is wonderful to see the two of them together. He totally deserves someone so awesome.

Not much philisophical today...we spent a few days in Florida to see Neil, Christina, and her parents (graduation, engagement, and such). Tomorrow I head to Tennessee to visit my grandparents. Not so much looking forward to the 15 hour road trip, but perhaps my mom and I will have some good chat time or something. I'm enjoying being home, although I do miss Cali and all my friends there...church, Bible study, not so much school...but whatever. Still kind of paranoid about finding out my grades from this semester. Should have gone to class more...

Love to all of you and blessings for a very Merry Christmas :)

Some Inspiration

"We tend to forget that our real gift is not so much what we can do, but who we are. The real question is not 'what can we offer each other?' but 'who can we be for each other?'."
--Henri Nouwen

This quote is currently hanging above my computer as a daily reminder that my focus should not be on the doing, but on the being. I am God's child.

Loved.

Redeemed.

Accepted.

Purified.

Safe.

How I respond to situations and the kinds of choices I make are a direct reflection of the values and focus in my life. So if I set that part strait, then I don't have to worry about all the life-decisions that tend to make us crazy.

Have you ever noticed that no one ever asks you, "what do you want to do when you grow up?" The question is usually phrased: "What do you want to be when you grow up?"

I want to be God's.

And I already am.

Some More on That Last One

First off...awesome comments. I love that people really read this :)

I guess I should clarify--I realize now that it's quite a beautiful thing that no other person will ever know me as intimately as God does, and I prefer it that way because if another person could actually live up to God in that way, logic would suggest that I would no longer need God. But that doesn't happen. People will always fall short, but God never does.

And on the other side of things, as pessimistic as I can be sometimes about relationships, I could name off at least five (if not more) guys that I think are absolutely incredible and I would date in an instant if they were interested. For now, I'm just waiting on the Lord's soveriegnty in that area of my life. And it really is great to have those kinds of guys as good friends for now. Of course, I do want to get married one day...but I'm ok where God has me right now. I'm learning in all things to be content...

:)

The Value of Being Alone

My Senior year of High School, we studied different acting methods during my theatre class--one of which basically said that all the emotional work actors usually do is crap, and all you should do is get on stage and just do the script--say what you're supposed to say and move like it says to move. I'm not sure exactly how this part tied in (we can all see how important I felt this method was), but part of the theory was about how in life we are never really connected to other people. I distinctly remember hearing Mr. Will say, "No matter how close you are to another person, they will never really know you." For a bunch of hormonal teenagers who were already full-fledged emo, it was a pretty intense statement that gave us all adequate motivation to wear all black the next day. Is that really true? Will I really go through life without anyone actually, genuinely knowing me? For most of those kids, that was a hard-to-swallow, harsh reality, but even as emo as I was my Senior year, I knew better. I knew that for me...it was always going to be ok, because even if no one on this earth could really know me to the deepest core, at least God could.

I'm seeing this theme resurface in my life...especially lately. I know I said just two blogs ago that I was giving up on talking about boys, but here we go again. Honestly, what do you expect? I'm a 19-year-old Southern girl who was socially conditioned to believe that I should be married in exactly two and a half years. Time is ticking...on a clock, I might add, that I believe I fed to a crocodile some time ago. (Captain Hook...anyone? ok...I tried.) Anyways, so here I am this naive little Texan dropped into a city that I don't really understand or fit into. And my head and my heart...and pretty much anyone else I talk to...are all telling me different things--conflicting with each other, conflicting with themselves. And I've done the dating thing and I've done the crush-on-a-guy-you-know-you-can't-get thing and a whole lot of other things that seemed like good ideas at the time. But all these things are never enough. They never have been and reason tells me, they never will.

So I come home one night and have this beautiful moment of clarity (which tends to happen every so often at the most bizarre hours): maybe I'm just one of those people who's meant to be alone forever. And this is one of those rare moments where that actually feels ok. I mean, one of my genuinely biggest fears has been the thought that I would graduate college not engaged. Where do I get crap like that? But in that moment I fully felt like God was enough. Really, it was so much more than that. Like if I had to chose one or the other, I really would prefer to have God than a man in my life. Which of course is the church answer that everyone is supposed to give--but I honestly could say it. Church-mask down, I really meant it. And that's kind of where I've been lately. God is so much more consoling and comforting than any man has ever been in my life. He's at my deepest core. I hear this at church all the time--God is all you need. He is enough. And I'm not sure why it is that I have such trouble really believing it. I mean...I've experienced it in my own life over and over. But right now I really feel like God is teaching me how wonderful it is to sit alone with Him. There's this Matt Wertz Song that puts is so beautifully. Here's a part of it...

6th and green is a warm place in November
When the air is cold and the leaves blow on the ground
And I don't think that I can even remember
Why it was that I came to this town.

Because I just want to be lonely tonight
Just me and my maker in this cold moonlight
I just want to be lonely tonight
With no one around to see the sight
Of me lying here

'Cause this is the hardest thing I've ever done before
I said this is the hardest thing I've ever done before
And I don't want to be lonely
But I won't be lonely tonight
Because my maker's holding me

I guess I sort of feel this way. Alone can be a really nice place. Because God is good. And despite all the crap--the stuff that happens that you wish wouldn't and the stuff you keep wishing for that just won't--He loves me. He really loves me.

Just me and my Maker...doing this life thing, for better or worse, till death do us more fully unite.

Getting away from the selfish

Sometimes the most wonderful thing in the world is to encourage someone else. I've noticed in a lot of my relationships, I'm the one with the issues and the drama that someone else is taking care of. Which, I'm not gonna lie...I kind of like. But there is truly nothing more wonderful than knowing that I was able to love and encourage someone else. There is so much inside of me that I want to share...especially when it comes to God. I have this love and this faith in me that you really can't explain--these God-moments that I wish I knew how to bottle so everyone could have a taste. It's like this intense reality...this moment of really understanding at a deep soul/heart/mind level that something I've read all my life in the Bible really is true. When I get a chance to share some kind of encouragement from the truth in God's Word it's really beautiful. A lot of people get up in arms when you try to "convert" them...but it's not like that. I know the reality of the God I worship. And it's something I love to share with people. I get like...God-giddy. Because what I feel and what I believe is so wonderful that I want other people to know and feel it too. Christian and non-Christian alike--I wish I was better able to explain it or portray it, but there's not an earthy way to do it.

There is a Fountain
Who is the King
Victorious Warrior
And Lord of everything
My Rock, my Shelter
My very Own
Blessed Redeemer
Who reigns upon the throne

Who can satisfy my soul like you? Who on earth could comfort me and love me like you do?

The Votes Are In...

Ok...so after taking a tally on the last blog (including some conversational commentary from a few people who I brought up the idea with) I'd have to say the results are inconclusive.

Men and Women are inconclusive.

Yeah...I don't think that sentence is quite grammatical or I used the word wrong there or something....I was technically going for dramatic effect, but I probably blew it on that one. Must make a note to brush up my writing skills. Apparently Writing 140 didn't do much for me...

Anyway, some things I think we can all agree on: we all play way too many games. Men have an uber rejection-complex, and they can't tell what we mean or what we are thinking or why we...(fill in the blank with basically any verb you like). And women can't figure out why we are so difficult to figure out. I mean, I think we are pretty easy to understand. Well I take that back, I think I am pretty easy to understand...yeah...who am I kidding...? I don't even understand me...so I really shouldn't expect a guy to. I kind of go back and forth on this topic. Some days I feel like I am blantantly obvious on how I feel and such, and other days I do weird stuff like cry for no reason. This probably contributes even more to male confusion. So how about this for a thesis statement--some days women are easy to understand. You just have to catch us on the right day. And if fates all align just perfectly, you might happen to ask out just the right girl at just the right time and wind up happily ever after. Encouraging? Maybe not...but at least we can all come to the happy (or irritating and obnoxious) conclusion that they won't ever get us and we won't ever get them. Now this fact, once conceded, allows us all to open up lines of communication. Though sometimes I wish I was ballsy enough to post somewhere exactly how I feel about each of the guys I know, I like to pretend my coyness has something to do with that whole "it's the guys' job to pursue" mentality. But I would also like to think that if anyone ever asked me strait up how I felt about them, or how I felt about anything really, I'd be honest about it. After all the drama I've been through in life, I've finally come to a place where I feel like I can pretty much be open about how I feel. (knock on wood) So I guess my advice on the whole guy/girl thing is, if you don't get it--ask. If you feel like asking is too scary, make one of your friends ask a friend of her friend's cousin. Sure you'll feel like you're back in Junior High, but if you want to know that badly, there are always ways to find things out.

And with that, I am going to conclude my rant on boys...for tonight and for a good while hence. I think the over-analyzing is starting to contribute to the problem. I'm going on another fast from talking about boys. I did this several weeks ago and it was really effective in reminding me to chill out, take things a day at a time, and rest in knowing that what happens happens. So for the next indeterminate amount of time, I'm not going to talk about boys or relationships (with regard to myself...I still want to know the dirt on everyone else...hey, I'm nosy...). Someone hold me to this...please?

Are Guys Really as Stupid as We Give Them Credit For?

Today I pose the question--are guys really as stupid as we give them credit for? I'm working on a new theory about boys, and here's kind of how it goes:

A common discussion among girls is how unbelievably ignorant guys can be about a girl liking them. For those of us with the perhaps more old-school mindset that the guy should be the one to pursue in a relationship, this can be very frustrating. It means we have to be all sneaky about letting them know we are interested, in hopes that they will ask us out...and there's only so much a girl can do to show interest without just flat out saying, "Hey, I like you." I, personally, have trouble believing that a guy wouldn't be able to tell that I am interested in him--in the same way that I can tell that another girl I meet thinks that I'm cool, I feel like it should be easy for a guy to tell that a girl thinks he's cool. Obviously, it's not quite as easy to tell if a girl considers you a marriage prospect just by how she acts around you--but at least at a basic level, you know whether or not you repulse her. Now, if dating is just about getting to know a person better whom you find interesting (I know this is debatable, but for the sake of this argument, we will consider it a premise), then basic intrigue should be all that is required in order to initiate. Herein lies the problem. I don't think guys are oblivious to whether or not a girl seems intrigued, interested, or whatever. I think men are perfectly capable of judging basic human inclinations. What they lack are the guts to act on them. So it's not that a guy can't tell that a girl thinks he's cool--it's just that he wants a more definitive confirmation that if he puts himself out there, she's not going to utterly reject and humiliate him. It's not that he can't tell that you like him...he's either "just not that into you" or he doesn't have the guts to do anything about it.

In order to clear up any confusion--I don't intend to come across as a man-hater, because I'm not (although some days, I border on it). I realize that it takes a lot for a guy to have the courage to ask a girl out--there's the whole pride/ego thing and when emotions get involved, there really is a lot at stake and I don't want to demean that. But I don't buy the idea that guys just can't tell that you are interested. Unless you are 25 and still playing the "I avoid the guy I'm into like the plague" game there are basic, human ways of indicating interest. And if a girl is showing interest in a normal way, then it's not the guy's stupidity that's preventing them from getting together--there's something else. You aren't going to know whether or not that girl is romantically interested unless you do something about it--so shy of her saying, "I think I want to have your children and grow old with you," there might be a little work required on your part to see if the relationship will go anywhere (provided she's the type like me who expects the guy to make the first move). At this point you evaluate--is it worth the risk? Are you interested in advancing the relationship enough to risk rejection?

So--this is the new boy theory I'm throwing out there, all summed up: the idea that a guy can't tell whether or not a girl likes him is a shabby excuse for not having the courage to ask a girl out.

Here's where I'd really like some opinions. Perhaps I'm totally out in left field here--are we girls really that hard to read? I mean...I can see it when we are in Junior High, but by college we should have matured enough to act like normal human beings around each other. Am I wrong? I feel like sometimes we are pressured in to acting as if we don't know someone likes us, as if admitting that would make us prideful or something--so we pretend not to notice. But come on--I can usually tell if a guy likes me. Granted, there's no way for me to know if he's going to act on that or not...but I can still tell, at least on a basic level, he kind of digs me. I guess if I find it fairly easy to tell, then I don't buy that no one else seems to notice as well.

Intimacy and Blogging

So this is a topic I've been mulling over the last couple of days--especially after all the jokes about Rhett and his blogging conference. I kind of wanted to write about it last night, but I opted to finish my midterm take-home essays first, then a friend of mine left me a message about my blog on IM, saying...

"is it weird knowing that people could get to know you, on a somewhat intimate level I might add, without you getting to know them at all?"

Yes. It is weird. But I think what makes the difference is that I don't feel like I'm being very personal on here. Most of the things I blog about are God-topics...which, even when they are kind of personal, I don't really mind throwing out there. I have this theory...when it comes to talking about God, I'd rather go ahead and share really personal stuff, if it means that it will somehow help someone else out. I have very few secrets--I'm usually more than willing to tell people exactly how I feel about things, if they only ask. But blogging about God, and even certain topics, to me, just doesn't really feel intimate. There are lots of subjects that I'm not going to rant about because I'm not especially fond of airing dirty laundry. Some things just shouldn't go published for all to see. And I think those are the kinds of things that people have to ask me about personally in order to really know.

That being said, I kind of hate that the things I write don't usually generate conversation. Even if/when people leave comments...it is still rather impersonal, and I don't particularly like that aspect of writing on here. Though there is a certain release that comes from getting my thoughts down. I really love to journal, but even when I write in my journal (which is supposed to be personal), I write as if some day someone will read what I have to say. I guess I always thought it would be something cool to share with my husband someday...though as time has passed, there are more and more bits that I don't particularly want to share with anyone. But I don't use this blog as a journal--so instead of chronicling what I've been up to, it more or less allows me to discuss life theories (because I seem to be coming up with new ones all the time) or comment on things I notice. And in that way, it allows me to put my ideas out there--which really aren't so much personal.

Again, I don't really feel like that was very coherent. Basically, I love to write out random stuff on here, as my mind is always churning on some new topic or I have some sort of experience with God that I can't help but share with anyone who will listen (PS--God is totally awesome). So maybe it's dorky...and it's probably just one more way that modern technology keeps us from having to have real conversations and connections with other humans...but I plan to keep it up anyways. Hopefully these ideas and conversations will go further than the computer screen and start real connections with people.

And if you're stalking me...learning all sorts of random secrets about me without me actually knowing you...then seriously, quit being creepy. Come talk to me. I'm more interesting in person anyway.

The Fabulous Girls of SC at Fall Retreat

We definitely made an awesome showing this year at retreat, and from experiencing Dena's first smore (granted, it was sort of fake--we had to use the microwave to make them) to getting a play by play of the Notre Dame game from Inge's sister on her cell, it was for sure a success and a great time of bonding with each other and with all the Quest-ers. I wish we could have all gone.

This weekend was especially good for me, as it came right between my two weeks of midterms. (I'm currently procrastinating on studying for my next one and finishing the take-home essays for today's...are we surprised?) It was such an excellent time of rest and fellowship. As the passage for the weekend came from John 15, I really got to experience abiding in Christ in a real way...few distractions and the solitude of nature. Here are my personal highlights...

*I met this guy named Grant who definitely went to Texas A&M, so we had this great College Station moment talking about places we liked to go. It was sort of dorky--yet way cool.

*There really is nothing like gloating about our AMAZING last-second victory in front of a bunch of Bruins...

*It snowed on Sunday, which was unbelievably cold, especially for little retard-me who didn't really pack for winter-esque weather. But I sucked it up and danced around in the falling flakes anyway.

*On a more God-level, I really enjoyed our small group time, especially the last time we met. We each shared a way in which we could testify personally to God working in our lives--this could probably warrant a new entry, but I'll just sum mine up in this one anyway...
For those that have heard my testimony, I've been through all sorts of crazy and gross drama--most everything you can think of, short of major drug addiction and jail time. But when I look at my life, those things don't really stand out as prominently as the fact that God has been so good to me. No matter what kinds of things I go through, God has constantly and consistently blessed me. He's there when it gets hard, and He is always surprising me with things I don't deserve: opportunities, material things, friends, and so on. So in all the yuck, I can still firmly stand on the truth that God is good. I hate my body and all the issues that come with it...but God is good. I hate how guys have treated me in the past...but God is so good. It's a peace and joy that I really wish I could pass on to other people.

*Saturday night's talk was really cool as well. At the end Lyndsey started setting up chairs and bowls of water, and, after being at Bel Air for a year now, I knew what was coming. I've done feet-washings a couple of times in my life...it's always a really bizarre experience. When Rhett got done talking, they invited the Bible study leaders and servant team up first, then we were given the opportunity to turn around and wash the others' feet. Something you have to understand about me in order to really get this--I HATE feet. That's only mostly true, I hate most feet. I think my feet are kind of cute. (I don't know if this makes me vain or just plain weird) But most feet I think are just gross or weird looking or some other negatively connotated term. However, when it comes to washing other people's feet, my personal biases go completely out the window. The idea of serving someone in such an intimate way is soo cool to me. I hate the idea of someone washing my feet (cute or not), but I don't mind serving someone else. But I knew that I had to humble myself to get my feet washed before I could wash someone else. It was awkward and uncomfortable, but it really gave me some insight into how the disciples must have felt when Jesus washed their feet. I felt really weird having Lyndsey (my Bible study leader and the women's intern at Quest) wash my feet just because I still kind of see her as my superior--but seriously, what would it have been like to have God Himself humbled at your feet, washing them--especially if you have uber-nasty feet like the disciples who walked everywhere in sandals. Whoa. I might have had a hernia. Who am I that the Creator of the universe would humble Himself to serve me...to die for me?

*Finally, the best God-moment was Saturday morning when we were all given the "assignment" to go off alone for 45 minutes with God. I found a big rock that sat high above part of a trail and looked out to the trees and mountain skyline. Wrapped up in my Mexican blanket, I let the strong winds blow the hair around my face--it was all a bit transcendent and so beautiful. The wind kept ripping through the trees in gusts and it reminded me of this passage:
1 Kings 19:11-12--"Then He said, 'Go out, and stand on the mountain before the Lord.' And behold, the Lord passed by, and a great and strong wind tore into the mountains and broke the rocks in pieces before the Lord, but the Lord was not in the wind; and after the wind an earthquake, but the Lord was not in the earthquake; and after the earthquake a fire, but the Lord was not in the fire; and after the fire a still small voice..."
So I sat there for a while, pondering the command, "Be still, and know that I am God," and listening for a still small voice. After living for a year in the middle of South Central Los Angeles, I have learned to appreciate nature in a very real sense. As I sat admiring the beauty of God's creation--I heard it. That still small voice. It wasn't audible, but it was very real. You know that voice inside your head that most people call their conscience? I think that's exactly how the Holy Spirit speaks to Christians. Well that voice, which I firmly believe is God's Spirit within me, said very clearly, "Meredith, if you think My creation is beautiful, imagine how beautiful I am." I totally got chills. I can't even imagine what it will be like to look on the face of God. Crazy.

Overall, lots of laughter and tears (it's not a good retreat unless somebody cries...), pictures, and memories that will last forever.

And with that ridiculously cheesy last line, I'm done for the night.

A New Delicacy

Peanut butter on a caramel rice cake. Enough said.

Am I really making life analogies about hair products...?

So yesterday while I was dying my hair (back to dark brown) I had a dramatic epiphany about my life. It was time to rinse and I stepped in the shower, and casually noticed my corner of shampoo, conditioners, body wash and so on. Right now, I'm in transition of shampoo and conditioner...I'm finishing off the last of the VO5 shampoo (conditioner is already gone...I go through it faster) and have already started on the new bottle of Fructis conditioner. I basically get a different kind of shampoo and conditioner each time I go to the store...depending on if something is on sale, if I have a coupon...or if it just seems to look particularly nice that day. This is when it hits me...I've discovered why I can't seem to commit to a real relationship with a guy...why my life always seems full of boy drama that never seems to actually go anywhere but in circles. I can't even commit to a shampoo. Or a haircolor for that matter. I like change. I like to try new things. I get bored and move on to another brand, another color, another anything.

This is a bad strategy to have with boys.

"Trying on" a lot of different guys like so many pairs of shoes is generally frowned upon in Christian circles, and since that is the pool from which I would prefer to date, this leaves me relatively up a creek. And it's not that I don't intend to buy a pair eventually...it's just that they are always a little too tall or short...not quite the perfect color...straps are just a bit wide or thin--something is always just enough off that I don't really want them. So I keep trying on different ones. I finish off the bottle of one brand of shampoo and move on to the next one that looks interesting. It's like some sort of sick cycle.

So it's at this moment, when I start to feel relatively emo, that all of a sudden I see a light at the end of the tunnel: my hair gel. Fructis Style Curl Shaping Spray Gel, to be exact. I discovered this stuff some time last year, and we totally clicked. It works exactly like I want it to whenever I am scrunching my hair. We meshed. We bonded. And now I don't buy any other product. Even though I have an occasional bad hair day with the stuff, I am still 100% committed to FSCSSG. We are living happily ever after.

All that to say, I am now confident that I do not have commitment issues. I just haven't found the right shampoo yet.

Or hair color.

...or boy.

But I suppose I don't mind much. I think hair gel is a good start.

Late, Late Night Thoughts on Art...

It's 5:30 am right now and I haven't gone to sleep yet. Was working on costume stuff for Shape. Kind of reminds me of high school--all those late nights finishing stuff uber late for the costume deadline the next morning. Mr. Will and Michelle used to get mad at me for stuff like that, but I hated to miss deadlines. Sometimes you do what you gotta do...right?

So at this point, I'm debating sleeping at all. I need to get up in an hour and a half anyways, and I think going on the adrenaline rush I've got going now will be more productive than sleeping only an hour. However, I don't know what I will do to fill the time. Then I'm pretty sure I'll get really bored during practice and fall asleep, which I'd prefer not to do. Lots of caffeine? One of these days my body is just going to give up on me. I should make an effort to get more sleep.

So my profound thought for the evening is what it means to be an artist. Not going to go into detail about what sparked this topic, but I've been thinking...one of the things I've always been adament about is having a broad definition of art. Some say that art is that which is appreciated. I would have to agree--but the appreciation doesn't necessarily have to come from a 3rd party. If you create art and you are the only one who finds it artistic...then it is still art, because it is art for you. It makes you feel something, it's your expression and you appreciate it for what it means to you, even if you are the only one who really understands it. This makes sense, yes, because honestly, how often to people really get art exactly in the way that the artist intended? Anyways...my new question is, what if the artist ceases to appreciate his own work? What if you get to a point in life where you quit thinking of yourself as an artist--you consider all your previous work to be false pretenses that someone finally saw through. Now you renounce yourself as an artist. What happens to your work? Is it really, therefore, not "art" since you have declared it not to be so? Maybe when you lose faith in yourself, you need someone to come along side you, to call your art what it is, to call your art beautiful, to understand it and appreciate it--and to help you come back around to that place where you can believe, create, and live again.