Waking the giant

Sleepy summer? Not quite. I've been running an experiment: Summer classes. Take five hot weeks of a Texas summer and pack fifteen weeks' worth of university-level coursework into them, then multiply by two, and you've got a year's worth of credit at the end of ten weeks PLUS one crazy mom (and two bored kids.)

Physics I and II. With a side of research assistance. Turned out it was a much bigger bite than I (or my family) could chew. The research was voluntary, so I dropped it after the first summer semester. Don't worry, I plan to return in the spring.

When I emerged last week after the last test for the summer, my country was fully embroiled in health care reform debate. Well, one side was calling the other side anything from organized thugs and Nazis to just plain rude, and the other side was loudly raising concerns of Socialism, government-subsidized abortion and assisted suicide. Needless to say, my interest is piqued. And so it should be, if for no other reason but the selfish: my future is intimately interwoven with and impacted by this legislation.

I know full well there are half-truths and exaggerations on both ends of the spectrum. I am not naive enough to believe that the government is all good or all evil -- nor are the people all making educated statements and stands. I can't believe everything I'm hearing from any media outlet, whether the source is "state-run news" or a "fair-and-balanced" cable network.

So I've taken the challenge to actually read the bill myself. I know I'm far from the first citizen to accept this challenge. I'm not even the first member of my household to do this; my husband has already started sharing his insights after doing some reading. I'll put his influential words on the back burner, however, while I look into it myself. Incidentally, Congress is populated by a bunch of windbags that like to write as much as they talk. My back and rear end are already sore from sitting here in front of my laptop, and I've only started. (It might be a long day.) And while I know that my views won't change the world, I feel I have a unique opportunity and responsibility to add my voice to the conversation. It is a pre-med student's voice, after all, and one that should have some knowledgeable words to share.

I've already formed some opinions, but won't share until I have the let them bake with the facts and solidify into truly beneficial viewpoints.

I will, however, say this. It is apparent from the well-attended town meetings occurring all over the nation that the American people are concerned enough to finally participate in our democracy. We're no longer content with drowsily settling with whatever our government decides is best for us, which is really what massive lobbying firms convince them, through lavish spending and pampering, is best for their big-industry clients. If nothing else, this issue has awakened the sleeping giant, and we're not likely to be lulled back to slumber anytime soon.

At any rate, more to come...

Diagnosis

It has been a long, silent period for my blog. Man, how life gets simple in its stresses when absolutely all you have time to do (in order to not fail) is study!

At any rate, I'm breaking my silence now, on a Good Friday that has been especially reflective for me, to post an eye-opening article. Written by Dr. C. Truman Davis, it's an essay of sorts describing his research into the practice of crucifixion, specifically that of Jesus, and his diagnosis of the actual, immediate cause of death. He takes the reader through the physiological events in Jesus' body from Gethsemane to the cross, in addition to giving a bit of a clarifying history lesson.

Dr. Davis writes, "Jesus experienced hours of limitless pain, cycles of twisting, joint-rending cramps, intermittent partial asphyxiation, searing pain where tissue is torn from His lacerated back as He moves up and down against the rough timber. Then another agony begins -- a terrible crushing pain deep in the chest as the pericardium slowly fills with serum and begins to compress the heart. One remembers again the 22nd Psalm, the 14th verse: 'I am poured out like water, and all my bones are out of joint; my heart is like wax; it is melted in the midst of my bowels.'"

It's a tough read, to be sure. But a good one. I was just meditating on this yesterday, wondering what the actual cause of Jesus' death was, and assumed it was mainly attributable to blood loss. Dr. Davis consulted the medical texts and gives his diagnosis. I was partly right...

Help! New Creatures Living in My House!

A cursory search of my son's room turned up these inhabitants:

The feared and dreaded Dragon, threatening to chew up in his plastic jaws all that crossed his path.The fiercely brave Dragon Tamer, sent to capture and train the feared Dragon from the region called Lukesroom.Battle for control ensued, but the dragontamer's cunning strategy wore out the dragon, breaking him of his independent spirit that had made him dwell in the mountain alone and dreaded by all the villagers surrounding it. The Dragontamer approached...

...and the Dragon, with newly earned respect for the Tamer, submitted, and allowed him to mount and ride.

A new partnership, forged in the fires of competition and honor, was sealed as the Dragontamer shouts to his steed, "CHARGE!!!"

Queen Mom of the lands surrounding Lukesroom heaved a sigh of relief, breathing, "Phew, glad that's over!"

7.1

This is week one of my seventh semester at Texas State University. Or, as I'm calling it here, 7.1. My first semester was the perfect picture of me sticking my toe in the water before diving in; I took only six hours. Most semesters since then I've taken only 12-13 hours. My first two semesters were spent fulfilling core education requirements -- the stuff all majors require like history and English. It was during this time that I realized I accomplished so very little in my first college attempt, and thus, I was basically starting over.

My third semester was my first really serious challenge in the sciences: general chemistry, freshman biology (for majors), college algebra, and a philosophy class, and (oh, yeah) weight training (because heavy metal rocks!) That semester totalled 14 hours with labs and it nearly did me in, so I scaled back my hours the next semester. Oh, and I added a dance class for my second physical wellness requirement. Other classes included the second half of general chemistry, pre-calculus (which I took without taking the foundational trigonometry, mind you; if you're reading this before you've embarked upon your own education, don't make that mistake) and the core communications requirement -- a basically easy semester (except the math.)

At that point, I was still considering physical therapy, and dance was proving to be an intriguing therapeutic modality. At least that was my excuse to take TWO dance classes the following semester. I also enrolled in an athletic training class for the physical therapy requirements, calculus I, and an honors literature class. Only one class in the entire lineup fulfilled a medical school prerequisite. Pretty safe to say, an amazingly fun semester.

And an almost complete waste of time.

I shouldn't say that. I visited three medical schools that semester, convincing me that truly was the path I wanted to take. I got involved in TSU's premed society. And I learned a killer improvisational dance form. I had fun, and refreshed myself for the rest of my undergraduate matriculation.

Then last semester hit. That's when I started this blog, so if you've been observing faithfully, you pretty much know what that was: An uphill slog through knee-deep mud, complete with requisite bitching and moaning while I actively pulled my hair out and scared my children with my manic study habits. At least that's how the first part of it went. I must say, I think I ended rather well. Now I'm a full-fledged premed student, logging hours in classes such as microbiology, genetics, physics, and more organic chemistry.

This point of this inventory? I'm glad you ask:

I returned to university six semesters ago. I have enough college credit hours to be a senior ready to graduate this calendar year. Yet, for all intents and purposes, I am a sophomore. My projected graduation date is in December of 2011. About five months after my 40th birthday.

*sigh*

College is a different journey when undertaken several years into life, and you have passengers along for the ride. There are advantages and disadvantages. The advantages include an undying fascination with the subject matter. Any subject matter. I am a woman starved in the midst of famine, and my classes are a veritable feast that I can't stop myself from gorging on. I am still amazed at how much I enjoyed math and chemistry (my parents marvel at that, too; you wouldn't believe the looks they give me when I tell them how much I'm digging this stuff.) I am pursuing my education with a purpose. I'm not looking for myself, because I've already found her. I can see the end, and am taking steps with purpose towards it. I have a plan, and I'm doing the plan, so each semester I can tick off as one step closer to finishing it.

Not only am I interested, I appreciate the financial commitment I've made. I have a professor that put it this way: education is the only business in which the customer (the student) will pay full price for a product/service, but will gladly accept less than full service/product. But not me; being a more experienced consumer, I will eek every last cent out of my purchase. I attend every lecture, every study session, every lab. I put in extra time reading and studying. And that professor's comments helped me realize that I'm paying for knowledge, not a piece of paper, and not a good grade. That tidbit will help me focus on even more effective study habits.

Now, the disadvantages:

• I am older than several of my professors, and all of my lab instructors.
• My peers call me "ma'am."
• I can't take as many semester hours as other science/pre-professional students due to family commitments and schedules, nor can I attend all the organizational meetings. This will make my undergrad tenure longer than others in this major.
• I can't live in an apartment near campus, so my commute is a bit further.
• I occasionally have to listen to complaints from my children that I'm spending more time with textbooks than I am with them. Consequently, I have to battle mommy-guilt for that.
• I can no longer "pull an all-nighter" when I want, but when I don't want to "pull an all-nighter," I am visited by hormone-induced insomnia and do anyway.
• There's more laundry, more dishes, more cooking, more chores here than in the typical college student's home. Also more noise, more distraction... just, more.

Alas, at the end of this second inventory, I am convinced that the advantages (although they're fewer in number) far outweigh the disadvantages (because they're bigger.) And I'm convinced that every disadvantage has an accompanying advantage that wipes it out.

7.1 may not be as close to the end of my undergrad as it would be to Someone Else's, but it's right where I need to be. And I'm ready to face it head-on.

Come on, lucky seven!

Thankful

Today I am relishing my last day of domesticity and family calm before tomorrow brings the whirlwind of activity known as Mom's Semester. Most of my books are in. My schedule is printed and ready. I'm doing a few home projects that I know I won't have time for once I get rolling academically again, namely laundry, changing bed linens, cleaning the floors... you know, all the household fluff jobs that don't have to be done.

I'm kidding -- I know laundry is necessary, and clean sheets are a must, but I also know that I don't get to these tasks nearly often as I should when I'm in the throes of a busy semester.

Last night we had several dear friends over for steaks. I termed the night my Final Fling. I said good night to each family at the door with, "Thank you for coming -- see you in the summer!" Of course it's an exaggeration, but only by a little. It seems that all my schedule can hold while class is in session is homework and studying, classes, academic organization meetings, and family (sadly, in that order.)

It may not sound like it to the poor stranger stumbling into my blog, but I am thankful for the opportunity to be pursuing my education. Although I had a job that I liked, I am glad that we took the opportunity that presented itself five years ago to get off the double-income hamster wheel. Not that a career isn't a worthy thing for a woman to have; a career is what I'm ultimately after here. But I was working because I had to work, and our family was paying for it in stress, tight schedules, and day care tuition. Other people were raising our children so that I could continue working in a job that I pretty much stumbled into. It wasn't the career of my dreams or goals, and it finally became a cage that I was glad to escape.

Finding your calling in life and pursuing it is such an exhilarating process. And I'm aware of how fortunate I am to have the freedom to do that. Sure, the prep work (aka my education) is a long arduous process, and I'm only in the first phase of it. But each day I get out of bed, knowing that I am really living! And for that, I'm thankful. That, and these things:

I am a woman obtaining higher education. I live in a country that does not forbid its women to learn to read, or to work outside of their home. I live in a country in a stretched economic period, yet my husband has a steady job (that isn't threatened by cutbacks) that he enjoys, at which he excels, allowing me to go to school instead of work to supplement the family's income. My husband has great favor in his career, and I have great favor with my husband. I have a husband who supports me and my goals. I am married to my best friend, my biggest fan, my business partner, and the hottest guy I ever dated. I am so thankful!

My boys understand what I'm doing and support me, too. Once, when I was feeling a bit overwhelmed with all the studies and decisions and responsibilities taking my time away from the kids (and the guilt that comes with those things) I remember telling Nate how hard this whole college-thing was. Lucky Nate gets to hear some of my thinking-out-loud; I started running down medical career options that didn't take as big a commitment as MD does. Nate thought for a second, then asked, "But you want to be a doctor, right?" "Yes," I responded. "Then you can do it. Don't settle, Mom"

See how blessed I am? I am so thankful!

I have friends that believe in me and believe for me to journey well on this path I've chosen. Although my best friend made sniffily-sad faces a few times yesterday as we talked about the upcoming semester -- all in jest (I think) -- I know she is cheering me on. She provides a warm, safe second home to my boys when work takes dad and school takes me. She provides encouragement and a listening ear when I lament an impossibly difficult class. She prays for me, and I for her. And when the semester is done, we take at least one day, just the two of us, and play. No kids, no husbands, just girls. For her, for all my friends, and for those days with them, I am so thankful!

And tomorrow, I'll start a challenging semester of stretching my skull so that my brain can hold more. I'll be one more step closer to my undergraduate degree, medical school, and my destiny. I'll have yet another chance to meet new people, influence them well, and encourage them to be their best as I endeavor to be mine.

Yes, I'm thankful.

Why Basic Physics Bothered Me

*Light bulb moment.* I am having an epiphany...

Receiving a Basic Physics primer -- a textbook -- from the man that I love is like getting a vacuum cleaner from him for your anniversary. You may have needed that vacuum. There may be so much accumulation on the carpet that even the dog is afraid to walk on it. But if the vacuum comes gift wrapped and labeled with a card that says, "Happy Anniversary, Honey -- I love you!" it won't be appreciated.

Not that I can clean my floors with Basic Physics (although that would be a great application for physicists to explore) but the affect is the same.

"But," I hear you saying, "he didn't wrap it and give it on Christmas. He gave it to you nonchalantly, after work, like a grocery list. Something you need, something helpful."

True. Score one for hubby.

"It also shows he supports you," you continue. "He's rooting for you to ace physics. He wants you to feel comfortable with it when you're taking it for the first time at 37 years of age, unlike the traditional sophomores in your class that had it in high school just a couple of years ago."

True again. Score another for hubby.

"AND," you say, "he knows you're multifaceted. You enjoy jewelry, fiction, art, music, and science. Would you rather him give you gifts of fleeting beauty all the time??"

True again. Score another for hubby.

I'm hiding my face in shame now...

Basic Physics rocks! What a great book! I so appreciate this gift, I think I'll read it...

*hmpph! so much for epiphanies*

Blah Blah Blah...

Okay, enough of the deep thoughts of yesterday. Enough of the stream-of-conscious book reviews, etc. I recognize that my previous posts have gotten a bit too -- well, philosophical -- too far adrift from the original premise of this blog.

This is a blog, after all, not a manifesto!

And it's a blog about going back to college with family (and dog, mortgage, and yard) in tow. It was meant to be fun, light, uplifting. A sort of Erma Bombeck meets Bridgette Jones in the non-traditional students' lounge. Not that I have an audience (except Eric, of course!) to disappoint by my drab mood. But in the spirit of a new year and renewing visions, I've decided to return to my roots.

In that light...

Hubby bought a book for me. Usually I *love* his book gifts. He knows my taste and interests. His timing is usually quite good. When I'm itching to sink my teeth into a juicy novel, he gives me Sarah Dunant. When I'm obsessed with history documentaries, he gives me 1776. He doesn't buy diet books for me (because he values his life) because he knows I buy those for myself.

This book, however, has shaken my confidence in his gift-giving prowess. He bought and presented to me Basic Physics: A Self-Teaching Guide. Gave it to me right after I finished finals. Right as I exited school mode and entered domestic-goddess mode.

I think he planned to wrap it and gift me with it on Christmas morning, but then thought twice about that (so he's not gone totally mad; confidence *mostly* restored.)

I can hear you saying, "I thought she liked physics?" "Why wouldn't she want this book?"

I'm glad you asked.

I do like physics. And I do want this book. I know as much as Hubby does how much I need to read this book. And I will. But right now I'm enjoying not being in school too much to think about what I need to do to prepare to be in school again. I am not in the swing. I jumped out of the swing after my bio final and ran, giggling and screaming in glee like a kid on the playground rushing for the monkey bars. I am so far out of the swing that I can barely remember the difference between an integral and a derivative (not that Mr. Calculus hasn't been trying to remind me!)

I had to take my truck to the dealership to get something fixed. I took this scintillating read, Basic Physics, with me knowing that I'd be doing time in the waiting room. I opened the book and, in true textbook-reading fashion, started at the beginning.

I didn't get past the foreword. Too much noise (and that old western on the television -- which is nicer than the one in my living room, by the way -- was much more interesting.) Too many other people with other interests and voices louder than a whisper (especially the over-stressed grandmother with two small children with her, trying to quiet them with McDonald's and who sighed loudly every time she realized it wasn't working.) Too much stinky-burnt coffee filling the air making me wish I had stopped at Starbucks on the way in. Too easily distracted -- that's me on winter break.

Next thing I know, my name was called, my truck was ready, and Basic Physics was shut for the day.

*sigh* I'll read it this week, as soon as Nate is back in school. As soon as the laundry is done and put away. As soon as I'm done casting around for the next project that I'd rather be doing than reading Basic Physics.

But right now, Basic Physics is so much Blah Blah Blah...

The Problem with Good and Evil

My previous post reminds me of a subject I've been mulling over after reading The Shack (read post here). The subject is good and evil. Actually, the subject is the human heart and judgment.

When I decide what is good and what is evil, I am making a very subjective but very real judgment. I determine whether an event, an opinion, a circumstance, even another person is good or bad based solely on an imperfect set of personal standards. My good is never exactly the same as someone else's. My "good" and my "bad" judgment calls are made based on how something or someone affects me.

Subjective? You bet. Broken? Absolutely.

Now take me and my judgments and place us in a crowd of thousands. Millions. Billions.

On October 12, 1999, the United Nations Population Division estimated that the human population exceeded six billion. That's 6,000,000,000,000 sets of beliefs, values, and principles. Six billion individuals, all with their own subjective list of standards by which they are determining what is good and what is evil. Absolutes are pretty much lost in all that subjectivity. Things like good and evil are no longer penultimate measures, they are opinions. But they are opinions that cause conflicts, wars, and desolation. Opinions that, since they have overwhelmed absolute standards, are baseless and empty. Baseless, empty opinions become death sentences for far too many.

When we decide what is good and what is evil based on our own standards, we make ourselves Judge. Yep, Capital J: We allow ourselves to play God. I'd love to play many roles, but deep in my heart of hearts, I don't want to play God. Only problem is, it's much harder to relinquish my "right" to judge things that affect me according to my standard and let the Holy Spirit guide me.

Israel thinks they are right. Many fundamental Christians think they are right. We Gentile believers are instructed in the Bible to "pray for the peace of Jerusalem." And I do.

But Palestine thinks they are right also. So do the majority of Middle Eastern countries. If one honestly listens to both sides of the argument -- remaining honestly neutral, taking into account culture and background -- one finds there is no right. There is no wrong.

Only opinions. That's a problem.

Hope?

I was almost in tears by this, definitely inspired. Regardless of governmental conflicts and disagreements, Palestinian and Israeli doctors are working together to perform life-saving heart surgeries for children free of charge.



It's all too easy to let a flicker of hope be quenched, however. After watching the video I scrolled down to user comments, as I normally do (you can get quite a laugh out of some of those posts!) There I found Palestinian and Israeli citizens flinging arguments at each other. Thankfully they were not in the same physical room, else they'd be flinging more than words. There was no room in their minds, crowded with anger and hurt, for reason or rational thought. The conflict is so long-standing, so ingrained, that it's MUCH easier to envision continued war and destruction than peace. Of course, the hard road is the best one to take. Hopefully the thousands of babies saved by this medical collaboration will remember the peaceful hands of cooperation that saved them when other hands in their countries wanted to kill.

Woman in Between

I get the Victoria's Secret catalog in the mail regularly. The swimsuit issue came yesterday, promptly, just like every January. Needing a bikini in January in Texas isn't so unbelievable, but I know that the same mailing goes out to customers in New York and Wisconsin (for all you naughty members of the local polar-bear winters-swim clubs!)

I read an article recently that stated Fashion (big F = the industry) wasn't quite so out-of-touch anymore and is no longer assuming that we're all rich and leisurely needing a new bikini for a winter's holiday in the Mediterranean. Well, maybe that was a forward-thinking Fashion article.

Anyway. That's not the subject of this post.

About midway through the annual VS swim catalog, I find several pages of the Pink line of bathing suits and casual clothing, all worn by teenage girls. Not even college-aged, but early high-school girls. It was all playful, not pouty and seductive like the more "mature" VS models (those in their 20s) that populate the rest of the catalog. But it still left me feeling very --

-- old. And without a place.

Where do women My Age shop for bathing suits and lingerie?

By My Age I mean in between. No longer young and lithe, but damned sure not old (and determined never to be old.) Working hard to remain fit and fabulous even while knocking on 40's door. Still fun and flirty, fashionably relevant, yet with the depth and diversity of interests brought by experience. Not willing to settle with St. John's Bay and Eddie Bauer, not willing to give my firstborn for Armani, and definitely not willing to shop the racks of flimsy pieces alongside, like, the teenage clientele at Buckle and Papaya.

These days my look says, "I'm too busy to spend a lot of time shopping." I'd rather my look would confidently state, "I am in control," but I'll settle for anything that doesn't say, "I'm trying too hard to look like those two decades younger than me," or, "I gave up mirrors when I turned 35."

Being surrounded by traditional college coeds all day doesn't really help my dilemma, either. My fashion sense is a tad skewed toward frayed jeans and graphic tees, since that's what I see day in, day out. I used to wear sleek suits and stylish heels. *sigh* Ha, try trudging up the hill twice a day dressed like that! My peers wear flip flops and house shoes to class, making my Pumas and Sketchers look formal. Still, I'd love the chance to dress My Age more, if only I weren't so confused as to how My Age should dress.

And now my lingerie catalog -- where I buy things to, well you know, help me feel like a woman -- is marketing to kids.

Whoever is in charge of dumbing down America seems to be younging us down as well.

Homecare

After one day back at school in 2009, Nate is home sick today. He somehow contracted strep throat over the holidays, fully manifesting at 3:00 pm Christmas Eve. I was fortunate to find a lone doctor on call, still in the office doing paperwork, though they had closed for the holiday at noon. He kindly waited for us to get there, around 4:30, like Santa with a stethoscope and a prescription pad.

Fortunately we weren't on the road for Christmas this year as we usually are. We're the only members of our family that live in our area; our closest relatives live no less than a three hours' drive away. In years past, when I would agonize in mother-guilt about the kids never being in their home to open their gifts on Christmas morning, Nate excitedly informed me that our holiday tradition was to always be at a different grandparent's house when Santa visits. It was like we offered St. Nick his annual challenge: To figure out where to find the boys and which chimney to come down with their gifts. Actually, he continued with a big grin, it's more of a challenge to figure out how to get to us at home, since we don't have a chimney!

Nate's always been a joker.

Anyway, they let me know, when we began discussing traveling plans for this year's holidays, that they'd like to be home this year. Our plans to travel to California fell through, so they got their wish. And then Nate got his semiannual bout of strep. A bit providential, I tend to think.

He just finished his round of antibiotics on Monday. On Tuesday at 3:45, he came in the front door and collapsed, exhausted from the returning rigors of sixth grade. Today, when he woke up, he announced that he felt like he weighed two tons, was extremely dizzy with a headache and sore throat -- again. Low-grade temperature. He goes back to bed, and I go to set an appointment with his doctor. We see her later this afternoon.

Part of me wonders if this is because of school. He confided in frustration about a month ago that he still wasn't adjusting to middle school very well, still feeling insecure, overwhelmed, and having some trouble with bullies. I asked him last night about the bullying situation. He said it was probably going to be better this semester, since he's been reporting it, and the teachers announced a stricter anti-bullying program yesterday. But still...

Granted, that's just a small part of me. His temp has climbed past 100 since this morning. His symptoms are real. I know the mind is a powerful thing, capable of convincing us that we're sick when we're not, but I'm sure it can't cause a fever by unconscious anxiety.

I wonder why I still tend to approach my kid's medical needs like a mother and not like a doctor. I always thought that, once I started off towards a career in medicine, that I'd start diagnosing and treating my family, avoiding doctors that make the kids uncomfortable or who office way across town, avoiding co-pays and ridiculous insurance issues. Back to reality, Corey -- you're still in undergrad! Not even a medical STUDENT yet, much less a physician. How are you going to do the pediatrician's job?! Besides, I'll always be their mom. Mom will always be my first title. Even when I'm a doctor, I'll be Dr. Mom. That's a given. I can see a whole village of kids calling me Dr. Mom in their native tongue, whatever that is. Hopefully it's Dr. Mom and not "dumb white woman," or "she who thinks she can help."

I need to get started preparing for the killer-I-mean-challenging semester of classes ahead of me. I have a physics refresher book waiting on my bookshelf for me to read before I start classes in a couple of weeks. Only it'll be a primer for me, not a refresher, as I've never taken a physics class before. I need to decide if I will drop one of the (ahem) *challenging* classes I've signed up for in favor of a lighter political science that I still need to pick up, one that will better fit my day without having to put the family through scheduling gymnastics. And of course, I still need to attempt to set up physician shadowing. But there's a little boy in my bathtub right now, caught between puberty and Pokemon, battling a bug that we can't see, feeling off balance physically and a bit emotionally by the changes surrounding him and taking over. Whether or not he will regularly admit it -- at least not as regularly as he admits how weird his parents are -- his face tells me he needs me today.

So while I can hear physics prep work calling me, and I can feel the semester's preparations -- textbook buying, schedule perfecting -- tugging on my conscience, I am Mom today. And I will always be Mom.

Nothing satisfies me more.

Bigger than Theology

I find myself needing to express something that I don't fully comprehend. I have come to my blog in a stream-of-conscious state of mind. I may not make much sense, and part of me thinks that's okay; after all, what difference does my sense make, anyway?

I try to avoid trends and fads, bandwagons and following the crowd. At least I like to think that I stand on my own feet, make my own decisions, form my own opinions. But in a world full of messages -- advertising in print and television, film and fiction -- and opinions flying about, from friends well-intentioned and pretend-friends with a product to sell, I wonder if I can actually call that the truth. I don't follow fashion trends to a tee (but I watch trends and adopt what I like.) I don't blindly take advice (unless I've decided to do so in advance.) I try to sift all information through my critical-thinking filter.

Sounds a little sceptical, even a tad cynical. I guess it is. Even when I'm not trying to be, I guess I'm a bit of the "I'll be the judge of that" persuasion. When books and movies are recommended to me, for example, I can sometimes feel a jade wall crop up in front of my eyes, upon which, "That's good for you, maybe..." is written. Recipes and fad diets are even more suspect. But perhaps the thing that renders me most uncertain and unreceptive is a spiritual recommendation. By that I mean must-read books and gotta-hear messages and ministers. The more often I hear about a book or a message, the further I retreat into my own fortress of resistance. I tell myself or the recommender that I intend to get around to it, but I really don't. In other words, I try to avoid bandwagons, big or small. The more persistent a trend is, the further I tend to run. I don't know why, I just do.

I have friends who rave about a life-changing work every time I see them. In fact, they rave about it to everyone, even those they're just meeting. I trust these friends, I respect them and their faithwalk. So you'd think I'd take the recommendation, right? I gave the mandatory response, "I keep meaning to buy that book." I never did.

Finally, sitting around their table at a New Year's Eve gathering, the question came up again:

"Have you read The Shack yet?"

"Not yet," I respond. "I will."

My friend got up from her seat, disappeared into her room, and emerged to place a paperback book on the table in front of me. As if to say, "There, now you have no excuse -- you must read this."

Two days later, during my holiday-cleanup, before I dived further into my extensive list of things to do, my body felt as if it were pressed into the floor. I became an energy void. My head began to ache, my nose and sinuses pounding. My joints stiffened almost imperceptibly. I looked at my husband, who had been nursing what the doctor later that day determined was a virus, with questioning-and-blaming eyes, to ask him again, "What are your symptoms?" He goes down the list. Yep, you've infected me. (Thanks, hon.)

Around 1:30 pm, when I should have been at the grocery store or sweeping or toting decoration boxes back up into the attic, I retired to my bed, the only place of comfort in my whole house. Lying there in misery I looked around with a moan on my lips, and saw that little book, The Shack, next to me.

Sometimes it takes a bit of incapacitation to make us sit still long enough to receive a gift, or something we need. Sometimes a virus is a blessing, a way to make us stop our frenzied life long enough to let our bodies and minds rest and our spirits heal. This time it took a wee little bug invading my body to make me seek solace in a good story.

I was pulled in and entranced straightaway. I have a friend who described Paradise Lost as such a good read, one that resonated with points of spiritual poignancy so vividly that she had to constantly remind herself it was fiction and not Scripture. While there is much in the personification of God in The Shack that doesn't encompass all of God's immensity, (what human words actually could?) I experienced that same resonance that my friend described within this new work's pages.

I'm sure that I will write more about it as I process it further, but I will end this post with a hearty recommendation. Any open heart that reads The Shack will close it in the end with a heart full of wonder and joy, and an overwhelming desire to know God in his mystery and splendor. If there's a better purpose to pursue in life, one that fully satisfies a person and everything/one that he/she touches, I haven't discovered it yet. Knowing God is bigger than doctrine, deeper than theology. Knowing God is having a relationship with God -- a real, vibrant, living and loving intimacy. One in which we know Him like He knows us.

So. My stream-of-conscious led to a book recommendation. I don't expect anyone to blindly accept it. But I know it wouldn't hurt. And I sure don't regret it. Not just for the reading, but for the conversation that the reading is sparking between me and my God. Any room on that bandwagon for more? I'm sure there is.