With classes wrapping up, my schedule is getting hellacious. For my own peace of mind, I'm making a to-do list; for your entertainment, I'm posting it here.
To-do today:
- 3 character lesson plans
- 17 annotated bibliographies
- in-service powerpoint for teachers & parents
- create mock counseling webpage
- powerpoint presentation on developmental theories
- one-page grant letter
- send in above
- organize curriculum DVD & burn for class
- pay honors society dues & pick up medal
- update CV
- turn in library books
- get oil changed
- grocery store
- run
- quiet time
Due on Wednesday:
- complete case notes
- weekly journals continued from last half of February (oops!)
- completed time log for CACREP
- organize & turn in binder with above
Once these things are behind me, I can focus on more exciting things in my near future: planning mine and Mom's trip to Italia (more on that later), Crawfish Boil Friday night, Avett Brothers Saturday night, Jordan's bachelorette party, actual trip to Italy... But for now: must. focus.
Tuesday, April 26, 2011
Friday, April 22, 2011
The Murder of Jesus
Although there's not really a holiday I don't love and believe in celebrating to the fullest, Easter is probably my favorite. Maybe it's the time of year: spring has sprung, flowers are beginning to bloom, the air is warming up, and, most importantly, gray winter is fading into nothing but a memory. Maybe it's the celebration of Christ's resurrection-- although Easter baskets brimming with prizes and candy seem to blur our motivations for celebrating. The reason we celebrate Easter is, after all, to celebrate Christ's victory over death, the payment of a debt we could not possibly pay.
I don't want to in any way undermine the resurrection. Obviously, as Christians, it is the linchpin of our salvation. I think, though, that we're quick to skip over the gruesomeness of the crucifixion in order to lighten our hearts with the hope offered in the resurrection-- admittedly, this is beyond awesome. But if we're not careful, it kind of belittles the miracle of the resurrection. Unconsciously, we start thinking of the resurrection as though Jesus just woke up from a power nap and slipped out of the tomb for a quick stroll. It's so easy to fast forward to the happy ending, what makes Good Friday so very, very good.
We are eternally indebted to our Savior for His glorious resurrection, for His perfect fulfillment of prophecy, but we would be remiss to gingerly look over the gory details of what happened on that heartbreaking Friday. After all, it didn't look very Good at first.
"Jesus had already been slapped and beaten repeatedly, even before He was delivered to Pilate, so his face was undoubtedly swollen and bleeding already. After the scourging, His back would be a mass of bleeding wounds and quivering muscles, and the robe they fashioned for Him would only add to the pain of those wounds. They stripped Him of His own garments, which suggests He was quite literally naked apart from the robe they fashioned for Him... They fashioned a crown of thorns... many varieties of these grow in Jerusalem to this day-- some with two-inch barbed quills that would penetrate deep into His head as the crown was pressed hard upon Him... Then, as the Jewish priests had done, they spat on Him, and one of them took the reed from his hand and used it to strike Him repeatedly on His head... Jesus knew these things were part of God's own plan for Him, so He suffered them all willingly, patiently, unpertubedly."
"A Roman cross large enough to crucify a grown man might weigh as much as two hundred pounds-- an extremely heavy load to bear in any circumstances. But for someone in Jesus' already weakened condition, it would be virtually impossible to drag such a load from the Praetorium to a place of crucifixion outside the walls of Jerusalem... The soldiers evidently grew impatient with Jesus' agonizing pace, and they grabbed Simon along the way... He [had been] arrested, beaten repeatedly, held without sleep all night, beaten some more, flogged by a Roman scourge, beaten and mocked again. After several hours of such sheer agony, combined with blood loss and shock, it is no wonder He was too weak to carry a two-hundred-pound cross to Calvary by Himself."
"The Romans... made sure that all crucifixions took place near major thoroughfares in order to make the condemned person a public example for all passersby. So Jesus' crucifixion took place outside the city, but in a heavily trafficked location carefully selected to make Him a public spectacle. "
"Apparently just before they nailed Him to the cross, the soldiers offered Him... myrrh, which acts as a mild narcotic. The soldiers may have offered it for its numbing effects just before they drove the nails through the flesh. When Jesus tasted what it was, He spat it out. He did not want His senses numbed. He had come to the cross to be a sin bearer, and He would feel the full effect of the sin He bore; He would endure the full measure of its pain."
"Christ would have been nailed to the cross as it lay flat on the ground. The nails used were long, tapered iron spikes, similar to modern railroad spikes, but much sharper. The nails had to be driven through the wrists (not the palms of the hands), because neither the tendons nor the bone structure in the hands could support the body's weight... Finally, a single nail would be driven through both feet, sometimes through the Achilles' tendons. After the victim was nailed in place, several soldiers would slowly elevate the top of the cross and carefully slide the foot into a deep posthole... causing the full weight of the body to be immediately borne by the nails in the wrists and feet."
A few "symptoms" of a crucifixion:
-lacerated veins and crushed tendons throbbing with incessant anguish
-arteries becoming swollen and oppressed with surcharged blood
-burning and raging thirst
-great waves of cramps sweeping over the muscles
-air can be drawn into the lungs, but cannot be exhaled, creating partial asphyxiation
I know this was long, and congrats if you made it through the devastating details. But when I read this book-- The Murder of Jesus by John MacArthur-- I felt convicted as never before to look the ultimate sacrifice dead in the eye and appreciate it for it's full worth; that is, the most horrific, humiliating, agonizing death imaginable... It makes the sacrifices that are asked of us-- a tithe, abstinence before marriage, treating our body as a temple, and so on-- look ridiculous in comparison. The way that He suffered in silence... the way that I moan and groan about the simplest of hardships... How great and wide and wonderful and inexplicable and undeserved and outrageous is the love that God has shown us not just through the resurrection of His precious Son, but through the murder of Jesus as well.
I don't want to in any way undermine the resurrection. Obviously, as Christians, it is the linchpin of our salvation. I think, though, that we're quick to skip over the gruesomeness of the crucifixion in order to lighten our hearts with the hope offered in the resurrection-- admittedly, this is beyond awesome. But if we're not careful, it kind of belittles the miracle of the resurrection. Unconsciously, we start thinking of the resurrection as though Jesus just woke up from a power nap and slipped out of the tomb for a quick stroll. It's so easy to fast forward to the happy ending, what makes Good Friday so very, very good.
We are eternally indebted to our Savior for His glorious resurrection, for His perfect fulfillment of prophecy, but we would be remiss to gingerly look over the gory details of what happened on that heartbreaking Friday. After all, it didn't look very Good at first.
"Jesus had already been slapped and beaten repeatedly, even before He was delivered to Pilate, so his face was undoubtedly swollen and bleeding already. After the scourging, His back would be a mass of bleeding wounds and quivering muscles, and the robe they fashioned for Him would only add to the pain of those wounds. They stripped Him of His own garments, which suggests He was quite literally naked apart from the robe they fashioned for Him... They fashioned a crown of thorns... many varieties of these grow in Jerusalem to this day-- some with two-inch barbed quills that would penetrate deep into His head as the crown was pressed hard upon Him... Then, as the Jewish priests had done, they spat on Him, and one of them took the reed from his hand and used it to strike Him repeatedly on His head... Jesus knew these things were part of God's own plan for Him, so He suffered them all willingly, patiently, unpertubedly."
"A Roman cross large enough to crucify a grown man might weigh as much as two hundred pounds-- an extremely heavy load to bear in any circumstances. But for someone in Jesus' already weakened condition, it would be virtually impossible to drag such a load from the Praetorium to a place of crucifixion outside the walls of Jerusalem... The soldiers evidently grew impatient with Jesus' agonizing pace, and they grabbed Simon along the way... He [had been] arrested, beaten repeatedly, held without sleep all night, beaten some more, flogged by a Roman scourge, beaten and mocked again. After several hours of such sheer agony, combined with blood loss and shock, it is no wonder He was too weak to carry a two-hundred-pound cross to Calvary by Himself."
"The Romans... made sure that all crucifixions took place near major thoroughfares in order to make the condemned person a public example for all passersby. So Jesus' crucifixion took place outside the city, but in a heavily trafficked location carefully selected to make Him a public spectacle. "
"Apparently just before they nailed Him to the cross, the soldiers offered Him... myrrh, which acts as a mild narcotic. The soldiers may have offered it for its numbing effects just before they drove the nails through the flesh. When Jesus tasted what it was, He spat it out. He did not want His senses numbed. He had come to the cross to be a sin bearer, and He would feel the full effect of the sin He bore; He would endure the full measure of its pain."
"Christ would have been nailed to the cross as it lay flat on the ground. The nails used were long, tapered iron spikes, similar to modern railroad spikes, but much sharper. The nails had to be driven through the wrists (not the palms of the hands), because neither the tendons nor the bone structure in the hands could support the body's weight... Finally, a single nail would be driven through both feet, sometimes through the Achilles' tendons. After the victim was nailed in place, several soldiers would slowly elevate the top of the cross and carefully slide the foot into a deep posthole... causing the full weight of the body to be immediately borne by the nails in the wrists and feet."
A few "symptoms" of a crucifixion:
-lacerated veins and crushed tendons throbbing with incessant anguish
-arteries becoming swollen and oppressed with surcharged blood
-burning and raging thirst
-great waves of cramps sweeping over the muscles
-air can be drawn into the lungs, but cannot be exhaled, creating partial asphyxiation
I know this was long, and congrats if you made it through the devastating details. But when I read this book-- The Murder of Jesus by John MacArthur-- I felt convicted as never before to look the ultimate sacrifice dead in the eye and appreciate it for it's full worth; that is, the most horrific, humiliating, agonizing death imaginable... It makes the sacrifices that are asked of us-- a tithe, abstinence before marriage, treating our body as a temple, and so on-- look ridiculous in comparison. The way that He suffered in silence... the way that I moan and groan about the simplest of hardships... How great and wide and wonderful and inexplicable and undeserved and outrageous is the love that God has shown us not just through the resurrection of His precious Son, but through the murder of Jesus as well.
Wednesday, April 20, 2011
She has a great personality.
Usually, that kind of comment is the kiss of death when recommending someone to another. With a little persuasion from Kat, I took a Myers Briggs-eque test this morning, and I've been pretty fascinated with the results. People in my field enjoy what we call "thinking about thinking"-- that is, we critically analyze our thoughts and perceptions constantly. Personality tests and assessments are fascinating to us, oftentimes because they confirm our own suspicions or encourage us to take another look. Here are my results:
Drum roll, please.
Drum roll, please.
Personality Type ENFJ
You are:
In whatever field they choose, Teachers consider people their highest priority, and they instinctively communicate personal concern and a willingness to become involved. Warmly outgoing, and perhaps the most expressive of all the types, Teachers are remarkably good with language, especially when communicating in speech, face to face. And they do not hesitate to speak out and let their feelings be known. Bubbling with enthusiasm, Teachers will voice their passions with dramatic flourish, and can, with practice, become charismatic public speakers. This verbal ability gives Teachers a good deal of influence in groups, and they are often asked to take a leadership role.- very expressed extravert
- moderately expressed intuitive personality
- moderately expressed feeling personality
- moderately expressed judging personality
Teachers like things settled and organized, and will schedule their work hours and social engagements well ahead of time -- and they are absolutely trustworthy in honoring these commitments. Valuing as they do interpersonal cooperation and harmonious relations, Teachers are extraordinarily tolerant of others, are easy to get along with, and are usually popular wherever they are.
Teachers are highly sensitive to others, which is to say their intuition tends to be well developed. Certainly their insight into themselves and others is unparalleled. Without a doubt, they know what is going on inside themselves, and they can read other people with uncanny accuracy. Teachers also identify with others quite easily, and will actually find themselves picking up the characteristics, emotions, and beliefs of those around them. Because they slip almost unconsciously into other people's skin in this way, Teachers feel closely connected with those around them, and thus show a sincere interest in the joys and problems of their employees, colleagues, students, clients, and loved ones.
ENFJs are the benevolent 'pedagogues' of humanity. They have tremendous charisma by which many are drawn into their nurturant tutelage and/or grand schemes. Many ENFJs have tremendous power to manipulate others with their phenomenal interpersonal skills and unique salesmanship. But it's usually not meant as manipulation -- ENFJs generally believe in their dreams, and see themselves as helpers and enablers, which they usually are.
ENFJs are global learners. They see the big picture. The ENFJs focus is expansive. Some can juggle an amazing number of responsibilities or projects simultaneously. Many ENFJs have tremendous entrepreneurial ability.
ENFJs know and appreciate people. Like most NFs, (and Feelers in general), they are apt to neglect themselves and their own needs for the needs of others. They have thinner psychological boundaries than most, and are at risk for being hurt or even abused by less sensitive people. ENFJs often take on more of the burdens of others than they can bear.
Extraverted Feeling rules the ENFJ's psyche. In the sway of this rational function, these folks are predisposed to closure in matters pertaining to people, and especially on behalf of their beloved. As extraverts, their contacts are wide ranging. Face-to-face relationships are intense, personable and warm, though they may be so infrequently achieved that intimate friendships are rare.
ENFJ
Strong desire for harmony
Love to talk with and learn from others
Exceptional people skills
Make decisions based on personal values
Idealists who need active people contact
Exude charm, but can overwhelm others with too much enthusiasm
Under stress: can become rigidly narrow, emotional and irritable
Strong desire for harmony
Love to talk with and learn from others
Exceptional people skills
Make decisions based on personal values
Idealists who need active people contact
Exude charm, but can overwhelm others with too much enthusiasm
Under stress: can become rigidly narrow, emotional and irritable
Not enormously shocking, is it?
Tuesday, April 19, 2011
lovey dovey.
For some inexplicable reason, there are bridal magazines strewn around the graduate assistant office. Usually I steer clear of them hoping to avoid catching the wedding fever and spiraling into depression, but today the glimpses of white tulle got the best of me and I dove straight into Martha Stewart Weddings. Before I could remind myself that it would be prudent to have a groom before I plan the ceremony, I was already jotting down ideas. So alas, here I am in wedding mode... perusing my friends' engagement pictures, comparing notes via G-chat with Erica, and putting sticky notes on my favorite Save the Dates in the magazine. Along the way, I've found several of my favorite love quotes... and I love a good quote, love or otherwise.
Paul Varjak: I love you.
Holly Golightly: So what?
Paul Varjak: So what? So plenty! I love you!
-Breakfast at Tiffany's, 1961
What do you want? You want the moon? Just say the word and I'll throw a lasso around it and pull it down.
-George Bailey, It's a Wonderful Life, 1946
I wonder how many people never get the one they want, but end up with the one they're supposed to have.
-Fried Green Tomatoes, 1991
I am someone else when I'm with you, someone more like myself.
-Original Sin, 2001
In these dreams I've loved you so, that by now I think I know what it's like to be loved by you. I will love being loved by you.
-The King and I, 1956
And now, feeling like a sap, I'm off to do homework and more productive things.
Weekend Update.
Par for the course, this weekend was excellent.
Friday night, I joined Katherine and her friends for dinner. Now, Katherine had said to me, "My friend Joseph and his roommates are going to cook dinner for us Friday night." So I'm expecting Joseph, his fiance Abby, and two to three other guys plus Katherine and me. So imagine my surprise when I walked into a house of 20+ people... People I didn't know. Katherine rivals my own nature as a social butterfly, so she pretty much dropped me like a bad habit once we crossed the threshold. Left to my own devices, I floundered a bit before I settled in and made new friends. It's kind of like teaching someone to ride a bike or swim: every now and then you have to let them go, and it's shocking to them when they realize they're doing it all by themselves. After dinner, Katherine and I went back to my apartment with Abby to get ready to go out. Sometimes the getting ready part is just as fun or more so than the actual going out-- we listened to music and danced around and pulled every article of clothing out of my closet and tried on each other's make-up... All things girly. We met everyone in downtown Tuscaloosa later that night and danced the night way. We capped off the night/morning with a trip to Waffle House, which to me is how to judge whether or not a night out was successful.
Saturday, Kat and I spent the morning making treats for the A-day tailgate. We headed to the Quad just in time for lunch. The wind was pretty chilly, but the sunshine made it the perfect day for tailgating. Okay, I nearly froze, but it was worth it... and really, I'm always almost freezing. During the actual A-day game, we headed to Abby's apartment where we watched Lord of the Rings and napped. Eventually we ended up back on the Quad for victory tailgating (that's a pretty solid bet after an A-day game) and then dinner at an Irish pub, although there was nothing particularly Irish about it besides the name and the wide selection of beer. I was looking for cabbage and soda bread, but I ended up with a chicken parmesan sandwich. We ended the night with a group watching Love and Other Drugs on my couch-- it was far more serious than I expected, but I didn't hate it.
Sunday, Katherine (yes, it was a marathon weekend with Katherine) and our friend Laura joined me on a trip to Guntersville. Laura's from Washington State, so I felt like she needed a solid dose of Southern Small Town. We met my parents for lunch-- along with a dosing of Small Town, USA, everyone needs to experience Tim Hays-- and then went to Art on the Lake, Guntersville's annual art festival. It's one of my favorite community activities, and I was kind of thrilled to share it with my friends.
So it was just another weekend in the life... just another beautiful, jam-packed, extremely blessed, Spring weekends.
Friday night, I joined Katherine and her friends for dinner. Now, Katherine had said to me, "My friend Joseph and his roommates are going to cook dinner for us Friday night." So I'm expecting Joseph, his fiance Abby, and two to three other guys plus Katherine and me. So imagine my surprise when I walked into a house of 20+ people... People I didn't know. Katherine rivals my own nature as a social butterfly, so she pretty much dropped me like a bad habit once we crossed the threshold. Left to my own devices, I floundered a bit before I settled in and made new friends. It's kind of like teaching someone to ride a bike or swim: every now and then you have to let them go, and it's shocking to them when they realize they're doing it all by themselves. After dinner, Katherine and I went back to my apartment with Abby to get ready to go out. Sometimes the getting ready part is just as fun or more so than the actual going out-- we listened to music and danced around and pulled every article of clothing out of my closet and tried on each other's make-up... All things girly. We met everyone in downtown Tuscaloosa later that night and danced the night way. We capped off the night/morning with a trip to Waffle House, which to me is how to judge whether or not a night out was successful.
Saturday, Kat and I spent the morning making treats for the A-day tailgate. We headed to the Quad just in time for lunch. The wind was pretty chilly, but the sunshine made it the perfect day for tailgating. Okay, I nearly froze, but it was worth it... and really, I'm always almost freezing. During the actual A-day game, we headed to Abby's apartment where we watched Lord of the Rings and napped. Eventually we ended up back on the Quad for victory tailgating (that's a pretty solid bet after an A-day game) and then dinner at an Irish pub, although there was nothing particularly Irish about it besides the name and the wide selection of beer. I was looking for cabbage and soda bread, but I ended up with a chicken parmesan sandwich. We ended the night with a group watching Love and Other Drugs on my couch-- it was far more serious than I expected, but I didn't hate it.
Sunday, Katherine (yes, it was a marathon weekend with Katherine) and our friend Laura joined me on a trip to Guntersville. Laura's from Washington State, so I felt like she needed a solid dose of Southern Small Town. We met my parents for lunch-- along with a dosing of Small Town, USA, everyone needs to experience Tim Hays-- and then went to Art on the Lake, Guntersville's annual art festival. It's one of my favorite community activities, and I was kind of thrilled to share it with my friends.
So it was just another weekend in the life... just another beautiful, jam-packed, extremely blessed, Spring weekends.
Baby's First Passover
Last night I got together with some friends for my first ever Passover celebration. None of us are Jewish, but in the interest of expanding our horizons and whatnot, we decided to go for it.
My sweet friend Katherine hosted our gathering, and she and Erika cooked. The food was wonderful: matzo balls, asparagus, apple salad, pitas and hummus, cauliflower, and roasted potatoes. There was lamb as well, but I drew the line there. (Side note: I'm not especially picky about food, but something about lamb just totally throws me... I just can't shake the vision of a lamb straight out of a Precious Moments figurine lying there on my plate.) We even went through the ceremony, which included chewing bitter herbs and drinking lots of wine.
I'm sure it wasn't a dead-on observation of Passover, but we gave it the ol' college try. We didn't have exactly all of the right food, and the pronunciation of the ceremony was surely off, but it was fun nevertheless.
Whether our dinner was worthy of a Jewish family or not, the experience was perfect. I find myself so thankful to have experienced a ritual of God's chosen people and to have been adopted into that people through Christ's sacrifice-- God's own spotless lamb. It was exactly the adjustment my perspective needed as we go through Holy Week.
My sweet friend Katherine hosted our gathering, and she and Erika cooked. The food was wonderful: matzo balls, asparagus, apple salad, pitas and hummus, cauliflower, and roasted potatoes. There was lamb as well, but I drew the line there. (Side note: I'm not especially picky about food, but something about lamb just totally throws me... I just can't shake the vision of a lamb straight out of a Precious Moments figurine lying there on my plate.) We even went through the ceremony, which included chewing bitter herbs and drinking lots of wine.
I'm sure it wasn't a dead-on observation of Passover, but we gave it the ol' college try. We didn't have exactly all of the right food, and the pronunciation of the ceremony was surely off, but it was fun nevertheless.
Whether our dinner was worthy of a Jewish family or not, the experience was perfect. I find myself so thankful to have experienced a ritual of God's chosen people and to have been adopted into that people through Christ's sacrifice-- God's own spotless lamb. It was exactly the adjustment my perspective needed as we go through Holy Week.
Wednesday, April 13, 2011
Wicked Wednesday
If I could be any Broadway character in the world, I think it would be Glinda. Or, rather, Galinda.
Tuesday, April 12, 2011
What's in a name?
Lindsey has two syllables. Just two, and it's fairly simple to pronounce. And yet, I find that people rarely call me Lindsey.
Don't get me wrong, I love nicknames. I've known people with neat nicknames all my life, and I've always been jealous. My nicknames aren't neat or clever, just... lazy.
For instance, most of the men in my life call me Hays. For that matter, most of my sorority sisters do too. For the girls, it was a way to differentiate between the three Lindsey's in our pledge class; for the boys, I think it sprang from my unerring ability to be one of the guys. And that's not always on purpose. The coaches at my high school always referred to me as Hays as well, and I think that had to do with my dad's coaching status... somehow his status in the athletic world made me sporty by proxy-- in reality, I'm far from sporty. Sometimes I think about just introducing myself as Hays just to skip the go-between step to the inevitable, but then I figure someone will eventually ask, "What's your last name, Hays?" and then a messy explanation would ensue.
Grown men call me Miss Hays most of the time. That's not a nickname, I guess, but it's not what I'm used to either. I guess they feel like the gentlemen thing to do is to acknowledge me with a, "Miss Hays," and a tip of their invisible hat. It's an antiquated and nice gesture, but it still feels odd to me. And the gentility of it makes me respond in a Southern belle accent that is uncommon in my usual vernacular. A growing population is calling me Miss Hays as a result of my increasing presence in the school system. It's funny when my student's pass my mom and my usual pew in church and say a quick, "Hi, Miss Hays," because my mom waves and then whispers, "Do I know that child?" It's kind of a strange place to be in life when I'm explaining to my mother that I'm Miss Hays, not her.
The typical nickname for Lindsey's is Linds, and for some reason it's the least commonly used nickname in my life. In fact, I probably refer to myself as Linds more than anyone else. That seems odd to read at first, that I refer to myself in third person, but let's not pretend we're not all guilty of talking to ourselves. For the most part, I don't respond to myself, and that's a good sign, I think.
My mom calls me Lindsey Lou in what I think of as "maternal moments"-- you know, those times when Mom becomes Mommy, like when you're sick or heartbroken. Or in times when we're feeling most familial, like sitting around the living room at my grandmother's house for Christmas. It's kind of rare and special to me, and even though I hated it as a child-- something about Lou being a boy's name bothered me-- I've loved it for a while now. In fact, you could just call me Lou now and it wouldn't bother me in the least.
When I was a recruitment counselor at Auburn, I was required to change my name on Facebook so that potential sorority recruitees couldn't look me up and find out what sorority I was in. So I had to change my name to "LC Hays." Unfortunately, the popular reality show of the time was Laguna Beach, starring LC, or Lauren Conrad. I'm sure many people thought I was just trying to jump on that bandwagon, but that's just not true. But alas, LC caught on in some of the circles I mingle about in.
I don't know what got me thinking about this... I think someone called me Miss Hays on Facebook, and I realized how seldom people actually call me Lindsey. So there's that, my thoughts for today.
Don't get me wrong, I love nicknames. I've known people with neat nicknames all my life, and I've always been jealous. My nicknames aren't neat or clever, just... lazy.
For instance, most of the men in my life call me Hays. For that matter, most of my sorority sisters do too. For the girls, it was a way to differentiate between the three Lindsey's in our pledge class; for the boys, I think it sprang from my unerring ability to be one of the guys. And that's not always on purpose. The coaches at my high school always referred to me as Hays as well, and I think that had to do with my dad's coaching status... somehow his status in the athletic world made me sporty by proxy-- in reality, I'm far from sporty. Sometimes I think about just introducing myself as Hays just to skip the go-between step to the inevitable, but then I figure someone will eventually ask, "What's your last name, Hays?" and then a messy explanation would ensue.
Grown men call me Miss Hays most of the time. That's not a nickname, I guess, but it's not what I'm used to either. I guess they feel like the gentlemen thing to do is to acknowledge me with a, "Miss Hays," and a tip of their invisible hat. It's an antiquated and nice gesture, but it still feels odd to me. And the gentility of it makes me respond in a Southern belle accent that is uncommon in my usual vernacular. A growing population is calling me Miss Hays as a result of my increasing presence in the school system. It's funny when my student's pass my mom and my usual pew in church and say a quick, "Hi, Miss Hays," because my mom waves and then whispers, "Do I know that child?" It's kind of a strange place to be in life when I'm explaining to my mother that I'm Miss Hays, not her.
The typical nickname for Lindsey's is Linds, and for some reason it's the least commonly used nickname in my life. In fact, I probably refer to myself as Linds more than anyone else. That seems odd to read at first, that I refer to myself in third person, but let's not pretend we're not all guilty of talking to ourselves. For the most part, I don't respond to myself, and that's a good sign, I think.
My mom calls me Lindsey Lou in what I think of as "maternal moments"-- you know, those times when Mom becomes Mommy, like when you're sick or heartbroken. Or in times when we're feeling most familial, like sitting around the living room at my grandmother's house for Christmas. It's kind of rare and special to me, and even though I hated it as a child-- something about Lou being a boy's name bothered me-- I've loved it for a while now. In fact, you could just call me Lou now and it wouldn't bother me in the least.
When I was a recruitment counselor at Auburn, I was required to change my name on Facebook so that potential sorority recruitees couldn't look me up and find out what sorority I was in. So I had to change my name to "LC Hays." Unfortunately, the popular reality show of the time was Laguna Beach, starring LC, or Lauren Conrad. I'm sure many people thought I was just trying to jump on that bandwagon, but that's just not true. But alas, LC caught on in some of the circles I mingle about in.
I don't know what got me thinking about this... I think someone called me Miss Hays on Facebook, and I realized how seldom people actually call me Lindsey. So there's that, my thoughts for today.
Saturday, April 9, 2011
Calm My Anxious Heart
In my family, the same old stories are told over and over again. And every single time, no matter how many times we've heard the story, we laugh just as hard as though it were just happening. One of these stock stories is about my Uncle Lance-- I might butcher some of the details, but I've got the gist of it.
Lance and my mom are two of four siblings. As you can imagine, with four children comes many stories-- and often four different versions of the same story. This particular story took place in a hotel in New York City, I believe, and involved Lance, a little magic, and a lot of disappointment. Again, I'm a little blurry on the details (I have a feeling this blog might come to Lance's attention eventually, so I want to put out as many disclaimers as possible), but my understanding is that somehow Lance came to believe that he controlled the lights in the hotel room. By sheer coincidence, perhaps, he snapped his fingers at the same time someone else hit the switch. I'm sure it seemed obvious enough to him: with the snap of his fingers, the light was under his command. Whoever was actually flipping the switch-- Uncle Linc, maybe?-- kept it up a time or two before letting Lance in on the joke. Imagine his disappointment when he realized he wasn't in control at all. In fact, everyone else knew he wasn't in control and simply stifled their laughs as they watched him experiment with his new "power."
Tonight I realized that's what my relationship with God is like. I go around snapping my fingers and expecting stuff to happen... occasionally it actually happens, and I come to the "logical" conclusion that I'm wielding a pretty powerful force of nature. But more often than not, I look up to realize that I'm not in control at all.
Lately I've struggled a lot with contentment, and I can tell you exactly what has led to my lack of contentment: my lack of control. I get these ideas of what my life is or what it should be, and when it doesn't go quite that way, any hint of contentment goes flying out the window. By no coincidence, the perfect book fell into my lap this semester... when I first heard of it in January, I had no idea just how desperate for Truth I'd be come February. And by March, it was my lifeboat in a sea of doubt and disillusion.
The book is called Calm My Anxious Heart, and it's written by Linda Dillow. I first heard about it one Sunday morning in church when the pastor announced that the women's Bible study group would be going through the 12-week Bible study on Tuesday mornings. Less than a month later, another friend recommended that I read it as it was opening her eyes to so much. Honestly, I didn't want to read it. This sounds crazy, but I don't think I wanted to be content... I don't think I wanted my heart to be calmed. I was angry and bitter, and I wanted to be angry and bitter. Somehow I had convinced myself that I deserved to be angry and bitter. I said things and yelled things at God and about God that scare me now-- and by "scare me," I mean it's a wonder I wasn't smited into a million little pieces. But the Lord pursued my heart until I dropped my defenses, and I think He used Dillow's book to romance me right back into His arms, even if I didn't think I wanted to be romanced.
These are a few of my favorite quotes and passages. Hope they bring someone out there a little peace and contentment.
"I would rather be what God chose to make me than the most glorious creature that I could think of; for to have been thought about, born in God's thought, and then made by God, is the dearest, grandest, and most precious thing in all thinking."
--George MacDonald
One chapter of the book is devoted to focusing on the Lord and having a "life purpose statement" that reflects and encourages this focus (mine is 2 Timothy 1:12 if anyone's curious), and this is Betty Scott Stam's:
"Lord, I give up all my own plans and purposes, all my own desires and hopes, and accept Thy will for my life. I give myself, my life, my all utterly to Thee to be Thine forever. Fill me and seal me with Thy Holy Spirit. Use me as Thou wilt, send me where Thou wilt, work out Thy whole will in my life at any cost, now and forever."
"The beginning of anxiety is the end of faith. The beginning of true faith is the end of anxiety."
-- George Muller
"The load of tomorrow added to that of yesterday, carried today, makes even the strongest woman crumble."
-- Linda Dillow, ch. 8
"When what ifs come into our lives, we must ask ourselves if we're going to judge God by the circumstances we don't understand or judge the circumstances in light of the character of God."
--Linda Dillow, ch. 10
"Neither go back in fear and misgiving to the past, nor in anxiety and forecasting to the future, but lie quiet under His hand, having no will but His."
-- H.E. Manning
Read this book. Subtle enough?
Lance and my mom are two of four siblings. As you can imagine, with four children comes many stories-- and often four different versions of the same story. This particular story took place in a hotel in New York City, I believe, and involved Lance, a little magic, and a lot of disappointment. Again, I'm a little blurry on the details (I have a feeling this blog might come to Lance's attention eventually, so I want to put out as many disclaimers as possible), but my understanding is that somehow Lance came to believe that he controlled the lights in the hotel room. By sheer coincidence, perhaps, he snapped his fingers at the same time someone else hit the switch. I'm sure it seemed obvious enough to him: with the snap of his fingers, the light was under his command. Whoever was actually flipping the switch-- Uncle Linc, maybe?-- kept it up a time or two before letting Lance in on the joke. Imagine his disappointment when he realized he wasn't in control at all. In fact, everyone else knew he wasn't in control and simply stifled their laughs as they watched him experiment with his new "power."
Tonight I realized that's what my relationship with God is like. I go around snapping my fingers and expecting stuff to happen... occasionally it actually happens, and I come to the "logical" conclusion that I'm wielding a pretty powerful force of nature. But more often than not, I look up to realize that I'm not in control at all.
Lately I've struggled a lot with contentment, and I can tell you exactly what has led to my lack of contentment: my lack of control. I get these ideas of what my life is or what it should be, and when it doesn't go quite that way, any hint of contentment goes flying out the window. By no coincidence, the perfect book fell into my lap this semester... when I first heard of it in January, I had no idea just how desperate for Truth I'd be come February. And by March, it was my lifeboat in a sea of doubt and disillusion.
The book is called Calm My Anxious Heart, and it's written by Linda Dillow. I first heard about it one Sunday morning in church when the pastor announced that the women's Bible study group would be going through the 12-week Bible study on Tuesday mornings. Less than a month later, another friend recommended that I read it as it was opening her eyes to so much. Honestly, I didn't want to read it. This sounds crazy, but I don't think I wanted to be content... I don't think I wanted my heart to be calmed. I was angry and bitter, and I wanted to be angry and bitter. Somehow I had convinced myself that I deserved to be angry and bitter. I said things and yelled things at God and about God that scare me now-- and by "scare me," I mean it's a wonder I wasn't smited into a million little pieces. But the Lord pursued my heart until I dropped my defenses, and I think He used Dillow's book to romance me right back into His arms, even if I didn't think I wanted to be romanced.
These are a few of my favorite quotes and passages. Hope they bring someone out there a little peace and contentment.
"I would rather be what God chose to make me than the most glorious creature that I could think of; for to have been thought about, born in God's thought, and then made by God, is the dearest, grandest, and most precious thing in all thinking."
--George MacDonald
One chapter of the book is devoted to focusing on the Lord and having a "life purpose statement" that reflects and encourages this focus (mine is 2 Timothy 1:12 if anyone's curious), and this is Betty Scott Stam's:
"Lord, I give up all my own plans and purposes, all my own desires and hopes, and accept Thy will for my life. I give myself, my life, my all utterly to Thee to be Thine forever. Fill me and seal me with Thy Holy Spirit. Use me as Thou wilt, send me where Thou wilt, work out Thy whole will in my life at any cost, now and forever."
"The beginning of anxiety is the end of faith. The beginning of true faith is the end of anxiety."
-- George Muller
"The load of tomorrow added to that of yesterday, carried today, makes even the strongest woman crumble."
-- Linda Dillow, ch. 8
"When what ifs come into our lives, we must ask ourselves if we're going to judge God by the circumstances we don't understand or judge the circumstances in light of the character of God."
--Linda Dillow, ch. 10
"Neither go back in fear and misgiving to the past, nor in anxiety and forecasting to the future, but lie quiet under His hand, having no will but His."
-- H.E. Manning
Read this book. Subtle enough?
Friday, April 8, 2011
Spring Break XI
It's Spring Break!!
Well, it's not my spring break, but it's someone's. More specifically, it's some high school's.
Yes, my oh-so-relaxing beach weekend has hit a minor speed bump in the form of hoards of teenagers frolicking on my not-so-peaceful shore. They're skinny-- I think we all know about "high school skinny"-- and they're sunburnt, and in some cases, they're chaperoned by the worst kind of parent: the helicopter parent. This special brand of parent hovers near the child, switching fluidly between trying to be hip and trying to be parental. One second they're telling their precious daughter to make sure their tanning oil is spread evenly, and the next they're harping about how the tanning oil clearly doesn't have enough SPF protection. Hey, Hip Mom, it's tanning oil.
So I'm laying on my towel, my eyes heavy from reading, and napping seems like a really great idea. I've listened in on my teen neighbor's conversation all about why she should've gotten the lead role in the play this year instead of that girl that's only in tenth grade, and I'm just beginning to master tuning them out when the teen next door decides to start digging up crabs. He digs and digs and digs, and soon catches the attention of the Teenage Drama Queen and her friend... Their forces unite, and at last they uncover the unsuspecting crab.
And where does that crab go? Straight to my towel, of course. So I was forced out of my blissful beach lull, forced to scurry away from the now-angered crab who's coming at me claws-first. The teens scamper past my towel, kicking sand onto my towel on their way-- oh, gee, thanks!-- and their parents are following them taking picture after picture and instructing their offspring to "Poke it with a stick!"
Brilliant, Hip Mom, just brilliant. You and your equally delightful children are ruining my day
Well, it's not my spring break, but it's someone's. More specifically, it's some high school's.
Yes, my oh-so-relaxing beach weekend has hit a minor speed bump in the form of hoards of teenagers frolicking on my not-so-peaceful shore. They're skinny-- I think we all know about "high school skinny"-- and they're sunburnt, and in some cases, they're chaperoned by the worst kind of parent: the helicopter parent. This special brand of parent hovers near the child, switching fluidly between trying to be hip and trying to be parental. One second they're telling their precious daughter to make sure their tanning oil is spread evenly, and the next they're harping about how the tanning oil clearly doesn't have enough SPF protection. Hey, Hip Mom, it's tanning oil.
So I'm laying on my towel, my eyes heavy from reading, and napping seems like a really great idea. I've listened in on my teen neighbor's conversation all about why she should've gotten the lead role in the play this year instead of that girl that's only in tenth grade, and I'm just beginning to master tuning them out when the teen next door decides to start digging up crabs. He digs and digs and digs, and soon catches the attention of the Teenage Drama Queen and her friend... Their forces unite, and at last they uncover the unsuspecting crab.
And where does that crab go? Straight to my towel, of course. So I was forced out of my blissful beach lull, forced to scurry away from the now-angered crab who's coming at me claws-first. The teens scamper past my towel, kicking sand onto my towel on their way-- oh, gee, thanks!-- and their parents are following them taking picture after picture and instructing their offspring to "Poke it with a stick!"
Brilliant, Hip Mom, just brilliant. You and your equally delightful children are ruining my day
Wednesday, April 6, 2011
excuses, excuses.
I haven't been the best blogger lately, and I wish I had a great excuse. I wish it was because I've been really busy, but I haven't really been any busier than usual. I'd like to say that maybe it's because nothing going on in my life, but actually there's quite a bit going on. And really, I think the reason is that I'm somewhere in between. I'm not overwhelmed with life, and I'm not bored-- I'm just coasting along right now, and that might be just about perfect. Monday thru Wednesday are pretty much wholly devoted to school with a coffee date or dinner plans thrown in here and there. Thursdays and the weekend were once wide open, but as the semester speeds to a close and the Mercury in the thermometer continues to climb, people seem to be getting into something of a frenzy. Every weekend seems booked by family plans, roadtrips, Easter (my fave!), and so on. It's hard not to get excited just thinking about it all.
What I'm saying is, I've reached a very, very happy equilibrium in my life it seems and quite on accident at that.
It's hard not to be excited knowing that this time tomorrow I'll be nearing the coast. Beach trips have long been my mother and my means of escape from reality, and with a 20-page paper turned in last night, I'm very much ready to lay on the warm sand and read, read, read. Meanwhile, for Dad, the beach is the perfect opportunity for him to capitolize on a captive audience: that is, drag Mom and I to one movie after another. Perfectly fine with me, as long as it's not in the daytime hours.
Also exciting: WICKED is coming back to Birmingham. Okay, yes, pretty much this time next year... BUT still very, very exciting. I'm listening to the soundtrack at this very moment. And I may or may not be attempting to match Idina Menzel note for note... I can assure you that the key word there is "attempting." Something else I'm sure of, the people in the neighboring offices are having some wicked thoughts of their own about me right now...
Now if you'll excuse me, I'll be on my way... I have an hour of office work, four hours of class, a coffee date, and celebratory drinks with a friend who just passed her comps tonight. Then laundry and packing, and I'll be beachbound.
Hang ten, broskis.
What I'm saying is, I've reached a very, very happy equilibrium in my life it seems and quite on accident at that.
It's hard not to be excited knowing that this time tomorrow I'll be nearing the coast. Beach trips have long been my mother and my means of escape from reality, and with a 20-page paper turned in last night, I'm very much ready to lay on the warm sand and read, read, read. Meanwhile, for Dad, the beach is the perfect opportunity for him to capitolize on a captive audience: that is, drag Mom and I to one movie after another. Perfectly fine with me, as long as it's not in the daytime hours.
Also exciting: WICKED is coming back to Birmingham. Okay, yes, pretty much this time next year... BUT still very, very exciting. I'm listening to the soundtrack at this very moment. And I may or may not be attempting to match Idina Menzel note for note... I can assure you that the key word there is "attempting." Something else I'm sure of, the people in the neighboring offices are having some wicked thoughts of their own about me right now...
Now if you'll excuse me, I'll be on my way... I have an hour of office work, four hours of class, a coffee date, and celebratory drinks with a friend who just passed her comps tonight. Then laundry and packing, and I'll be beachbound.
Hang ten, broskis.
Monday, April 4, 2011
Weekend Update.
It's hard to complain about a weekend, and this weekend was no exception.
Friday, I had dinner with Katherine and her friend Shannon-- and as it turns out, Shannon and I have had class together-- at Chuck's. While my company sipped wine, I had a Shirley Temple and endured their heckling. But come on, you can't tell you don't love a good Shirley Temple once and a while. We made it all the way through dessert, and then spent the rest of the night regretting that decision. After dinner, we met up with friends who were in town for the Avett Brothers concert at The Gray Lady. Since I got their early with my dinner companions, we were able to score a table-- a rare event in a bar, I assure you-- and so we sat and listened to music and hung out into the wee hours of the morning.
Saturday, I headed to my favorite local coffee shop and settled in for the day. In three hours, I banged out 8 pages of my 20-page paper and downed more than one Earl Grey tea. Afterward, I went for a run with Katherine-- this weekend could really be dubbed "The Weekend of Katherine"-- and we hit up Newk's for dinner. Best salads in town. Next up, we headed to Wal-Mart so Kat could pick up items for her notorious "Honeymoon Baskets" that she gives to the bride-to-be at her lingerie party. I focused on acting like I wasn't with the cart carrying the embarrassing items and concentrated on walking ten paces behind Kat at all times. We capped off our evening by watching a Friends marathon until we fell asleep. Not super exciting, but pretty much perfect.
Sunday morning, I headed to church-- with Kat, duh-- and then we went to Lupe's for lunch. Well, first I went to Jalapeno's because I'm an idiot, but I eventually made it to Lupe's where everyone was waiting patiently for me. At lunch we talked about our futures and Kat's coming mission work and Laura and Stephen's coming wedding, and it was lovely. Just really, really lovely. It's hard to leave a lunch with friends from church without being keenly aware of how very blessed I am.
And today on Monday, there's a tornado coming to town and everyone's battening down the hatches or whatever the saying is... Macy seems unconcerned, and I'm going to trust her feline instincts and just enjoy the sound of the rain. Well, until I get out in it to meet Laura and Kat for coffee later... that part of the storm will be less fun, but the company will be worth it, I'm sure.
It's hard to let the rainy Monday get me down when I know that the beach is just on the other side of Wednesday. Thursday morning, I'll pack up and head to the coast... and I'm amped about it. So come on storms, go ahead and get it out of your system now rather than at the end of the week.
Friday, I had dinner with Katherine and her friend Shannon-- and as it turns out, Shannon and I have had class together-- at Chuck's. While my company sipped wine, I had a Shirley Temple and endured their heckling. But come on, you can't tell you don't love a good Shirley Temple once and a while. We made it all the way through dessert, and then spent the rest of the night regretting that decision. After dinner, we met up with friends who were in town for the Avett Brothers concert at The Gray Lady. Since I got their early with my dinner companions, we were able to score a table-- a rare event in a bar, I assure you-- and so we sat and listened to music and hung out into the wee hours of the morning.
Saturday, I headed to my favorite local coffee shop and settled in for the day. In three hours, I banged out 8 pages of my 20-page paper and downed more than one Earl Grey tea. Afterward, I went for a run with Katherine-- this weekend could really be dubbed "The Weekend of Katherine"-- and we hit up Newk's for dinner. Best salads in town. Next up, we headed to Wal-Mart so Kat could pick up items for her notorious "Honeymoon Baskets" that she gives to the bride-to-be at her lingerie party. I focused on acting like I wasn't with the cart carrying the embarrassing items and concentrated on walking ten paces behind Kat at all times. We capped off our evening by watching a Friends marathon until we fell asleep. Not super exciting, but pretty much perfect.
Sunday morning, I headed to church-- with Kat, duh-- and then we went to Lupe's for lunch. Well, first I went to Jalapeno's because I'm an idiot, but I eventually made it to Lupe's where everyone was waiting patiently for me. At lunch we talked about our futures and Kat's coming mission work and Laura and Stephen's coming wedding, and it was lovely. Just really, really lovely. It's hard to leave a lunch with friends from church without being keenly aware of how very blessed I am.
And today on Monday, there's a tornado coming to town and everyone's battening down the hatches or whatever the saying is... Macy seems unconcerned, and I'm going to trust her feline instincts and just enjoy the sound of the rain. Well, until I get out in it to meet Laura and Kat for coffee later... that part of the storm will be less fun, but the company will be worth it, I'm sure.
It's hard to let the rainy Monday get me down when I know that the beach is just on the other side of Wednesday. Thursday morning, I'll pack up and head to the coast... and I'm amped about it. So come on storms, go ahead and get it out of your system now rather than at the end of the week.
Saturday, April 2, 2011
Restroom Review.
I'm a little persnickety about public restrooms.
I happen to have the smallest bladder of anyone I know-- I mean, seriously, I would enter this bad boy in a contest for World's Tiniest Bladder-- so I have little choice but to frequent the restroom of any establishment I visit. Last night, I happened upon what may be my favorite public restroom of all.
First of all, if the handicapped restroom is open, I go for it. There, I said. No shame. It's bigger, so it feels a little more like home. And I'm not parking there long term, so I figure by the time someone with an actual need comes along, I'll be headed out or long gone. The handicap restroom at Chuck's, where I had dinner last night, is the creme de la creme of handicap restrooms. Not only is it spacious, it's decorated too. I feel like I'm using a bathroom straight out of a Southern Living magazine in there. Furthermore, it has it's very own sink and mirror combo. So I don't have to wait in line to wash my hands, and I can check my teeth for wayward pesto as much as I like. I can even completely redo my hair without feeling like I'm bogarting mirror space. Frankly, it's delightful. The only downfall is my urgent need to explain to those at the "public" sink that I did, in fact, wash my hands in the privacy of my own stall; otherwise, they're likely to cast judging looks at me as I bypass the sinks and head straight for the door.
Second, restaurants are notorious for being cold. More importantly, I'm notorious for being cold. Rarely am I in public without a jacket; my poor posture is a direct result of my constant hunkering over and shivering. My seat at dinner last night was right next to the door, so I was constantly being blasted by unseasonably cold air as patrons came and went. Imagine my delight then when I walked into the restroom and realized what an oasis of warmth it was. It was tempting to camp out there in this blissful pocket of warmth, but I resisted.
As a plus, I spied an extremely cute pair of Mary Jane heels in the stall next to me-- you know how the stall dividers reveal just a glimpse of your neighbors' shoes. So, well done, bathroom buddy. Your choice of footwear this evening was phenomenal.
I happen to have the smallest bladder of anyone I know-- I mean, seriously, I would enter this bad boy in a contest for World's Tiniest Bladder-- so I have little choice but to frequent the restroom of any establishment I visit. Last night, I happened upon what may be my favorite public restroom of all.
First of all, if the handicapped restroom is open, I go for it. There, I said. No shame. It's bigger, so it feels a little more like home. And I'm not parking there long term, so I figure by the time someone with an actual need comes along, I'll be headed out or long gone. The handicap restroom at Chuck's, where I had dinner last night, is the creme de la creme of handicap restrooms. Not only is it spacious, it's decorated too. I feel like I'm using a bathroom straight out of a Southern Living magazine in there. Furthermore, it has it's very own sink and mirror combo. So I don't have to wait in line to wash my hands, and I can check my teeth for wayward pesto as much as I like. I can even completely redo my hair without feeling like I'm bogarting mirror space. Frankly, it's delightful. The only downfall is my urgent need to explain to those at the "public" sink that I did, in fact, wash my hands in the privacy of my own stall; otherwise, they're likely to cast judging looks at me as I bypass the sinks and head straight for the door.
Second, restaurants are notorious for being cold. More importantly, I'm notorious for being cold. Rarely am I in public without a jacket; my poor posture is a direct result of my constant hunkering over and shivering. My seat at dinner last night was right next to the door, so I was constantly being blasted by unseasonably cold air as patrons came and went. Imagine my delight then when I walked into the restroom and realized what an oasis of warmth it was. It was tempting to camp out there in this blissful pocket of warmth, but I resisted.
As a plus, I spied an extremely cute pair of Mary Jane heels in the stall next to me-- you know how the stall dividers reveal just a glimpse of your neighbors' shoes. So, well done, bathroom buddy. Your choice of footwear this evening was phenomenal.
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