This morning in my evolution class the professor continued a lecture on geologic time, and talked about how-- in the roughly 4.5 billion years the Earth has been around (yes, that's 4,500,000,000 years-- you can't even fathom it)-- about 80% of that time was just geological formation. No life at all. (And even of that later 20%, we are but a little blip at the end.) And all I could think was, wow-- my God spent a lot of time getting this home ready for me.
The remainder of the class period was spent in that sort of completely humbled, awe-filled state of worship. The magnitude of the processes which God set into place to make this create this perfect place for us-- a planet with the right climates, the amazing variety of foods for us to be nourished by and enjoy, the amazing way everything from the abiotic environment to the plants that breathe out what we need to breathe in, to the delicate chemical balances and processes of our bodies-- truly a unique spot in the universe, of what we've found so far, anyway-- is completely overwhelming.
I held a two-billion-year-old piece of iron in my hands today. Everybody else looked briefly at the narrow red-and-black bands on the smooth-cut face of the rock, and passed it along to the next person. I could just stare at it for several minutes, totally-- shoot, what's another word for humbled? Two billion years. Two billion years (plus-- though at that level of our non-comprehension, what's another couple billion years, give or take?), that God spent shaping, forming, perfecting this planet as a place precisely suited for children made in his image.
Dear young-Earth delusionals: pardon my French, but that shit is just impressive. Take an evolution class, or even a genetics class if that's less scary for you, and you'll never again doubt, not for the merest of moments, that God exists.
I find it sort of odd, at times, to feel like I am bouncing back and forth between two worlds in which I don't fit, yet which I feel blend together beautifully. It is only some within them who think I don't belong there, who cannot imagine that I believe the same things that they do, if I also happen to believe a few others. Because, in case this wasn't already apparent, it's true that I am that most frightening of creatures: in the great creationism vs. evolution debate, I refuse the take sides. Or rather, I reject the two false "sides," and just take the right one.
My God not only doesn't live in a very tiny box, he doesn't live in a box at all. He invented the boxes, yo. He does what he wants! (Bonus points if you just read that last line in a very I'm-on-Jerry-Springer tone of voice, in your head.)
My God is not tricky. He does not lay a great plan, interwoven throughout all of creation, to try to test and deceive me. He is a good God, because he is God. My God doesn't play like that.
I refuse to take sides because Jesus is my Lord. We kick it, we talk. I have no doubt he is with me. All the time. And I also have little doubt in the multitude of observations that so many, myself included, have made about the world around us. I say little doubt, because I believe that what we observe is really there (e.g. I would bet everything I own on the fact that dinosaur bones are not just some big cosmic joke on humanity) but I am open to and endlessly excited about the fact that we keep learning more every day, answers and new questions just leaps and bounds so far above the last questions we even knew to ask, that I know we as people have so infinitely much more to learn. Creation is so far beyond our understanding that we will always get to learn more about God's amazing design and his plans so far beyond anything we could ever come up with.
Because I know we will never get there. We will never, ever, ever understand it all. How could we? I don't think I want a brain that full. The universe is too amazing. See? No adequate words, even. I'll just leave it at that.
So I don't worry about this or that little detail I don't know about-- because it's not like I'm ever going to have all the details; the puzzle will never be done. I don't really worry about exactly how it all works out to be consistent, I just know enough details to know that it does, and trust in the rest. God gives us bits of information as we can handle them. If he were to just lay it all out there, the mysterious and complicated and all-knowing plan for how he wove the universe from nothing into everything it is today, I'm pretty sure it would incinerate our brains from the inside out. But I can look at a 2-billion-year-old chunk of rock, and know that my God loves me.
So when a friend at church the other day-- and fortunately this friend was not of hostile intent, but rather appeared actually curious as to my view-- upon learning that I'm currently taking an evolution class and hope to go on to graduate school in Ecology and Evolutionary Biology, asked, "so, as a Christian, how do you feel about all that?" I (hopefully with the minimal amount of defensiveness) just replied "I feel just fine about it."
Ok, I didn't leave it at that. See, Christian friends keep asking me to defend evolution in terms of the Bible, or if there's a good book about evolution and being a Christian-- and you know, I'm sure there are a bunch. I've just never read them, because I haven't felt the need to. I read nonfiction books to be inspired, or learn something new, or help me find an answer to a question I'm struggling with-- but I'm already down with a God who created everything through the magical, the natural-yet-supernatural, and just so involved process of evolution. It does not shake my faith nor rock my world. In fact, learning that evolution was just a silly mistake all along would do much more to upend my worldview, to disturb my notion of who God is and what he is capable of.
So I'm sorry, but I don't have a good book to recommend to you who wish to learn more. I actually checked a couple out from the library once, in response to a sermon where I felt the need to call somebody out on mocking the idea of evolution, just because I felt the need to be able to explain myself to those who need an explanation. Unfortunately, I was too busy doing my work and my school and my church and my life to actually get through either of them. So if you find a good one, let me know. I'll stock it in my personal library to lend out, willy-nilly.
But I did explain more to that friend I mentioned. I told him that the more I learn about the world and how it works, how unspeakably complex and elegant it is, the more I know that there is somebody behind it. That friend did mention the book The Language of God, written by a Christian geneticist who headed up the Human Genome Project. So having not read it myself, I'll pass on that recommendation to you. If someone gets it for me for Christmas, I'll even read it myself-- I'll hopefully be done with the never-ending grad school applications by then.
But, fellow lovers of God: Don't make me wonder how you're going to react when I'm reading a National Geographic article on a newly-discovered hominid fossil. Don't make me hesitate, when I don't know you well yet, to talk about what I'm studying. Don't try to act like because I believe in an old, old Earth and an evolutionary past, that means I have a tenuous hold on my faith and a casual interpretation of the Bible. Don't make some scoffing and ignorant joke about being descended from monkeys to draw attention away from your own uncertainty. Own it. It's ok to not get how it all works. I certainly don't. I just know that it does, because God says so, and because the way I see it work, is just far too unspeakably beautiful not to be the his handiwork.
Someday I'm going to work, too, on the professor who seems to sometimes confuse "What The Bible Says" with "Things Certain People Believe The Bible Says." But that's not where I wish to start. (Though I do find it funny to listen to scientists try to explain the origin of life.) We who know how truly amazing God is should see no other explanation than his hand in every marvelous mystery that science unfolds, each astounding new discovery and unfathomable puzzle.
(Selected verses from Isaiah 40. Though I highly recommend the entire chapter.)
12 Who has measured the waters in the hollow of his hand,
or with the breadth of his hand marked off the heavens?
Who has held the dust of the earth in a basket,
or weighed the mountains on the scales
and the hills in a balance?
13 Who can fathom the Spirit of the LORD,
or instruct the LORD as his counselor?
14 Whom did the LORD consult to enlighten him,
and who taught him the right way?
Who was it that taught him knowledge,
or showed him the path of understanding?
15 Surely the nations are like a drop in a bucket;
they are regarded as dust on the scales;
he weighs the islands as though they were fine dust.
16 Lebanon is not sufficient for altar fires,
nor its animals enough for burnt offerings.
17 Before him all the nations are as nothing;
they are regarded by him as worthless
and less than nothing.
18 With whom, then, will you compare God?
To what image will you liken him?
21 Do you not know?
Have you not heard?
Has it not been told you from the beginning?
Have you not understood since the earth was founded?
22 He sits enthroned above the circle of the earth,
and its people are like grasshoppers.
He stretches out the heavens like a canopy,
and spreads them out like a tent to live in.
23 He brings princes to naught
and reduces the rulers of this world to nothing.
24 No sooner are they planted,
no sooner are they sown,
no sooner do they take root in the ground,
than he blows on them and they wither,
and a whirlwind sweeps them away like chaff.
25 “To whom will you compare me?
Or who is my equal?” says the Holy One.
26 Lift up your eyes and look to the heavens:
Who created all these?
He who brings out the starry host one by one
and calls forth each of them by name.
Because of his great power and mighty strength,
not one of them is missing.
27 Why do you complain, Jacob?
Why do you say, Israel,
“My way is hidden from the LORD;
my cause is disregarded by my God”?
28 Do you not know?
Have you not heard?
The LORD is the everlasting God,
the Creator of the ends of the earth.
He will not grow tired or weary,
and his understanding no one can fathom.
Friday, September 30, 2011
Sunday, September 11, 2011
Has it really been ten years already?
(Note: If you're interested in my thoughts as recorded on and in the days shortly following September 11, 2001, and two years later, check an old post here. If I recall, it was going to have a lot of thoughts from that time, around the 8th anniversary of the terrorist attacks, but the post got lost or something and I didn't want to re-write it all. So there's a bit of a gap here, but for today, I'll just stick to today. Mostly, anyway. I can't really. That isn't the point.)
Ten years ago, I was 17 years old, just off to college for the first time. Then one Tuesday I stopped into my dorm room between my two morning classes-- which were both in the same building as the dorm-- and as I got a snack or made tea or grabbed my other books or whatever I tended to do in the short break between classes-- my suitemate Abby came in through the shared bathroom. She asked me if I'd heard.
Now, there could have been a million ways that story ended. A million forgettable ways, even. Even accounting for the stricken look on her face. Her roommate could have broken both legs, or there might have been a terrible car crash on campus, or there could be a tornado headed straight toward campus about to carry us all off straight to Oz. There were myriad ways for that conversation to go that would have been a blip-- or even a notable, but somewhat less world-shifting event-- in my day. But I had no way to expect or prepare for what was coming instead.
Because the conversation didn't go any of those ways. Instead she told me the country was under terrorist attack and there were people flying airplanes into buildings and no-one-knew-how-many more were hijacked somewhere, and so I followed her into her room and we watched as a skyscraper fell down to the ground.
And everything changed.
I was trying to reflect back, today, on what things were like before that day. It's so hard, now, with the things we take for granted-- just take the stuff we put up with at the airport, for example. I remember when you could go up to the actual gate to greet arriving passengers. And it was no big thing. Now you have to take off your shoes and maybe get felt up or maybe get x-ray-vision-ed or maybe get air puffed on you and you can't bring your shampoo. It's joked about, but it's also sort of taken for granted that homeland security might very likely be watching your library card records or your online purchases or who you associate with. Especially if you (or they) are the wrong color or have the wrong accent or the wrong religion or the wrong descent.
Were people less afraid then? Were we less suspicious? Yeah. I think so. I wish I could time travel back to that year, before all this went down, and observe. How were we different? Were we less defensive, a little more open? Or were we all just going around blissfully unaware of what was important in life?
This morning I ran in a 5k benefitting an organization here in the metro area that provides counseling services for veterans and troops with PTSD and other mental health issues (and for their families as well). Prior to the runs getting started, there was an early-morning remembrance ceremony. There was a lot of the expected-- servicemembers and public safety personnel in attendance, city councilmen thanking everyone, someone read some poems about being a soldier, etc. There were flags. "Amazing Grace" was played on a bagpipe. There was some marching involved. A choir of children sang some deplorably cheesy patriotic songs. There was a video with images and sounds from that day and the time after, which was good. It was a relatively small gathering-- just those who were participating in or volunteering with the race in some way, and even then I don't think all of the 8am walkers and runners made it out that early.
And two things struck me about the choir of kids. One was as they sang "I'm proud to be an American" (or whatever the name of the song actually is), I realized that they were all Hispanic children, and wondered how many of them were first, or second, or third generation Americans, and what that might mean to them or their families, as gag-reflex-inducing and questionably accurate as that particular song might normally be.
But before they got up on stage to sing that song, and another uber-cheesy one aimed at overseas troops (poor troops, why can't someone write them a decent song already??) when I saw them milling about with some teachers off to the side, all in their school uniforms, I thought about how it was good that they were there. I'd been looking at them, and they appeared to be 8, 9, 10 maybe some of the taller ones a little bit older. And I realized that they were, for the most part, born into a post-September 11th world. Maybe a couple of the older ones think they remember that day, from having seen so many video clips and pictures, heard so many stories. But they don't really. They have no memories of the time before, before it all changed. They have never known any different than this.
And I wanted to go over to them, crouch down and put my hands on their shoulders, look them in the eyes and say "I'm sorry. I am sorry that you didn't ever get to be here for the days when you could greet someone at the airport gate and when everyone wasn't so suspicious just all of the time and that you have grown up your whole life knowing what terrorism is, and that we did not do better at this, at making this world a better place for you to be." (I did not. First of all, because it was the middle of a ceremony and other things were going on. Second of all, because even if the children didn't find it weird, their teachers and parents might have. I think you can only get away with doing things like that, and people letting you, once you are really old.)
Everything changed. These children, and my nieces and nephew, and any children I might ever have, and everyone to come will be born into a world where as infants, their bottle is suspect if their parents try to board a flight with them and as children, they can get kicked out of school for so much as mentioning a bomb and as teenagers, they'll get flagged on someone's watch list when they check out the anarchist and communist or even just Muslim websites or books as they're trying to figure out who they are and rebel against all the messed-up stuff in the world and as adults, they'll be afraid, and some of them will hate and that hate will poison them, and their own children after them.
Unless everything changes again.
Unless we refuse to be suspicious of every person we see on the street, refuse to buy into adrenaline-fueled hype and cheesy patriotic songs aimed to get us revved up to buy whatever anyone tells us equates to allegiance to and love for our country, refuse to seek an eye for eye while claiming to have God on our side in that quest, refuse to let fear and hatred get in the way of our work and our love and our best attempts to make the world just a little bit better than it was before we got here.
It won't be as sudden or as news-clip, sound-bite-worthy as a plane smashing into a building or a field. But it can be more powerful, more earth-shifting yet. And as Christians, if we are not leading that change, then shame on us.
That is all. :)
Ten years ago, I was 17 years old, just off to college for the first time. Then one Tuesday I stopped into my dorm room between my two morning classes-- which were both in the same building as the dorm-- and as I got a snack or made tea or grabbed my other books or whatever I tended to do in the short break between classes-- my suitemate Abby came in through the shared bathroom. She asked me if I'd heard.
Now, there could have been a million ways that story ended. A million forgettable ways, even. Even accounting for the stricken look on her face. Her roommate could have broken both legs, or there might have been a terrible car crash on campus, or there could be a tornado headed straight toward campus about to carry us all off straight to Oz. There were myriad ways for that conversation to go that would have been a blip-- or even a notable, but somewhat less world-shifting event-- in my day. But I had no way to expect or prepare for what was coming instead.
Because the conversation didn't go any of those ways. Instead she told me the country was under terrorist attack and there were people flying airplanes into buildings and no-one-knew-how-many more were hijacked somewhere, and so I followed her into her room and we watched as a skyscraper fell down to the ground.
And everything changed.
I was trying to reflect back, today, on what things were like before that day. It's so hard, now, with the things we take for granted-- just take the stuff we put up with at the airport, for example. I remember when you could go up to the actual gate to greet arriving passengers. And it was no big thing. Now you have to take off your shoes and maybe get felt up or maybe get x-ray-vision-ed or maybe get air puffed on you and you can't bring your shampoo. It's joked about, but it's also sort of taken for granted that homeland security might very likely be watching your library card records or your online purchases or who you associate with. Especially if you (or they) are the wrong color or have the wrong accent or the wrong religion or the wrong descent.
Were people less afraid then? Were we less suspicious? Yeah. I think so. I wish I could time travel back to that year, before all this went down, and observe. How were we different? Were we less defensive, a little more open? Or were we all just going around blissfully unaware of what was important in life?
This morning I ran in a 5k benefitting an organization here in the metro area that provides counseling services for veterans and troops with PTSD and other mental health issues (and for their families as well). Prior to the runs getting started, there was an early-morning remembrance ceremony. There was a lot of the expected-- servicemembers and public safety personnel in attendance, city councilmen thanking everyone, someone read some poems about being a soldier, etc. There were flags. "Amazing Grace" was played on a bagpipe. There was some marching involved. A choir of children sang some deplorably cheesy patriotic songs. There was a video with images and sounds from that day and the time after, which was good. It was a relatively small gathering-- just those who were participating in or volunteering with the race in some way, and even then I don't think all of the 8am walkers and runners made it out that early.
And two things struck me about the choir of kids. One was as they sang "I'm proud to be an American" (or whatever the name of the song actually is), I realized that they were all Hispanic children, and wondered how many of them were first, or second, or third generation Americans, and what that might mean to them or their families, as gag-reflex-inducing and questionably accurate as that particular song might normally be.
But before they got up on stage to sing that song, and another uber-cheesy one aimed at overseas troops (poor troops, why can't someone write them a decent song already??) when I saw them milling about with some teachers off to the side, all in their school uniforms, I thought about how it was good that they were there. I'd been looking at them, and they appeared to be 8, 9, 10 maybe some of the taller ones a little bit older. And I realized that they were, for the most part, born into a post-September 11th world. Maybe a couple of the older ones think they remember that day, from having seen so many video clips and pictures, heard so many stories. But they don't really. They have no memories of the time before, before it all changed. They have never known any different than this.
And I wanted to go over to them, crouch down and put my hands on their shoulders, look them in the eyes and say "I'm sorry. I am sorry that you didn't ever get to be here for the days when you could greet someone at the airport gate and when everyone wasn't so suspicious just all of the time and that you have grown up your whole life knowing what terrorism is, and that we did not do better at this, at making this world a better place for you to be." (I did not. First of all, because it was the middle of a ceremony and other things were going on. Second of all, because even if the children didn't find it weird, their teachers and parents might have. I think you can only get away with doing things like that, and people letting you, once you are really old.)
Everything changed. These children, and my nieces and nephew, and any children I might ever have, and everyone to come will be born into a world where as infants, their bottle is suspect if their parents try to board a flight with them and as children, they can get kicked out of school for so much as mentioning a bomb and as teenagers, they'll get flagged on someone's watch list when they check out the anarchist and communist or even just Muslim websites or books as they're trying to figure out who they are and rebel against all the messed-up stuff in the world and as adults, they'll be afraid, and some of them will hate and that hate will poison them, and their own children after them.
Unless everything changes again.
Unless we refuse to be suspicious of every person we see on the street, refuse to buy into adrenaline-fueled hype and cheesy patriotic songs aimed to get us revved up to buy whatever anyone tells us equates to allegiance to and love for our country, refuse to seek an eye for eye while claiming to have God on our side in that quest, refuse to let fear and hatred get in the way of our work and our love and our best attempts to make the world just a little bit better than it was before we got here.
It won't be as sudden or as news-clip, sound-bite-worthy as a plane smashing into a building or a field. But it can be more powerful, more earth-shifting yet. And as Christians, if we are not leading that change, then shame on us.
That is all. :)
Thursday, September 8, 2011
28 days x 8 hours = 28 years
No, I haven't suddenly gotten terrible at math. But I've set out on a bit of a mini-quest. Well, not so much a quest, as a mission of sorts. For the 28 nights leading up to my 28th birthday (it was going to be a month, but if there's one thing I do well, it's procrastinate!) I'm going to set myself up to get at least 8 hours of sleep each night.
Now, living in noisy Capitol Hill, and having allergies, and living in an apartment building, and for a myriad of other reasons, it's of course impossible to guarantee that I actually get 8 hours of sleep per night, on any sort of consistent basis-- too many factors are just outside of my control.
But the plan is to go to bed in time so it's even possible to get 8 hours. Not 8 hours from the time I go to bed, to the time I actually get up, but 8 hours from the time I actually turn off the lights and settle in to go to sleep (after all the reading or journaling) to when I first wake up (before the lengthy hitting of snooze buttons).
Last night-- my first night of this experiment-- that meant that, at about 10:30pm, I suddenly realized I'd gotten caught up doing other things (since a scavenger-hunt-style shopping trip had resulted in my not starting to whip up 2 different dishes till after 9) and thus had limited time to get ready and get to bed if I was to meet my goal for the night. But I did it, stopping what I was doing to prepare for bed, read for a bit, and have lights out by 11:10. (Now normally my morning alarm for a regular workday would be set to 6:50 or 7:05am-- I bumped this morning's to 7:15am, and just snooze less before getting up by my usual 7:30-ish. That's still within the rules. The adjustments can go either way, as long as they still add up to 8 hours or more.)
Tomorrow, I have to be out earlier, as I have an 8am class (and my rush-hour driving is through stickier traffic areas) instead of 8:30 work, so that means that despite the fact that I didn't get out of work till 7 this evening, my "bedtime" (it's sort of nice to have a bedtime again) for this evening is 10:30pm. On Tuesday nights, when I'm preparing for a 7am shelter shift the following day, it's going to have to be more like 10. This could get interesting. I can't remember the last time I was in bed by 10!
So anyhow, that's the experiment, plan, goal, whatever you want to call it. I'll let you know how it goes. :)
~~~~~~~~
Update, thoughts as of 9/11/11:
1. This is really hard when you are planning to get up at 5:30am. But doing the nighttime routine and making a valiant effort to go to sleep at 9:30pm, and lying there with a totally awake mind for a half hour or so, justifies turning the light back on and reading for a bit. Also, my allergies were wicked bad and I hadn't finished my tea, so sitting up and doing that in the process also helped. Still got much more sleep than if I hadn't stuck to my plan. (Also, I am really glad I don't have any visits to MI planned between now and my birthday. Because, well... I won't make you do the math on this one, but a 6:30am flight would translate into me going to bed by at least 7:30pm the night before. That would be a problem.)
2. I know God tells us not to hate, but surely he doesn't mean the people who stand outside my building and talk amongst themselves, all sappy sopping drunk, while smoking for like 20 minutes at 1:45am on a Friday morning. Surely it's ok to hate those people, just a little bit? No? Well then I'll just get one of these, so when they don't shut up even after people (sometimes me included) yell at them to do so, I can at least entertain myself out the window. (This is not a new issue, as of this experiment. If the people were being noisy at, say, 9:45 last night, I wouldn't hold it against them. But I am so far beyond sick of the jerks who stand outside and chat late at night/early in the morning.)
Now, living in noisy Capitol Hill, and having allergies, and living in an apartment building, and for a myriad of other reasons, it's of course impossible to guarantee that I actually get 8 hours of sleep per night, on any sort of consistent basis-- too many factors are just outside of my control.
But the plan is to go to bed in time so it's even possible to get 8 hours. Not 8 hours from the time I go to bed, to the time I actually get up, but 8 hours from the time I actually turn off the lights and settle in to go to sleep (after all the reading or journaling) to when I first wake up (before the lengthy hitting of snooze buttons).
Last night-- my first night of this experiment-- that meant that, at about 10:30pm, I suddenly realized I'd gotten caught up doing other things (since a scavenger-hunt-style shopping trip had resulted in my not starting to whip up 2 different dishes till after 9) and thus had limited time to get ready and get to bed if I was to meet my goal for the night. But I did it, stopping what I was doing to prepare for bed, read for a bit, and have lights out by 11:10. (Now normally my morning alarm for a regular workday would be set to 6:50 or 7:05am-- I bumped this morning's to 7:15am, and just snooze less before getting up by my usual 7:30-ish. That's still within the rules. The adjustments can go either way, as long as they still add up to 8 hours or more.)
Tomorrow, I have to be out earlier, as I have an 8am class (and my rush-hour driving is through stickier traffic areas) instead of 8:30 work, so that means that despite the fact that I didn't get out of work till 7 this evening, my "bedtime" (it's sort of nice to have a bedtime again) for this evening is 10:30pm. On Tuesday nights, when I'm preparing for a 7am shelter shift the following day, it's going to have to be more like 10. This could get interesting. I can't remember the last time I was in bed by 10!
So anyhow, that's the experiment, plan, goal, whatever you want to call it. I'll let you know how it goes. :)
~~~~~~~~
Update, thoughts as of 9/11/11:
1. This is really hard when you are planning to get up at 5:30am. But doing the nighttime routine and making a valiant effort to go to sleep at 9:30pm, and lying there with a totally awake mind for a half hour or so, justifies turning the light back on and reading for a bit. Also, my allergies were wicked bad and I hadn't finished my tea, so sitting up and doing that in the process also helped. Still got much more sleep than if I hadn't stuck to my plan. (Also, I am really glad I don't have any visits to MI planned between now and my birthday. Because, well... I won't make you do the math on this one, but a 6:30am flight would translate into me going to bed by at least 7:30pm the night before. That would be a problem.)
2. I know God tells us not to hate, but surely he doesn't mean the people who stand outside my building and talk amongst themselves, all sappy sopping drunk, while smoking for like 20 minutes at 1:45am on a Friday morning. Surely it's ok to hate those people, just a little bit? No? Well then I'll just get one of these, so when they don't shut up even after people (sometimes me included) yell at them to do so, I can at least entertain myself out the window. (This is not a new issue, as of this experiment. If the people were being noisy at, say, 9:45 last night, I wouldn't hold it against them. But I am so far beyond sick of the jerks who stand outside and chat late at night/early in the morning.)
Sunday, September 4, 2011
Seasons
The seasons are turning, around here in Denver. This past week it was in the mid- to upper 90's all week, until this weekend when cool fresh air came in over the mountains and seems to have settled over town for a while. This is Denver, which means we'll have plenty more hot days in store before any snow falls, but in the five-day forecast there are currently no days predicted over 90, and several that won't make 80, and that pleases me more than I expected it would.
Mind you, I've been looking forward to cooler weather for some time now-- since summer began, basically. Fall is one of those rare times of year when my apartment is actually comfortable, temperature-wise. But I wasn't looking forward to the end of the summer, which seems to have finally come. Now I'm trying to squeeze in some last hikes (since I've started Saturday classes, and football season is soon upon us) and opportunities for warm-weather garb before it's time to figure out where I packed away all my sweaters last spring.
But the change of seasons is good. I don't usually much look forward to fall, but that's mostly just because I know it is followed by winter, and I am not one for the cold... or the dark. If winter wasn't so dark, I'd like it so much better. The dark is so confining. But fall itself, is really quite lovely. It's not remotely actually fall yet, but the last two nights I slept with a blanket on for the first time in months. Today I made a cup of hot tea to drink while I read on the couch (all summer my apartment has been more likely to instill the urge to remove as much clothing as possible, immediately upon returning to it) and Potok picked his way across the window ledge and climbed into his cozy bed, something he has not done in a long time either. When I got up this morning, he was curled atop a throw on the back of the couch, so cozy he just peeked at me sleepily and didn't even lift his head till I came over to pet his furry head.
Fall means changing colors (not so much so here in Colorado, though the aspens are nice), jeans, cozy hoodies, scarves with sweaters, hot tea, cute jackets, cool winds that refresh you and flush your cheeks, football, my birthday. It wouldn't be half bad, if it didn't mean impending winter and months of dark.
I don't know what this season will hold for me, and some of the things I know it will hold, I'm already stressed about-- well, mainly just one, which is the beast of a process of applying for grad school (the actual applying I think I can manage. It's the figuring out where might take me, to even apply, that is at the moment quite daunting). Other things I'm more looking forward to-- the classes I'm taking this fall are much more interesting (and remarkably less torturous) than the last year of slogging through organic chemistry. I'm hoping to see the Lions play in Denver (I haven't seen them live in a non-preseason game since shortly after I moved out here). I want to do something-- or maybe somethings-- really fun with friends for my birthday. I don't think I'm going to make it home for Thanksgiving, but I think I have options to be taken in for the celebratory meal here in town. Soon I should have Christmas plans figured out, and by then I would have most of the grad-school-applying hassle over with, for better or for worse-- and knowing how fast a season can go, that's something to look forward to, as well.
I've never had a summer fly by so quickly. I keep forgetting where I am in the year, it went so incredibly fast. I could feel it speeding along, all the while, but it was for good reasons-- evenings and weekends packed with girls' night dinners and Bible studies, celebrations of friends' birthdays, a bit of camping, more hiking, church, grilling, festivals, a visit with family... good things to make the time pass without notice. So I know the next summer will roll around quickly too. Some seasons seem to pass more slowly (can you say, winter?) but pass they do. That scares me a little, because I have no idea where next summer-- or next fall-- will find me, and am scared at my options. I don't want to leave Denver and my church and the wonderful friends I've made here, but staying here far away from family and other friends seems similarly unbearable. I can only trust that as the seasons turn, it will all work itself out and things will follow as they will.
Time to go grab a light blanket and put on water for another cup of tea as the windows-- which I shut for the first time last night-- let in a light, cool breeze. Where will this season take you?
Mind you, I've been looking forward to cooler weather for some time now-- since summer began, basically. Fall is one of those rare times of year when my apartment is actually comfortable, temperature-wise. But I wasn't looking forward to the end of the summer, which seems to have finally come. Now I'm trying to squeeze in some last hikes (since I've started Saturday classes, and football season is soon upon us) and opportunities for warm-weather garb before it's time to figure out where I packed away all my sweaters last spring.
But the change of seasons is good. I don't usually much look forward to fall, but that's mostly just because I know it is followed by winter, and I am not one for the cold... or the dark. If winter wasn't so dark, I'd like it so much better. The dark is so confining. But fall itself, is really quite lovely. It's not remotely actually fall yet, but the last two nights I slept with a blanket on for the first time in months. Today I made a cup of hot tea to drink while I read on the couch (all summer my apartment has been more likely to instill the urge to remove as much clothing as possible, immediately upon returning to it) and Potok picked his way across the window ledge and climbed into his cozy bed, something he has not done in a long time either. When I got up this morning, he was curled atop a throw on the back of the couch, so cozy he just peeked at me sleepily and didn't even lift his head till I came over to pet his furry head.
Fall means changing colors (not so much so here in Colorado, though the aspens are nice), jeans, cozy hoodies, scarves with sweaters, hot tea, cute jackets, cool winds that refresh you and flush your cheeks, football, my birthday. It wouldn't be half bad, if it didn't mean impending winter and months of dark.
I don't know what this season will hold for me, and some of the things I know it will hold, I'm already stressed about-- well, mainly just one, which is the beast of a process of applying for grad school (the actual applying I think I can manage. It's the figuring out where might take me, to even apply, that is at the moment quite daunting). Other things I'm more looking forward to-- the classes I'm taking this fall are much more interesting (and remarkably less torturous) than the last year of slogging through organic chemistry. I'm hoping to see the Lions play in Denver (I haven't seen them live in a non-preseason game since shortly after I moved out here). I want to do something-- or maybe somethings-- really fun with friends for my birthday. I don't think I'm going to make it home for Thanksgiving, but I think I have options to be taken in for the celebratory meal here in town. Soon I should have Christmas plans figured out, and by then I would have most of the grad-school-applying hassle over with, for better or for worse-- and knowing how fast a season can go, that's something to look forward to, as well.
I've never had a summer fly by so quickly. I keep forgetting where I am in the year, it went so incredibly fast. I could feel it speeding along, all the while, but it was for good reasons-- evenings and weekends packed with girls' night dinners and Bible studies, celebrations of friends' birthdays, a bit of camping, more hiking, church, grilling, festivals, a visit with family... good things to make the time pass without notice. So I know the next summer will roll around quickly too. Some seasons seem to pass more slowly (can you say, winter?) but pass they do. That scares me a little, because I have no idea where next summer-- or next fall-- will find me, and am scared at my options. I don't want to leave Denver and my church and the wonderful friends I've made here, but staying here far away from family and other friends seems similarly unbearable. I can only trust that as the seasons turn, it will all work itself out and things will follow as they will.
Time to go grab a light blanket and put on water for another cup of tea as the windows-- which I shut for the first time last night-- let in a light, cool breeze. Where will this season take you?
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