Rest

At InterVarsity tonight Alex Kirk is talking about "Why We Rest." At lunch this week he, Sarah Vanderpool and I dialoged about this and what it means.

Rest is something that our fast-paced Western culture does not do well. It's something that specifically our stressed-out UNC-Chapel Hill community doesn't do well either.

Personally, I am thrilled by all the amazing things I get to do during the day - CUAB film stuff (shout out to Lindsey and whoever else Google alerts "CUAB" ;), Carolina Production Guild work, projectionist work, paper grading work, sometimes school work, and on and on.

All of these things are very fulfilling and enjoyable, but they are never completely satisfying. It is imperative to "play" hard just as much as we work hard. But more than just "playing," we need to be able to rest. Literally, we have to be able to say no to whatever is demanding our time, get some sleep and recharge our inner batteries... or else we will run ragged.

Some things don't seem productive, but they are integral to sustaining us - time with friends, reading a good book, spending time in prayer and silence, listening to some music, going for a run, sipping tea, relaxing. The catch is that these things don't just happen - we have to be proactive and intentional about making time for them. My problem is that I keep my commitments to everyone else but not to myself to stay well rested.

So keep me accountable, okay? Invite me to put aside work for a few hours and do something fun. Let's have a healthy balance of rest and work!

Barf Jeans

Event #1: SATURDAY - At the football game, a girl three rows up projectile vomits on the people right behind Kris and me.

Event #2: MONDAY - On my way up Franklin to Starbucks, a man steps out of Blue Lounge onto the sidewalk and vomits right in front of Ashley and me.

Event #3: TUESDAY - On my way to class this morning, I tripped and fell in vomit on the sidewalk by the ATMs.



What do these disgusting events have in common? The same pair of blue jeans.

Sisterhood of the Traveling Pants 3 = the pants bring misfortune and distasteful circumstances to the college-age women. Think the WB will bite....or barf?

Autumn

Every year I end up writing a post that only really says one thing - it's autumn.

And it is.

I finally feel it in the crisp air around me and in the smell of dying leaves lighting up the world around us before they blaze out of sight. Time to take a deep breath and enjoy the waning beauty of summer. It is a poignant season. For some reason I feel alive. Time to pull out Jon Foreman's "Fall" EP and listen to any of the insightful and melodic tunes.

All this reminds me of the haiku given to me at our CUAB retreat a few weekends back. It warmed me:

In just a moment
Before you go to L.A.
You'll rock our socks off.


Thanks, friend. Let's all shine together before our college years wane thin. The spring of post-graduation is right around the corner.

Well, it was a little more than an autumn announcement this year.

Poetry

I have recently been awakened to the joy of poetry. People I admire have always loved it, but I am just beginning to turn phrases and rhythms over in my head like sweet morsels.

I went to see Billy Collins read some of his poetry with my roommate Amanda and fell in love. Although... we did muse on the way back as to what constitutes "poetry?" Any thoughts?

Here are two of my favorites so far. One I found two years ago on the subway in NYC, the other a Billy Collins piece that captured me Monday night.

Enjoy!


Utterance by W.S. Merwin

sitting over words
very late i have heard a kind of whispered sighing
not far
like a night wind in pines or like the sea in the dark
the echo of everything that has ever been spoken
still spinning in one syllable
between the earth and silence


Litany by Billy Collins

You are the bread and the knife,
the crystal goblet and the wine.
You are the dew on the morning grass
and the burning wheel of the sun.
You are the white apron of the baker,
and the marsh birds suddenly in flight.

However, you are not the wind in the orchard,
the plums on the counter,
or the house of cards.
And you are certainly not the pine-scented air.
There is just no way that you are the pine-scented air.

It is possible that you are the fish under the bridge,
maybe even the pigeon on the general's head,
but you are not even close
to being the field of cornflowers at dusk.

And a quick look in the mirror will show
that you are neither the boots in the corner
nor the boat asleep in its boathouse.

It might interest you to know,
speaking of the plentiful imagery of the world,
that I am the sound of rain on the roof.

I also happen to be the shooting star,
the evening paper blowing down an alley
and the basket of chestnuts on the kitchen table.

I am also the moon in the trees
and the blind woman's tea cup.
But don't worry, I'm not the bread and the knife.
You are still the bread and the knife.
You will always be the bread and the knife,
not to mention the crystal goblet and--somehow--the wine.