Duties and Doodies

Babies poop.

It's a thing.

Also, when does talking about your child's bodily functions stop being an acceptable people to discuss in public places?

Some would argue, "ALWAYS! No one NO ONE wants to know about that!"
Others, not so much.

The other week in a staff meeting, we talked about all the different things that are acceptable to comment on and discuss about babies that is ABSOLUTELY NOT ACCEPTABLE to comment on and discuss later in their little lives.

Things such as, but not limited to: bodily functions, weight fluctuation, everything related to nursing ("latching"), chubby thighs, etc.

Personally, I think all babies look like trolls.
They can be absolutely adorable trolls that I will love unconditionally (i.e. each and every one of my nieces and nephews), but trolls nonetheless. Just for a few months until they start to grow into their person.

Yesterday, I traveled on over to the ole O-K-L-A-HOMA to attend the baptism of my cousin Kristina's daughter.
Krissy and I, much like our mothers, are near exact replicas of one another, give or take a few years. She's my family go-to, my saving grace at holidays get-togethers, and an endless source of sass and side comments.

She is 10 years older than me and had her first child, Fiona Marie, just a couple months ago.
We're all pretty floored about it. Jeff (her husband) and Kristina are absolutely adorable with one another and that, matched with our thankfulness and wonder at them finding one another to begin with, makes Fiona one very special little human.

Jury is still out on who her name is dedicated to (Daisy Marie-->Joyce Marie-->Kristina Marie-->Fiona Marie), but it's safe to say all three of her predecessors love her pretty fiercely.

And now, after a question and a yes, that little bundle of love is my goddaughter.
I'm so honored to get to be Fiona's "person".
Don't worry, kid. I've got your back. (and your neck, just until you gain a little muscle mass)

One Last Day, But It's Not the Same

It's different, very different.
And I love that when I will get to say, "Last December in Belfast" it will not be followed with tears. It will be followed with joy.

David (you absolutely remember David, my sweet, wonderful houseman and groundskeeper)  had stopped by the house twice yesterday to see me, but I'd been away at uni all day.

8am it was! And my reserved, British friend kissed me right on the face. Ha!

I hate that the picture is blurry, but I do enjoy having him in photo form. David will never know or be able to understand the depth to which his practical mercy on me touched my life.
Like the time I came in to see a tulip on the counter and, when I thanked him on my way out the door (he was in the garden), he told me, "Musta been a nail or somethin' break it. Found it on the ground. Thought you could talk to it."

Or the time just after the team left, my boyfriend left, and my nephew entered the world (it was a big three days) and I was alone and sad, he came and found me and asked if I would like to put up the Christmas decorations. David does not ask anyone to do anything. He does things. You would understand if you knew David, but that was his way of taking care of, giving me something to do, something to feel a part of. David is a very good man.

Another very good man collected me for tea just after--Hadden. :)
He was my boss over in Belfast, coordinating JBU activities there. We talked over programme information and life stuff.
Getting back into his car after dropping me off (not even facing me), he said, "Let that young man of yours know that if he doesn't treat you right...I'll kill him". Then drove off.
And he's from Belfast, so you know he ain't lyin'.

Next came Amy and Matt.
We hung out at Lakeside, went to city centre, went out for lunch at a fun little pub, shopped a bit, roamed the Christmas market, took the party back home again, watched Everything is Illuminated, and just had a really good time.

When Amy left, Lauren appeared. :)

Last cuddles all around.

Home is a place you fight for. Home is a place that knows you, that you feel known in. Home is a place you feel wanted and loved. When I left for Oklahoma last December, Belfast was not my home. What a blessing, what a treasure, that it was when I stepped off the plane just one year later.

Lakeside, Belfast, my friends (and a lot of Starbucks goers) saw my soul stripped naked, saw me broken, and saw the Lord rise me up again.
And for that, for seeing, for staying, for speaking out truth, they became my home.

When It Rains, It Rains

When I woke up this morning, it was a beautiful, clear day.

Because I know my city, though, I packed an umbrella. 

And lucky I did, because the rest of the day poured, and it was beautiful and cold and sideways, just as I remember it. 

Started off the morning with coffee. 

Starbucks with my smallgroup leaders, Heather&Johnny and Heather's sister Lorna. 

Good conversation, a good catchup, and they gave me the sweetest ornament. :) 

Then it was time to begin the day's graduation activities. 

First came the pre-reception, where we snacked on mince meat pies (not actual meat. It's actually a very confusing taste bud experience, like when you drink sprite expecting water. Except here it's cinnamon-y fruit instead of meat) and cute little cups of wine. 

We sipped, supped, and met one another's families (more on that later). Mostly we all stood around trying to pin on our hoods. It was as confusing as the mincemeat. Is it meant to fold on the sides? how high? Matched with the open-front capes, there was just a whole, weird choking experience. But finally, we were mostly pinned and ready to head out. 

We found our seating assignment in the beautiful Sir William Whitla Hall (also was the location of my very first international student orientation meeting and introduction to Queen's) and parked it, an organist playing very dignified tunes while I, in my very American way, took pictures. 

Then, the ceremony began. 

It started with a video of the decorated faculty walking from the main hall into the Whitla hall...in the pouring rain...totally unphased. 

The British take pomp and circumstance to a whole new level, as speeches and bowing and capes and furred capes passed by me, waiting not patiently at all in my chair. 

Then, we were up! 

And they almost said my name right! It was a big step for them. Jehmee forever. The "Ruth" was dead on, though. 

Following the ceremony was the post-ceremony reception. They do not mess around with their receptions, I tell ya. Tea and sweets for all. Yummmmmmm. 

Everyone clustering to take pictures with their families. So.....I stole some old people. 

and I took a selfie with Eamonn: 

And a group shot that made its way into the Irish News: 

And one that didn't make it in. I love how delighted Eamonn looks: 

Some with Sonya (my Easter break travelling buddy): 

And lots with the beffer: 

Amy also made sure I was well looked-after and adopted. I spent the evening with her family--both at their home and to the delicious Barking Dog Eatery--before heading home around 11. 

It's the end of my Belfast chapter on Queen's, but we're not nearly halfway through with the book. 

There are years and pages to come, I'm sure. 

My Jet Lag a Leettle

Confession: I may or may not go to sleep at 8:30ish back home. Sometimes later. But 8:30 is preferable.

So, when I went to bed at 2:30am here, my body thought it was very normal.

I felt an alarm wasn't necessary to get em up and at em for my 11:30am coffee with some mates.
However, when Matt woke me up at 1pm to make sure I was still going to the movie, I was obviously proved wrong. Yikes. Won't be doing that again.

Made it only a half hour late to our film at the Queen's Film Theatre (second to last item on my Belfast Bucket List).

"Good Vibrations" only cost us 13p each, which was awesome, and the film was so so good.
A punk rock "godfather" from Belfast during the Troubles era. AND the screenplay was written by one of my favorite NI authors, Glenn Patterson, who wrote Number 5. Love him,

Then Boojum and books with Matt (and a tour of the library) then a very long, very wet wait for the bus (the visit wouldn't be the same without it).

Belfast: Where Umbrellas go to die

Lauren greeted me at Lakeside and whisked me away to pick up Kiera and have a girls' night.
The Christmas market for yummy dutch pancakes and nutella then off we went to dinner.
Then, to finish up my BBL, we went and saw the Big Fish (also the title of one of my favorite movies, I will add).

The frozen rain tried to immobilize us, and we may have gotten a wee bit lost on the way, but we found it! And danced and laughed and howled into the night before heading home and chatting till midnight.

a glowing "doll on the ball", the much mocked symbol of peace, placed between the two once very divided parts of the city

the beffers

umbrella: conquered 

We've also decided to make a covenant to see each other once at least once a decade.

Another good, long, wet day had. :) I love loving here.

My Jet Don't Lag

The planes over?
Best ever.

From Tulsa to Chicago it was clear skies and sunshine.
Arrived in the dark windy city 30 minutes early actually.

A short 4 hour layover then it was off to Dublin. Had a whole row to myself on the largest aircraft I've ever been on.
Arrived in the dark windy city a full hour early.

Got through passport security with ease and walked straight up to my bag. The whole thing took 5 minutes start to finish. Unreal.

Then:

She drove all the way from Belfast to lift me, wee pet, on almost no sleep. Gem, that girl is.

When we got into Belfast, we had a super search for parking, then got lunch/killed time before 2

At the cafe, though, I heard my name screamed and Lauren appeared out of nowhere. YES!

Ames and I turned in the hard copy of my thesis (hallelujah chorus) then picked up our regalia (hallelujah chorus) and graduation tickets (which I will give to two strangers and ask them to pose as family).

Then home to the "new me" and old friend at Lakeside (where Matt and I had to break back into because he had accidentally locked himself out. oops)

I had brought him Christmas from his family in Texas, so we opened his presents and chatted until my church mate Megan got here.

 

She took us for ice cream which turned into bonding all together until 2:30am.
Very long first day. Very best first day.

Back to the Island

In three and a half hours, I'm hopping on a plane and heading to Northern Ireland.

Tuesday through Saturday morning, I get to battle jet lag whilst spending time with some of my favorite people.

It's a melt that Naomi has up and moved to Spain and Lynsey is on placement in Paris, but all the rest of my best friends and colleagues are in the planner.

I'm so excited I can hardly sit still--early apologies to my aisle mates on the plane--

Graduation itself is at 2:30pm on Thursday; that's 8:30am for my folks back home in the south.

And, Queen's does this very wonderful livestream, so friends and family who want to tune in for some hoods and beautiful accents can do so here when the time comes. Heresay claims that there's curtsying involved. I truly hope that isn't so.

It is a strange and wonderful feeling to be thrilled at the prospect of returning to Belfast.

The first time I went, in the summer of 2012, I was too unsure of what I had gotten myself into to be properly excited.
The second time, I was too in love and saddened by separation to fully appreciate my move.
The third time, I was determined that it would be a better experience than the second, but that isn't the same as elation.

Now, with a stable mind and body and heart, with friends like family waiting for me at baggage claim (literally), I am overwhelmed with thankfulness and joy.

I'm going home. :)

Courtesy of Lauren Esler. :)

How I Casse-Roll

Thanksgiving food reminds me of Belfast.

Historically, Thanksgiving is my favorite holiday.
The morning is spent watching the Macy's day parade (this year with cuddles from two of my nieces and nephews), then time to clean up before family members start to appear.

My auntie Joyce gets there first.
Every year, that evokes, "Oh gosh, they're here already?!" from my mama Jansie.

Then, as she panics and I kind of putz about the house, everyone else shows up.

Trout, veggies, and other random hors d'oeuvres are consumed and then my family crams themselves around the dining room table (at their assigned seat).

At this point, we grab hands, sing "Father, We Thank Thee" and then my father tries to pray. Tries, because he always ends up choked up, which is very precious.
It doesn't matter if Daddy prays of if one of the boys prays, the Odom men cry when they pray. I like that.

Then we sit and enjoy one another and eat all the random, delicious dishes that we have all contributed. "Oh my gosh! This ______ casserole is so scrumptious! Who made this?!"

And then the rest of the day kind of twiddles about, but all in all, the entire thing is all the fun of Christmas without the presents, which I love.

Why then, with all these warm and bright memories, would Belfast the Cold be my mental trigger?

Last year, right before the fall semester team left, we had a Thanksgiving feast.

There were enough leftovers to make up an entire feast. Like, whole casseroles.



Then they left me.

The woman I lived with was passionate about not having leftovers. Passionate to the point of...extremism. Like, digging thrown-out food out of the trashcans.
She had good intentions.
However, she also experienced a lot of allergy-type reactions to most foods.

Thus, it was up to me to eat everything the team left. It was character building and waistline widening both.

I'm sure you remember post after post after post of things I baked with my 11 pounds of apples (just one example of my mass food eateries). I also had to eat Thanksgiving.

Meal after meal.

It was exciting the first week.

But, like all casseroles, it's day 9 that things start getting rough.

After that, I had to make meal baggies, a heft spoonful of each dish into a ziplock.

Then I'd pull one out, rip off the bag, and microwave it.

Rough times, friends.
Good thing I really like Thanksgiving food.

When I came back from my sojourn to Oklahoma, though, guess what had been thrown out of the freezer.
I can't even remember if I was more sad or more amused by the irony.

Blank Space

That new T-Swift song is great, but I've got a completely unrelated story.

I'm a writer, right? I'm designed to be a bit broody and ruminate and turn that into words.

So maybe it's my disposition toward slow processing that's made my experiences of last fall so difficult for me to...get out of my system.

There's a lot I don't remember. There's a lot I do remember.

Last year: three weeks of silence and one week of fighting to complete November, the waiting month. Sometimes, good things don't happen to those who wait.

A whole host of awful happened after. Awful that I only found out in segments. Awful that I still don't understand. And I don't need to. And I probably won't ever.

I came out of chapel today to see the retreating figure of a girl I have spent nearly a year's worth of energy and thoughts and behaviors in practical hatred.

And, though I had contemplated it before and decided against more than once, it was finally the right moment.

It does not matter what happened last year.
Or how it happened.

My response to it has been entirely my own to own.
And I have allowed myself to hate and behave in every manner contrary to the grace that I have been shown in my own life.

That ends today.

Today I apologized for my sin.
Didn't wake up thinking I would.
Still kind of shocked that I did.
And I've got that just-graduated feeling where you're having to readjust to not having homework hanging over your head or dreading the homework that will be hanging over your head.
All this space.
All this opportunity.

I don't know if I did it right or if I would go back and revise to make it perfect, but it was sincere and hard and time.

God is good.
God redeems.

Without that one catalyst (and all the ones that followed), literally everything in my life would be different. I would not be in Arkansas, I would not be with Julius, and I may not be who I want to be, but thanks be to God I'm not who I was.

The journey continues.
And it's slow and annoying and endless feeling, but I'm really thankful for these kinds of moments, when I see how God is making good on pain and moving me forward.

A Three Post Day: Mastered

Timing is everything.

It was this time last year that the lights started closing in on me. 

All manners of darkness swam into my heart, and, folks, to be frank, my very life is a miracle. 

By the Grace of God, I am what I am. 

I was delivered via airplane into the arms of my parents and friends, who were unnerved by the damage a few months had wrought on me. 

My first semester papers scored poorly, but I am shocked they were even brought into existence. 

My memories of those 40 days at home are few. The depression I fought so terribly hard against while away consumed me when it realized I was back in safety (literally). 

But Belfast was where God had sent me. 

And he hadn't unsent me. I just needed fuel. 

February first had me back and miracles happened. Four months of miracles followed four months (plus one) of nightmares. 

I was resurrected but I wasn't the same. 

Since December, I haven't been able to complete a single book, not in full. 

My second semester papers were written, but it was with difficulty. 

Writing that thesis was one of the most challenging academic experiences of my life. Culture shock, a new job, facing old realities with new perspective, a new relationship, finding friends, just...struggle. 

But sentence by sentence, God pulled those paragraphs out of me, and I turned it in. 

Now, three months later, I am so humbled to announce that I have passed, with flying colors and every synonym for the word "eccentric" written on my paper's critiques. 

I am proud not because I accomplished anything. 

Last December gives every indication that when I rely on my own strength, I run out, to the point of near death or permanent destruction. 

This work, friends, was the Lord's. 

"When the people returned to Jerusalem from captivity in Babylon, they became as men who dreamed. Their heart's were filled with laughter, their tongues with shouts of praise. 

Then it was said among the nations, 'The Lord has done great things for them!'

Indeed, the Lord has done great things for us and we are filled with joy." 

A Three Post Day: The Lonestar Rescue Mission

The college fair circuit brings people together.

We may never see those hoards of students again, but come rain or come shine, we, the counselors from universities all across the states, will probably join together for a 13 or more day string of the same fairs. Sometimes, we see one another twice in the same day--or more depending on if we end up in the same Starbucks. 

We bond. 

Thank goodness for that. 

Remember the time Abilene had to rescue my promo (and me) from the rain/parking lot incident? 

It was a thing. 

Today, yet again, I required rescuing. 

My keys and I...had a falling out. 

Or, rather, a falling in. 

Falling into my trunk. 

Without having had unlocked the car. 

And a dead phone. 

I'm not sure if they had slipped from the hood into the trunk or if I had set them there on the back ledge, but there they were, just out of reach. I could even touch their plastic tag. 

Dallas Christian and Cal Baptist were on it, managing to fanagle their way down into the top opening with the ear of sunglasses to hit the trunk button on the downward-flipped keys. 

Miracles. They're a thing. 

A Three Post Day: Birthday Bio

She's been the talk of the blog lately, but today is Leslie Lancaster's birthday.

I think she is great.

Leslie and I became friends three years ago during the summer when we roomed together in Belfast for a trip.

While there, I learned a few things about her:
-Leslie is a very deep human who consciously constructs and conducts herself with others. She doesn't say or do things lightly, which I appreciate. And, if she feels as though she has spoken or behaved rashly, she is quick to communicate a thoughtful apology.
-Leslie secretly likes sneak attack cuddles.
-Leslie appreciates the opportunity to observe before she joins and, though she enjoys feeling included, she does not appreciate when she is added in a way that feels forced.

Since then, I have grown to find in Leslie a friend of unswerving loyalty, of truth, of very good thoughts, of very challenging questions, and of some very odd talents (How many of your friends have whittled you an elephant before?).

Sometimes, the in-person stuff for us is hard. We always like to spend time with one another, but a lot of our friendship is through paper and pen, even when we lived on the same campus.

Through that mode, I have not only had a safe place for myself to process life, but I have had the honor of hearing my private friend sift through her own questions and concerns.

In Leslie, I have found a friend for life, and I am so thankful to celebrate the world keeping her for yet another year.

A Book, A Box, and a Blessing

Gifts are not my favorite.

It makes me anxious to think of people spending money on me, especially if they're doing so after a misplaced sense of obligation: I'M SO HAPPY TO JUST HAVE YOU WITH ME LET'S PLAY JENGA!!! 

But thoughtful gifts stick with me absolutely forever and make me feel warm and sunny inside. 

Until yesterday, two were tied for first place. 

1. When I was a freshman in college, my boyfriend gave me an old copy of Oliver Twist. I actually dislike Dickens. A lot. But our first bonding moment involved me quoting OT and him mistaking it for "Little Orphan Annie". It was a cute thing. He even stole my mom's number, called and asked her if I already had it. Then, remembering I love old books, he went out and found it special for me. It was such a great, tangible moment of, "I know you!!!"

2. A second moment like that was the year after when my best friend of that semester presented me with a small gold-enameled jewelry box. It has daffodils (my favorite flower) engraved into it and it's delicate and beautiful without being too frilly and fussy. She had found it in an antique shop and thought of me. I use it every morning and think of her. It's practical and lovely both.   

Both of these were off the beaten track. Not mass manufactured or easily found and very...deliberate. Not like what I do sometimes and drop in Target to pick up something real fast before heading to the party. 

However, yesterday, something arrived on my desk that now ties for third place. 

On Monday, I got to spend time with my friend Leslie, who has been my penpal and confidante for what...? Three years now? She roomed with me when I went and visited NI for the first time, and we have written each other letters since (despite being on the same campus for one of those years). 

This is the same girl who whittled me an elephant with an eerily dead-on note attached. Sometimes, she Charles Wallace-es me. 

Yesterday, atop my desk, appeared two glasses (with lemon slice pictures on the sides) and a pitcher, all three filled to the brim with lemons, and a note stating:

 "Jamie Odom

Found these and thought you might put them to a worthy use.

Abundantly yours, 

Life" 

All day, when people passed my aromatic workspace and asked after my fruit, I'd tell them Life sent them to me. 

It was thoughtful, timely, unexpected, and so very sweet. Brightened my whole day. 

Unselfconscious Gratitude

Today I did my first local school visit, a pizza lunch.

It made me think of the last time I brought a food incentive to a school. It was cupcakes and not a single one was interested in my university. ha.

However, I had the opportunity to have a really good conversation with one of the adults who worked there. At the end, I was still loaded with 3 dozen incentive cupcakes and offered them to her.

Her response was of total shock and gratitude; she told me of what a blessing it was, that her son's birthday was the next day and she had needed to bring treats for his class.

It was so genuine.

There was no sob story of why she couldn't provide them herself, though she had told me quite a bit of her life story during our sit there that would have made it easy to. And I'm not being cold when I say sob story: I probably would have teared up.

This past summer I met a girl who, for her birthday, got a mattress. And she was with these kids who got things like iPhones or Coach bags or other hoity toity and was just raving about how awesome this mattress thing was and how excited she was, as she had never had a new one before.

Again, there wasn't a mark of attempt at extracting pity. She was just excited.

For some reason, we as a people group have forgotten how to interact without weighing and measuring each and every word. Well, that's not true. I've seen a whole lot of people go off the handle. More, we have forgotten how to be exuberant.

What is so embarrassing or undignified or wrong with being thrilled at receiving something so seemingly simple as cupcakes or a mattress?

We are so quick to criticize--loudly--in both public and private, so quick to become angry, to become sad, to become wild. But when it comes to being delighted in one another, we are quick not to gush but to check ourselves.
 I think we should check ourselves on that.

What I'm Noticing

Previously, I wrote about my yoga instructor's catch phrase: Notice what you notice.

I'm here now to tell you what I'm noticing.

The past seven days have flooded my body (literally) with anxiety. My cortisol levels have got to be just through the roof. My back has been locking up, my muscles are stiff, and my jaw is sore from unconsciously clenching my teeth.

There's a point to this, don't get super concerned.

Because of how much stress I was in, I decided on Sunday that I would go to 4 yoga sessions instead of my normal 2 per week.

Monday morning came, though, and I had stayed up late, so I chose sleep.
Tuesday morning came, though, and it was raining, so I chose sleep.
Wednesday morning came, though, and I chose sleep.

The past two nights, I've slept 10 hours each. It's not like I'm lacking sleep.

Notice what I notice.
Yesterday, our yoga instructor sent us a link to this article about the ten things the writer wishes people knew about yoga.

It's actually pretty good. The one that's sticking out to me this morning, is the point about how yoga is meant to be frustrating. I think it means physically, but shoot. It's mentally frustrating, too.
You think way too much about everything and about nothing and stupid things and oh my goodness I think my legs are going to rip out of their hip sockets.

But yoga is frustrating before you even get there.
Logically, I know that I really, really need to go. It would unknot my mind and body and align me for the day.
But I won't go.

Because even though I'm in pain and this is kind of masochistic, I'm choosing the known hurt over the unknown hurt.
Going to yoga is going to hurt really badly tomorrow not just because of my hurting body but because I've waited to do it. It'll also hurt because I've held off on thinking well, too.

Isn't that always the case?
Don't we so so often choose to harbor our sin or our pain or our anxiety because we understand it and know how to live within its constraints?
And later, after we have been forced to deal, don't we always wish we had taken ourselves on in stages instead of holding off until we're full underwater?

On Authority and Noserings or "Because I'm Willing"

Who I was in college is no secret.

With my long, blonde curls, my loose fitting clothing, my barefootedness, my hooped nosering, and my refusal to wear makeup, I was your classic flower child. Shoot, I was even in an indie band. 

My favorite story was the time I spoke in a board meeting in my hot pink, tye dye sundress, mud on my ankles included. 

Needless to say, my transition to "professional" has been difficult. 

I have had to have "conference room tweaking chats" about things I never would have dreamed would be a problem, like walking on the grass or my nosering (okay, yes, I did have a couple nightmares about that one). 

Wearing shoes, sitting at a desk, learning how to be a classy, polished lady, does not come naturally, and, though I ask for direction often, I don't always feel as though I'm given clear paths. Mostly, because a lot of the things I have come into conflict with have been things that a lot of people would implicitly understand. 

Being an extremely literal person (and a drugless hippie), that implicit understanding skipped me. And, to be honest, sometimes the direction I'm given goes so completely against everything I am. 

For example, it's difficult for me to have a sunny attitude about A. keeping my shoes on and B. keeping my bare feet out of the grass. 

Yesterday, there was a pretty brutal "tweaking" conversation with me that took me wholly off-guard. 

I left it frustrated and confused and sad, confused at why God had brought me back here to fail again and again and again. 

Then, last night, I went to my craigslist Bible study with my boyfriend Julius (the only one in the group who would be able to appreciate the irony of the topic for the evening). 

You ever read First or Second Peter? Yah? Good. Then you know where I'm going with this. 

No? Well, let me tell you. 

The main focus is pursuing harmony, repaying evil with good, submitting to authority with a humble heart, and prayer. 

KEY POINT A: 

1 Peter 4 talks about keeping a clear mind and self control in order that you may pray. 

Now, you may think, "What???!" 

But it makes sense. Track with me here. 

You are attacked with a mixture of truth and anger. 

You respond with cortisol (stress hormone), a mess of tears, confusion, frustration, and all kinds of other stuff. Your heart and mind are so stuffed with hot emotion that there isn't any room to understand. 

It's when you take every thought captive (self  control) and quiet yourself (clear your mind) that you can glean the truth, humble yourself, see areas of need for both growth and grace, and learn how to pray well, both for yourself and the other party involved. 

KEY POINT B: 

1 Peter 5 speaks to the elders of the church about taking care of those underneath them, but what Peter says I think is applicable to us all. He exhorts them to do good "not because you must, but because you are willing, as God wants you to be; not pursuing dishonest gain, but eager to serve".

I used to be a debater, so I read a lot about Jean Lacques' social contract.
When you enter into a society, there is an implicit (sometimes explicit) set of social rules and regulations that you agree to adhere to (again, formal or informal). 

When you break that social contract, you open yourself to correction because you have removed yourself from the "society". You following? 

I entered into this world and this job and this university willingly. The things they have asked of me are not things which come naturally, but they are things that I will adjust, not because I must but because I am willing; because I love my job and my university and my students/families alike. 

My approach has been with the wrong heart. I'm not sure I would go so far as to say it's been for "dishonest gain", but it also hasn't been with an "eager to serve" spirit. 

So, it's time to take a Devil Wears Prada attitude and amp it up. 

The hoop is gone, the heels are on, and, with coffee cup in hand and a smile on my face, I'm tearlessly, fearlessly here, at my desk, ready to recruit. 

Notice What You Notice

For the past 3 weeks, on Tuesdays and Thursdays at freaking six in the morning, I have been going to yoga.

It's one of my "support your housemate" attempts because she would appreciate accountability to going because working out is supposed to be good for you or something.

I am oddly chipper at 6am. Oh God forbid my alarm go off at 7:30, but shoot. Set it for 5:45am and I'll pop right up by myself 3 minutes before it goes off. Who am I?

Periodically throughout each session, our instructor tells us to "notice what you notice".

Yoga instructors can get a little...up in the clouds. ha. So the first time I heard her say that, I thought she was a little on the looney side. I mean, what does that even mean?

I get it now. She makes a good point. It's all about perception. My experience is absolutely not the same as what my housemate is experiencing. My thoughts, my shaking muscles, my breath is all set to a different level.

Additionally, we could even be having the exact same experience and be noticing different things, thus the point to actively notice what we are noticing.

She--as she explained to me in the car this morning--notices what her body does in comparison to other people and to how she knows she used to be able to facilitate movement.

I notice my hands. Unless I've been directed to pay attention to something else, I am generally focused on how my hands will handle (sorry...pun) the different poses because I've got pathetically thin wrists, and each new move requires that I am very conscious of how I distribute weight to take care of them.

Sometimes, what we should be noticing isn't body-related at all. Notice thoughts. What goes through the mind during yoga. For some, I'm sure it's nothing, it being 6am and all.
For others, it's a fight against their body demons.
For me? It's a lot of different things. I think about the people I'm with, wonder how they fill their other hours, think about whatever music I heard that morning getting ready, question what I need to do during the day, maybe pray for people on my mind.

It's not restricted to yoga, though.
Notice what you notice in the daily life. You might be surprised at what you find.

Craigslist Friendship

Things started getting desperate, folks.

Moving to a small college town is rough.
No matter where you go, what you do, the only people you find yourself surrounded by are University folk: students, faculty, and alumni.

Now, let's get one thing straight: I adore University folk. Obviously.
However, I spend all day every day working with them, and I go to church with them. I really needed to find a group of people to spend time with that are unaffiliated with my life.

Furthermore, I've found myself in a very natural post-grad state of feeling like I'm floating.
There's no goal.
There's no timeline.

I will come to work tomorrow and the next day and the next day and this summer and the next summer for as long as we both shall live.

Talk about depressing...

A second Master's degree was put back on the table just to give me an outlet (they don't offer cosmo school at night. Weird, right?).

Over the weekend, two of my dearest friends came in to town for a wedding.
I had such constructive, deep, and refreshing conversations with them, and it tipped me past my "toleration of my current life" point, by virtue of reminding me what it is that I'm missing out on by not really having any friends in this place.

Abby, though, told me about this place called meetup.com.
It's like craigslist for friendship.
Yes. Please be shocked at my desperate measures.

I found and RSVPd to a Bible study in Fayetteville.
And I actually went.

Upon arrival, I realized that I had no way of knowing who they were and began to inwardly panic, but thanks to my profile and RSVP, they found me.

About 7 of us from all stages of life talked through 1&2 Timothy, Titus, and Philemon chapter by chapter, challenging one another, sharing questions and insights.

It was SO GOOD for my soul, just being around people who had nothing to do with my school or town and talking about Jesus in a constructive manner.

Relief is what I felt. I know I'm not in school anymore, and I do need a break, but not having anything to sharpen my mind and learn was driving me to distraction.

In post-college life, friends aren't just handed to you anymore. These days, it takes being courageous, being bold, being darling, and being daring to make friends. I'm working on it.

We're Okay

To begin, I had my first Momference yesterday, and "pleased as punch" is an accurate diction representation of my sentiments. Four moms with fifteen kids between them came, drank Panera PSLs, and talked "college search" with me for over two hours. It was a blast.

While I was waiting for them to arrive, though, I was privy to a conversation between two women. 

They spoke together of what they had imagined their lives to be by this point, a conversation I have both had with others and heard from others many times in the past couple years. 

The speaker told of how she had, at this point, imagined that she would have had a man, a bundle of kids, and a job with direction. And she hadn't. 

She lamented for a good long while more but culminated the story with saying--tearfully--that she truly believed that "Lola" was the answer to God's promise to her as a 21 year old of having a daughter. 

A few more sentences cleared up Lola's canine identity. She talked about Lola's habits, her moods, her fears, as though she were a non-dog creature. At this point, I'm getting a little weirded out, like, this woman needs some help.

"I feel like a mama."
And the girl with her, whom, I had noticed, spoke only not-crazy things, responded very calmly to that with, "You are."

It took me aback.

See, I would have started telling that woman something with rationality to it or try to help her understand that a dog is not a person and that she's somehow misguided in what I perceive as lunacy. I would have tried to make her "normal" about the whole thing, and she would have left perhaps reconsidering the "promise fulfillment" she had believed in.

And maybe she would have been a little more on this planet, but would it have been better? Perhaps no. Her joy in her creature and in what she believed its role in her life to be would have been marred, and she would have reverted to lamenting the fact that God, who had "promised" her a child, did not follow-through. Who am I to say that she's wrong? I ain't in the club with her and Jesus.

It was her friend, though, that spoke to her soul in such a short sentence: "You are."

She didn't say, "Oh yah totally that mutt is for sure God's promise child." No, she confirmed the heart of the matter. She made herself a trustworthy friend in that moment by choosing to love and affirm her friend in a moment of intimacy instead of correct.

How many times has someone shared something with us that was dear to them and we have responded as though it were small beans? We missed out on an opportunity for intimacy and have, perhaps, destroyed forever future opportunities for intimacy for them because we demonstrated ourselves to be an unsafe place.

More than that, what is our heart issue with hearing out people like the dog-mom?
It makes us feel squeamish.
We would never think like that.

So what?
What does it matter if we would think like that?
Unless what they are experiencing comes into direct conflict with scripture, who's to say that that isn't what them and Jesus are up to in the spiritual realm?

You are okay.
They are okay.

It's something I have to often remind myself of in many situations, not just spiritual.
Friends that are loud and obnoxious embarrass me. Why? I'm not doing those things. If they aren't embarrassed, why should I be on their behalf?

Similarly, if I am doing something absurd in my own free time--such as jumping into the ocean fully clothed with business wear--why is it anyone's duty to be horrified that I would be undignified in my exuberance for the ocean and creation. I know David and his soon-to-be-forever-barren wife came into the same struggle.

If it ain't you, and you aren't being graded as a team, and your buddy is aware of how silly or loud they are being, then be secure enough in yourself to be okay with you and let you be okay with them. They are okay with them. 

Apropos

I believe in you readers. You know that word is "ahpp-roah-proah" and not "a-pro-pros", a kitchy short for "appropriate".

Now that that vocab lesson is covered, onto the real business at hand: the bestie.
Travel season brought me straight into the apartment of my best friend of 7 years: Miss Hannah Lee Kira Kramer. :)

I get to stay with her and Bijou (wee pup) and then drive to Tulsa with her on Thursday.
The last time we had a chance to be with one another truly was on my birthday this past January, which was a miracle in and of itself. The next time I came home from NI for her wedding to Tyler.

Now, 10 months later, we finally get some time to just be with one another.
And, granted, we are exhausted and not very exciting to be around, but that's more than we have gotten in a really long time.

Out of my tight little circle of best friends, K is the one I spend the most time in communication with, whether it be through pins sent to one another on pinterest or texting about our future dream of opening a coffee shop with one another.

The design process is pretty complex; we're pretty dead set on accomplishing this before we die, and also of living together when we're old and our husbands have gone on to the great big coffee shop in the sky.

It's a beautiful thing we've got going.

What it Takes

Recently, I've been contemplating the concept of the "best friend."

What does it mean to be a best friend or to have a best friend?
Are best friends only to be added in the "teen years"?
Does one ever cease to be a best friend?

At various points in my life, I have claimed and have been claimed as best friend.
However, the entire institution no longer makes sense to me.

As a child and high schooler, the best friend was the one I had sleepovers with, kidnapped other best friends with, ran through wal-mart (and, okay, maybe deserted her in a shopping cart when she broke her leg...sans her crutches-turned-oars).
The best friend is the one that calls you at 11pm to show up, let yourself in to the house (because of course you know the garage code), and help zip her into a suitcase (because of course).
The one who kicks it with you in a movie theater parking lot drinking cocktails out of quik trip cups because it's your birthday.
The one who belts Muppet Treasure Island quotes/songs with you in inappropriate places.

But now?

We're all separated. We can't do life together. We get updates but not the live-action.
So does that mean that a best friend is the one you want to see when you go home? Or the one you still call to talk through the minutia of life? Or the one you talk to bi-annually? Or are best friends situational?

I posed my question to my best friend Haley (to which she would say, "your very very best friend Haley?")

Haley's solution to my query was that there are your best friends in various situations and then there are your long-term friends and then there are those who used to be both, who may one day become both, or the lucky ones who were, are, and will be both.

This answer helped me in my classification process because it takes more than mere consistency to be a best friend (though that is important). It's not mere furniture, though.
It's a combination of consistency, of no crap taking, of conflict resolution, of clear communication, of charm and laughter, of compatibility, and of care to understand who you are, even when that person changes.

The long-term beffers have been with you before you became "you" and have weathered the changes and breakups and insanity and distance and all the other pieces that have contributed to your personhood. They stay.

Man's Best Friend

I mentioned it before, but while I drive, I listen to the audiobible.
Now, I'm not more holy than anybody else (probably less holy actually). Full disclosure: I didn't select the audiobible for any other reason besides the fact that it was the only audiobook in our library at school.

It's soothing. Believe you me, trashy pop music has its place in Dallas traffic, but long distance driving goes to the Bible.

Currently, I've made it through the gospels and acts.

Now, I've grown up reading the gospels, studying them in various Bible classes all growing up, and have had all sorts of other interactions. I felt as though I knew those things. Listening to them, though, I heard so many things I had never heard previously. It felt like experiencing the gospels for the first time.

And, listening to them all in a row, I was able to really hear the ways in which they differed from one another in tone and content. The intended audiences were made very clear.

But the one that made me really feel was the gospel of John.

John, as we know, was the "beloved disciple", the "disciple that Jesus loved."
As I listened to John's account of Jesus, I finally heard that. Patty Kirk, my creative writing professor in university, always told us to "show not tell". Yeah, John never said, "and Jesus, the one whom John loved to freaking death", his use of tone and diction demonstrated clearly clearly clearly his absolute delight in the person of Jesus.

His gospel didn't have a "point." It felt as though he wrote just because he wanted desperately for someone to "get it."
The tone John wrote was the same one in which I would have written about or spoken about my best friends, with that distant look in my eye as I looked back to that day in October Haley and I kidnapped and adopted into our friendship the third point to the trifecta, Caity, that slight catch in my voice as I tell others about the day I met Kira and truly saw the joy of Christ for the first time, those elaborate hand motions I use when bringing up Abby and our mutual love for communication and personality tests.

Haley, the seventh grade social studies teacher in Colorado.
Caity, the RUF intern in Oklahoma.
Kira, the photographer in Texas.
Abby, the law student in DC.

They've got titles, but ain't nobody know them like I know them. My stories would differ from every other person.

I bet you John felt really similarly.
Jesus, the risen Lord.
But, to John, Jesus, the man, his best friend, the one whom he could write of all day long, tell every story and yet, if he did, "even the whole world would not have enough room for the books that would be written",

I have long loved Jesus the Lord. But I have just fallen into love with Jesus, the man.

The Driving Force

Driving in Texas is unlike any form of automotive interaction that I've ever experienced.
However, I had one main foundational fallacy. I once believed that all drivers in Texas were like Dallas drivers. Not so. Each city has its own personality.

Dallas drivers are deliberate. They're like smart bombs. They know  their trajectory and approach with precision. They may cut dead in front of you but believe you me, they were over there thinking, "I'm approaching at equal to above average pacing, with a half car distance between us. Lane change in 5, 4, 3, 2, NOW." It's incredible. I love driving with them, even if they do go an average of 14 over the speed limit.

The drivers of Austin are more cautious and are on the polite side of things. In my experience, the austin-ers just want to be friends. They most closely resembled the drivers of Tulsa, in my opinion.

San Antonio was the one that threw me off the most. Pretty consistently it was a solid five under the speed limit. They are both hesitant in lane changes as well as haphazard in all moves. Arkansan drivers would find much in common with them. I would never have guessed that I would feel more anxiety driving with them at a slow pace than I do with the "crazy" Dallas drivers.

Tyler, thus far, is much like Austin. They're not in a particular rush, but they seem very conscious of their driving, which I appreciate.

There's one more week in Dallas and one new city to add: Longview. 22 days in Texas is a really long time. This week I'm starting to feel it a little bit. Still fun! But feeling the separation from my friends back at the office. And starting to get concerned about the inches of work piling up on my desk...

But wow. When I get oober frustrated, I always seem to have one interaction that makes up for it, be that on the phone with one of my new applicants or with a student at a school or fair I visit.
It's surreal and so real and awesome to be at one of those events and think, "I wonder which ones of you will be the new SMLT director/worship leader/honors council member in just a few years". And I get to be a piece of getting them here, just like Ryan Terry was for me. How very cool.

That's my driving force: pre-visioning the future of my (hopefully) students.

When the Bottom Falls Out

When I was somewhere in the region of age 7, my family went on holiday to Florida.

On one of those days, my mom and I went on a walk and came across a true clothing entrepreneur. He was amongst the first of his kind, strutting down the street with his trousers down by his knees, held up only by a hand on the belt buckle.

We could not stop laughing, imagining what his predicament would be were he to need the use of his hands. BYE  BYE PANTS! He was bringing booty back, for sure.

Last night, I unpacked my rolley basket with my promotional materials from the trunk of my car and began to make my merry way into a college fair in Temple, Texas (in the rain, mind you), suddenly, the basket I had so much faith in pulled open, leaving all of my set-up magazines, pamphlets, pens, etc on the asphalt.

My day had been pretty absurd, so at this point, I wasn't even upset, I just burst out laughing. Luckily the rep from Abilene Christian gave me a hand and I loaded as much as I could into my tablecloth and carried it like a knapsack into the fair. I can't claim that it was my classiest moment, but I did feel very hick Arkansan. Another load and Abilene and I got it all inside.

I put a lot of faith in that basket. I put a lot of weight in that basket. I had to. There wasn't a way for me to carry all of it, not even with a tablecloth knapsack. But, fair after fair, I was able to rough-it, really only struggling when I had to lift it in and out of the car or up stairs.

When my basket failed me, though, in the least convenient time, my puny muscles and lack of a zillion arms failed me as well, and I couldn't act in excellence. I needed help. I needed my "competitor's" help.

Sometimes, in life, the bottom of our baskets fall out, and all our crap that we've been "successfully" lugging around with us spurts all over the parking lot in the rain and we've got to either accept help or accept that parts of our crap are going to get ruined.

More than that, even when we accept help, the reality is, the process of getting ourselves set back up is going to be messy and a bunch of "put together" people are going to see us struggle. Some may laugh, some may look at us pitifully, and some (those gems) will tell us, "Oh dude. The same thing happened to me a couple months ago...[insert totally humiliating story here that makes you forget that you've got mud on your ankles]."

All of that is better than having a meltdown in the parking lot and never making it inside at all. And yet, so many of us choose the rain.

Old Wounds

We've all got them.

Whether it's from those rough ugly years as a fat adolescent, the brutal times when you thought your best friend hated you or hated herself (and she did, on both accounts), or when just plain awful was going down for a good long while. 

Suck eras aren't surprising. 

What I find surprising are the "triggers" you didn't know got left behind after you had been put together post-suck. They come up in the most random of times and places, no? 

For instance, at one point, I lived with someone who had very strict ideas about what should be done with left over food. The chastisement I received when I failed to follow those guidelines was severe, but I soon fell into habit of doing things "correctly." 

Later, when my housemate moved out and another moved in, I saw her throwing something out and started to have a panic attack. It was so strange. Because I had been conditioned to one way of life. Her violation of that rule unearthed serious anxiety in me as I recalled my chastisements of the past. 

It happens. 

The important step when your triggers get tripped (because they will) is how you respond. 

Do you take the time to understand the root cause or to explain to whoever you are with why you flipped out so "unnecessarily" for the given situation? 

Do you sort through what is legitimate and what is illegitimate? 

And do you take the time to pray through those long-ago pains and find peace and security in Jesus? 

It doesn't make you "unhealed" to still have your past in your blood, but it will if you let it have power over your present.  

Kickin' Beats and Taking Names

Today, Texas melted my cupcake.

That is not innuendo for anything.
My first of two college fairs today gave me a cupcake.
I put said cupcake in car as I navigated my way across the Dallas ring.
And it melted.

Melted.
Cupcake.

...

How.

Other than feats of physics (Is that physics? I'm not sure. I was, after all, a creative writing major, not a science major), I have already started learning some things about Texas and college recruiting.

1. I am not made for Dallas driving. It makes me want to repent of all my sins and update my will.
2. Making friends with other reps is actually a really good idea. It's fun to exchange ideas on how we're doing things differently/similarly. Also, if you're both trying to work a difficult area, you can exchange schools/contacts to help one another just get in. 
3. Give yourself super extra time to get places. You will get lost. Even if you see the school, you are not in the clear. Find the high school office then give me a call.
4. Bring more than one phone charger and put it in an accessible place.
5. Pack snacks. This is one is more like a life rule, but really. Snacks, guys.
6. Casually dressing in your school colors makes you so cool. It wasn't my idea; I actually saw a very hip sort of girl at another college fair do it then my own boss and have since been very cognizant to ask myself the question, "Does this come in navy or gold?" Today, for instance, I am sporting the yellow/gold bridesmaid dress I wore in my best friend Caity's wedding (yah that's right I actually wore it again. Can YOU say that about any of your bridesmaid dresses?) with a blue striped scarf. And I feel very school-spirited without being all up in your face about it.
7. It is difficult to have road rage when you are listening to the Bible on audiobook.
8. Dallas has a bollywood radio station: "Fun Asian Radio." Top notch. Even the commercials. I especially enjoyed the inspirational hit: Roobaroo by A.R. Rahman and Naresh Iyer. I'm not being ironic. It has a beat you won't be able to resist decoratively twisting your hands to.

Today thus far I have had a classroom visit and a college fair. In an hour I have another college fair.

It's going well so far. Only one student took a snooze on me today. In all fairness, the music on my promo videos is really soothing.

I think I enjoy talking with students just as much as I enjoy talking to their parents. Don't even get me started on my "momference" idea. I may have one at the end of September. It's pending. But I for sure have one scheduled for October, and I am stoked for it.

Moms gotta mom. I get that.

Time to leave Starbucks for my second college fair today.

Out of the Office and On the Road

It's taken about a month of nonstop work, but I have finally put together the enormous puzzle that is travel season planning, and I head out this afternoon for Texas.

My schedule itself is rather strenuous . Check it out for yourself; it's all online.

Between school visits, college fairs, and personal visits with families, the next month is going to kick my little Oklahoman booty. I am floored.

Texans are some of my favorite people. Yah, they're loud and full of themselves and opinionated and gun-slinging, but that's what makes them awesome! Their state pride is inspirational and has made them the object of my admiration for years now.

As someone who has been trying to get fellow oklahomans to spread the joy of oklahoma far and wide and been patted on the head for my efforts, I love a place that has their state pride practically stamped across their foreheads, on their overpasses, and on their bumper stickers.

Stay posted. Each day will come with its own set of victories and defeats, but that's the beauty of it.
When you work in an office all day every day, the biggest excitement you can hope for is a new coffee creamer in the staff kitchen. It's fun and pleasant and my office is such an uplifting environment, but "thrilling" probably isn't the word for any office.

I'm ready for a little adventure back in my life.

PSL

It's that season again, when all the white girls in The States don their nike shorts, ugg boots, and head on over to Starbucks to take selfies with their pumpkin spice lattes.

It is one of my dearest pleasures to inwardly (and now bloggily) mock those humans.
At the same time, I admit that there are few things that are more delightful than a good pumpkin spice latte. Or really anything pumpkin flavoured.

Aldi carries so many strange and wonderful pumpkin products during the halloween season including, but not excluded to, pumpkin cream cheese, pumpkin yogurt, and pumpkin pancake mix.

And, I'm not sure if you're quite aware, but Northern Ireland is not known for its pumpkin-flavoured anything.

Not even their Starbucks carried the PSL.
Finally, after days and days of searching, I found one in Sinnamon on Stranmillis. (If you're ever in the UK in the fall and get desperate. I understand. We all have needs.

To me, at that time, I needed pumpkin because it tasted like home: jumping in crisp, fire-coloured leaves, the smell of the ozark mountains changing seasons, and carving pumpkins with my friends. All things I had been stripped of. All things I now have again.

Currently, I'm sitting in Starbucks in Rogers, 45 minutes away from my Siloam, finishing up some office work and drinking a PSL in the rainy weather.

Why?
Partly because I needed to do office work.
Partly because if I chose Rogers instead of Fayetteville, I can see the boyfriend after he gets off work.
Partly in celebration.

Today, I submitted the single most strenuous and single most important paper of my academic career. That's right; the Master's thesis has been officially turned-in. Now, all that's left to do is wait and hope my little American, literary voice is understood.

Humanizing

My job is to sell my university. Each one of us recruiters has a different area in which they place the most focus (depending on our own experience with JBU), but at the end of the day, we are getting paid to articulate why we love where we studied.

I end each tour in the cathedral, the Cathedral of the Ozarks. 

It's everything a good cathedral should be with its stained glass windows lining the sides (the blue panels on the lower half telling the story of the university and the red panels on the top half telling the story of Christ), the large pipe organ at the center of the stage (used only for special occasions such as the Candlelight service in December, a must-attend), and rows upon rows of wooden pews (which were actually constructed by carpentry students back when JBU was a "working campus").

The Cathedral isn't just awesome for its own sake, though, but rather for what goes on in there.

Each week, we have three different chapels: "The Gathering" and tuesday/thursday chapel.

During my three years at JBU, I missed 5 chapels, usually for an academic conference, but there were a couple when I had just gotten out of early morning soccer, it was cold, and I wasn't feeling the walk up the hill. Regretted each miss.

Here is why.

JBU chapel makes "its" into "thems".
At The Gathering, you hear from one of our seniors. They share part of their "story", some of their thoughts on a piece of scripture, or just something that's been stuck in their head about Jesus and Christianity.

And, you know, you look at people who are older than you and think, "They have everything so well put together, and I don't and oh crap how do I get like them." They look nicey nicey up there in the pedestal of your mind.

Then they talk. And you realize that they've got their stuff too. And somehow, that makes you feel as though you're able to have stuff too and still be valuable and still be someone that Jesus could love and could be used by him.

Thursdays bring an outside speaker in. JBU understands that no matter how sheltered and Christian an upbringing or high school or college experience is like, our students will be shoved into the big bad world after and shit goes down in the big bad world.

If we were to continue to helicopter parent them, we'd be doing them (and the kingdom of God) a serious disservice.

So, on Thursdays, we bring people in to speak to our students who we absolutely know are going to challenge their way they look at doing life and approaching "hot topics" of now.
When they leave university, we want them to know who they are, why they are who they are, what they believe, and why they believe what they believe. So when the shit hits the fan, they'll know up from down.

Tuesday chapels, though, are my personal favorite in terms of humanization. Tuesdays, one of our staff or faculty comes to speak to us. Now, I say staff or faculty because it could be anyone from your 18th century british literature professor to the campus custodian to the campus president to one of your friendly neighborhood admissions counselors.

We all subconsciously do it, don't be ashamed or try to deny it. When we meet someone, anyone in a particular profession, there's a part of our pseudo conscious brain that things, "You are ____." You are admissions counselor/custodian/grounds keeper/cashier/literature professor.

Just a little tiny chunk of us believes that janitor spends his/her nights in the supplies closet with visions of urinal cakes dancing in their heads.
What we don't think about when we meet them is their family structure, financial issues, or childhood memories.
We especially don't point to them and think, "Hey, I'll bet you know a lot about the theology of John 1." No!
But that's what chapel does!
We hear pieces of their real lives outside of who they are at work. We know them and their story and through that, we become a bit more human ourselves because we can no longer look at them without knowing that there's more to them than excellent vacuum skills.