I passed my defense. It seems like that should be a bigger deal than it is, but my defense was actually pretty easy. I guess having a committee that has given you extensive feedback along the way so you're on your fourth draft by the time you get to defend helps with that.
Most of the discussion was about how to turn it into a book. They want me to anticipate my critics. I laughed internally at that. I have critics? When did that happen? Oh, yeah, at the point I became a doctor.
It's been a weird week and a half since then. I feel at lost ends. You don't realize the enormity of the timesuck that a project like that is until you don't have it to do anymore, and you start wondering what to do with all that time. I haven't heard back about the job yet, so I'm still waiting to hear if my hire got approved, so it's hard to move forward with anything academically until I know what's going on there.
So, today I dealt with some curriculum issues our program is having. And then I designed a Secret Agent Man major. It includes politics, criminology, social dance and welding.
Tuesday, April 26, 2011
Wednesday, April 6, 2011
When the FBI comes knocking
Scene: I am sitting at my desk, with the office door open. I am helping a student analyze his research results. The student leaves and I see a middle aged man in a black coat standing there. I assume he is a used textbook buyer.
Me: Can I help you?
Man: Hi, I’m from the FBI…
Me thinking: *yeah right, which one of my students put you up to this?”
Man shows me his badge.
Me thinking: Oh, crap!
Man: I need to talk to you…
Me thinking: It was Modern Theory Class! I’m supposed to teach Marx!
Man: … about one of your students…
Me thinking: Did one of them think I was serious and go shoot a member of the bourgeoisie?
Man: …who is applying to be an intern with us.
Me:* internal sigh of relief* Oh sure, come on in.
End scene.
Note to self: 1. Never let them see you sweat. 2. It’s not all about you.
Saturday, March 19, 2011
Big week
This week:
I bought a little notebook to keep in my purse that I can jot down all the little things that will need to get done on multiple fronts over the next while to make sure all these things happen when they are supposed to.
It's back to life by list.
- I got permission to defend my dissertation. Draft three took, and I get to defend in April.
- I was informed that I am the preferred candidate for the tenure track job I applied for. The university has sent my name to the executive board for approval. If they sign off, I have the job.
- My husband got a great job offer from a company that is recruiting him. They are still negotiating the details, but it looks like he'll be leaving the company he's worked for for the last decade.
I bought a little notebook to keep in my purse that I can jot down all the little things that will need to get done on multiple fronts over the next while to make sure all these things happen when they are supposed to.
It's back to life by list.
Monday, March 7, 2011
Life in the Wilderness
This post is part of a Synchroblog on the season of Lent and experiences in the wilderness. Check at the end of this post for a list of the other blog posts that are part of this synchroblog.
I knew something was wrong by the look on his face. You don't miscarry two sets of twins and not get good at reading the faces of doctors when they are looking at your ultrasound.
This time was supposed to be different. My husband had given me a blessing when we found out that I was pregnant. In that blessing, he gave me two distinct promises. First, that this child would be born into mortality with everything he needed to accomplish his mission on earth; second, that I would be happy the day he was born.
I had panicked at the first promise. That language means something to a Mormon. It means that something is wrong, that the child will die quickly because all he needs is a body before he returns to his Heavenly Father. But I couldn't reconcile that promise with the second one. How could I be happy if my child died? I decided that I must be overanalyzing the language of the blessing. God promised me happiness. Happiness would be had.
As the doctor started listing off all the problems he was seeing - hydrocephalus, a missing heart chamber, no kidneys, and on and on - I felt as if a fluffy warm down comforter was wrapped around me. I know now that God walked me through the rest of my time with this pregnancy. I was supported by the love of my Father for me through the hardest experience of my life. I was protected as much as I possibly could be and still allow me to learn from this experience all the lessons that I needed to learn.
Even through the grief, I felt at a distance from the pronouncement. I knew I was supposed to be happy when this child was born, and that could not happen with this set of facts. We were sent to a specialist to confirm the diagnosis. They concurred that the fetus probably wouldn't make it to term, and if it did, would only live a few minutes at the most. We were given the opportunity for an abortion. We declined. That was my baby. I was going to treasure each moment I had with him.
And so our time of waiting began. We waited, not knowing how long the pregnancy would last. Every week we went in for a doctor's appointment. Every week his heart was still beating. Week after week I clung to the promise of happiness, expecting a miracle.
Finally, at about 31 weeks, my OB sent me in for another ultrasound. He told me that there was no way I should have made it that far in my pregnancy, and he wanted to see exactly what was going on. The ultrasound showed not my expected miracle, but that the baby's hydrocephalus had progressed to the point where his head was already measuring 41 weeks. The specialists told me there was no sign that the pregnancy was going to end on its own, and if I ever wanted to get pregnant again, they advised me to induce labor as soon as possible to prevent a c-section scar so significant that it would prevent me ever having another pregnancy.
And so we did. The next evening, I went in to the hospital and labor was induced. The next morning, my son was born. His heart had stopped beating at some point during labor, so they handed me his body, wrapped in a blanket. I held him. And I was happy.
Those 11 weeks of waiting, of not knowing, of wondering what was going to happen, of all the science saying one thing and my faith saying something else, led to one of the most marvelous revelations of the love of God in my life. I had a son. And I knew that because of the gospel of Jesus Christ and the sealing ordinances of the temple, that regardless of the amount of time I held him here on earth, that he would be my son for eternity. I held him, and I could feel his spirit in the room. We all held him, my husband, grandparents, uncles and aunts. We told him we loved him. We cherished him. We welcomed him to our family. I can honestly say that the happiness I felt at the birth of my son was no different than what I felt at the birth of our next son, who is currently running around the living room at top speed impersonating an airplane.
I thought that God had to fulfill his promise in a specific way. Like the Jews of the Old Testament, I was not expecting the fulfillment of promise in a radically different manner than my mortal understanding could predict. God showed his power over all things in the fulfillment of promise in his own way. He sent me a son, to remind me of the Son of God, and to await for the promised blessings of the resurrection that His Son made possible.
So now, I wait. This life is a wilderness of preparation to be brought back into the presence of God. My not knowing is subsumed in what I do know.
God fulfills his promises.
Always.
Even, and especially, in the wilderness.
I knew something was wrong by the look on his face. You don't miscarry two sets of twins and not get good at reading the faces of doctors when they are looking at your ultrasound.
This time was supposed to be different. My husband had given me a blessing when we found out that I was pregnant. In that blessing, he gave me two distinct promises. First, that this child would be born into mortality with everything he needed to accomplish his mission on earth; second, that I would be happy the day he was born.
I had panicked at the first promise. That language means something to a Mormon. It means that something is wrong, that the child will die quickly because all he needs is a body before he returns to his Heavenly Father. But I couldn't reconcile that promise with the second one. How could I be happy if my child died? I decided that I must be overanalyzing the language of the blessing. God promised me happiness. Happiness would be had.
As the doctor started listing off all the problems he was seeing - hydrocephalus, a missing heart chamber, no kidneys, and on and on - I felt as if a fluffy warm down comforter was wrapped around me. I know now that God walked me through the rest of my time with this pregnancy. I was supported by the love of my Father for me through the hardest experience of my life. I was protected as much as I possibly could be and still allow me to learn from this experience all the lessons that I needed to learn.
Even through the grief, I felt at a distance from the pronouncement. I knew I was supposed to be happy when this child was born, and that could not happen with this set of facts. We were sent to a specialist to confirm the diagnosis. They concurred that the fetus probably wouldn't make it to term, and if it did, would only live a few minutes at the most. We were given the opportunity for an abortion. We declined. That was my baby. I was going to treasure each moment I had with him.
And so our time of waiting began. We waited, not knowing how long the pregnancy would last. Every week we went in for a doctor's appointment. Every week his heart was still beating. Week after week I clung to the promise of happiness, expecting a miracle.
Finally, at about 31 weeks, my OB sent me in for another ultrasound. He told me that there was no way I should have made it that far in my pregnancy, and he wanted to see exactly what was going on. The ultrasound showed not my expected miracle, but that the baby's hydrocephalus had progressed to the point where his head was already measuring 41 weeks. The specialists told me there was no sign that the pregnancy was going to end on its own, and if I ever wanted to get pregnant again, they advised me to induce labor as soon as possible to prevent a c-section scar so significant that it would prevent me ever having another pregnancy.
And so we did. The next evening, I went in to the hospital and labor was induced. The next morning, my son was born. His heart had stopped beating at some point during labor, so they handed me his body, wrapped in a blanket. I held him. And I was happy.
Those 11 weeks of waiting, of not knowing, of wondering what was going to happen, of all the science saying one thing and my faith saying something else, led to one of the most marvelous revelations of the love of God in my life. I had a son. And I knew that because of the gospel of Jesus Christ and the sealing ordinances of the temple, that regardless of the amount of time I held him here on earth, that he would be my son for eternity. I held him, and I could feel his spirit in the room. We all held him, my husband, grandparents, uncles and aunts. We told him we loved him. We cherished him. We welcomed him to our family. I can honestly say that the happiness I felt at the birth of my son was no different than what I felt at the birth of our next son, who is currently running around the living room at top speed impersonating an airplane.
I thought that God had to fulfill his promise in a specific way. Like the Jews of the Old Testament, I was not expecting the fulfillment of promise in a radically different manner than my mortal understanding could predict. God showed his power over all things in the fulfillment of promise in his own way. He sent me a son, to remind me of the Son of God, and to await for the promised blessings of the resurrection that His Son made possible.
So now, I wait. This life is a wilderness of preparation to be brought back into the presence of God. My not knowing is subsumed in what I do know.
God fulfills his promises.
Always.
Even, and especially, in the wilderness.
- Patrick Oden (at Dual Ravens) was prolific with a four part series called “Musings” and they can be found here:
Part One, Part Two, Part Three and Part Four - Katherine Gunn at A Voice in the Wilderness writes What Is Wilderness?
- Wendy McCaig giving us a View from the Bridge brings A Voice Calling In The Wilderness
- Tammy Carter of Blessing the Beloved is taking a rest as she Put Down the Axe
- Jeremy Myers writing at Til He Comes ponders The Gaping Chasm of Suicide
- kathy escobar shares the carnival in my head and writes about belonging
- Steve Hayes of Methodius describes Anatomy of exile
- Marta Layton at Marta’s Mathoms writes On Sabbaths, Mountain-Tops… and Brothers’ Keepers
- Liz Dyer at Grace Rules discovers Beauty In The Wilderness
- Christen Hansel of Greener Grass offers up Snapshots of the Desert
Saturday, March 5, 2011
Saturday, i.e. the eye of the storm.
Day one of the interview is done. I did not burp or fart or trip over my own feet. I discussed outcomes assessment and teaching pedagogies and department integration with ease. I suggested ways in which I am uniquely qualified to help further the institution's mission. I interviewed well.
Now, I hope I can keep it up on Monday. Two more interviews and two teaching demonstrations on that day. I bought a new outfit. I know it's silly, but looking cute and put together makes me feel more professional and competent.
My voice held out all day yesterday, due to the many prayers being offered on my behalf by family and friends. It's back to crappy today, but I'm hoping not to have to talk much today. Lots of work to do to catch up from all the interview prep time but my husband is awesome and takes care of so many other things so I can do what only I can do.
I really want this job.
Now, I hope I can keep it up on Monday. Two more interviews and two teaching demonstrations on that day. I bought a new outfit. I know it's silly, but looking cute and put together makes me feel more professional and competent.
My voice held out all day yesterday, due to the many prayers being offered on my behalf by family and friends. It's back to crappy today, but I'm hoping not to have to talk much today. Lots of work to do to catch up from all the interview prep time but my husband is awesome and takes care of so many other things so I can do what only I can do.
I really want this job.
Thursday, March 3, 2011
A glimpse of the reality
Just so you don't think it's all spirituality all of the time...
I'm supposed to interview tomorrow for a tenure track job.
I have laryngitis so bad I can barely talk.
I finally figured out what I'm going to wear this evening. Saturday will be spent returning all the things that didn't make the cut.
I have three loads of laundry to fold. I figure if I wait long enough, they will just end up in the wash again as we pick out things to wear.
My son got a hold of my phone and texted a bunch of random contacts of mine.
I still need to iron my blouse for tomorrow.
I should go do that.
I am so tired.
I'm supposed to interview tomorrow for a tenure track job.
I have laryngitis so bad I can barely talk.
I finally figured out what I'm going to wear this evening. Saturday will be spent returning all the things that didn't make the cut.
I have three loads of laundry to fold. I figure if I wait long enough, they will just end up in the wash again as we pick out things to wear.
My son got a hold of my phone and texted a bunch of random contacts of mine.
I still need to iron my blouse for tomorrow.
I should go do that.
I am so tired.
Sunday, February 27, 2011
Palaces and Mirrors
Today is just one of those days where the planets are aligned just so and the world is in harmony or whatever you want to call it.
Today was the day that Heavenly Father knocked down a wall. Everything that has been put in my path over the last week, everything I've read, all the things we talked about at church, even the hymns, combined into one big spiritual battering ram.
CS Lewis in Mere Christianity says:
The second section is where I find the true challenge to the Christian soul. Are you willing to have yourself be completely eradicated in the process of perfection? We need to become "a bright stainless mirror" so we can reflect back to God "power and delight and goodness." Are we willing to lose ourselves to become like God?
I find I have two contradictory responses to that challenge. First, is the disbelief that God can make me perfect. Me, for my sins are so special and my flaws so immense that they challenge even the capacity of the Almighty to overcome. My, what pride, masked with a facade of self-loathing.
My other response is to not want to give up who I am, because I like who I am. My husband once told me that sacrifice is giving up something good for something better, before we know what the better is. How could being like God not be better than what I am now? It has to be.
And yet, I am reluctant. I am scared of that surrender. Of what it might cost. Of what might be required of me. But I have to remember that I am not God. And I am not called to be God. I am called to be a mirror of God, so that others can see Him when they look at me. What a relief to not be God. To not have to be in control. To not be required to fix things or save people or have all the answers.
God calls me to love. Love others as Christ would love them. Love others as I would love myself. Through some transitive property that I haven't thought about since ninth grade geometry, that means I have to love myself as Christ loves me, with a full awareness of my imperfections, but with no judgment, merely a call to improve.
Love is the answer. It is always the answer. Love is at the center of all things.
Today was the day that Heavenly Father knocked down a wall. Everything that has been put in my path over the last week, everything I've read, all the things we talked about at church, even the hymns, combined into one big spiritual battering ram.
CS Lewis in Mere Christianity says:
Imagine yourself as a living house. God comes in to rebuild that house. At first, perhaps, you can understand what He is doing. He is getting the drains right and stopping the leaks in the roof and so on; you knew that those jobs needed doing and so you are not surprised. But presently He starts knocking the house about in a way that hurts abominably and does not seem to make any sense. What on earth is He up to? The explanation is that He is building quite a different house from the one you thought of - throwing out a new wing here, putting on an extra floor there, running up towers, making courtyards. You thought you were being made into a decent little cottage: but He is building a palace. He intends to come and live in it Himself.This part often gets quoted in church, but I find the part that follows even more interesting. Lewis says that God
will make the feeblest and filthiest of us into a god or a goddess, a dazzling, radiant, immortal creature, pulsating all through with such energy and joy and wisdom and love as we cannot now imagine, a bright stainless mirror which reflects back to God perfectly…His own boundless power and delight and goodness.I find this second section even more important than the first because it focuses on what is truly important. The first quote says that God is going to make of us a palace. That sounds like we should go along with the process because we will be made greater because of it. It feels to me like using the Gospel as some sort of self-help plan, to glorify ourselves, rather than our Father which is in Heaven.
The second section is where I find the true challenge to the Christian soul. Are you willing to have yourself be completely eradicated in the process of perfection? We need to become "a bright stainless mirror" so we can reflect back to God "power and delight and goodness." Are we willing to lose ourselves to become like God?
I find I have two contradictory responses to that challenge. First, is the disbelief that God can make me perfect. Me, for my sins are so special and my flaws so immense that they challenge even the capacity of the Almighty to overcome. My, what pride, masked with a facade of self-loathing.
My other response is to not want to give up who I am, because I like who I am. My husband once told me that sacrifice is giving up something good for something better, before we know what the better is. How could being like God not be better than what I am now? It has to be.
And yet, I am reluctant. I am scared of that surrender. Of what it might cost. Of what might be required of me. But I have to remember that I am not God. And I am not called to be God. I am called to be a mirror of God, so that others can see Him when they look at me. What a relief to not be God. To not have to be in control. To not be required to fix things or save people or have all the answers.
God calls me to love. Love others as Christ would love them. Love others as I would love myself. Through some transitive property that I haven't thought about since ninth grade geometry, that means I have to love myself as Christ loves me, with a full awareness of my imperfections, but with no judgment, merely a call to improve.
Love is the answer. It is always the answer. Love is at the center of all things.
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