I cannot begin to express how many times I've heard people say around campus in the last two weeks, "2008, it's gonna be great" or something along those lines. A) I hope so. B) Why are they saying that?

I think it somehow has has me contemplating the secretive brokenness of our culture, and specifically Fuller. The Christian subculture has this obsession with hiding our brokenness, with seeking to be accepted and loved for relevance, power, and spectacularity.

I must admit, it's a struggle I have. I like to be known. I like to be liked. I hunger to be liked. And I forget to seek the Cross as that only place; to say that I can do nothing but accept that I do nothing to define me, but to be aware that I am a beloved Child of the Almighty and Powerful God. In a market driven society, we find the need to be an object of love.

I'm listening to a professor lecture on this right now and I'm making the connection that even the desire for a year to "work out" better, to make us feel better, etc., is truthfully our desire to be in control of our lives. I wonder when we'll really get it; when we you get to the point that Jesus actually transforms the lives of the leaders. Ugh...

Posted by Libby at 4:19 PM | Permalink | Comments (0)

I've re-written this blog about 4 times now. I keep walking away and the battery dies - hence, lost blog. Then of course there's the question of how am I going to write another years' worth of engaging blogs. Quite frankly, I'm not sure. I don't know if I even did that quite effectively last year. But another year, and another set of questions and ponderings that I'll leave the viewing audience. Hopefully it'll say "something." I think I'm starting to get a list of things generated to discuss. I hope it proves - interesting? engaging? readable? Anything, I hope!

This summer was certainly a bit different of an experience than I was expecting. I traveled across the U.S. more times than I imagined, danced the day away at one of my best friends' weddings, took classes at Fuller, deepened and developed new and lasting friendships, and dug myself into a whole in the IDL world. That, and lived in California during the summer, and moved twice during that time. It was fun. Sometimes.

Fuller is a funny place - it's a place I constantly find myself questioning, getting angered by and falling in love with on a weekly basis. At one point, I called this conundrum bi-polar. But now I think I've come to accept it as life. None of us are really ever that consistent with our emotions that we don't have love-hate relationships with either the world we live in or the people around us. Human depravity is our reality. Or in the very least, it's certainly mine.

I wonder though - are we, at Fuller, really ready and prepared to engage in that reality? Are we really okay with admitting that not everything here is the heaven-on-Earth motif we imagined? I'm a pessimist to the core at times (and frankly, an optimist at others). Let's be honest, I'm weird. But, even though I came to Fuller hoping that my expectations weren't all going to be crushed, I knew that it too wasn't going to be perfect. Then there were days when it met every expectation. Then there are the days when it certainly falls short.

My question for you is simple: Are you okay with that reality? Are you okay with going to a school that is just like the rest of this world? Are you ready for a challenge.

I hope you are. I hope that Fuller is ready for us, too.

Posted by Libby at 2:51 PM | Permalink | Comments (0)

It's official: I was a spoiled brat growing up. Fairview, Penn., was certainly not the desert, nor was it the North Pole. I experienced four seasons while I lived in northwest Pennsylvania. Summer and early fall in Fairview meant living through humidity and lots of it. Living on Lake Erie it was assumed that 45% humidity was a good day. Most days I swear it lingered around 70%. It was often muggy for most of July, all of August and parts of September. Okay, I shouldn't exclude June. It's humid in June most years, too.

I recall the move into college being agonizingly hot, humid and just plain miserable. The first two or three weeks of college were utterly disgusting, since our dorm rooms did not have air conditioning, and I was lugging bags upon boxes of personal possessions into those hot-air traps made for sweat and irritable roommates (i.e. me).

See, during the summer months my parents always set the air conditioning to a delightful level; probably around 69-72 degrees Fahrenheit. The experience of late August in college meant relearning what humidity was all about.

Well it turns out that those 22 years of life, followed by 2 in Indiana, where most of the summer I spent it again, in air conditioning, meant that this latest move into NW Pasadena also means a shock to Libby's system: no air conditioning. I'm not in Fuller housing for the summer months, by the way. I really tried hard to make it a whole week with only one fan in our second floor room (a fan that points towards the door, not me). These mid-90 days have been treacherously warm at 4 pm.

I gave in yesterday. I bought a second fan. It has a remote, which I find ridiculous, hilarious and amazing all at the same time. But it's got me thinking? I can handle this for a week on a mission trip in Mexico in mid-June, at camp for a week in July. But why do I think I'm so special that I have to spend money just to keep me feeling good. I drive past homeless people every day now, on my so-called commute to work. I live in a part of Pasadena known for it's low-income housing, gang district, and just poverty everywhere. It has character, it has a different vibrancy to it's life. But why do I feel ok driving with my new remote controlled fan, instead of bearing it for the sake of buying someone else a meal?

I've got a lot more to learn and figure out while I'm on this Earth, don't I?

Posted by Libby at 11:00 PM | Permalink | Comments (0)

i wrote something yesterday that's currently piqued my mind - so I figured I'd share here. I said I don't like cliches and Christianese. There's this language in the Christian subculture (leave a comment if you're already confused) that helps Christians all figure out who we all are. You know what I'm referring to; the born again, repentance, washed in the blood, forgiveness, saved language that we all flippantly throw around as we learn the lingo of the church. I don't see God only speaking English, or speaking Christianese. I see her/him speaking the language of the lost.

Did I say God swears?

No, not necessarily.

But I do think he's in a gay bar, at a sports event, in the classroom, on the field, at the hospital, in a restaurant, etc. And in all of these places, God hurts, cries, aches, and speaks to the people, the hurt the lost, and the broken. Do Christians do this all the time? How are we known? How am I known as a Christian? For pete's sake, am I known as a Christian?

How do I want to be known as a Christian? By the perfect language that hints at my overzealous perfectionism? By my Icthus adorned Honda Civic, that as I drive past someone, I still can flip them off b/c they cut me off? By the t-shirt i wear with the language that only Christians are going to get, and could be frankly rude or offensive inadvertently by mocking the secular society?

My favorite Christian artists (and I don't have many, frankly), Justin McRoberts, has a whole album on this issue... really, its part of his ministry to Christians - to slap them upside the head. He has this shirt that I utterly love; the shirt says this:

they will know we are Christians by our t-shirts

preach it, Justin... preach it...

thoughts?

Posted by Libby at 9:22 AM | Permalink | Comments (1)

For some reason, people think that I might have something worthwhile to say to people? Funny, very funny. I'm not sure how "intellectual" these blogs are going to be, friends near and afar. More likely, I'll write much in a narrative form - I've been told by intellectuals and, well, non-intellectuals, that I'm a narrative writer (people have been saying this for years). Actually, my favorite comment ever was: "you write as though I'm sitting in front of you" - so imagine that scary face to the left talking to you - don't worry, the earrings are gone, and my hair is tamed - a little.

It's only quarter number two for me; barely 4 months have been lived in California. Growing up in Pennsylvania for 22 years, and living in Indianapolis for the last 2 years, it's been a bit of an adjustment. Don't tell a lot of people though: I like to play it off as a calm, cool and collected individual. (Yes, I realize this is posted on the WWW of my current institution, but what students visit their current school's admissions page? Exactly!) I could say the adjustment has just been to the weather (which is certainly the truth - what's up with 75 degrees in January!?), or even just the clothing change (um, i like winter jackets, I miss it! And scarves!)

But truth be told, the adjustment is two-fold. I've left a community I love, direly, twice now. First college, now the church in Indy. I miss the constant community, the friends, the laughter, and, frankly, everything. I don't miss the politics, but welcome to life - it's here too. The second adjustment isn't so much to something I miss, but something I wish just didn't exist that I'm being forced to accept: loneliness. See, I know and trust so dearly and truthfully that G-d is passionately working in me and grasping me so tightly when I cry or hurt. But sometimes, when you're around all these people, the truth comes out. I don't always turn back to G-d. He's sitting there waiting, probably checking the watch often.

See, I'm around people everywhere - loads of people know my name, know tiny snippets of who I am. But they don't know the deep parts of my soul - and I really had this dream-world in mind where I'd walk into seminary and everyone would want to really know everyone else. Really, I've come to reconcile lately that everyone's just like me, whether they're 60, 22 or 30 years old; whether they're married or single. We're all lonely, it just manifests itself differently. So we play games, and we hurt, but we don't often tell the community (whatever it may be) what's actually wrong: vulnerability is scary and difficult. Seminary is just like the church, really. And that, breaks my heart. It shouldn't, but it does - I guess utopia really is a dream world (how ironic).

So this adjustment, this challenge I'm currently facing, I refuse to hide. I refuse to hide from the world or from Fuller that I want to be real and I want others around me to be real. I do not want to be afraid to not be like, or to not be accepted by everyone. What I do want, however, it to start on a path of love and transparency with my community and my friends. I want to be real, I want to be a follower of a G-d who so eagerly pursues me that that pursuit is equal. I want to fall back in love with my Savior in a way that leaves me not hurting when I'm lonely, but trusting that that loneliness may just be another opportunity for transparency and trust with G-d and my friends. We're students planning of serving G-d and the body of Christ and this broken world, but it's time the church (and seminary) not be afraid to show our faces, and really, show ourselves to one another. Humility isn't so fun with only half the crowd.

I feel a little like Jerry Maguire right now - don't worry, I don't think I'll be heading to Kinkos any time soon. Welcome to my adjustment. And welcome to the transparent life.

Posted by Libby at 7:07 PM | Permalink | Comments (0)