from despair.com
Friday, September 25, 2009
Blogging: Never before have so many people with so little to say said so much to so few.
from despair.com
from despair.com
Wednesday, August 26, 2009
Connections
My family wanted to see campus. I suggested a campus tour, so they could get all that commentary on the buildings and history of the school, but the consensus was it was too hot to sit in a golf cart or wander around. So we drove.
Texas Tech University has the second largest college campus (land size-wise) in the United States. I guess the only bigger one is the Air Force Academy and they count runways. TTU extends from 4th Street to 19th Street north to south and about two miles east to west. It is a large campus; a highway even runs through the middle of it.
I pointed out all the buildings I remembered from my trip to the campus five months ago, and we argued about whether the architecture and colorings of the campus buildings is "ugly." For the most part, I think they're lovely, but there are a few random elements that make one question whether the architect was high, drunk, or both when he/she designed the buildings.
My brother had finally had enough, and his eighteen-year-old focus was on the Student Union. Whatever.
We found the bookstore (a Barnes & Noble combined with a school bookstore). Nothing else was open, and since it's still before the rush of students return to school (next week), no one was in the bookstore. My family made a beeline for the expensive TTU-labeled brand-name paraphernalia. I told them to go to Wal-Mart and save a little money, but they wanted "authentic" TTU merchandise. OK. I got something practical: a water bottle with "Texas Tech" on it.
My youngest brother is a collector of playing cards (the 52-card deck variety with kings and queens and aces), and he gets a deck specific to the place we are visiting whenever we go anywhere. But he couldn't find any of TTU. We asked a store worker, and he looked, revealing what we all suspected: they didn't have any/were out.
The worker (his name escapes me, and I can't remember whether he was a cashier or a stocker or one of those people who wander around and ask people if they need help) asked where we were from. Now that I think about it, it's possible he recognized our accent/lack of accent. We told him from Utah. He asked which part. We told him Roy. We always say Roy, even though no one has heard of it and has no idea it exists and can't point to it on a map, for reasons I'm not sure. Maybe there is some pride from being from a town no one has heard of.
He didn't seem put off by our answer, but we started to explain its location anyway, to fill the silence.
"I know where Roy is," he cut in, and we stared at him. "I'm from Utah, too--Ogden."
Wow.
We didn't know what to say. Here we were in this town in the middle of the panhandle of Texas, with very few (if any) from Utah and very few members of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints, and one of the first people we meet not only is a member (we assumed of course, which may not be a good assumption, but I'm pretty sure it's accurate as I'll explain later) but is from Utah.
I assumed he was a student and said so.
"No. I just work here."
I asked him why Lubbock (of all places).
"My wife's from here."
Ah. It all came together. I wanted to find out more, but we were swept away by my dad who was at the check stand trying to get us to bring our TTU-labeled clothing, etc., to be paid so he could go to Texas Instruments on a tour (we never found the place, actually, much to my dad's disappointment; there was a train that decided to stop on the tracks that were about 100 yards from the place, and we were stuck on the other side). We rushed over and bought our expensive gear.
But before all the purchasing and such, there was this strange moment of connection with this guy from Ogden, Utah, who worked at TTU but wasn't a student and was married to a woman from Lubbock. For a few seconds we just looked at each other, almost lost for words. We were Utahans in an ocean full of Texans; we were a few grains of white sand in a world of brown sand. We were connected for that bizarre instance and perhaps forever.
Texas Tech University has the second largest college campus (land size-wise) in the United States. I guess the only bigger one is the Air Force Academy and they count runways. TTU extends from 4th Street to 19th Street north to south and about two miles east to west. It is a large campus; a highway even runs through the middle of it.
I pointed out all the buildings I remembered from my trip to the campus five months ago, and we argued about whether the architecture and colorings of the campus buildings is "ugly." For the most part, I think they're lovely, but there are a few random elements that make one question whether the architect was high, drunk, or both when he/she designed the buildings.
My brother had finally had enough, and his eighteen-year-old focus was on the Student Union. Whatever.
We found the bookstore (a Barnes & Noble combined with a school bookstore). Nothing else was open, and since it's still before the rush of students return to school (next week), no one was in the bookstore. My family made a beeline for the expensive TTU-labeled brand-name paraphernalia. I told them to go to Wal-Mart and save a little money, but they wanted "authentic" TTU merchandise. OK. I got something practical: a water bottle with "Texas Tech" on it.
My youngest brother is a collector of playing cards (the 52-card deck variety with kings and queens and aces), and he gets a deck specific to the place we are visiting whenever we go anywhere. But he couldn't find any of TTU. We asked a store worker, and he looked, revealing what we all suspected: they didn't have any/were out.
The worker (his name escapes me, and I can't remember whether he was a cashier or a stocker or one of those people who wander around and ask people if they need help) asked where we were from. Now that I think about it, it's possible he recognized our accent/lack of accent. We told him from Utah. He asked which part. We told him Roy. We always say Roy, even though no one has heard of it and has no idea it exists and can't point to it on a map, for reasons I'm not sure. Maybe there is some pride from being from a town no one has heard of.
He didn't seem put off by our answer, but we started to explain its location anyway, to fill the silence.
"I know where Roy is," he cut in, and we stared at him. "I'm from Utah, too--Ogden."
Wow.
We didn't know what to say. Here we were in this town in the middle of the panhandle of Texas, with very few (if any) from Utah and very few members of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints, and one of the first people we meet not only is a member (we assumed of course, which may not be a good assumption, but I'm pretty sure it's accurate as I'll explain later) but is from Utah.
I assumed he was a student and said so.
"No. I just work here."
I asked him why Lubbock (of all places).
"My wife's from here."
Ah. It all came together. I wanted to find out more, but we were swept away by my dad who was at the check stand trying to get us to bring our TTU-labeled clothing, etc., to be paid so he could go to Texas Instruments on a tour (we never found the place, actually, much to my dad's disappointment; there was a train that decided to stop on the tracks that were about 100 yards from the place, and we were stuck on the other side). We rushed over and bought our expensive gear.
But before all the purchasing and such, there was this strange moment of connection with this guy from Ogden, Utah, who worked at TTU but wasn't a student and was married to a woman from Lubbock. For a few seconds we just looked at each other, almost lost for words. We were Utahans in an ocean full of Texans; we were a few grains of white sand in a world of brown sand. We were connected for that bizarre instance and perhaps forever.
These connections are strange; I've had a few in my life. I think they happen to all of us. What do they mean? Why do we have them? I will probably never see that guy again in my life, yet for a moment we were intimately connected. What does that mean? What are these things that connect us to each other? What are we to do?
Monday, August 17, 2009
A Psalm
Though the darkness surrounds me and evil foes beat upon the walls of my weakened heart, though death is beauty and strange and rest, though my soul cries out in pain and anguish for the second death to overcome and let my frail and sad existence end;
Though my heart stands, dying, dying within the walls that are surrounded by darkness as Evil pounds down the door only to find an empty shell of a once thriving and beautiful city;
Though my eyes water by night, sending me swirling into whirlpools of pain;
I reach up from the waters of despair and pain, my weak arm extended, grasping for some support, some aide . . .
Thou art there.
Thy patience and love and mercy and love surround my pain and lift me from the depths of despair. Thy arm, as always, is held out, not removing the pain, but restoring my city and destroying my enemies with a consuming fire that heals my wounded soul.
Thy servants comfort me with heavy hands and anoint me for better things; Thy peace flows from the crown of my head to the smallest molecule of my soul, and I know Thou lovest me, though Thou wouldst have me lie in darkness.
Thy patience overwhelms my soul; that Thou wouldst care and love a wretched soul and shed mercy on a sinful and rebellious heart.
Thy mercy encompasses me and I think of Thy sacrifice and weep and weep to know of Thy love.
Thy love whispers and whispers and I know . . .
Thy love dries the pain and fills the whirlpool; Thy love bursts forth as water from dry stone to soothe my parched lips and fill my wounded soul until I am healed.
I praise Thee and worship Thy Holy Name until the first death overcomes and I stand before Thee to be judged and the words come . . . and I enter the rest of Thy love: Eternity.
Glory to Thee forever more, amen.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)
