:: we still have civil wars ::

They don't wear gray or blue, unless that happens to be the color of their suit, but they are still fighting. And the issue isn't slavery, or at least not that kind, but people are still dying.

We've just gotten more civil about it. Battles happen across shiny conference tables, emails shooting people down. Business covering everything with a fake smile until they get into the elevator and start crying.

I think my fingers are clumsy and you are Midas.

:: from last weekend ::

This is Bradley Hathaway. At a festival full of musicians, he recited poetry and talked to everyone who wanted to talk to him. This included, from what I could see, mostly groups of junior high girls. There was this small part of me that wanted to be in junior high when I walked by their little fan-fest. I wanted to ask him if he likes Elizabeth Barrett Browning.

:: a little bit lonely ::

I actually don't think there's such a thing as "a little lonely." It's like pregnancy: you either are or you aren't. And right now, I am. (Lonely, that is.) A few nights ago, I was entirely alone but not lonely at all. I was marvelling at that, how perspective or emotions or the wind can make a situation feel different on a different day.

Today I am about to join 30 or 40 people at a party, where I will double as guest and photographer (which really means I'll be photographer, because it's hard to be both and be any good at either). For some reason the thought of that crowd makes me want to find a corner and a good book and be done with it all. These are not the thoughts of an extrovert. These are not even ones I want to claim as mine. What is this lonely, and why am I feeling it?

I think lonely is like getting lost. When I was three years old, I got lost in the grocery store. Dad told me to stay with them; I didn't. Suddenly what was a harmless set of aisles and food became this terrifying place for me. The only assurance of safety I had was lost in cans of vegetables and cereal boxes and I started to cry. A cashier let me hide by her feet while she announced my lostness over the intercom. "Would the parents of a little girl..." And that's how I feel right now. He told me to stay right next to him. I always have better ideas, or just so many things to look at that I stop looking his direction. And suddenly I realize that everything is overwhelming me and I am lost in all of those things that I thought I wanted.

Well, I don't want them anymore. I just want Him. And not so I don't have to be lonely, but because the things we give up are like any currency. When given in purchase of a worthy thing, the dollars and rupiahs and tears and loneliness become part of something more important.

I'm pretty sure that's a "yes."

:: how i feel today ::

In 11th grade my dorm mom was trying to help me with my attitude towards rules. She had me memorize this verse about how God hems us in, before and behind. I think it's in the Psalms. Anyway, she wanted me to know that God has rules to protect me, that in my best interest there are fences.

I don't think I believed her.

So now I'm 24 and someone just told me about a few rules, things like "one week of vacation after a year." Everything in me felt suddenly constricted. Why do they have to present it like that? I mean, can't you tell people that they get 16 hours of vacation every day, and even more on the weekend? I know it's silly, that really I am silly, and my life on paper right now has many more restrictions than the one I'm about to walk into.

But I think something I worry is that it's my sin nature making me feel this way. If God really does want me to like rules and feel protected by them, why do I want to run when someone picks up the leash? Our dog April used to get her leash for us when it was time for her walk because she knew that was the only way she was getting out of the yard. Maybe I should be more like April. Maybe rules really are good. Maybe I should go find that verse again.

I'm tired.

I've never driven so slowly down La Cresta. My good virtue -- and the CHP who was right behind me -- had me driving the speed limit the entire way. Even in that one section where it changes from 55 to 45 for no good reason.

So I was thinking about the ethics of that, of my good driving when someone's watching and my usual quick trip down the hill when law enforcement is absent. Is this one of those moral ambiguities or am I the only one seeing gray when it's clearly black-and-white?

A friend from ye olde college days made the comment recently that I'm not as easy to rile now that I've become more open-minded. I didn't realize that had happened, and I'm really not sure if that's growth or shrinkage. He said I always knew what I thought was right, even if I was dead wrong, and that was refreshing compared to the general apathy in our ethics class. But I don't want to blend into the general mess of conjecture about right and wrong. I may be open-minded but I still believe in objective truth.

And I think tomorrow it will take me 20 minutes instead of 15 to get to Jamul.

:: countdown ::

They keep asking me if I'm counting down. How many days are left, Mandy? I don't know. Is that OK? I don't know.

It's not that I'm not excited, it's just that I don't believe in counting down. Which things would I count down to? New job? Trip to Indonesia? My next birthday? And what does that make the in-between days -- filler, like the styrofoam peanuts in a package?

I don't want to live like that.

But all this talk made me want to know. It's 9, 21, and 231 days, respectively.

Maybe it's the fact that he's ready to propose. Something in today - something in the way he looked when he opened the ring box to see for himself what would be accompanying that question - made me settle quietly into this afternoon.

I don't usually envy people and their dating relationships. They are often drawn-out, sometimes for years, often tedious, frequently the reason people cannot volunteer for this or that because, you know, they already have plans.

But I think the moment before he asks is like sunset over the desert landscape. Even Arizona looks beautiful in pink; even dating looks beautiful as it holds out its hand to become engagement.

If he'd accelerated instead of braked, just two more feet, our entire weekend would've turned out differently.

Downtown is full of bad drivers. It all gets worse with the one-way streets. But this had nothing to do with the one-way. It had much more to do with their blazing through what was clearly a red light. It wasn't even one that had just turned. They were just in a hurry; we almost got in the way.

It made me think about timing. God has impeccable timing. I see it most clearly in friendships, usually the ones I wouldn't have if it wasn't for this chance meeting that turned into that road trip that is now just one more story we tell when we're too full to keep eating but too comfortable to leave the table. I love those times.

:: guinea pig ::

As the official "alumni person" at the college (for about 3 more weeks), I get to welcome the seniors at grad dinner tonight. And this is where I'm going to figure out what to say. I write differently than I speak, but this is what I'm thinking...

When I was a kid, I didn't have a good understanding of the term "adolescent." I thought it was closely related to the word "delinquent." The trouble was my parents had this book on their shelf called Parenting Adolescents. I always wanted to know which one of us was the delinquent. My brother?

Alumnus is another one of those words, which people toss around with "alma mater." As Manager of Alumni & College Relations, I figure it is my duty to know. And I'll share with you that knowledge.

An alumnus is a graduate or former student of a college. I learned that from the dictionary. An alumnus of San Diego Christian College is a testimony. I learned that from my own life.

Each of you who are graduating will be asked throughout your life where you went to college. You'll write it on job applications and grad school applications. You'll probably go jogging in one of the many t-shirts you've gotten from the last few homecomings. You may even buy one of those SDCC license plate holders. Even if you don't, people will know. You are an alumnus of San Diego Christian College.

I am too. I defended my doctrinal statement in Major Bible Doctrines. I wrote papers for Sarnowski. I went to over 400 chapels. I argued with Fred (and lost). During my junior year, we raided West Dorm (and won).

I came to CHC and am now an alumnus of SDCC. I came thinking I knew alot about alot of things, and left knowing there is still so much to know about everything.

One thing I do know is that this college has changed all of us. I don't know each of your stories, but I do know many of them. And I don't know what you will be saying about San Diego Christian College when you leave, but I do know that you will be saying something. This is your alma mater. You are our alumni.

For four years (or five) you have been SDCC. That doesn't end tomorrow. Really, that's when it begins. You will always be an SDCC alumnus. You will go all over the world, and you'll take SDCC with you. Bear it well.

The Global Night Commute. More on that later. For now, just this picture of what it looks like when thousands of people decide to bring their passions and their sleeping bags to Balboa Park.

:: confessions ::

I'm a bit lost without my journal. I left it at church on Sunday, accidentally, and feel like I haven't had any important thoughts since. That is, nothing has been documented. And in many cases, isn't documentation the only reliable evidence?

So I've wanted to write here but haven't been able to go through my usual cycle of living-writing-sharing. I'm stuck on the first step, which I guess is a good place to be. Today that living has mostly been watching the stress that hangs on a word: professionalism. Sometimes I want to rip off Professionalism's tie and unplug his powerpoint presentation and see what he has left on the rest of us. Is it really better because it's a memo and not a post-it note?

Sometimes I hate America. Today someone told me that good hair and make-up for a photo shoot would cost them over $1,000. Their cheaper "it will have to do" choice was $600. To look good. In a picture. I said something in response about how that shouldn't matter, and we could take good pictures without the large deficit to her bank account. I sounded crazy. If this is crazy, I'd rather be in the assylum than on the streets.

:: today's lesson ::

Thinking you know something isn't the same as actually knowing.