the lone star state, part two

(written in DFW airport, from one of those sweet free internet kiosks)

The interview began with me sitting in a room by myself for 45 minutes. Because I'm a student on a heavily Greek campus, my first thought is, HAZING. I'm being hazed. They just make you sit here until your eyes bleed. Sweet.

Turns out they just forgot about me.

Once someone figured out where I was, they were nothing but kind. I enjoyed the conversations and the interviews and things went well. My eyes didn't bleed. Still, things just didn't click. To make another Greek reference, things just didn't feel right. Does that mean I would say no if I got a job? No. I'd definitely consider it. Still . . .

The city:
I tapped into my Greek network and joined some women from the Dallas Phi Mu alumnae chapter for dinner. I was glad I went out and left my hotel room. I didn't see much of the city, but I do know there are a ton of commercial-y places here. You're riding along the highway and there's a gloriously large building. With a Pizza Hut logo on it. Pizza Hut headquarters? I wonder what their employee cafeteria serves. There are tons of beautiful malls here . . . and I like malls. I didn't get that excited, butterflies-in-my-tummy feeling . . . but that doesn't mean it won't come later . . .

Bottom line: Home is where you make it. No idea where I'll make mine. I'm flying back to STL in an hour, and then heading up to Chicago.

Lots of things to pray about.

the lone star state, part one

(written in the skies; posted in my hotel)

This is my favorite part of flying: everything below you suddenly becomes Polly Pocket-sized.

We rarely get to see so much of the world, all at once. It is moments like these that reveal God's creation. It is so big, so much bigger than us. We realize just how little we are when we see things from thousands of feet above the ground. Little, but integral. I'll praise Him for that.

* * *

(written from my hotel room)

My first look at Texas was from the sky. The first thing I noticed was how many trucks there were. Truck, truck, truck. The second thing I noticed was how many swimming pools there were. I guess in a climate like Dallas, you can use your pool more than three months out of the year. Does that mean it is always bathing suit season? If so, then thousands of sit-ups are in order for me.

The airport was normal. I'm not sure what I expected, but no one had an accent. No one wore a cowboy hat. Country music was not blasting over the loudspeaker. My taxi driver was Asian and played Christmas music on the radio. Again, no Texas cliches. I wonder how Texans feel when they hear the song "I'm Dreaming of a White Christmas."

Now I'm in my hotel room. I'm so blessed. My interview begins in an hour, and I can't wait. At the very least, it is a free trip to the state that almost became a country earlier in history, and a great chance to practice my being-a-big-girl abilities.

Yep. A big girl.

My whirlwind

Tomorrow is my first-ever trip to the big state of Texas . . . weather.com predicts 38 degrees for the high in Columbia and 61 degrees for the high in Dallas. Enough said.

Commentary to follow.

For more than just the ladies

Because little boys should learn to cook too . . . gender-neutral kitchens.

I'm not planning on babies anytime soon, but when I do, those kiddos will have kitchens like these :)

Beyond November 4

I posted this on the Service on Saturday blog and I felt it was worthwhile to re-post here:




Today is Election Day, and we’re not the first to tell you to get out and vote. But we do want to encourage you to keep up that civic spirit on November 5 and 6 and 7, etc. Voting enables us to have a voice, to make a difference in our community and our country -- so does volunteering.

From the City of Columbia’s Office of Volunteer Services newsletter:

The results are in! In the city's 2008 fiscal year (Oct. 1, 2007-Sept. 20, 2008), volunteers shared 43,228 hours with the City of Columbia valued at more than $843,000. More than 6,000 volunteers assisted the city in nearly every department. Thank you for sharing your most valuable resource - your time - to improve Columbia.

Vote!

"Volunteering for something is the ultimate experience in democracy. You vote in elections once a year. But when you volunteer, you're voting every day about the community you want to live in."

- submitted to GUIDEPOSTS

Productivity

From Slate:

The challenge for presidential candidates, as Merlin Mann puts it, is "to know when to stop scanning your campground for bears long enough to make S'mores."

Isn't that the challenge for all of us?

The Slate article examines how presidential candidates schedule their lives, how they make productivity work for them. I'm a big 43 Folders fan. It's eye candy for the time-starved, offering hope for just half an hour to spare. There's more where this came from -- productivity classes, forums, books and podcasts (because who can read a book these days?). Half an hour would make me do a somersault; I'm sure Barack or John would do a round off and five cartwheels.

But do productivity strategies really make a difference? There wouldn't be an industry centered around checking off our to-do lists if the strategies didn't help us, would there? So why do we keep going back to these resources, keep trying to find what works? Why do we keep looking for a band-aid that will cover our open wound?

November 4

I've voted absentee in Illinois before, picking names out of a hat without understanding the candidates' track records in the community. As a former Public Life reporter, I learned that our local elections carry more weight than the national ones; after all, your school board will impact your life more than your national president. So I changed my voter registration to Missouri a few weeks ago. I know about Missouri candidates, and I'm invested in Columbia.

But who will I pick for our next president? Couldn't tell you with a shotgun to my head. Actually, I probably could scream MCCAIN or OBAMA if my life was in danger, but you get the point.

I'm trying to approach this from a faith-based perspective, but there's no clear winner. I don't want babies dying, but I want the poor and underprivileged cared for. I want lower taxes, but I want quality programs to have enough funding. I hate the war, but it would not be wise to pack up and leave tomorrow. Some argue experience, but some argue the need for fresh perspective.

People I really trust have different perspectives. I thought about linking them here, but my list got uncontrollably long. Obama supporters and McCain supporters alike have tried to persuade me. I have yet to be won over.

Here on a work visa/ and that's how I became the prince of a town called Bel-Air

For what I'm about to write, I must give credit where credit is due: our speaker at Fall Conference.

Exodus tells the story of our freedom in Christ. We're no longer enslaved by our sin. Freedom is a compelling story; so is what we do with that freedom we never deserved in the first place.

People leave their own countries and go to others for many reasons, so there are many visas to fit those reasons. Some travel with a tourist visa, intending to visit a place for a few weeks and then head home. Some travel with a student visa, intending to learn and gain some knowledge and then head home. Still others travel with a work visa, wanting to serve their new country with their knowledge and ability.

Freedom in Christ isn't a tourist visa; it isn't a license to do anything we want. Freedom in Christ isn't a student visa; it isn't a culture we take from and learn from. Freedom in Christ is a work visa. We show up, armed with the Word, to change the world, to serve the world, to love with our arms outstretched.

Big orders. But then again, we have a big God.

***

There are many things I'll miss once I graduate from college. Thing #1: Sing-a-longs.

This weekend, at Fall Conference, I joined some of my best friends in the Fresh Prince theme song, Under the Sea, Wonderwall, Don't Stop Believing, Iris, I'm Yours, MMMBop (no consensus on the actual words), the Brady Bunch theme song, Summer Nights, songs from Rent, about 12 Backstreet Boys songs . . . the list goes on.

I can't remember all the words. I can't remember all the songs. But I remember the people I sang them with. This is the kind of stuff I'll miss next year.

You'd probably do better after a great night's sleep.

Lunesta wants my business.

It's a quarter to one, and I'm scrolling around the homepage on MSNBC. News called; I answered. After clicking on a link and getting through the first paragraph of yet another Obama-McCain story, I notice an ad at the top of the page. It is a color matching game -- I don't say no to a good color matching and order game.

It was kind of like Simon . . . click on the colors in the order they appear. Each sequence got tougher. Just as I reached the lofty score of 5, the game announced how crummy I'd done.

"GAME OVER. You'd probably do better after a great night's sleep."

The game's sponsor? Lunesta. Display ads for sleep aids in the middle of the night, and you're likely to find insomniac customers. Now that's target marketing.

Done with that

I walked through the old newsroom today on my way to a professor's office. (I'll leave the newspaper nameless, on the off chance that someone stumbles onto my blog and thinks I'm biting the hand that feeds me.) This foreign feeling of excitement rushed over me, a feeling of excitement and joy that I'm no longer held captive.

I wanted to cartwheel down the hall. Almost did.

Hitting refresh

I was reading my church's blog today and a blogger asked this. Funny. It is the same question I'm asking these days:

In today's post I just want to ask one simple question and hear what you have to say:

What do you do to hit "refresh."

I am not talking about the left click a the top of your browser.

What do you do?

Segway

When we leave a place, literally or figuratively, physically or mentally, the ends may not be tied up in neat, Martha Stewart-esque bows. Life isn't neat. Life isn't tidy. But God's plan is good; God's path is meaningful. We may not know where we're going, but God does, and we have a reason to be there, every step of the way.

My summer reading list

I'm jumping on the post-your-summer-reading-list-on-your-blog bandwagon. I loved reading before college, and now it is time to remember that I loved it. Everything on my list has been recommended in some way, by people from church, friends from my Bible study, executives from guest lectures and titles I've noticed on bookshelves of those I admire.

Currently reading:

The Reason for God, by Tim Keller 

Searching for God Knows What, by Donald Miller

Want to read:

Living the Cross Centered Life: Keeping the Gospel the Main Thing, by C.J. Mahaney

The Beatles: The Biography, by Bob Spitz

The Gospel According to the Beatles, by Steve Turner

Bobos in Paradise: The New Upper Class and How They Got There, by David Brooks

Twilight, by Stephanie Meyer

Never Eat Alone: And Other Secrets to Success, One Relationship at a Time, by Keith Ferrazzi and Tahl Raz

The Price of Privilege: How Parental Pressure and Material Advantage Are Creating a Generation of Disconnected and Unhappy Kids, by Madeline Levine

Bowling Alone, by Robert Putnam

I'm still taking recommendations, and I'm still going to add to the list. I can't wait.

Addicted to busy

Yesterday afternoon I chatted with Ross for about an hour before class. It was a scary conversation; it started with me asking about a Sam's Club card and it ended with us talking about what it means to have an addiction.

We joke about it all the time. We say we're addicted to chocolate, addicted to Facebook, addicted to The Office. And it's funny. I joke about my addictions to people, to activities, to busy-ness.

That's where the problem comes in. It really is not a joke anymore.

Addiction means something when it is associated with a negative thing -- with alcohol, cigarettes, overeating, porn, undereating, overspending, compulsive exercise, drugs. Addiction means nothing when it is associated with a positive thing -- school, friends, volunteering, church. Being busy and loving people and getting involved are good things. But I've gotten carried away. I have this dislike for being alone, this disinterest in anything that takes longer than an hour, this fear of my life post-Mizzou, when the activities become nothing more than line items on a resume.

I need Jesus, but I'm too afraid to give Him the alone time that prayer requires. I've avoided personal prayer time by praying for others in groups, by reading the Bible together. I tried yesterday to be with God, in silence, in a room all by myself, for just five minutes. I picked up my cell phone and called a friend instead.

Yuck. I don't like who I've become. The state of my heart is questionable, and I'm totally uncomfortable with that.

Doing hard things

I was reading this article and I got excited -- and then I got to thinking. When was the last time I did something hard?

When was the last time I did something difficult, something challenging, something that grew and stretched my faith in a big way? When was the last time I allowed God to totally morph my life?

"We can't just go on being ordinary, decent Christians, giving God part of our lives while holding back the rest. Either we are hatched and learn to fly or we are a dud that will soon start to sink. The ironic thing here is that although the hardest thing -- the almost impossible thing -- is to hand over our whole selves to Christ, it is far easier than what we are trying to do instead."

- Do Hard Things, Alex and Brett Harris

Any advice? How do we, on a daily basis, do these hard things the Bible commands us to do?

Strategic placement

Tonight, after copy editing, I grabbed some orange juice from the fridge and I said hi to this sweet freshman girl. I don't know her name; I felt bad, but I struck up a conversation anyway. We talked about my Beads for Life necklace and how we need to sign up for bag lunches. She signed up for two -- brilliant. I've lived here for two years now and I have yet to figure that out.

She signed me up for a lunch, asking, "Is it Sarah with or without an H?" An H, I said. She also wrote my last name and spelled it perfectly.

I didn't even know her name.

After I figured out who she was, I sent her a Facebook message shortly, saying how fun it was to bump into her. I'm always coming and going, going and coming, and rarely do we have the chance to have a conversation that extends past "hey-howareyou?-goodyou?-good." 

She replied back and said she really looks up to me.

She really looks up to me, but I've never shared coffee with this girl, never hung out with her, never even bothered to learn her name. And she looks up to me. I'm blessed. It makes me wonder how many other people look up to us without us even knowing. It brings real significance to this life we live. 

In my marketing classes, we talk about strategic placement, putting ads in places where the target market is most likely to see them. A lipstick ad in Glamour, a cologne ad in GQ. God does that in our lives. He strategically places each person we meet. 

"Come, let us sing for joy to the LORD; let us shout aloud to the Rock of our salvation. Let us come before him with thanksgiving and extol him with music and song. For the LORD is the great God, the great King above all gods. In his hand are the depths of the earth, and the mountain peaks belong to him. The sea is his, for he made it, and his hands formed the dry land." Psalm 95:1-5

An excuse to use the bullets button on Blogger.

It was quite a weekend . . .

• A conversation with an MU alum gave me the best answer ever to the question "What are you doing after graduation?" I've already used it twice.
• God used my lateness for good things on Friday afternoon. I'm grateful I arrived at Jesse Hall at 1:02; I was able to see my parents to their seats, and I was happy they were okay. I enjoyed the afternoon.
• I'm blessed with amazing friends. The irony is striking. I was recognized for doing so many things, so many things less significant than love. These things take me away from the very people who showed up to watch me get recognized. I'm the receiver of so much selfless love. It really is Christ in action.
• My parents were impressed at my $230/month place. I'm getting a deal. I'm grateful.
• How do you find the right balance between weak love and tough love? It is probably in this thing called the Gospel . . .

22 words

I finally found a blog I want to recommend to everyone. People who hate reading will appreciate its simplicity; people who love reading will appreciate how it manages to be complex in so few words.

Made for another world

Nothing motivates me more than a good goal. It has always been that way, and probably always will. The problem is, when you reach the goal, it doesn't always satisfy you like you thought it would. 

The goals I make are like dessert: pretty, delicious, but only momentarily satisfying. Empty calories. And you feel just as empty after dessert as you did before.

Freshman year at Mizzou, I knew just what I wanted to do. Having reached that goal, I still feel exactly the same. We make these empty goals, we accomplish these empty goals, and we're just as hollow at the end. We're chocolate bunnies -- rich and foil-covered on the outside, full of nothing on the inside.

We think we have it figured out. Jesus, if only ___ will happen, then I'll be happy. 

If only I get this job or get this promotion or make this friend or build this relationship or buy this car or get this gift or get the approval of him or her or them or everything . . . 

Then we get it. We get that "if only" thing, and we're still just as broken. We're empty. If you try to inject chocolate into the center of the hollow bunny, you'll crack the shell. Still empty. 

Tomorrow, I'm getting an "if only" that I've held onto for two years. This "if only" is an honor and I'm grateful. But at the end of the day, it is just an "if only," and those don't fill you up. Still empty.

"If I find in myself a desire that no experience in this world can satisfy, the most probable explanation is that I was made for another world." -C.S. Lewis

Stuff to think about

God has this funny way of humbling me, just when I start to get too full of myself. I listened to a podcast the other day and something the preacher said grabbed me: The biggest areas of sin in our lives are often what we like most about ourselves. When we trust in ourselves, trust in our abilities and in what we do and are, we stop trusting in the Lord and His abilities and what He does and is. 

My capstone app, or why journalism has not lost all its appeal

I realized this college thing won't last forever when I applied to my journalism capstone course. I realized this dance-around-and-see-what-career-we-land-on thing won't last forever when I got accepted to the class at my J-school. I also realized that, at its core, I don't dislike journalism. Maybe this class will fan my flame; only next semester will tell. Below is my application letter for my capstone:

Last summer I interviewed a woman who creates jewelry. The article was budgeted to be an eight-inch profile, about a Hinsdale resident who started her own business. Not so simple. Her brother died less than two months ago at age 23 from Ewing's Sarcoma, a rare form of cancer. The woman now hopes to donate a portion of her jewelry proceeds to and have a benefit for Ewing's Sarcoma research. If I hadn't asked her about her family, she never would have told me her story.

On that day, I realized journalism is bigger than reporting news. Journalism is the business of showing the world why each of us, individually and collectively, matters. That’s the fuel behind my fire for journalism.

Three weeks ago, my flame flickered. I opened a letter from my parents and a single newspaper clipping fluttered out. It was from our local paper, the one where I served as an intern and wrote the jewelry-maker story. Dear Reader, it began. The letter detailed the rationale behind a recent editorial decision. The paper was shifting from a bi-weekly to a weekly publication. The content that would no longer see newsprint would be posted online.

I’ve encountered the “changing face of journalism” since Career Explorations in Journalism class during my first semester at Mizzou, but I never understood what it had to do with me. Certainly, I reasoned, there will always be print newspapers and I can always write for them. Leave the online stuff to the convergence students and computer nerds.

The newspaper clipping was a wake-up call. The way we consume news is changing on a bigger level than I imagined, and it is our responsibility as students at the Missouri School of Journalism to imagine the future of journalism and put it into action. In just a few short years, we’ll be the ones writing the Dear Reader clips and making choices about how we give our readers the content they need, the content that tells them they matter.

As a student in the Mighty Mo class, I will bring my best to the table every day. My practical experience at five publications includes student papers and a division of the Chicago Sun-Times. As a Mighty Mo student, I’ll contribute my understanding of publications large and small.

I will contribute a developed understanding of the ins and outs of Columbia’s city council. Since my first day as a Public Life reporter, I’ve remained on top of local government and I’m not afraid to ask our lawmakers the hard questions.

My business knowledge brings a new dimension to the table. I am simultaneously pursuing a degree in Marketing and I view the financial community with an inquisitive eye.

The Mighty Mo class would be a welcome challenge to me as I complete my Missouri education. I often call my business degree my “black sheep major,” and it is evident to all that I prefer journalism. In a semester full of business courses, the Mighty Mo class is something I truly look forward to sinking my teeth into.

I will bring an insatiable desire for learning. My drive and motivation are contagious. Working with a team motivates me even further, and I thrive in a collaborative setting. I eagerly anticipate this challenge and would be honored to take part in this capstone course.

Connection-building

In August, my best friend – and one of the most amazing women I know -- is moving to New York City. She’s taking a job with one of the most respected names in retail, and I’m proud of her. But that doesn’t mean I won’t miss her.

I came to Mizzou my freshman year determined to make as many friends as I was able. Aided by the recently developed Facebook, then a novelty for only the college set, friends accumulated by the dozen. It was good, I said; I was happy, I said.

A year and a half later, this same retail goddess drove me home one evening. Before graduation, she explained, she wanted to make some real friends, build some real connections. So we agreed to meet for an hour, every Monday afternoon. The hours became days and over time, I had a friendship stronger than I’d never imagined. Often, that’s how the biggest things in life begin: one conversation, one hour, one date on the calendar.

Fast forward to now: I’m terrified of the void I’ll have in my life when New York City gains and Columbia loses. This woman really is, in the words of Beyonce, irreplaceable.

In the last several weeks of the semester, I’m praying for new connections with others and to strengthen the old connections.  My goal isn’t to replace my best friend; rather, my goal is to accumulate more, to share the gift of friendship that my friend gave me. I’ve been a friendship student; now is the time to pursue an assistantship.

There’s one I’ve known since my freshman year. She’s funny and kind and isn’t afraid to share of herself. We’ve agreed to coffee once a week. There’s another who, ironically, I met through the friend I’ll miss. Her years at college have taught her a lesson I need to learn: the approval of God is not secondary to the approval of others. There’s a third who I met in August, whose vibrant spirit continues to amaze me. One time we sat in the middle of a busy street. It was breathtaking. There’s a fourth who has a heart of gold and an admirable sense of hospitality. Her apartment smells amazing (and yes, that is a good reason to forge a friendship). There's one more, whose recent bitterness saddens me. But if we can't share our imperfections and our sorrows with each other, then do we ever genuinely rejoice together either?

Why now? my friend asked me. Why are you pursuing these women now? They’ve been around for a while.

That’s the thing about genuine friendship, I said. It’s like exercise.

You do okay without it. Maybe you huff and puff a bit more than the rest, maybe you’re a little rounder than the rest. Not a big deal, you reason. Not a big deal, that is, until you go for your first run. It isn’t easy, but there’s something exhilarating about it. You run again. It’s addicting.

Soon, you can’t imagine your life without it. I can’t imagine my life without it.

Job, part 2

Christians -- myself included -- like to explain away suffering with cliches. It's all a part of God's plan. God helps those who help themselves (and if we haven't, then we're at fault). When God brings you to the end of your rope, tie a knot and hang on. God only sends you to battle with the proper armor (one of my personal creations).

We like to explain suffering away with verses, from the book of the God who made suffering itself. Verses like Romans 8:28, we know that in all things God works for the good of those who love Him, who have been called according to His purpose. Verses like Jeremiah 29:11, For I know the plans I have for you, declares the LORD, plans to prosper you and not to harm you, plans to give you hope and a future.

These verses are comforting, no question. But they're a windbreaker in sub-zero weather: only good for a few minutes, and you're cold once again. We come back to the same question we asked before the cliche was delivered: Why does God let bad things happen?

Job spends the greater part of the book that bears his name lamenting the hand he's been dealt. His plate is more than full, and he has dealt with heart-wrenching pain and sorrow. It's that praise-God-I'm-not-Job kind of suffering, the kind of suffering that breeds gratitude because at least we're not as bad off as that guy over there. At the same time, we can connect with what Job is feeling. We've all been there.

Job fervently questions God about his suffering, completing the cycle from anger to sadness to bitterness and back to anger once again. The most appalling thing about finishing Job was I got no answers. As a journalism student, I've been trained to understand the best answers. The best answers are quick, concise and accurate. Give me the answer, in the shortest possible form, and give it to me now. Job teaches us that God has little in common with the way modern news is delivered.

God offers little practical comfort. But what He offers is great beyond our own comprehension.

Job 38 is God's first appearance. "Who is this that darkens my counsel with words without knowledge?" God asks. The rest of the book is spent explaining God's power. It is bigger than our humanity can understand. God, as He himself explains, knows even where the lightning is dispersed. This is the real power of the God who made everything.

That's just it -- God made everything. Everything we like, everything we don't. All of it is His. Job 41:11: Everything under heaven belongs to me.

It is easy to see Job's frustration. We all have a certain degree of that frustration in our own hearts too. Why does God let bad things happen? I'm not alone in wondering. The answer isn't cut and dry. The answer is messy, and it starts with the understanding that we'll never understand.

As the pastor at my church in Chicago once said, God is God and I am not. This is easy to blog about, easy to verbalize, but hard to cement to my heart. God is bigger than big and His plan is bigger than big. God tells Job that He gives flight to hawks, gives a horse its strength. And I gave myself a pat on the back for only pressing snooze twice this morning.

God is big. Suffering is big. God makes it start and God makes it stop. Sometimes, the best comfort is to trust in the only One who fully understands it.

Then Job replied to the LORD: "I know that you can do all things; no plan of yours can be thwarted. You asked, 'Who is this that obscures my counsel without knowledge?' Surely I spoke of things I did not understand, things too wonderful for me to know.
- Job 42:1-3

Peep show

http://www.chicagotribune.com/features/chi-peeps-ugcpg,1,6016770.ugcphotogallery

Peeps really shouldn't be eaten ever, in my opinion, but they still serve a purpose. Happy Easter.

Job

I've been working through Job these days, and its fascinating. The story is about humanity -- it is a story about our human need to be heard and recognized, our human craving for justice, our human desire for an explanation of why things in our lives go the way they do. Simultaneously, I'm learning, it is a story about anger and resentment and how quickly the two can multiply and literally eat us alive.

The story begins in a compelling way. Job faces trials with trust; his faith in the Lord, admirably, endures. First, Satan harms his possessions, harming Job's livestock. Still, Job is faithful. Next, Satan sends a strong wind to tear down Job's house, destroying Job's home and killing his sons and daughters. Still, Job is faithful. Job 1:22: "In all this, Job did not sin by charging God with wrongdoing." If my Earthly possessions and my family were taken from me, praise probably wouldn't be my first reaction. Satan continues to test Job's faith. Job's health is at stake and he's in much pain. This proves to be Job's breaking point.

Job curses the day he was born. He curses God, asking where He is. Job curses wicked men and women, questioning justice. Job expresses his anger towards the wicked and does not understand why the wicked are rewarded. Resentment sinks in. The book began with a lack of faith in the Lord and His sovereignty, and by the middle of the book, Job has transitioned to anger about the actions of others.

The book may as well be titled "Sarah." I'm like that. My suffering does not begin to compare to Job's. It's like comparing a marble to a boulder -- to even attempt a comparison undermines what Job went through. But we tend to react similarly, regardless of how big or small our circumstances. It goes like this: Something bad happens. My faith falters. I question God's plan. I question those around me. I resent those around me. I grow to hate those around me. Sadness becomes anger; anger becomes resentment; resentment becomes bitterness; bitterness becomes sadness once again. I'm Job. We're all Job.

Hellogoodbye

I am writing a preview for an art event this Friday taking place at an African restaurant and I just spoke with the most interesting man. He travelled to Ethiopia (which, I never knew until today, is in Africa) and photographed the local people. He has such a cool vision -- to show people as they are, not as souls to be pitied, as we often see on informercials and in other parts of the media. He said he worked with a church down there and helped out with a program that employs people with AIDS and gives them a source of income.

Here's the thing . . . I LOVE this part of my job -- I love interacting with people who clearly have a heart for the world and a heart for God and do artistic, beautiful things. But simultaneously, it is my least favorite part of my job. I just talked to this man and I will never talk to him again. I tell hardly a fraction of his story, and half of what I write will be cut for space. I was only on the telephone for seven minutes. He probably could have told me dozens more stories. I'd love to know how he got into ministry, how he fused his artistic talents with his heart for people, how that has changed his life, why Ethiopia . . .the list goes on. I would love to meet this man, listen to him, build a relationship.

But that's not how journalism works. We don't put our hearts on the line in journalism. We listen; we write; we move on.

I hate it.