Piercing: Why I enjoy perforating my ears

*This post is dedicated to my mother and my dear husband, who will never understand my desire to poke holes in my body.*

Piercings and tattoos seem to be one of the most divisive topics in fashion. Either you like them, and even if you don't have any admire them, or you hate them, and can't understand why anyone would poke holes in their body or in-bed ink into their skin.

My own anecdotal evidence suggests that there is a bit of a generational and gender divide on this. Members of my parents generation, at least the ones I know, seem to be largely anti-piercing in toto and tattoos are for sailors and rebels, therefore not for nice young women. My generation on the whole seems to be more accepting, but I find women are more understanding than men. I'm not sure if this is something deeply meaningful, or if it has something to do with the larger percentage of men who have a fear of needles and blood.

I've been fascinated by piercings and tattoos for a long time. I got my ears pierced (just standard earring piercings) when I was 8 after years of begging. When I was 10 or 11 I got a second set (it was all the rage circa 2000), but a bad reaction to a pair of cheap earrings ended up closing all those piercings. I redid the original 2, and then had them close up after I forgot to put earrings back in after an MRI. Got those re-pierced.  At the end of high school I got my second piercings back, and got my cartilage pierced. The latter I eventually let close in college when I started wearing headscarves full time and it just got in the way, even though I loved it. I had promised my mother that I wouldn't get a tattoo until after I graduated, or I probably would have gotten one as a substitute. After I stopped covering my hair, I didn't get the piercing back because I was looking at a wedding in the near future followed by a job search in a bad market. It didn't seem worth getting it back only to have to take it out again.

After I got diagnosed with PCOS last year, I needed to do something for myself. After getting my symptoms under control, I went and reclaimed my cartilage piercing and got my third set of lobe piercings (though they were just barely on my ear lobes anymore). Yesterday, as a reward to myself for passing the qualifying exam I got my fourth set which sit in a little valley in my ear where I have always wanted earrings.

So, why? Why on earth do I like putting metal rods through my ears? Why would I do it other places and in-bed ink in my skin if only I didn't want to upset my husband?

First of all, I like the way it looks. I don't wear make up, and most jewelry gets in my way. Fancy, sparkly tops take too much effort to keep looking nice. Piercings let my ears be silvery and decorated and I don't have to think about it once the piercings are healed. It doesn't matter how frumpy a day I'm having, my ears are shiny.

As an act for beauty, I don't see ear piercing (or tattoos) as being fundamentally different from the hundreds of ways women and men have sought to be beautiful through the ages, whether it's wearing a corset that distorts your rib cage, having overly elaborate hairdos you had to sleep sitting up for, or wearing toxic pigments. Dieting, in all its insane forms, is an attempt to modify the body. There are women in my parents' and grandparents' generations who can't walk flat foot from wearing high heels for so many years. Elective plastic surgery* is the most extreme and gruesome form of body modification, though somehow more socially acceptable.

Secondly, and this is a personal reason, definitely not applicable to other people who do body modification, it gives me a sense of control and power over my own body. I've had a series of long term health issues over the years, each of which made me like my body was in control of me, and not the other way around. Although I believe in psychosomatic unity, there were (and are) times when I feel like a soul trapped in a dysfunctional and rebellious body, that forces things upon me that I don't want. Piercings (along with cutting/growing my hair, etc) are a way for me to reassert that I am in control of my body, to say that *I*, the sentient soul herein, is capable of making choices and directing something about my body because I want to, not because I have to.

Lastly, and kinda branching off my second point, I use my piercings to mark victories. The first time I got my cartilage pierced celebrated the end of high school, most of which I completed from home, because I was unable to go to school, and marked the beginning of college, which I was hoping I would be able to do. It's piercing and my third pair marked the fact that I had come to terms with my new  illness, that I had it under control, and could now carry on with my life. This latest set marks a victory of something that had been terrifying me for months, the qualifier. They are like notches in a sword handle, a reminder that I can conquer.

Now, I know that no one who sees me in the street and sees my nine earrings knows any of this. They don't know my deep personal, aesthetic and philosophical reasons for poking holes in my ears. A lot of people tell me they don't really notice, since I don't wear particularly flashy earrings and my hair can cover them. What an observant, random person on the street sees I don't know. I don't dress like a punk or other stereotypical piercer. I also don't know what they think about the fact that I wear full floor length skirts, or that I am only 5 feet tall. Quite frankly, I don't care. I have never dressed to please others (though I do know how to dress appropriately on special occasions), and I don't intend to begin worrying about what people think of my appearance.

~PhysicsGal

*Reconstructive plastic surgery is a wholly different, and wholly admirable beast

Taco Night!

Every now and then, I get a hankering for tacos. Which is strange mainly because they aren't a childhood comfort/fun food for me. I can't remember ever having tacos as a kid, but in college taco bar Wednesdays provided one of the few genuinely edible meals in the week, at least if you weren't the kind of person who could live off frozen pizza and chicken nuggets. And thus did I come to appreciate the lowly taco.

A year or so ago I found an even better way to make tacos than with the usual ground beef. Stewing beef and a crockpot or low oven and a lot of time. Yes, it means that taco night is no longer a quick I-forgot-to-plan-supper meal, but it has its advantages. No browning-meat grease splatter. Stewing beef has an extra beefiness compared to ground beef. It clings to the taco sauce a million times better than ground beef, and it stays in the shells instead of falling out.

And of course it couldn't be easier. Put chunks of stewing beef into your slow cooking vessel of choice, plus taco seasoning and enough water to cover it 3/4 of the way. Stir it a bit  to make sure the spices are mixed in, and then let it cook for hours, checking occasionally to how its coming, or cover it completely with water and just let it go. Its done when you can stir the meat with a fork and it just falls apart until it looks like this:

Now THAT is tender meat

Then its mostly a matter of assembling your tacos however you like. I like a using a low carb tortilla, a dab of refried beans, guacamole, tomato and lettuce if I have it on hand. But the beauty of tortillas is customizability. And so easy to make low carb. Enjoy!

I passed!

Not much to say here, other than I passed my qualifying exams and am now officially a PhD student!

I am unbelievably excited, relieved and grateful to all the people who helped me study, or prayed for me.

~PhysicsGal

Marriage and Football

I was walking with a few of my fellow qualifying exam sufferers the other day when the subject of weekend football watching came up. My classmate was complaining that his girlfriend complained when he tried to watch football on the weekends, and I commented that I just ceded the television during football season. He joked that my husband had trained me well, and I rebutted that weekends = football was one of the first things I learned about my then-boyfriend, now husband. I was told he was lucky.

I have heard all the variations on this. The guys who complain that their wives never let them watch football and force them to watch HGTV. The women who call themselves 'football widows' and complain they never see their husbands during football season. There are of course the couples who are both passionate about football, but I have met one such couple in my entire life, so I can't say if that's really any less stressful.

I am not a football fan. I was never interested in sports growing up. Professional sports seemed pointless, and football particularly stupid, just a bunch of large men imitating rams and slamming their head together to get a non-ball shaped ball from one end to the other. Dear Husband on the other hand has been a football fan as long as he can remember. "Go Eagles" may or may not have been his first words. When football isn't in season, he pines for it. When it is on, he watches as many games as he humanly can, and reads about the rest. Given this dynamic, why am I not complaining every weekend from August to January?

Part of it is,  I knew what I was getting into from the get-go. I knew he was a die-hard football fan, and that football trumped everything else viewing wise. It took me a little while to accept it, and it sometimes irks me, but I can accept this as part of who my husband is. He'll still talk to me, help with things on commercials, pay attention to me and if a game is just terrible he'll sometimes watch something else with me. I never feel abandoned, or second place to football. I've known guys who treat football with religious reverence. Talking to them while the game is in play is sacrilege on the scale of gossiping loudly during the Lord's Prayer. I may lose the ability to watch my shows on the big screen during football season, but I've never lost my place to it.

So I'll sit with my husband, and watch football with him. Then I might go do my own thing, or sit with him and read while he watches. And so our house is at peace, even during football season.

Defeating the Wimpy Scientist Stereotype

Normally, I don't watch reality tv. Its like pop culture potato chips if its good, and just painful if its not. But when  a friend mentioned that Bill Nye the Science Guy was on "Dancing with the Stars", I had to see this.

Sadly, Bill Nye got eliminated week 3. He is a somewhat stiff dancer, not being able to do all the lithe movements the judges look for. That's not what I care about. 

In the 2nd week of the competition, he fell at the end of his dance and tore 80% of his quadricep tendon. Thats 80% of the tendon that connects big muscle on the front of your thigh to your knee. That is unbelievably painful. That's the kind of thing that sends football players to the ground.  Immediately after doing so, he got up, and stood in front of the judges before limping off and finally admitting he had hurt himself.

After hearing the doctor describe the damage and summarize his condition as "those few strands of tendons hanging on for dear life", Nye asks, "Well, what if I immobilize the knee entirely...and create some crazy choreography, peg leg fashion?" The doctor looks taken aback, and slowly responds with "Do I think you're going to be able to do much, no, do I think its going to hurt, yes, do I think you run the risk of worsening that tear or rupturing it completely, absolutely." and basically suggests a wheelchair.

And Nye went ahead with it anyway. Leg totally immobilized in a brace, lots of physical therapy treatments notwithstanding, he was obviously in  a lot of pain just standing up. Although he lost, the judges and the other dancers were in awe of the fact that he got up there at all.

So yes, he was a stiff white guy scientist, but he also shatter the perception of scientists as wimps (his background may be engineering, but he inspired so many kids to be scientists, he deserves the title). It's about as standard as stereotype as the social awkwardness and glasses. It's used frequently on things like The Big Bang Theory when the writers get lazy. And while I will readily confess scientists can have trouble with small talk around non-scientists, and a lot of us have vision correction of some sort, we are not wimps. Squeamish sometimes, but not wimps.

Scientists are tenacious. We have to be. We put in long hours, with weeks and weeks of frustration all for the hope of a few days of good data, or one right answer. Some will work years before seeing the fruit of their labor. And we will work through anything short of a coma. During the shutdown, memos had to be sent out to the scientists that they weren't supposed to work on their own time. Some of my colleagues have worked through medical conditions that most people stay home in bed or in the hospital for. I've worked with migraines, hand braces, and on crutches when I couldn't stand upright (which when you are doing experimental biophysics is challenging.)

We are not wimps.

So thank you, Bill Nye, for not only introducing us to how cool science is, but for showing we can tough it out with the best of the jocks.

~PhysicsGal

Cooking with 1 1/2 hands: Soup

After Sunday's experiment cooking with Dear Husband, I knew that would not be tenable long term until the fingers on my left hand heal.

 So I decided to tap into my experimentalist side. What can I do in the kitchen? Lift things with my right hand if they are balanced or light enough. Hold light things in my left. I could cook anything that could be cooked on a cookie sheet in the oven, or anything that could cook slowly in the few pots that wont move on my stove.

The epiphany occurred when I realized I could brown things in the oven, on the cookie sheet, instead of in a frying pan. Not the most efficient, but it works, and thats all I need at the moment.

So today I set out to make a minestrone-type soup. Lately, I've been wanting soup, despite never really liking soup before. I now deeply regret not liking soup when I lived in NJ, the land of delicatessens and their marvelous homemade soup. No one makes soup in NC, even if its cold.

Step 1: Accept help from the grocery store.

Yes, that is store bought, prepackaged mirepoix. I ditched the celery, because I never liked the taste of celery. I normally avoid these things like the plague, but right now chopping isn't in my tool kit.

Step 2: Brown ground beef on a baking tray. Parchment paper makes clean up one-hand friendly.

Browning ground beef in the oven works shockingly well. If I ever need to do large batch browning, this is my new method.

Sweat veggies in heavy bottomed pan, add beef stock, diced tomatoes, spices, and add in the ground beef. Let simmer for however long you like. Bam, a filling, satisfying soup.

I can't say that this is how I will cook soup from now on. And I honestly hope to never have to cook one handed again after this period is over, but its nice to know I'm not totally helpless and can work around it. Now, just need to keep this inventive streak going...

Ever have one of those days...

when everyone who knows you looks at you in confusion and pity?

I was not up to my usual form today. I'm still exhausted from the written qualifier, and desperately mustering my resources to study and conquer the oral qualifier. I got a bit of leaf in my eye on Sunday and so my eye is irritated and so I'm wearing my glasses, which I never wear and are out of date. My hair has been terrible since I had to start washing my hair one handed. It was cool and I was lazy so I wore my awesome geeky physics sweatshirt, which is huge on me. I'm-wearing-my-husband's-sweatshirt huge.

I'm not good at selfies...

Now, I'm not usually a high-fashion Pollyanna. I could not care less what Milan says I should be wearing this year. I usually wear full floor/ankle length, handmade dresses and skirts, with plain knit or tee shirts, but I look nice and I usually get compliments. My hair is usually frizzy/wavy, but its nicely pulled back and pretty. I can be  a cynical snarky person, but I am usually pleasant and friendly if I run into you.

Pretty much every conversation went something like this. *confused look as they approach* "You look different" I'm wearing my glasses *actually get close* "You look/[sound] exhausted. How'd the qualifier go?"

And then they would walk away to leave me to my misery.

I started teaching magnetism today. This is usually the best time of the semester for anecdotes. The unit for magnetism is the Tesla. You can easily get a good 10 minutes discussion of Tesla. MRIs, the weakness of the earth's magnetic field, the inefficacy of those magnetic wrist bands, there's tons of cool stuff for me to babble about and flesh out even the most untalkative classes.

Today? Got nothing. Mentioned earth's magnetic field, mentioned MRIs. Took maybe two minutes total. My students starting giving me looks of pity I was so clearly out of form.

Hopefully I can pull myself together before Friday. This is not how I want to convince my professors I am worthy to be their colleague in 4 years.

Autumn has finally arrived!

People who have lived here longer than me tell me that it's been autumn for a while now. A few trees started turning back in September and we haven't hit 90 F in quite a while.

It started to look light autumn (to me) last week. We got down into the 50s at night, and the trees have started to drop leaves in earnest, taunting my did-not-grow-up-with-deciduous-trees husband to the Sisyphean task of raking leaves before the tree is remotely bare, or they at least have all turned.

This is pretty much what our driveway/backyard looked like before and after.

But its not really autumn to me until it starts getting chilly inside. Until I want slippers  and extra blankets and to really snuggle with Dear Husband and Penny for warmth when watching tv in the evenings.

How could anyone *not* want more cuddle time with that face?

And it finally happened. Yesterday morning it was chilly when we woke up, which for us meant the indoor temperature was less than 70 (specifically, 68). Not enough to turn the heat on yet, but enough to make me dig out a pair of socks and wear a sweatshirt. This morning, it dropped to 40 F outside, and inside it hit the magic number--64. I got to turn on the heat! It rolled out of the registers and over my feet.

Autumn has finally arrived, let the snuggling abound!

Cooking with One hand and a Husband: Quiche

So, I am for the time being operating with basically one hand. There are some low intensity tasks for which the three non-burned fingers on my left hand can manage (typing, holding paper, scratching Penny's ears) but cooking is not among those tasks because food is heavy and wet.

But food must still be made, because take out options are limited and boring when you are limited-carb. Things that can be made one handed are also extremely limited. So I co-opted by helpful but completely not-a-cook husband of mine to  help. I knew I would need something simple. Something that involved minimal prep, minimal knife skills, and foolproof cooking I could monitor (oven, in other words). I had some left-over cooked bacon, and knew that I could get a good pre-shredded cheese mix at the store (I am not a friend of graters at the best of times, and my husband has a gross/awesome story about the time he grated the cheese for his family's pizza night). Quiche seemed like a perfectly doable one hand and a husband meal that could stretch for 2 or 3 days.

The crust seemed like it would be easy enough with the food processor. Oat flour, a little whole wheat flour and salt go for a spin, while my husband cut butter into chunks. Problem, he's never cut frozen butter before (I keep a stock of stick butter in the freezer, and a tub of local butter in the fridge). Butter kinda goes flying. I tell him I need it in roughly 1 cm cubes. When he walks away, putting the knife by the sink, I have roughly 2 teaspoon slices. I grabbed the knife back, and was able to chunk the butter enough to go into the processor.

I call him back to chopped up the cooked bacon. He is aghast that I am using the same knife that just cut the butter to cut the bacon. I tell him to just chop while I finish with the crust. Food processors are wonderful things. I dump the dough into a pie plate and tell him to smoosh it out into an even layer, since neither of us wanted to deal with him learning to use a rolling pin (I ended up doing this task one handed). I asked him to  beat together 4 eggs and 2 cups of milk. He repeated back "3 eggs?" "No, 4 eggs, 2 cups of milk"

"My dad always said if you can't crack an egg with one hand, you can't crack an egg" he quipped as he cracked eggs into the bowl. He then realized the downside to this method, which is that it gets a lot more egg on your hand.

"How do I measure milk?" he asked. I replied that you use the two cup liquid measure, and handed it to him. He wondered why not just use a regular cup.

"That's stirring, not beating," I told him when I glanced at his attempt to combine the eggs and milk. I showed him how to whisk with one hand, trying not to send the bowl over the edge. He finished mixing it with something between a vigorous stir and a light whisking.

I showed him how to layer the ingredients in the crust, and pour the egg/milk mixture over. "That's it?" he asked.

Getting it into the oven, on a cookie tray, he didn't pay attention to the angle and some egg/milk spilled onto the bottom. Not catastrophic, but kinda defeated the purpose of the cookie tray.

In the end, it turned out fine, though the oven smoked a bit. Quiche is a very forgiving dish.

But I may have to look into one-handed meals a bit more. Any suggestions?

Pride, Humility and Shame

The problem of Christians and shame has been on my mind for a while now. I would say its always been there in the back of my mind, but I really started contemplating it seriously after hearing an excellent sermon from my old pastor when I was visiting my parents last spring. He argued that one of the gifts that we receive when we place our trust in Christ is freedom from guilt and shame. The ultimate price has been paid. Every sinful thing we have ever done has been blotted out in the blood of Jesus. Therefore, we do not need to feel shame, and he urged us to embrace this freedom both for ourselves and for those we meet as part of showing them the love of Christ.

Which got me thinking. What is this source of shame? A lot of people would say its societal. That whole socio-evolutionary view that we developed shame to keep people in line. I've had more than a few people tell me that Christians have done more to instill a sense of shame than anyone else, citing the phenomena of 'Catholic Guilt' as a case in point. While I dispute that we are more to blame than anyone else, it is hard to dispute that the church has a well earned reputation for causing shame as much as it relieves it. So why do we have such a hard time getting rid of something that we aren't supposed to have, and no one wants?

I believe I have caught a glimpse of the problem, from a rather unlikely source. Depending on whether or not you had a Nickelodeon watching child 8 years ago, you may or may not be familiar with "Avatar: The Last Airbender" (the American anime style cartoon, not the awful M. Night Shyamalan movie). I need to do a post some time on why I like this show so much, and I am terrible at summaries, so instead I will direct you to the Wikipedia page if you are interested, which you should be. One of the characters, Iroh,  acts as the moral center and source of wisdom throughout the series. In one episode ("Bitter Work"), Iroh observes, "...pride is not the opposite of shame, but its source. True humility is the only antidote to shame."

This got me to thinking. Anyone with any religious (or western literature) background knows that pride is one of the seven deadly sins, and [less well know] humility is one of the seven heavenly virtues. We usually hear about pride as being bad because it encourages us to set ourselves up equal to God and better than our fellow man. Its a sin because it leads us to build towers of Babel in our own lives, because it gives us the illusion that we can somehow save ourselves or, worse, don't even need saving. Pride makes us echo Satan in Paradise Lost, thinking that is its "Better to reign in Hell, than serve in Heav'n". I do not dispute any of this.

But I want to suggest that this is a rather flat picture of pride. It mostly describes how pride insults God, that the main issue with pride not that it hurts us in this life, but hurts our chances in the next. I want to suggest that it damages us just as much in this life. That pride has been the perpetual fountain of shame that we have never been able to stem. Most of us have never tried to cultivate true humility. We usually stop somewhere around the humble-brag stage, where we get caught being proud that we are humble. This is not humility, and leaves the door wide open not only for our own shame, but for shaming others. Far too often we say "Thank you God, that you did not make me that person" instead of reaching out. This is where we get all holier-than-thou and bruise the body of Christ, and prevent ourselves from truly knowing the freedom from shame and guilt that God wants for us.

This is not to say that we should not repent from our sins. But if we did not think so highly of ourselves to begin with, we would not feel the need to wallow in guilt once we have confessed and been cleansed from all iniquity.

What would true humility look like? I'm not sure. I know that it is a lot more selfless, a lot quieter, a lot more generous than whatever it is we are doing now. Humility requires us to look beyond ourselves, to acquire a proper perspective of who we are and what we are here for. I don't think this means dwelling on how insignificant we are in the grand scheme of things. In the grandest of grand scheme of things, you were important enough for God to become flesh, and submit Himself to death for you. But I do think it requires us to remember that we are Christ's hands and feet in this world now, and that we should be trying to see a long lost brother or sister in everyone we meet, and acting accordingly.

If only we can let go of our pride, and embrace true humility, we may at last shed the shame that keeps us from knowing, and sharing, Christ' love to the fullest.

I Survived the Written Qualifer

Well, I did it. The written qualifier is over. It was the biggest, most stressful test of my life and through the whole thing I was weirdly...calm. I swear I could feel the peace of Christ just sitting on top of my panic like one of those huge guys in a cartoon sitting on the villain. I got there early of course, and I was just calm. Zen.

I had spent weeks trying to memorize the hundreds of formulas we learned in the past 3 semesters. I thought I had them down cold. As soon as the prof handed me the test, they left. Just walked right out of my head. The only thing I could remember was Snell's Law. Which is a nice, fundamental optics law that was utterly useless to me. I had nothing else. I eventually dragged out the lens makers equation, which also turned out to be useless.

But it didn't bother me. I knew that I didn't have a single mathematical thing in my head to draw on. I just had all the concepts. I would have to explain everything in words. And it didn't bother me. I should have been freaking out. Some of those equations would have been incredibly useful. But I just stayed calm, and kept working. There's a better than 50/50 chance I passed, assuming I don't mess up my oral exam next week.

I am unbelievably glad that it's over. Even with the rest of the exam ahead, I feel like I've passed the major hurdle. I just need to hang in there, brush up on the topics I ignored in the exam and stay calm. I won't know for another 3 weeks if I passed or not, but whatever the outcome, the rest of the semester will be so much easier from here on out.

I'm going to take at least tomorrow off, and hopefully write a good 'real' post or two on not-optics before I have to dive back in and finish off the beast. But tonight, rest.

The Waiting is the Worst Part...

Well, its down to the wire. In less than 24 hours it will be 75% over. I'll have crossed the Rubicon.

I taught my morning class today, which was a good thing because one of my students gave me the perfect opening to explain Maxwell's equations. Also, this group of students is not particularly shy. All my classes have asked what I did to my hand, this group got up the guts to ask, "So, did you know the pan was hot?" and comment on the duct tape. Engineers, and they aren't dependant on duct tape. What is this world coming to.

I got someone to cover my afternoon session, which was also good because it meant that I could come home and try to relax and drink Emergen-C, since I have a sneaking suspicion that I am coming down with something, and in usual form am putting it off until after the exam. This happens every time I have something big and stressful looming. Right after we closed on the house I came down with a wicked sinus infection. I'm just hoping I can maybe edge it out until after the oral portion as well.

I don't quite know what to do with myself. A part of me says 'study!' and another, I believe less panicky part, says if I don't know it now, I'm unlikely to learn it in the next 12 hours, and I should just relax and let my subconscious organize. I'll glance over some things in the morning, but nothing substantial is going to be learned now. I kinda wish I could just take it and get it over with. At this point I'm most worried by the fact that my fingers have started to regain some mostly pins and needles feeling. I'd rather not be suddenly feeling my burned fingers in the middle of explaining Young's Double Slit. Its not nearly as painful as when they were first burned, but it's enough to be distracting.

I know I know this stuff. I know that I have a lot of people praying for me. Now all I can do is pray and throw myself on the mercy of the Examining Committee.

Panic is Contagious

So yesterday, I was feeling pretty good about my qualifier. I had achieved a calm state of mind, and had accepted that whatever would happen would happen.

I went into school today to do a little studying without Penny trying to sit in my lap, and maybe ask some clarification on a point from one of my classmates. I found a bunch of them studying in the conference room after I had been there a little while, so I thought I'd sit down, listen to what they were discussing, etc.

I should not have done that. I'll do homework in a group, in undergrad there were a couple of people I could study with. I cannot study with my classmates at this point of the game. They are all just teetering on the edge of panic. It turns out that panic is contagious, even among scientist types.

Intellectually, even emotionally, I still feel good about my qualifier. By I feel physically panicked. I abandoned them at lunch time, came home and have been trying to re-achieve zen ever since. I changed my blog template so people could actually subscribe. I took Penny on a walk, and vented to my very patient mother. I watched "Avatar, the Last Airbender", and came up with a good theology post. And then another theology post to explain how I got a theology post out of Nickelodeon's anime-style show.

Still have not achieved physical calm. I'm hoping that my Thursday morning class does the trick, even if a good night's sleep doesn't. Otherwise, I don't know how I'm going to re-achieve calmness.

So, lesson learned. Panic is contagious. Do not hang out around panicking people.

Why I'm not panicking about my Qualifier

It hit me yesterday as I tried to study with some of my classmates and fellow sufferers--they are all panicking, and I'm as close to zen as I ever am. They looked over old exams and were even more terrified and I was thinking "Yeah, I can answer at least one in each category" (which is all we need to do). I tried to figure it out last night, why I'm not more scared. I was a couple of weeks ago. I'm not more prepared than they are--some of them started studying last spring. I'm definitely not smarter, or find it all intuitive and easy. So why aren't I panicking?

Part of it is I know I have prayer warriors praying for me. Does that put knowledge in my head? No, but I know I knew all this stuff once, and I've been studying harder than I have for anything ever, and knowing that they are praying for me makes me feel calm, and therefore like this is something I can handle.

Weirdly, the fact that I burned my hand gives me confidence. Seriously, small bad incidents have preceded some of the best things in my life--like getting rear-ended a few days before my wedding. It's...anti-jinxing?

But as I was thinking about it and walking to teach this morning, I realized that being a grad student is at best a 4th order part of my identity. Being a human, a Christian and a wife all come way way before my identity as a grad student. My self worth is not determined by this exam. Moreover, I have two shots at this thing. If I don't pass this time, I'll be annoyed with myself, but better prepared for next time. Not that I want or intend to fail, but its just not the end of the world.

But my classmates? This is their identity. They have delayed developing almost every other aspect of their lives to get a PhD and this exam is basically all that stands in their way. Pretty much all their self-respect (and they think the respect of others) rides on passing this one.

Whatever the reason, I think I prefer not panicking. I don't think panicking has ever led to better test outcomes, so its a giant waste of energy. Now if I can just remember this for...everything else in life.

Life with 1 1/2 hands

After burning my fingers pretty badly last night, I was pretty well useless for the remainder of the evening for one reason and another, mostly pain related. I did not think the full implications of my hand looking like this:

In the background, my office

Yes, my fingers are covered in duct tape (there is gauze between my fingers and the tape), and yes they are taped together. I found a minimally painful position and we just duct taped them into place. I changed the dressing this morning, but it worked so well I just taped them back together. As it turns out, the  main portion of the burns are completely insensitive now--a lot of the pain was probably the nerves dying screams, but the edges, where it is less burned, sting and burn when touched  (or just, whenever).

Now, I've be injury prone over the years. I have experience working around sprained wrists, sprained ankles, non-functioning balance systems. A couple of fingers out of commission should be a breeze, right? Nope. Turns out I use my left hand a lot. Typing, carrying things, putting my hair up all require  two hands. I don't think I can cook and I definitely can't do dishes one handed. One thing I was not anticipating is that it makes driving...tricky. I learned to drive in a standard transmission car, and have never gotten out of the habit of using my left hand to control the wheel, and my right hand to do everything else. It feels weird to steer with my right hand.

While it doesn't inhibit my writing-writing, or my study abilities, I feel like this happened at an inopportune time. However, I'm going to take it as a good omen. A lot of good things in my life have been preceded by something unpleasant. Four days until the qualifier!

The many uses of honey: Use 21-Burns

You'll have to forgive any typos--I'm temporarily down a hand. In the course of cooking dinner I forgot that the handle of the pan that I had just taken out of a 425 F oven (with a pot holder) was hot, and managed to get 2nd degree burns on my left middle and ring fingers. For the record, it *hurts* when you burn yourself to the point it blisters immediately. Perversely, if I had ignored my instincts and held it a few more seconds, I'd have 3rd degree burns but no pain. So now my fingers are covered in honey and gauze and duct tape. 

By Scott Bauer, USDA ARS [Public domain], via Wikimedia Commons

Honey is an amazing substance. Its the only foodstuff manufactured by animals, and that we can't make ourselves. Its sweeter than sugar, and its uses are still being fully explored, and most of its traditional uses have been borne out by science (in sharp contrast to most things homeopaths tout). But of particular use to me is its anti-septic and wound healing properties at the moment. Research suggests that, unlike its more commonly used cohort aloe vera, it can speed healing of burns. I always have lots of it on hand anyway for...everything. 

Ditto gauze and duct tape. Seriously, why buy bandaids in a variety of sizes when you can buy a box of gauze pads and a roll of duct tape and make exactly the size you need? Duct tape also sticks better, and has a million and one other uses. 

The only downside I have found to using honey is that Penny really, really wants to lick my fingers. Fortunately for me, my wonderful husband, besides helping me with things that need two hands, is keeping her otherwise occupied. 

At least its my non-dominant hand. I'll still be able to write out my qualifying exam on Friday!

~PhysicsGal

"But does she ever say a prayer for me?"

Sometimes God uses not-holy things to bring us to contemplating the holy. If He wants to he can even use a song that for the most part mocks His church. 

I listen to so-called variety stations when I'm driving to reduce what my sister has accurately dubbed 'verbal road rage'. Drivers around here don't believe in blinkers, lights, or speed limits. And I don't just mean they speed. I mean they also go way under the limit. For the most part you learn the quirks of the drivers in your part of town, and learn be really careful for people turning. But on the highway I travel to get to school, it can be chaos near rush hours for all of the above reasons, plus mild congestion. If I am not singing along to something, I'll be loudly telling off my fellow drivers, even though they can't possibly hear me. 

On the radio quite a bit of late is Billy Joel's "Only the Good Die Young", which is not a particularly wholesome song. Now, there is a whole post just waiting to be written on his claim that he'd rather "laugh with the sinners than cry with the saints/ the sinners are much more fun", but what's been nagging me is this stanza: "Said, your mother told you all that I could give you was a reputation/ Aw, she never cared for me/ But did she ever say a prayer for me?"

There are two reasons why this has been bothering me. One, we are expressly commanded to pray for our enemies. Two, we have a really bad reputation, I have discovered, of not doing this or worse, doing it in a combative manner.  One of the top links to 'pray for your enemies' in a Google search comes back "Praying for your enemies--how to slap them around with prayer!" Yes, internet, that's why we are commanded to pray for our enemies. So we can feel self righteous the next time they trip because that was God slapping them for us. 

NO! Wrong! Wrong wrong wrongity wrong*! There are SO many reasons that we should pray for our enemies and absolutely none of them are revenge based. No, not even "vengeance is mine, sayeth the LORD" based. If the LORD wants to do some vengeance wreaking, that's His business and can be done in all wisdom and goodness. 

Take a look at what Paul says we should be doing as those who have been saved. 

Let love be genuine; hate what is evil, hold fast to what is good; love one another with mutual affection; outdo one another in showing honor.  Do not lag in zeal, be ardent in spirit, serve the Lord. Rejoice in hope, be patient in suffering, persevere in prayer.  Contribute to the needs of the saints; extend hospitality to strangers.

Bless those who persecute you; bless and do not curse them. Rejoice with those who rejoice, weep with those who weep. Live in harmony with one another; do not be haughty, but associate with the lowly; do not claim to be wiser than you are.  Do not repay anyone evil for evil, but take thought for what is noble in the sight of all.  If it is possible, so far as it depends on you, live peaceably with all. Beloved, never avenge yourselves, but leave room for the wrath of God; for it is written, “Vengeance is mine, I will repay, says the Lord.”  No, “if your enemies are hungry, feed them; if they are thirsty, give them something to drink; for by doing this you will heap burning coals on their heads.” Do not be overcome by evil, but overcome evil with good. (Romans 12:9-21 NRSV)

Not that Christians have ever live up to bar that has been set for us, but I can't help but feel a lot of us aren't even trying anymore. "How can we show honor when the idea of honor has been discredited and discarded?", we simultaneously ask and excuse ourselves. "How can we do what is noble in the sight of all in these days of extreme relativism?" We have let the world tarnish those things we should be striving towards, and so tried to excuse ourselves from even trying, and let everything kinda slide too. How convenient of this world we are suppose to transform to have removed such a difficult goal. 

Our lives as Christians were never supposed to be easy. The burden is easy and the yoke is light because we know where we are going. Whatever happens in this life, we will rest in the bosom of Christ. We will see the peaceful kingdom. In this life, we can take everything to God in prayer, and lay our burdens on Him. That doesn't mean we get to rest on our laurels now. We are still running the race, and part of that race is trying our best to do and be all the things listed above. When was the last time you tried to outdo someone in showing honor? When was the last time I blessed the person who cut me off in traffic, or the people who try to mock my faith? As a people, we are terrible about acting haughty. These days its being called holier-than-thou and its not a compliment. 

None of this is to say I'm very good at this either. I'm argumentative, petty, anger prone, and I have the vocabulary of a sailor when I want to. But I'm trying. I have drastically cut down on the profanity in my daily speech. And I know I need to try harder. I need to be more zealous, more honorable, more noble, more generous. It's not an easy task, but its what Christ asks of us.

How can we tell Him who bore the full weight of our sins, who died a torturous death, and broke the gates of Hell for us that we won't even try to be the kindest, noblest, gentlest people on the planet the way He asks us to? Do we really want to face Him on Judgement Day and say it was too hard?

~PhysicsGal

Jogging, Day 6

Just like I said I would, I went jogging today. After yesterday's life-i-ness, all of us woke up feeling a whole lot brighter this morning. If yesterday was the antithesis of relaxing, today was a pretty decent approximation of the ideal. Slept late (7:30 am), made coffee and oat pancakes while my marvelous husband cleaned the bathrooms. Ate breakfast, and did some overviewing of photonics, during which the love of my life made me more coffee. I ran the last of the errands, which didn't get done yesterday, and got in a solid two hours of studying, which both made me feel more confident, and reminded me why I dislike modern optics. At that point, it seemed like the perfect time for a jog.

Who wants to multiply a bunch of these together and then have to plug in the numbers by hand? No one!

It is warm and cloudy today, which is perfect for me. Jogging was easier today, but also more tiring. I found I was breathing easier, but my legs felt tired almost immediately. Not sure if it was the studying, or because I'm just feeling a little off physically, but I definitely felt that burning sensation almost from the get-go. Penny started off strong, but was looking like she just wanted to lie down in the grass by the end.

I'm still debating if I want to up the level of difficulty next week (run 6, walk 2) or stick with what I'm doing now another week (run 5, walk 3). On the one hand, I want to keep the momentum of improvement going. On the other hand, next week is likely to be stressful already, I don't know that it'll be a good week to try to really change anything. I'll have to think about it. 

On the other hand, if it meant I could have more chocolate next week, it might be completely worth it. Ah, optimization problems, how I hate you.

~PhysicsGal

Why I didn't go jogging today...

Today, while I intended to do some studying, I was mostly going to try to relax. I had a few errands to run as I always do, but I don't find food shopping particularly stressful. And then I was going to go jogging like I should. Yeah, that didn't happen.

The first list of errands today was getting Penny up to date on her vaccines. I thought dogs were like cats--rabies and distemper, done. Nope. Also have to get bordetella and leptospirosis vaccines, at least in this part of the country. Now, I don't mind paying for these things. Vaccines are dirt cheap, especially compared to treatment. But I would love someone to explain to me why they can't make concentrated, single vaccines for these things, instead of individual, large doses. The doses they use would be large injection for an adult human, let alone a small dog.

Long story short, I was expecting one injection, Penny would pout for a few hours, and then be back to her old self. Instead,  four injections and she's been lethargic and sad all day.

This is not her natural state. She didn't even perk up at the word 'walk' or the sound of the refrigerator door opening. Usually you have to walk her up and down a small mountain to get this level of not-moving in her. The only time she perked up was when I took her along for the Petsmart run, because she loves to be in my car. If we leave the car and garage doors open, she'll just go hang out in there. Asking her if she wants to go for a ride elicits the same response as asking if she wants to go for a walk. It didn't hurt that the Petsmart people were handing out some kind of new jerky treat sample packs. 

I took her back to the house before doing the weekly grocery shopping. I go the same time every Friday. Its a bit of a drive to the grocery store where I can buy things like almonds in bulk, so I go between lunch rush and school getting out. The store is usually empty. Not today. Today even the usually deserted underground parking deck was packed. The isles were busy. I had to wait at the bulk bins. It was loud. It was not relaxing. 

On the way back, I stopped at the local liquor store to get some B&B for hot toddies in the evening. Walking back to my car, a beat up old van, blaring hip hop of some kind, driven by two middle aged white guys who had clearly started the weekend early, drove into the parking lot. They wolf whistled (or tried too) and then shouted at me that I looked Amish, they liked my dress. I thanked them (what else can you do?)  and left. For the record, while I do have some clothes that are Amish-esque, I was wearing a sundress from Kohl's that is not remotely Amish. 

To top off my weird, not relaxing errand run, driving home a new commercial popped up, touting Bojangle's 'master biscuit makers' by asking if you've ever heard of a master bagel maker, and declaring that you haven't because it takes no skill to make bread with a hole in it. I couldn't take it. I started yelling at the radio, even though it had moved onto a car commercial. Bagels are not the same as bread. Bagels are boiled, then baked and there is a great deal of skill to making a good one. You can't even get one down here. They don't exist outside of the NY tri-state area. Do not mock bagels if you have never had one. And it takes zero skill to make biscuits from a mix. 

Getting back from all this, I decided to put off jogging for a day. Penny is still just lying there. I don't feel all that chipper, and it is threatening rain. I know it's a bad to break routine, but it just wasn't going to work today. 

If I can understand photonic bandgaps before I go to bed tonight though, I'll still count this day as a win. 

~PhysicsGal

Penny and her daddy

Its been a long, kinda stressful day, so I'm going to do a cute dog post and not something intense and well thought out.

I mentioned in my first post on Penny that is a very cuddly dog. In the morning, she'll cuddle with me while I drink my coffee. In the evening though, she prefers to climb onto my husband's lap, and be held by him. 

She jumps up, and settles in, and looks indignant when I try to take a picture.

And then she poses, and my husband tries to ignore the fact that I've become picture happy.

And about 30 seconds later, she's fallen asleep, and my husband just holds her while we finish watching a movie.

He then carries her like a baby up to bed. The adorable thing is she seems to like it. But only if he does it.

What makes this all the more adorable to me is that my husband is a manly man. Muscled, traditional masculinity. It's one of the things that first attracted me to him--he looked like he might be able to lifts in swing dancing. He likes football, and loud speakers, and meat cooked on a fire. But Penny totally melts him, and he can make her calm down and just go to sleep.

Our little family.

~PhysicsGal

Jogging: Day 5

Day 5 of jogging is complete. Although I am glad I did it, I can't say it was as enjoyable as previous days, mostly because I went into it already feeling not tip-top. I learned my lesson--never go to Starbucks anywhere near peak hours if you need something non-standard, and just don't if they are training newbies. Normally I like newbies. But this one ignored the 'sugar free' part of my order, which I only realized after I had had a few sips and was noticing the lack of aftertaste. Then saw that the markings did not specify sugar free like it usually does. I felt really good for about 15 minutes. Then really fuzzy.

So today was not as nice, but I did it, and that makes it worth it. I may stick at this level for an extra week until I feel really comfortable with it. It will also let me devote my energies to my qualifying exam, which is now 9 days away! Gulp. And you know what? I can do that, because I'm not training for a race, I'm just trying get more exercise. Even taking another week at run 5, walk 3, I"ll still be running 2 miles start to finish by Thanksgiving.

Teaching: Finding Good Problems

I am a lowly teaching assistant, but since I have taught my particular class (Introduction to Electromagnetism) now four times, the professor in charge of the class has given me a great responsibility--to choose the problems we teach to the students.

I love this responsibility. I love to pick a variety of problems, ones that will demonstrate a key point, or one that will spark the students interest in the topic. There's just one problem. The textbook we use does not share  my philosophy. I pulled out my old text to compare. The book I learned from had 50 - 60 problems per chapter, with not very many that were repetitions. The book is thin, but dense, and well written. It has simple diagrams, and no web links.

The textbook I now teach from is more than twice as thick, but does not cover as much material, is full of pictures and QR codes, and although it has about a hundred problems per chapter, they really only have 3 or 4 problems per topic and then repeat with new numbers or a slightly different configuration. Yes, people learn by repetition, but the writers ended up not giving the students anything really challenging, and they (the students) get bored. With a few exceptions, their idea of a hard problem is to reference a famous experiment, simplify it immensely and make an 8 part problem that isn't actually any harder than doing 4 normal problems. The book rates its problems as *,**, *** problems, with *** being the most difficult. There are entire chapters without a *** problem. And a * problem is plug-n-chug. This is frustrating for me, but also for my students, who know when they are seeing the same problem over and over.

Due to a scheduling fluke,  I was given the opportunity to teach some supplementary sections on two topics. I told the professor that I wanted to use problems from some other resources, and he agreed! I've been having a blast looking through my old notes, especially since I can now appreciate all the work that my professor did preparing for class. And my students, with one section down, seem to like being challenged, but in a way that they feel they can actually succeed.

I can't wait til I can choose the text, as well as the problems. Reasons to pass my qualifier and get my PhD.

Jogging, Day 4

So week two of my jogging experiment began, despite threatening rain. The plan I had worked out over the weekend was to run 5 houses, walk 3, repeat for the 2 miles. My idea is to keep shifting a house from the walking portion to the running portion until I'm just running, and then increase the length of the run. Weirdly, my legs seemed to ache from not-running on Sunday, so I wasn't sure what was going to happen today.

It was fine. My legs were feeling it by the end, and after 5 houses I was a little winded, but I was ready to go again after walking for 3. And again, it felt good. I don't get it. I've never enjoyed exercise that wasn't long distance walking in my life. Maybe because I'm doing it at my own pace, instead of a pace someone else set? Setting? Penny? Instant reward? No idea, but I'm going to run with it (pun completely intended)

Another plus--Penny was tuckered out  by the end, but not before. After doing our usual post-jog routine of water and frozen blueberries, I went to my study to write this (and then study), and she came up stairs and fell asleep.

She likes to sleep on blanket piles when I have some to spare.

She has a sixth sense for when her human is taking pictures of her. She'll wake up enough to give me a look, and then goes straight back to sleep.

One ear just a little more alert for camera noises.

Apple Butter Muffins

When I woke up this morning, I wanted muffins. It happens, especially on the weekends. As I puttered around making coffee, I decided that what I really wanted was applesauce muffins, like my mom used to make. But I didn't have apple sauce, and I didn't have her recipe, which I couldn't use anyway since it would use white flour. Time to be inventive.

I didn't feel like dealing with the fussiness of my totally-from-scratch muffin recipe. I decided to gamble on retrofitting the muffin recipe out of my Better Homes and Gardens cookbook, and use some apples-only apple butter I had in the fridge as both the apple sauce and the sugar.

This is what it produced:

Hello, delicious

It produced a muffin that did not collapse. That had the texture of a muffin. That had the taste of an applesauce muffin, without any sugar or artificial sweetner. That browned nicely.

Most importantly, it produced a muffin that my husband continued to eat through out the day to the point when I had to ask him to leave me some for breakfast tomorrow. I made a dozen. There are 2 1/2 left. Most were eaten by my husband who hate healthy hippie food. THAT, my dear readers, is called success. 

Apple Butter Muffins

1 2/3 cup fine oat flour

1/3 cup almond flour

1 tablespoon baking powder

1/4 tsp salt

1 tsp cinnamon

2 large eggs

1/2 cup unsweetened apple butter

1 cup milk

1 tsp vanilla

Sift together dry ingredients in a large bowl. In a separate small bowl, beat eggs. Add apple butter, milk and vanilla extract and whisk to combine. Form a well in the dry goods,  pour the wet into the dry and whisk thoroughly to combine (overbeating is less a concern with oat flour). The batter is going to be thin. Ladle into greased or lined muffin tins, and let sit a minimum of 20 minutes (you can easily make this the night before, and just pop into the oven when you get up). Bake in a 350 F oven for 30-40 minutes, until muffins are springy to the touch and a toothpick comes out cleanly. Let sit 10 minutes before eating.

Meet Penny

I have mentioned our dog, Penny, before, mostly in my jogging posts, but I feel the time has come to formally introduce her. Also, it gives me an excuse to use some of the picture's I've collected of her.

Penny is a terrier/chihuahua/who-knows mutt, who, we think, is about 2 years old. We rescued her from a local humane society, who in turn had rescued her from the street. She jumped out at us among all the other dogs at the shelter because she wasn't barking, and she wasn't really jumping at her crate either. She was just looking at us. Also, she was small. The first dog we took out was a year old untrained lab, and it took the two of us to control him. This dog, who they had labeled "Chiquita" I could control no matter how much she wanted to chase a squirrel. We got her the next day, which gave us a chance to buy appropriately sized dog things.

This is what she looked like the day we got her:

She was a skinny little thing. She weighed about 13 lbs in this photo, and at this point the vet said she needed to gain about 20% to be healthy. According to the shelter records, she weighed 11 lbs when they took her in. I can't even imagine how wasted she must have been. 

This is her today:

My darling husband helped me get her to pose properly 

She's now about 17 lbs of muscle and energy. It took a long time to get her to fully trust us, and for us to really see her personality. She started out very timid, afraid of everything, and so weak she couldn't even hold her rope toy. Now we have to try to protect her from her own curiosity, and she'll rip the rope right out of your hand if you aren't careful. 

Penny is my first dog. I grew up with cats, which are wonderful pets, but are not dogs. So its totally possible that all dogs are like this. But I am delighted and amazed at how cuddly she is, and how much she seems to want to be near us, whenever we are home. If we are watching tv, she'll play tug-o-war, sleep on her mat, or chew her rawhides at our feet, unless its cold, in which case she will curl up as close to you as she can. 

I mean, find the six inches of space between you and the sofa arm, curl up next to you.

If I am cooking, she'll observe from a comfortable spot where she can spring into action as official kitchen spill cleaner-upper. If I am doing research or homework, she'll quietly sleep under my desk or in her soft crate. If I get up to move, she'll follow. 

More over, she is a clown. And I will swear she does it on purpose. She will chase her tail and do little floor gymnastics if she thinks you are stressed, or sad, or not paying enough attention to her when she wants to play. Sadly, I have never successfully captured this behavior. 

I realize that the internet is full of pets. But playing around with my dog and making food are about the two lightest things I do with my life, and I can already feel this blog tending to the serious. But I want to post about happy things too, and I can post pictures of my dog, knowing she can never protest.

~PhysicsGal

Jogging, Day 3

Today completes my first week of jogging. Yay!

I confess, I almost didn't try to day. It was hot. I was tired. My legs were still a little sore from Wednesday and walking 6 miles in the heat yesterday. "I'll do it Saturday" I tried to tell myself. "No you wont." myself countered. "You're painting the last bathroom, and there is no way you'll want to do it after that. Plus, it'll feel good. And maybe," here's the kicker "you could have a little bit of bread"

The first advantage to having PCOS-insulin resistance that I have found. I get to see *immediate* results from aerobic exercise. Exercise temporarily increasing your insulin sensitivity, and the effect, at least in early studies in non-obese subjects, is roughly quadrupled if you are on what researchers call a 'carbohydrate deprived diet' (aka, low carb). Not only does the sensitivity increase, but the length of time the effect lasts increases. Not too shabby. Early data for me would seem to suggest that even the relatively puny amount of aerobic exercise I'm doing now increasing my sensitivity enough that I can add one small, low glycemic load carb back on the day I run. I'm talking a toddler sized portion of something like beans or barley. But you know what? I'll take it. I'm trying not to get my hopes up, but wouldn't it be nice if it meant I could indulge every now and then?

Anyway, I put on my running skirt and my running shoes, grabbed Penny's leash and we were off. I waited until the sun was dipping below most of the tree tops, so we could at least run in the shade. I was expecting my legs to burn. For every inch to be a struggle.

But it shockingly wasn't. I wasn't quite as smooth as I was Monday, and it was hard on the last push, but it was actually enjoyable. I didn't have to think so hard about breathing or how to do it. Penny has started to figure out that 'jog' means 'walk twice as fast, don't bolt', and to go in a straight line, not try to circle back to me. So I didn't have to worry about tripping over her, and she didn't get stepped on. And now I am writing this blog post and she is enjoying lying in the grass outside. I think jogging will work out well for the both of us.

Jogging, Day 2

After taking yesterday off jogging (but walking my usual 5 miles), I found myself looking forward to it today. What is this? I don't look forward to exercise. Its the thing I do because I have to, or because I want to be in good shape for something. I got in shape before my wedding so I could enjoy hiking with my newly minted husband. I started walking 5 miles a day so I could eat a few carbs a day. The only exercise I do to enjoy it is yoga. Initially I blamed it on the caffeine from a Starbuck's coffee I indulged in (sugar-free hazelnut syrup...mmm), but I don't think that was it. Weird. 

Anyway, jogging today was a little harder than on Monday. For one, it was about 10 degrees hotter. A cat crossed our path and completely distracted Penny. By which I mean she thought that since we were already running, we could chase the cat. So we had to go through the stop, sit, wait, ok, pull, stop, sit, wait routine for about 5 minutes until the cat was well gone, and Penny had forgotten about it. Oh well, lesson in leash manners. I shortened my intervals to run four houses, walk four houses, mostly because of the heat. I wanted both of us to last the two miles. 

And we did. And I felt pretty good afterward, though feeling it in my thighs. I realized however that I have terrible running form. I'm going to need to work on that. Maybe ask some friends who run for advice.  Penny is not nearly as tired as she was Monday, but she adapts quickly. She is going to be a big motivator in keeping going, both because it is fun to run with her and because it is nice to have her sleep or play quietly, and not try to jump on my desk.

Now let's see what happens on Friday. Learning to jog, one day at a time.

"Just as I am, without one plea": A meditation

Have you ever had the feeling that you need a word, a song, a something, but can't quite put your mental finger on what you are looking for? I've been having that feeling for the past week or so. There was a hymn somewhere in the back of my mind, I knew it was there, but I couldn't for the life of me remember what it was enough to sing it or even look it up. I have felt a calmness the past couple of days, and I know this was somehow a part of it, but I just couldn't dreg it up out of my subconscious. Hymnary is an amazing and indispensable tool for many things, but it is especially good for when I know I want a hymn, but have only an inkling of what I want. (It is also the only tool I know of where you can search by melody fragment). 

All of that is by way of saying "Just as I am, without one plea" is what has been flitting on the edge of my mind recently. It is one of those songs I have a very hard time singing without crying, but fortunately that is not an impedance to writing about it. If there were a dictionary of descriptive terms, under 'simple and plaintive' would be this hymn. Written by Charlotte Elliot around 1833, it was written as a mediation on how she came to Christ and as a statement of faith. It was first published in The Invalid's Hymnbook (Elliot was herself semi-invalid after a severe illness when she was 32), and according to Hymnary's count has been included in 1,408 hymnals to date. In four short stanzas of 4 verses each*, she lays out every Christian's walk of faith.

Just as I am, without one plea,
but that thy blood was shed for me,
and that thou bidd'st me come to thee,
O Lamb of God, I come, I come.

Just as I am, and waiting not
to rid my soul of one dark blot,
to thee, whose blood can cleanse each spot,
O Lamb of God, I come, I come.

Just as I am, though tossed about
with many a conflict, many a doubt,
fightings and fears within, without,
O Lamb of God, I come, I come.

Just as I am, thou wilt receive,
wilt welcome, pardon, cleanse, relieve;
because thy promise I believe,
O Lamb of God, I come, I come. 

The first stanza reminds us of something we often forget--we have absolutely no claim on God except through the blood of Christ. "Good people don't go to heaven. Forgiven sinners do" is the short reminder I sometimes see on cars around here. "For by grace you have been saved through faith, and this is not your own doing; it is the gift of God— not the result of works, so that no one may boast." (Ephesians 2:8-9). There is nothing we bring to the table, except the name of Jesus. But Elliot also reminds us that Christ has not only washed us in His blood, but "bidd'st [us] come". He invites the little children to come to him, and tells his disciples that the kingdom of heaven belongs to such as them (Matthew 19:14). Over and over, Christ invites people, bids them come to him. Our God is a welcoming God. All we have to do is 'come'. 

The second stanza places special emphasis on the cleansing power of Christ's blood. It is one of those images that is somewhat paradoxical. Normally, we think of blood as staining. Its right up there with wine and ketchup on those commercials touting the cleaning power of a detergent. We think of it staining the hands of a murder. Think of the scene in Macbeth where we witness Lady Macbeth's sleepwalking, wringing her hands and trying to wash out the blood. And yet as Christians we constantly use this image of being washed white in  the blood of the Lamb. It is of course a metaphor, but its still a little strange. And yet here, Elliot doesn't dance with the metaphor. Doesn't play theological tricks with it. Its simple. Our souls are covered with dark blots, like a shirt who had a pen burst in the pocket. But no elaborate ritual, no multistep process with three different chemicals are needed to remove these stains. Though the dark spots on our souls are literally 'damned spots', accepting a washing in Christ's atoning blood is all that is needed, and is freely offered, if we would but come.

The third stanza deals with that topic that every Christian deals with, and few like to talk about, except in the context of "I'm not like that anymore". The fact that often we still feel conflicted, doubtful, fearful. We are freed from the power of sin and death, not from fallen human condition in this life. How often was Peter, on whom Christ laid the church, fearful? Conflicted? He doubted Jesus as he was walking on the water to him. We can't possibly expect to do better. The good news is Christ doesn't ask us to come after we're sure. After we've weighed the pros and cons and come to a decision. He does not ask us to come to him after we've gotten over our fears. He will take us just as we are, flaws, sins, doubts, fears and failings all, if only we will come to him.

And here, in the fourth stanza, is our declaration, our hope and our joy. Christ will take us just as we are, with all our brokenness, our guilt, our fear that we don't belong, and takes it all away. We are welcomed as honored guests, our sins are removed as far from the east is from the west, their stains are forever removed, and all our fear, our pain, our brokenness healed. If only we will believe in his promises, by grace through faith, and come unto Him.

*Thanks Dad, for correcting my terminology.