I have much too much to do, and this journal, high-tech as it may be, will be replaced by that self-same little leather book. More tangible, more portable, and besides, it is red.

Auf Wiedersehen,
Bis Bald,
Tschüss.

Some days are not like others. Wavering, I could not force my handwriting to obey. Form letters. I strode across a parking lot (I was quite possibly late to class); I could not remember having put on this particular pair of shoes. Luckily for me, they matched my lime green sweater. Today I found the electronic hot plate steaming white wisps from it's burner. After four cups of tea I left for a class-- and the water boil dry. "Melissa, are you boiling some water?"

Twice.

Earlier, at six something a.m., a little grey half-concious light found its way beneath the blinds. Such strange dreams. Where is my alarm? No, my phone. Quick... slothful hands, still filled with sleep, obey. Mom! "Sorry to wake you," she said. Then, "I need you to pray for me." Her father--but I knew already.

The stagehands pulling ropes will start the velvet curtain's close.

My Granddad, eyes well up with tears when I recall one single second, your blue-eyed heartfelt smile.

"Since reason already convinces me that I should abstain from the belief in things which are not entirely certain and indubitable no less carefully than from those which appear to me to be manifestly false, it will be enough to make me reject them all if I can find in each some ground for doubt." -Rene Descartes

His bright and focused eyes surveyed the classroom before him as he spoke. I don't think any of us were really comfortable. Three weeks earlier, I met this man for the first time, and spotted on a shelf in his office a copy of Die Heileger Schrift, --the German Bible. Something else about him that had caught my eye--he'd that living spark-- that life behind the eyes that reveals a vivacious mind, sharp and pugnacious. I noticed it again now. Bearing a Ph.d. in the study of the history and literature of ancient Israel was part of his title, and this did not come as a surprise. As a class, we were discussing a book on biblical scholarship, a controversial reading assignment given the week before.

The energy level in the room rose, and I was clearly not the only one who had felt displaced by our reading. Discussion progressed: "You cannot prove God," the professor said in seriousness, but with what seemed to me to be a bit of a sparkle in his eye. Students asked tense questions, ending successively further and further away from the answers they had hoped for. Ordinarily, the opinions of a professor matter little to me...unless of course the individual happens to have a sound (and valid) case.

He did.

I struggled inside... the intensity of the last week combined with unanswered questions which plagued my mind. The class was restless; I sat still in my chair intently and hung on his words. More questions erupted; I remained quiet. I began to pray. My prayer was a proud one, and also fairly stupid, but it was honest. My vision began to blur as I silently asked without words, "God, oh God please... help me not to cry."

After class, I walked to the student center, mostly deserted that time of day. Finding a seat as far away as I could from the few students who were there, I sat down, and the light from the eastern window at my side poured over me. The morning sun unleashed the auburn in my hair, and for a few minutes I sat still, taking in the color and the scene. The best thing I have found about having long hair is the way it can drape beside my face, concealing it from view. A curtain, it did so now, and in this privacy, suppressed tears began to form, large and spherical, running smoothly down my face. In the silence, I picked up my pen and began to write.

My prayer the last week had been to find something real, some reason that was sure of, that I might still "believe." I was resolved not deny my God, not after the way He has transformed me, not after what He has done to give me life. But my mind insisted upon reasons ruthlessly, and I was forced to suspend my disbelief. For those of you who have experienced this, you already know that the pull between these conflicting realities feels strong enough to tear apart a soul. Reason has always been paramount to my faith journey--I became a Christian at age fifteen. The study of cosmology and a layman's introduction to astrophysics were instrumental in softening my aversion to the idea of God's existence. Issues concerning the validity of the Bible (the account by which we know of God's interaction with the people of Israel and the life and death of Christ, teachings of the early church, etc.) are of life litterally of life and death importance to me.

I thought of this as I wrote. And so I began to write a history, my history. And therein the description of the last three and a half years of my life, without "vain philosophies," and away from lengthly unstable proofs, I found an evidence to me far more compelling than any dried idea. In that process of examination, what I was searching for was unveiled.





Alles klar, Gott. Danke, alles klar.

Solio Deo Gloria.
Glory be to God.

The fourth of September.

Once typed, the need for me to say something is gone.

A stiff cup of black tea and the wheels and gears begin again to turn. It's been a long day.

Last night, I walked home to my apartment in the rain. The droplets were not heavy, but constant, and the air's clammy dampness clung around my dripping skin. Two ducks kept silent watch on the boardwalk; I could only make out their black silhouettes against the trembling, reflective pond. Strangely, I was reminded of Berlin... since leaving Germany, I've not experienced weather damp and cold: it was bitter and frozen winter then. The last nine months have been for me a solid summer, traveling from the burning season of one hemisphere to the rising heat of another. I welcome the early morning chill, and rustle of dry linden leaves signaling September.

All day long, I find myself repeatedly I thinking, 'This is the highlight of my day.' Whether it's the electricity I feel in philosophy class, the sound of words rolling off of my tongue while reciting memorized verse, sitting down with a hot cup of black organic coffee, or a steaming cup of miso soup... It may be the sound of my voice reverberating off the walls as I sing ascending the stairs, or the way the wind picks up my hair and plays with it, like a lover or a childhood friend. Without fail though, I am always enthralled by walks past the campus pond, where the birds who live there go about their day. The pond has a life of its own, lived on the mirror of it's waters, an inverted image of the world.

What a rare gift to be able to be able to enjoy the enjoyable--to be free to live. Zoe, in Greek. Abundant life.


,,Wenn ihr in meinem Worte bleibt, seid ihr in Warheit, meine Junger, ihr werdet die Warheit erkennen, und die Wahrheit wird euch freimachen..."

"He who cannot draw on three thousand years is living from hand to mouth."
-Goethe

***
My world is changing. A crisis? Yes, actually. Welcomed? Yes again. Something that I based my ideas of reality on has been shaken, and I am basically dodging falling rubble at this point-- in at least one area of immense importance. It would be false to say that I have not been expecting this demolition to happen for some time. I anticipated it-- which is why I am enjoying the open air and fresh view, even though part of me feels the sting of lost security. My mind has been chipping away at the fault lines in my now collapsed belief, and by the grace of God the stiffling walls have fallen. With Him I am sifting through what still remains.

Aside from my mind consuming my whole being the last few days, the more banal demands of living persist-- they insist that I, with time, go on. Vital stats: I've chosen to overridde the recommended number of credit hours by six, and I'm pleased with my class additions. I've now eighteen credits: Gender Roles in Society, Philosophy, History and Literature of Ancient Israel, British and American Literature, German, and Creative Writing. A new job also starts for me tomorrow, and somehow my time will have to be balanced between the pull of these two vectors. Classes here are more academically rigorous than those I took at CSU-- studios are really non-comparable to academics, so I say this without taking those into the comparison. I still think about Providence sometimes--about RISD... but this is fitting, and each passing day seems to bear witness to the beauty of this new and puzzling decision.


Someone is playing the old Romeo and Juliet soundrack, which is so surreal. I think I tossed that CD aside in junior high; it is an odd sensation to still know the words.