rainbows and bridges

Now Playing: One of the "Lord of the Dance" tracks, courtesy Anna.

This morning it was quite dark when I woke up--as dark as it will be later on, in November or December. I was surprised, but I dressed to go running anyway. Rachel doesn't go running with me on Friday mornings; instead, she goes to the RUF prayer meeting at seven o'clock. I pulled on my jacket and ran downstairs, ready to go outside. As I hurried, I glanced out the window in the stairwell, and realized to my dismay that the window was freckled with raindrops. Outside, it was raining hard. I've had a mild cold these past couple of days, and though I like being out in the rain, it seemed foolish in this particular situation. So I hauled myself upstairs again.

Rachel went off to the prayer meeting, but I stayed behind to do my personal devotions. When I raised my head from prayer, I looked out the window--and was met by a stunningly beautiful sight. Spanning the Western horizon, from edge to edge, was a magnificent rainbow. It leapt in a perfect, unbroken arc. I pressed my face against the glass for a better view, and gasped with delight when I realized that, to the north, there was a faint reflection, a double rainbow above the first one. As the sun rose, the colors deepend against the grey clouds. Hope.

I finished my devotions filled with a sense of awe.

I ate an orange quickly while I read e-mails and checked WebCT for P&P assignments. By the time I had packed up the books I needed for the day, the sky had cleared. The morning was steamy, water like gold leaf on the brick path. I practiced my flute for an hour and read "Hamlet". In MT, we had a quiz, and definitions for metronome markings and dynamics. The professor told us, "In Italian, you add 'issimo' to mean 'more'. For example, 'piano', 'pianissimo', 'pianississimo'. It's similar to Oklahoman, when you thank someone. You say, 'Thank yew!', and they say, 'Thank yeww,' and you say, 'Thank yewww,' and they say, 'Thank yewwwww'. The more 'yew' you put in, the more grateful you are."

In Honors, we left behind "King Henry IV" and moved on to "Hamlet". Dr. W likes to talk, and he likes to read aloud. He goes off on long anecdotes, which actually makes the class rather unsatisfying. Today we spent most of the time talking about the mechanics of Shakespeare's language, which, as Rachel pointed out, was a relief--we haven't discussed this topic at all. Shakespeare knows how to turn the conventions of rhyme and rhythm to serve his purpose, so that sound and sense walk hand-in-hand to present dramatic meaning.

After Honors class, Rachel told me, "I went to pick up a package today, and they handed me a package with your name on it. I said, 'This is my roommate's!', so they took it away and gave me mine. But you might want to go check and see if it's there still." So I parted ways with Rachel and Kathryn, and sauntered over to ACAC to the mail department. The mail department is tucked in a nook behind the food court. There's a window at the front of the department, with a broad, desk-like sill. Through the window, I could see the mail department: metal shelves stacked with boxes, a shelf for each residence hall; a large, rough table covered with packages and burlap sacks; a big canvas bin; and a confused variety of boxes, parcels, and bags. A couple of men were busy sorting things. The clerk at the window was a pale-faced, brusque chap with a shaved head and small, beady eyes. "My roommate said I have a package, but somehow I didn't get a slip for it," I said curtly, pulling out my ID. He asked me for my room number, and from a row of shelves at the back of the room, he picked up a bulging box. "I think you have another package, too. Do you want to pick it up now?" he asked. "Sure," I said. He produced another parcel, this one long and thin. "Sign here," he told me.

With a sense of satisfaction, I picked up my packages and trudged all the way across campus to Lottie. The walk, which normally takes about ten minutes, took about twice as long. My textbooks, notebook, and flute in my knapsack grew heavier and heavier, dragging down my shoulders, and my arms strained, trying to keep a grip on the bulky packages. I was thankful to find the door of our room open, and Rachel sitting placidly inside, doing her homework. I deposited the packages on my desk and let my knapsack slump to the floor.

While my computer booted, I opened the smaller package and found my new etude book. I forced myself to wait to open the second package until after I had completed several odd tasks left over from the week: revising my statement of proposed research and community service for TURC (the independent study program) and e-mailing that with a paper to Dr. S, and submitting my P&P assignment. I agonized over the assignment. It's a bad piece of verse, hardly worth the name in my opinion. But I'm stuck with it. With a wrench, I hit the "submit" button on WebCT--and, with a sense of irony, clicked "OK" when the site asked me if I was sure that I wanted to submit the assignment.

After I'd submitted the assignment, I took a pair of scissors to the large package. It was an old, battered CBD box, with my parents' address taped on top. A package from home! Excited and eager, I tore open the packing tape. Yellow tissue paper and newspaper layered the top of the box. I pulled these off, and found a whole zoo of odd little packages below: a jar of honey-covered peanuts, a package of wheat crackers (yum!), a row of boxes full of raisins in tidy plastic wrap (they go great with peanuts), a fuzzy little seal with big eyes, a sock doll with a twisted pipecleaner hat that reminded me of the aluminum foil hats in "Signs", and a whole bunch of other mysterious packages, all done up in white tissue paper. Happy, with a quirky little smile, I took out the seal and the sock doll (seal donated by Stephen, sock doll sewed by Laura) and set them on the shelf by my bed. I let myself open one of the small packages and found inside a neon green pencil case--one of the very things I'd often told myself would be quite useful for keeping my collection of pens, pencils, markers, etc. from tumbling around like a bunch of pebbles in my desk.

Well, I packed up. Then I hugged Rachel good-bye and walked over to Laci's apartment for the "break-off" non-freshman girls' RUF Bible study. There are four or five girls (including yours truly) who can't go to the study on Wednesday nights, so Alisha kindly organized a second study, on the same topic, for us.

Laci's apartment is in the same block as Tarylisha's apartment (Amanda coined this name for Tara-Jenny S.-Alisha when Rachel and I were hanging out with her one evening). Laci, Alisha, and Stephanie were already there. Crystal came, too. Alisha brought pizza for us to eat for lunch.

We spent an hour discussing the first chapter of The Enemy Within. I mostly listened to the other girls. Stephanie, Laci, and Crystal are all fairly talkative. The first chapter is mostly introductory. We talked about Romans 7 and the struggle that we as Christians face with sin: sin constantly with us, even when we're trying to do good. No Sabbath rest on this earth from sin. It offers rewards and consequences to us for not obeying its law, and its pull on us is as natural and inevitable as the pull of gravity. Alisha pointed out that many unbelievers don't realize sin's hold on them at all. They may have twinges of conscience, but they just plow, full steam ahead, in the river of sin. Christians struggle because they are trying to swim upstream against sin's strong current, so in some sense our struggle against sin is an assurance of our faith.

After the study, we shared prayer requests, and Laci prayed. Then I took my farewell and hurried back to Lottie. I collected my bags, said good-bye to Rachel, who's looking forward to the long weekend, and slogged out to the car.

The drive home was largely uneventful. It took me an hour and thirty minutes, though--a painfully long time.

I stopped at home briefly to grab my dance shoes. The house was completely quiet. I drove to the TCS gym for Irish dance class. Mrs. Hill, the teacher, was out in the middle of the gym with two lines of dancers. The younger children were in front, and the older youth/adults (my mother) were in back. My mother scowled at me and gestured me to hurry up and join in. They were learning the jig step. Not having had time to pull on my shoes, I danced barefoot, my toes grinding the cool, smooth concrete floor. I entered as gamely as I could. I know the basic jig and reel steps, so it wasn't too hard for me to catch on. Ruth took me as her partner. Mrs. Hill taught us the Bridge of Athlone, making the music play gradually faster and faster until the line skeined out jaggedly because the older dancers were taking larger steps, and the little ones couldn't keep up.

After class ended, at three-thirty, everyone lingered. Little Emily and Mary skipped around the gym, jigging carelessly. I chatted a little with Anna and Sarah. Outside, the "four musketeers" (Will, William, Ben, and Greg) climbed on the iron frame around the airconditioning unit. Emily, perched on the running board of the Carrolls' suburban, called me over.
"Are you E--?" she asked.
"Yes," I said, "Can I have a hug?"
"Sure," she said. I hugged her. She fingered my cross necklace. "Is that a cross?" she asked.
"Yes."
"Did you know that Jesus died on the cross?" she inquired.
"Yes, He died to save us from sin," I replied.
"You have a cross. You can pretend He's still on the cross," she said with a silly smile.
I half-raised an eyebrow at the theology of this last statement.
"Where are your mommy and daddy?" she asked idly.
"My mommy is inside, and my daddy is at work," I told her, "Look! There's my mommy with your mommy."
"Oh. Is that your mommy in the blue dress? And red shoes?"
"Yes," I said, "Is that your mommy in the pink shirt?"
"Yes," she informed me, "and white shoes. Where's your daddy?"
"At work," I responded.
"Oh. So's mine," she said. "Ruth is coming over to our house. Why aren't you coming over to our house?"
Ruth came over and explained that her mommy is away, so Emily's mommy said she could come to Emily's house for awhile. Emily told us all about her doll with "yellow hair".

Back at home, I found the house quiet. Laura had stayed at the gym for basketball practice. Philip was doing homework and trying to sleep in his room. Stephen had taken himself off to Daniel's house for the afternoon. My mother had already started work on an early supper in the kitchen, so I sat down in the dining room with a stack of stationery to chat with her and to write thank-you notes. I told her about my week, all the little oddments of news that hadn't been filtered through our e-mails. She bustled in and out--watering the wilted bell pepper plants outside (the afternoon was hotter than expected), warming up leftovers, snipping basil from the garden, feeding the cats, slicing squash, sharing out lettuce on each plate, setting the table.

We ate an early supper. After supper, my mother drove Laura off to spend the evening volunteering with the rest of the youth group.

The evening has been quiet: Philip doing Spanish homework upstairs, my father renewing the virus protection on my computer and looking over Philip's Calculus homework, my mother grading Stephen's literature paper (he read "Thanatopsis", which we read in MAW last week), me reading the latest "Smithsonian" magazine, about cannibals in Papua New Guinea.