Independent Study: I read Nehemiah last week.

Until last week, I had never read more than a few verses of Nehemiah.
Between Monday and Friday, I finally read all thirteen chapters.
Okay, I may have skimmed over the lists of names a little bit.
I think that's okay, although I'm guessing I'll write about those lists in a few weeks.

A long time ago, I wrote a post about Nehemiah and Ephesians 6. I talked about being the New Testament Nehemiah, putting on the full armor of God (Eph. 6:10ff) to protect against the enemies that attack.
It related back to Nehemiah 4:11-14. The enemies of the builders were coming to put an end to their work, so Nehemiah "stationed the people by their clans, with their swords, their spears, and their bows" (Neh. 4:13b, ESV).

My point in the post was that the historical books in the Old Testament can be applied to our lives today by way of analogy, and that the New Testament affirms the Old.

I still think that this is true, but I'm slower to make those comparisons. What I am quick to do is remind myself and others that YHWH is unchanging. He watched over the builders in 445 B.C. and He watches over me right now.

When Paul called the Ephesians to be vigilant, he said "we do not wrestle against flesh and blood, but against the rulers, against the authorities, against the cosmic powers over this present darkness, against the spiritual forces of evil in the heavenly places" (Eph. 6:12, ESV). He was not calling the readers/hearers of his letter to wage a physical war. He was calling them to be prepared to fight spiritual battles.

Nehemiah was old school, calling the people to prepare for a physical fight.
Okay, Nehemiah was facing humans who were coming to "cause confusion" in Jerusalem. This phrase has also been translated as "cause a disturbance" or "to hinder."
To put it simply, they were coming to bring the pain.
And Nehemiah wanted to be ready.
"But just in case they jump us/We're ready to mix/tonight."
(I needed to throw a little "West Side Story" in there.)

He called the people to arms: "Remember the Lord, who is great and awesome, and fight for your brothers, your sons, your daughters, your wives, and your homes" (v. 14b).

I don't want to make statements about pacifism or holy war or just war or anything like that, but I suppose that in not saying anything, I would be saying something.
I don't like war. I wish that we could all just talk things out rationally and make allowances for cultural differences. I wish that peace could reign.
But I've lived long enough to understand that those wishes aren't going to come true. People are people, disagreements happen, and rationality doesn't always happen.

And I believe that when it comes to defending one's family, sometimes violence is the only option. If the life of one of my relatives was in immediate danger, I can say with confidence that I would commit some sort of violent act if it would save the life of my family.
I think that this is what Nehemiah was making sure the people were prepared to do. They weren't going to seek a fight, but they sure weren't going to sit around while their enemies attacked.

I just realized that this might seem like a timely post in regards to the various gun control debates that have been happening in the past few weeks (or the entire history of our country). Please do not read this through that lens. I have not been paying enough attention to that conversation to be commenting on it.

I'm not really sure what my point is in this post. More than anything, I think it was the realization that reading the entire book put those few verses in context and helped me understand why the people needed to defend themselves, who they were defending against, and what they were doing that caused such anger.

And I think the picture of the builders using one hand to work and the other hand to hold a weapon, just in case.
But they never used their weapons. The conspirators didn't attack, though they tried to trick Nehemiah into meeting with them.
"Remember Tobiah and Sanballat, O my God, according to these things that they did, and also the prophetess Noadiah and the rest of the prophets who wanted to make me afraid."

Nehemiah, though he prepared the people to defend with weapons, always knew that "the battle belongs to the Lord."  He had heard the stories of the preexilic kings of Judah, so he knew how God had defeated armies while His people watched. (I am now understanding why I took that Chronicles class last semester.)

Know God's power, and never forget that He is unchanging. But don't expect Him to behave the way you want Him to. Much like Miley Cyrus, He "can't be tamed." I'm only slightly ashamed of that reference.

Prepare for battle. Take up your sword and be ready to swing it. And know that "Our God will fight for us."
These are not mutually exclusive situations.

Maybe next week I'll actually talk about editing.

Inconvenient Causes for Praise

A cold has been brewing since Sunday night. I've been suspecting it for a while. I made it this far into the school year without much trouble, so I figured it would show up eventually.

It hit this morning. I'm expecting it to get worse over the next 24-48 hours, and then I'll be carrying tissues around for another couple of weeks.

I really do not enjoy being sick. I don't think anyone does, Munchausen syndrome aside. I hate being around people when I'm sick, I hate being bedridden, I hate how lazy I feel, I hate how raw my nose is right now, I hate how often I'm using hand sanitizer.

Not to mention the fact that we have a Music Ministry Team performance on Sunday morning, and another on Monday for Preview Day. This is not a good time to be sick.

My friend Rachelle found out just before school started that she had a cavernoma. It's raspberry-shaped bundle of blood vessels in the brain. Some people live with them for their whole lives and don't have a single symptom. Rachelle's had bled, and she'd had some tingling in the right side of her body. The doctors decided that it needed to be removed.

The beginning of one's final semester of college is not a convenient time for brain surgery.

And yet, all times are good times for God to be glorified.

My roommate came into the room, found out that I was sick, and very quickly left, saying that she needed to go to the story. She came back about and hour later and presented me with tea, soup, Kleenex pocket packs, and Emergen-C. Katie and I have a mutual love of giving and receiving gifts, so this situation, and much as I don't like it, has been a blessing for both of us. And yes, I will be spraying down the room with Lysol before Shupe Group to try to keep my sickness from spreading.

Rachelle went in on Monday morning, the cavernoma was removed, and she's home now recovering. She was talking, walking, and eating within a few hours of her surgery. (Granted, she didn't keep the food down for long, but the fact that she was hungry is a good thing.)

God is so good and I love the ways that He shows His power.

Independent Study: Introduction

In November, on a short trip to Chicago to pick up my brother and sister-in-law's dog, my dad and I were talking about the upcoming semester. I listed the classes I was taking and expressed concern at only having 13 credit hours. True, with Modern Philosophy with Dr. Meister and Romans with Dr. McCabe, they weren't 13 easy hours, but I've always gotten by on minimum requirements and I don't want that to be the way I finish college. I want to really be challenged.

Dad asked me what I wanted to learn this semester, and who I wanted to learn from. I had no idea how to answer the first question, but the second was easy. For the past couple of years I've wanted to take a class with Dr. Terry Linhart. He and Dad have become friends and through that he and I have gotten to know each other a little bit. The thing is, he doesn't teach classes that I'm interested in taking. And he decided not to teach the class that I had registered for with him last spring.

Dad and I came to the conclusion that I should come up with an Independent Study, and ask Terry to be the advisor.
But what should I study?
My father, in his great wisdom, had an answer to that, too: Nehemiah.
That's right. The book of Nehemiah. From the Old Testament. The story of a cupbearer who got the people to rebuild the wall of Jerusalem in 52 days.
Dad has been studying Nehemiah in-depth since July 2012 and he has slowly come to the conclusion that the end result will be a book. He's writing and re-writing and having conversations with Nehemiah and it is so cool to hear him talk about what he is learning.

But what does that have to do with me?
I'm spending the semester editing for grammar and for content, adding footnotes, and formatting the text so it's ready to publish for Kindles. I'll be meeting with Terry a couple times a month, posting here about my progress each week, reading books on editing and publishing, studying Nehemiah, and learning about doing a great work.

I'm excited to dive into this project, and I hope that you will join me on this journey. If nothing else, go read Nehemiah sometime this week. It's an amazing story in the history of the people of Israel, and I can't wait to learn more about it.

A few words on poetry, or I'm more of a romantic than I like to admit.

Before I begin, I need to say that few things make me happier than when the first thing I hear when I go to Pandora is a deep voice saying "You go girls." The music from "Hercules" is some of my favorite Disney music. I love Alan Menken.
And the next song that plays is "You've Got A Friend In Me." Pandora is so good to me sometimes.

Okay. Here are my words on poetry:
I enjoy reading it. I really do. One of our books for Seminar in Literature: Love and Friendship is The 100 Best Love Poems of All Time, edited by Leslie Pockell. I was just looking through it and found myself appreciating it more than I thought I would. When I first saw the book list I laughed to see this one.
My portfolio for last semester had a diary theme. Each section intro was a diary entry, and unfortunately they all started with me talking about how much I hate analyzing literature. I think I was most negative about studying poetry. I just think it's silly. Maybe it's because my poetry is primarily love poems without much hidden meaning, but I don't think it's necessary to discuss what the writer was trying to say. Just enjoy the art for what is in front of you. Let it be.

This book ranges from Emily Dickinson's passionate "Wild Nights!" to Sara Teasdale's more subtle "Those Who Love" to Robert Burns's "A Red, Red Rose." I have sung two different choral arrangements of this last poem, and I think it is beautiful. I enjoy love poems and I don't care who knows it.

But they always make me jealous. Anne Bradstreet wrote "To My Dear and Loving Husband" centuries ago, and I envy that love. I want someone to write about me they Hilaire Belloc wrote about "Juliet." "I Want to Breathe" (James Laughlin).

I write about this more often than I should. I probably come across as more desperate than I am. I am fairly confident in my singleness, but I wouldn't mind a change. I have a particular change in mind, but I will say nothing more about that.

I just hate to admit that I'm a romantic. In everything else I accept the harsh reality of life, and it's not as if I'm expecting my life to have the formula plot of a chick flick. I would hate that. I'm not a formula.
But I love the idea of being surprised with a bouquet from a Secret Admirer who takes a few weeks to reveal himself. (I realize that it would be terrible if it was someone I wasn't interested in. My feet are on the ground.) Flowers are my love language.

I just watched the newest episode of "Downton Abbey." I was less than surprised to find myself tearing up as Lady Mary came down the stairs in her wedding dress to greet her father and Mr. Carson. They way they all looked at each other was just too much for me. I cry so easily these days: at videos of flash mob engagement, at kind words from a friend, at Nehemiah, at anything that reminds me that I'm graduating and leaving Bethel.
And at poems that make me hope for a fierce, intentional, devoted, real, unpretentious, and pure love.
Like this one, "Wear Me" by Robert Kogan:

I want you to wear me
comfortably,
as you would a dress,
or the silver necklace that you wear
around your neck.
Comfortably, so that I am always
next to you:
but most important-
something you decide
each morning to select.

Ugh. Why did I think that a class on "Love and Friendship" was a good idea? I'll let you know when I find out. 

2012: A Year In Review

I started out the year with my best friends.

January included deciding to go to the Czech Republic, attending a talk by Don Miller, and starting a new discipleship group.
February, according to my blog archive, was uneventful. I wrote about Valentine's Day. Twice. And I learned that I don't express emotions well. Cool.
I had the flu over Spring Break in March, I started counting down to the CZ trip, and I realized that I was about to turn 21. (I'm using my blog as reference. I really don't remember much of last spring.)
Then I turned 21. On Good Friday. And didn't get drunk. Hooray. April also included finding housing for the summer and applying for graduation. Melisa came back from England and Rachelle and Nelya came back from PacRim.
May. Oh, May. I took Human Biology and got an A. I baked cupcakes. We had people over for dinner. I enjoyed having hundreds of channels. I got a car. It was sunny. I loved May.
I got paid to make cupcakes in June. Twice. And they were delicious and people loved them. I traveled to Wisconsin and met some wonderful people and saw two dear friends get married to each other. And a few weeks later I saw those two people at the wedding of two other awesome people. June.
July was a whirlwind of a month. I packed up my stuff and moved out of the apartment. Stephanie and I decided to live in Shupe. I went to the Czech Republic. Read my posts from that month. I just re-read one of them and it reminded me of how badly I want to go back. Not as an intern. Just as a traveler. Or as a resident.
August started in a jetlagged blur. My parents and I had a mini-vacation to Cleveland for a wedding. And then I started to get ready to come back to school.
The rest of the year included class, music, events, meetings, tears, laughter, vlogs, grace, exhaustion, frustration, and finishing as well as I could.

The very last day of 2012 was the day I got all four wisdom teeth removed. It was the only time in my life that I have ever wished I had something in my stomach to throw up. It was the most helpless I have ever felt. My mom, who hasn't had to do much hands-on work in the way of taking care of me really earned her stripes in those first few hours. Daddy brought me flowers. I slept as much as I could. I woke up in the late afternoon and stayed up until just after midnight.

2012 was a far less emotional year than 2011. Our nation mourned the victims of several shootings. We re-elected a president. We killed and were killed, we spent money. There were victories and losses. Sometimes those were the same things.

The world didn't end.

Here's to another year. It's going to be a good one, I think.

Showdown in AC220 (The Story of 12/19/12)

I didn't sleep last night. Every time my eyes would start to close, I'd remember what was coming and I'd snap back to attention. I had been looking toward this day with dread for months.

And it was finally here. I walked into the classroom at 8:55, offering homemade soft pretzels to my fellow fighters. We needed all the energy we could get. It was going to be a long hour.

The exam walked in just after I did, carried by our professor. He'd been preparing us for this moment. He believed in us. He'd watched us learn and struggle and finally comprehend. He'd been arming us. He'd poured into us for weeks.

But now, it was time for him to let go. It was time for him to let us find out just how much we could do on our own.

He passed out the test papers. I stared down at it and it stared back up at me. The strange alphabet swam before my eyes. I closed them for a moment, clearing my head of distractions, trying to summon all that I had studied.

I picked up my pencil and wrote my name. "There, at least they'll know that I tried to fight."
I flipped through the pages, hoping for words that looked familiar, hoping that the extra credit would be enough, hoping that I would stay awake to finish this.

I did what I could. I wrote furiously. I did the easy parts first. "Mood: Indicative." Every time. Then I looked for the present tense. That's simple enough. I looked for nouns and verbs that I knew. I looked for prepositions.

I did what I could. I really did. I tried my best, and gave up when I knew I couldn't fight any longer.
I walked over to the professor and put the papers down in front of him, shaking my head. He'd believed in me, and I felt I'd let him down. I'd let myself down.

I walked into the hall to join my classmates. We stared at each other in shock. We'd had no idea what we were getting ourselves into. We had tried. All that was left was to wait until the grades were posted.

It didn't take long. That night I checked and saw the result.

Elementary Greek I: A

I had won. I had been victorious. I had not been defeated.

Not as great as you'd think.

People tell me that I would be a great mom.
Actually, they tell me that I'm going to be a great mom.
I laugh every time. There are few things that make me laugh every time I hear them.

I first laugh because it seems like a foregone conclusion that I will be a mother someday, like I have no choice in the matter, like it's the game of Life and I have to stop to add children to my car.
Now, I'm not certain, but I think that children are optional. And I'm pretty sure that marriage is optional.

As of this moment, right now, 6:30pm on 29 December 2012, I, Hope Elizabeth Swanson, do not want to have children. Before you start to question me, before you start to cast judgment, before you whisper to me through your screen that "you'll change your mind," keep reading. If you have any love or respect for me, please, keep reading.

It's true that I love to bake and to take care of people and I am objective (which is a great asset for mothers of teenagers), but have you ever seen me around a young child? Probably not, because I tend to avoid them.

Until humans reach late adolescence, they are nearly incapable of thinking logically. They cannot step outside of situations and see the perspective of another person. I have a hard time not doing that. And that's one of the traits that people who know me really struggle with. I push back against arguments and question everything. I'm not trying to be difficult, I'm just trying to make you really believe what you say you believe. And if you find that I'm poking too many holes in your argument, you had better figure out how to patch them, or you're not going to have anything to stand on. People hate that, and I totally understand them, because I hate it, too.

So imagine the children I would raise. Because, let's face it, my husband had better be a superb arguer or I'll just get bored. I don't mean that I want to fight with my husband. I don't like to fight. I like to be difficult, because I believe it's that kind of difficulty that helps make people better. That's what works for me, so I need a life partner who can match me in that skill. The people I like the most are the ones who push back against what I say. That's the conversation that I love. That's what I need from my husband.

What would happen to the children raised in that household? They would become great arguers, maybe even politicians or diplomats or negotiators. I'd probably push them to study psychology in college, because they would be naturally good at it. They would be capable of disciplines requiring abstract thinking, like philosophy, and anything requiring logic, like mathematics. I'd make sure they were structured, but free to explore their interests. They would accomplish great things with their lives. But in the meantime, they would be in public schools, trying to argue with their fellow students, with teachers, with principals. I would be on the school's speed dial, if speed dial still exists in fifteen years. They would know the pain of ridicule. They would hurt people with their words, like I have. On their way to the top, they would accidentally trample those who should rise with them. They would miss opportunities to help others, because to help is too often to hurt.

The world doesn't need more children like that. The world doesn't need more children like me. There will be enough difficult children, raised by others who are arguers.

It isn't often seen now, but I have had problems with controlling my emotions, especially anger. I was terrible in middle school. So much screaming. It was awful, and I'm ashamed of it. Not many people see me angry now, whether because of brain development or because I've learned how to manage it. It's more likely to manifest in tears now, though I've been known to throw a punch or two. And that's where the problem arises. What happens when my children make me angry? I am so against spanking children, because I believe there are other ways that are at least as effective. (But raise your kids how you want. Seriously. You are the parents of your own children, and I have no right to criticize how you discipline them.)
I would never feel as guilty as if I hit my child in anger. Even as I think about it, I feel the shame. I would hate myself. I can't do it. I won't do it.

And finally, a trait that I like that would make being a parent difficult, although it's a little bit selfish: I'm a traveler. I hate being settled. When I get settled, like I am right now, I have to live up to certain expectations that I don't think are actually "me." I have changed so much in the past four years, I changed in the four years before that, and I expect to keep changing. I want to be able to pack up and move if I need to. That might mean that I won't get married. It will definitely mean that I will have few close friends. It will mean that I won't have much of a career. (I won't go somewhere if I don't have a job. I'm not that free-spirited.) If I don't get married, I probably won't have children. I just don't think that moving around like that is very good for children. My childhood was close enough, having my best friend move away at age 5, having another best friend switch schools, and having another best friend literally talk about me behind my back. Losing connections like that is not healthy. At least, it wasn't for me. Ever notice that most of my close friends are from elementary school? It takes a long time for me to build that kind of connection. So I'm not going to put other human beings through that if I can help it.

Friends, I believe that I can be fully human, fully female and feminine, fully myself, and not have children.
I also believe that God is good, is stronger than birth control, and will help me be the best mother I can be if He decides that I should have children. He won't leave me alone. Ever.

But, for now, I don't want kids. I'm happy to bake cookies for college freshmen and to hold babies whenever I get a chance and to smile at toddlers at the grocery store and to cheer on the girl at the bowling alley being tormented by her older brothers. I'm happy to play the role of big sister, aunt, grandma, and yes, even mother at times. But I like not having to take the kids home with me. (Okay, I live on the same floor as some of them, but that's beside the point.)

And yeah, I know that I might change my mind. I know that all of those traits can be managed. I know, I know, I know. Shut up and let me live my own life. I say that in the most loving way possible.