Archive for the 'School Stuff' Category

July 26, 2006 @ 12:32 pm | Filed under: School Stuff

"Mathematics is not a careful march down a well-cleared highway, but a journey into a strange wilderness, where the explorers often get lost."            —W.S. Anglin

_________________________

THANK. YOU.

I couldn’t have said it better myself.

For me math is, at best, a grand test of patience, endurance, and that gnarly feeling you get in the pit of your stomach when you know (you just…know) that things are about to get very, very bad.

Math and I go way back. All the way back to first grade, in fact.

The relationship started off well, with grainy, purple-ish mimeographed pages (remember these predecessors of color copies and laser-printed sheets?) of neatly printed addition and subtraction problems.

"Staci, meet the plus sign. Plus would like to add two apples to your pile of four oranges. How many pieces of fruit do you have now?"

As long as I could equate math with fruit or cookies, or even pencils or pennies, it was all good. Dare I say, even a tad bit…fun?

It all began to go awry mid-semester of my freshman year in high school. One word says it all, seven little letters. A-L-G-E-B-R-A.

I went into the class a little cocky (because I’d never had to work very hard to make good grades before) and more than a little naive (who knew that polynomials and variables could BE so obstinate?)

By the time I’d managed to crawl through Algebra I by the hair of my chinny-chin-chin, I walked into Mrs. Payne’s sophomore geometry class with my tail tucked between my legs.

I was cautiously hopeful that isosceles triangles and terms like area, volume, and perimeter would be kinder and gentler in nature – but I was not holding my breath.

Good thing.

It became a joke in the class that I would treat myself to a banana split at Braums if somehow – by the grace of God or osmosis or whatever worked – I managed to pass the increasingly difficult tests.

Mrs. Payne had the very annoying habit of reading the test grades aloud before handing them back. As if the humilation of a failing grade wasn’t enough on its own, now we had the added bonus of wanting to crawl beneath our desks whenever our name was called.

"Rogers," she would peer over her half-rimmed, silver reading glasses and make direct eye contact.

With bated breath, I would wait like a defendant on trial to hear my fate.

"Looks like you’re going to Braums today," she’d nod and give me the barest of grins. "You got a C."

I still remember the cheers of my classmates and that afternoon, about four o’clock, found a large group of my friends and fellow geometry cellmates clustered around a white Formica table at our local neighborhood Braums.

Some things in life just need to be celebrated, you know?

When (NOT if) I manage to bag the three credit hours of college Algebra that I need in my degree plan, I will celebrate large!

Anybody want in?

________________

Mike snapped this picture of me registering on-line for my classes at Quad C. He and the boys thought it would be "payback" for the many times I’ve declared "Scrapbook moment!" Do I look embarrassed? Nah – not a smidge!

July 19, 2006 @ 11:01 am | Filed under: School Stuff

Do you dare to pursue your dreams – even if the road leading to them scares you silly?

A few weeks ago my friend, Dawn, asked the question: What makes you smile? It sounded simple enough and I automatically clicked into the comment section, poised my fingers over my keyboard, and…froze.

What makes me smile?

I could answer the obvious, but wouldn’t that sound a bit cliche? A toddler’s laughter. My husband’s jokes. A gorgeous day.

I smile about a lot of things. But what truly triggers that deepest of smiles, the one that starts somewhere within my soul, and then slowly radiates in fantastic ripples until it ultimately crawls across my face?

This morning I finally have the answer.

Feeling Jesus’ great unconditional love for me brings me the most sincere joy.

How amazing to know He loves me, but how utterly mind-blowingly amazing it is to know He loves me in spite of my shortcomings, my weaknesses, and my limitations.

I feel His gentle nurturing hand today as I wage a war of insecurity and doubt. He’s whispering words of encouragement even as I question the logic of recent decisions.

In my Thursday Thirteen a couple of weeks ago I alluded to the fact that I would be starting college this fall. Yep, that’s right. You heard it here first. Twenty years out of high school and I’m now stocking up on pens and pencils and three-subject notebooks.

For me.

Now that I’ve hung it out there for everyone in blog universe to know, now that I’m officially enrolled, advised, and equipped to start classes in a mere five weeks <gulp>, I’m experiencing real, honest-to-gracious panic attacks.

The kind where I wake up in a sweat, my thoughts spiraling in dizzy waves of What on EARTH was I thinking?

The kind where my heart races with such velocity that it’s actually painful.

The kind where I’m certain that I’m in no way at all intellectually or emotionally prepared for this adventure I’ve signed up for. That I’ve <Holy Cow!> paid money for!!!

The fear, trepidation, and anxiety all stems from one measley, four-letter word: M-A-T-H. Right now it is the bane of my existence as I painstakingly make my way through the workbook Forgotten Algebra in preparation for the Accuplacer exam I’ll be taking this next Monday morning.

This fear is a very real and present obstacle in my pursuit of a dream I’m daring to reach for. I want a degree in literature, for crying out loud. What place do binomials and quadratic equations have in this quest, I ask you?

And yet facts are facts. I have to have three credit hours of math.

Math and I have a wicked  history that goes WAY back, but that’s a story for another day, another post.

Suffice it to say, it’s a bit like being locked up with your most formiddable acquaintance. The one person you’ve just never been able to see eye-to-eye with. You’ve both made peace with the knowledge that you’ll maintain a healthy, respectful distance from one another and go your separate ways. Now – all of a sudden – you’re imprisoned in a cell together and the key to getting out is…getting along!

And yet…

Right now I’m smiling through tears because Jesus has met me this morning, right here in my room-with-a-view, as I’ve struggled with feelings of ineptness, insecurity, and even a brief lapse of mental clarity.

It’s a smile that started in the deepest part of me, the part that only He has access to. I’m sure He’s had easier jobs to do, but He was persistent, and loving, and firm – all attributes of a great father.

I am not proficient at math, but He loves me anyway.

Algebraic expressions do not, nor will they ever, define who or what I am or in any way control the life He’s destined for me to lead. (Can SOMEBODY give me an AMEN?)

But my smile represents so much more than just this realization. I smile because He loves me in moments of success and in moments of failure. He loves me when I  thrive and when I flounder. He loves me for everything I am and equally for everything that I am not.

He loves me for who He knows I will ultimately become.

And – because of that – I’m accepting the dare. I will pursue this dream of mine.

Even if it sometimes scares me silly.