Philly Cheesesteaks and Papers, Baby!

Only four weeks of school, seventy pages to write (including a twenty-five page beast for my honors thesis), seven books to read, at least four all-nighters, and three tests to go.

Awesome.  I feel like I might not make it.  This month is probably going to be the most intense of my undergraduate career.  Bring it on.  This is all I have before I will officially by an alumnus of this fine institution.

I find that if I take Richard Dreyfuss’s advice in What About Bob? I can actually survive and even thrive.  I try not to think about all that I have to do because it will only drive me to despair and back to my recently ditched habit of Dr. Pepper addiction.

At least, I have somewhat of a plan for my summer and next fall.  I just have to make it to May 8.

I was accepted to the two graduate institutions I had applied to, and, after a suicide trip to New England during spring break, I know where I want to go and will be moving to Philadelphia the first week of June.

This is quite terrifying and exciting all at the same time.

I have always wanted to live in the real city.  I love the energy, the diversity, the coolness, and the culture of the big city.  I also cannot wait to take classes I care a lot more about.  It is going to be awesome to live an hour and a half from New York City and three hours from Washington D.C.  As an American historian, Philadelphia is such a rich treasure house of ridiculous history, like Independence Hall and the Liberty Bell.

However, I have lived in Canyon for the past fourteen years.  I have developed a ridiculous community and support system here at WT.  There are many people here that I love and that love me.  Also, I have a physical disability that prevents me from being fully-functioning at times.

So even though moving to the fifth largest city in America is extremely exciting and I know its what I need to do, I still have considerable reservations and fears about June.

It would be an absolute shame, though, to be ruled by fear.  Even though I am quite fearful, God has been faithful to reveal time and time again that I have what it takes through his strength and spirit.  This is one of the most important confidences a man needs to have.  The principle question a man deals with is “Do I have what it takes?”  This question is even more important when dealing with a disabled person.

About two weeks ago, I had a flat tire around 12:45 on a Sunday night.  Now, it is important for the reader to know how mechanically savvy I am not.  I actually ruined my first car because I didn’t know you were supposed to change the oil in it.  So once I realized I had a flat, the despair set in.  I immediately called a friend who I assumed was still awake.  Unfortunately she didn’t answer.

I paused and a determination set in.  I can do this.  So I got out of the car and began the tedious, for me at least, work of replacing the flat tire.  It was amusing, at one point, I had hiked the car up off the ground and was attempting to pull the tire off.  The tire just would not come up.  Then, I realized that I had to take the bolts off first.  Duh!!

Anyway, I did it.  I survived the flat tire and successfully put on the donut.  It did take me about 45 minutes but I did it.  It was if God was showing me that I didn’t need to fear anymore.  He is with me and has and will give me everything that I need.

So, even though I am terrified of leaving this haven where I know and love so many people, it is time to leave.  It is time to have my own adventure with God.  It is time to be a real man and adult.  And I am excited about this.  So I will end this blog with a challenge. . . Philadelphia, Bring it On!

I am straight up Crip-pled

I am straight up crippled.  It is true.  (I always wondered if I might someday qualify for membership in the Crips as I am crippled, maybe not)  There are many preconceived ideas about us disabled persons so I thought I might bring some enlightenment on the subject through some humorous anecdotes and witty opinions in honor of the recent Ability Awareness Week, a program organized by the Student Disability Services.

First of all, I would like to ask all of you if you are aware of my disability.  Get it?  We’re trying to raise awareness.  I am just joking.  You would have to be legally blind, which is in itself a disability, or completely oblivious to miss the fact that I am disabled.  It is overwhelmingly the first noticeable fact about my personhood, besides maybe my dashing appearance and charming demeanor.

Now, I would like to state that I have been disabled all of my life, which in my opinion makes me a professional.  Due to complications of a Caesarean session, I endured severe brain injuries due to a lack of oxygen to the brain.  Apparently, the brain needs oxygen to operate smoothly.  The doctors diagnosed me with cerebral palsy when I was two years old (they were awfully worried about misdiagnosis and the lawsuits that might ensue, the pansies).  My specific type of CP (cerebral palsy abbreviated) is called Walketh-and-moveth-as-if-intoxicatedeth, a very scientific term probably unfamiliar to most of you unscientific types.  If this term is too much, just call it Pimp Walk Syndrome. 

Much of my childhood was pretty average except that my development was a tad bit slower than your regular Joe the Plumber.  I wasn’t potty trained until age four which is around the time I began to walk confidently without a walker.  Don’t worry.  I am potty trained now at least any time I am not in a pool (I have a tendency to revert when immersed in water).  In elementary school, I had difficulty buttoning my pants which meant that most days I would just hold it until 3:30 (quite painful at times).  Then I discovered my friends could help me button my pants which gave me a unique excuse to invite a friend to the bathroom (sorry if that sounds weird) which meant we could skip some class while goofing off.  Also, I fell so often that I am expert at falling.  I know how to fall in such a way that inflicts the least amount of pain.

Junior high was rough on me (who is it not rough on? So much insecurity and hormones).  I was a sports fanatic who wanted to play so badly.  Unfortunately I could not.  I became very embittered and angry at God that I would be disabled.  Why me?  My younger brother hated sports and just loved to read, why not him?  (I know this sounds horrid, but it was true and horrid)  I also began to think that my disability might affect my relationships with girls.  What girl would want to date a guy who has trouble chewing with his mouth closed and who randomly spazzes out squeezing his fingers through the Styrofoam cup as Dr. Pepper spills all over himself?

By the grace of God, I reached a certain degree of resolution in high school.  I could be an angry bitter person for the rest of my life or I could accept the fact that I was disabled and that was it.  I also began to see it as a blessing in some ways.  You see, really all of us are disabled in some way, whether relationally, psychologically, mentally, or emotionally.  Mine is an obvious disability.  There is no hope for me to hide my insecurities or weakness because I just can’t.  Everyone who sees me knows my weakness.  This has given me a degree of emotional honesty and openness that is rare for a college-aged male.  Therefore, I am very aware of my dependence on others and foundationally on Christ.  God is very much the strength in my weakness.

Besides my upbringing under the teaching of my parents, my disability serves as the foremost foundation of my faith.  I absolutely am desperate for healing, purpose, and redemption.  My heart holds to a hope for a day when Christ will make everything right and there will be no more disabilities, no more illness, selfishness, wars, or any other maladies plaguing our world.  And I will have one sweet resurrected body. When I get that new body, I promise I will beat you if we happen to race.  There are still times that the great deceiver comes to tell me that I am broken, messed up, and no one could love such damaged goods.  It is at this time that I have to remind myself of the truth.  I am broken and messed up yet I am the image of the Invisible and there is One who loves me always.  It is in this relationship with the Eternal God of Jacob through the sacrifice of Christ that defines my identity and not my disability.

In conclusion, I would just like to encourage everyone to acknowledge that really everyone is disabled in a way and the more honest we are about our weakness the better.  You need my help just as much as I need yours.  This is the meaning and purpose of community.

Do not pity me just because you see that I have a disability.  It is okay to ask if I need help because, boy, do I need lots of help.  Especially when transporting liquids without lids.  Do not pity me though.  I have a Savior and Healer.  I do not need any pity.  I have been and will be healed.  Don’t you worry about me.  Also, know that life is not fair.  Please do not be sucked into the dangerous narcissism believing that the world has somehow wronged you.  Get over yourself.  This is essential to happiness in life.  Also, we are not all equal except that we are all disabled in and by our humanity and all have a desperate need for an unconditional love and a hope of redemption.

Thank you to all my friends that help and put up with me and forget at times that I am physically disabled. You are greatly appreciated.

Thank you to all of my professors here at WT for always making such an effort to accommodate me and my disability.

Thank you to Student Disability Services for all of their services and patience with me even when I show up with paperwork for tests on the day of the test.

Thank you to Residential Living who did not discriminate against me when they hired me but has given me every opportunity for personal development and achievement.  And thank you for the grace offered when I fail and patience when I am perpetually disorganized.

Thank you to my parents for raising me with high expectations and without excuses and for pointing me to Great Healer and Lover of my Soul.

Recovering from Homecoming Fever

Oh my Lord,

Thank goodness Homecoming is over.  I am genuinely worn out.  It was a good week but a long one nonetheless.  I am glad that things are back to usual.

This week was difficult as the semester hits midterm times.  As a four year senior, my motivation is definitely hurting.  This procrastination issue is getting to where it is out of control.  However, it is highlighting some of the major skills I have learned and mastered while I have been at school.  I have found out I can write a decent A- to B+ four page paper in about an hour and a half with references.  This is not a good quality and I do not advise it.  This week I am going to make an extra effort to plan out my assignments so that I am not pressured.  While I was hurriedly writing my paper, my friend who just had a car wreck needed a ride and I wasn’t able to give him one due to my irresponsibility.

Like the nerd I am, I was so excited for the debut of the class schedule on Wednesday.  I am already spending a lot of time going through all the classes thinking about how I will spend my last semester here at WT.  I am definitely excited about the senior seminar with Dr. Schaffer and Early Modern Europe with Dr. Brasington.  I do need to figure out how I am going to fulfill that Bachelor of Science science credit.

I also have been quite consumed by thoughts of what graduation might bring.  I have an interview for Teach For America at the end of October in Albuquerque.  I am kind of nervous about it but I think I have a good chance.  The Teach for America program will place me in an inner-city school district somewhere in the U.S.  I hope to be placed in San Francisco or somewhere in the New England area.  I am both excited and scared of what’s to come.  I am excited about finally leaving this place and about experiencing a different area and culture.  I absolutely have a passion for Canyon.  I love the pace and culture and overall attitude of the city.

However, it is wierd to think that I’ll be moving away from this place.  I have been here for some time - 15 years.  My family and friends are here.  I have alot of support here.  Nonetheless, it is time for me to go.  I know that I am supposed to go somewhere else, meet new people, have new experiences.  It is time.  Fear of the unknown is never a good reason to not step out and experience all that life and this world offers.

Well, I think it is time for me to stop rambling and go have some constructive downtime whipping up on my friends in Wii Golf.  Ta ta for now.

Guarding the Bonfire. An account of time standing still.

It was 2:44 p.m. on a lovely Tuesday afternoon, and I desperately wished that I was curled up in a fetal ball of warmth upon my bed.

Last night was the Marshmallow Roast at the bonfire site directed and sponsored by RHA. A grand ol’ time was being had by everyone. The festivities began about 10 p.m. as groups of students arrived in groups of eight to ten. The campfire was extremely hot, which made it semi-suicidal to try to even roast a marshmallow. At the height of the roast, there were probably 200-300 assorted bodies present. As the time ticked on, though, many left for the comfort and warmth of their beds and soon it was only the few, the proud, and the brave that were left, sacrificing their night of sleep for the security of the bonfire.

Guitars were whipped out around 1 a.m. The songs were varied as worship songs were intermingled with Oasis and Secondhand Serenade and some Matchbox 20. A competitive game of washers that would run to 4 a.m. started as well. Hot dogs and sausages arrived on the scene causing a ruckus to the hungry students. However, many a sausage and dog was lost to the heat of the fire as the unstable hangers supporting their weight dropped the various meats into the flame. This was an incredibly sad ordeal. Personally, I lost a sausage on the outskirts of the fire but was able to borrow some gloves to fetch it. I tried to eat it but it was covered in West Texas dirt. Sad story.

Around 2 a.m., activity around the campfire began to wane as the cold September night set in. Many students tucked themselves into their blue and red sleeping bags to sleep through the night. The back of pickups slowly filled with students trying to grab a wink of sleep. Others made runs to Allsups. A run to Whataburger was even made. This was also around the time when time itself seemed to go to sleep. The minutes seemed like hours and the hours like days, especially for those of us attempting to remain awake the whole night.

By 5 a.m. the campsite was almost completely dead as almost everyone was asleep and those that weren’t were chatting quietly to each other. Thankfully, an angel in disguise among us had brought enough eggs and sausage to feed a small army. We started cooking the eggs and sausage on his nifty camping trinkets. The following breakfast burritos were among the best I have ever had. They were so good to a tired empty stomach. Then he had the audacity to make homemade donuts. We fried biscuits with holes poked in them. We then dumped the result into a bag of powdered sugar and shook it all up. The result was incredible. Warm tasty doughnuts.

As the sun came up, the beasts emerged from their respective positions around the fire. We ate and cleaned up the campsite, which was quite dirty from the night’s festivities. After we finished tidying up a bit, we all started to wait out the morning until it was finally time for us to depart.

Let me just conclude that this endeavor is not for the light of heart of weak of mind. The day after, I went to sleep at 4 in the afternoon and did not rise until 9:30 a.m. the next day.  Good stuff.

The life and legend of Jesse Robinson

I am a native of this magnificent town, Canyon.  My father is a professor at this institution.  Thankfully though, he is in the agriculture department.  My likelihood of ever being in such a department is absolutely zero.  This, paired with my decision to live all four years on campus, has made my collegiate experience here at WT most enjoyable and has allowed me to form my own identity despite my 15 years of residency here in Canyon.  I am a senior history major, which really means that I have to consume books and produce papers at a inhumane rate.  I am the only male living in Cross Hall, which has been an incredible learning and humbling experience.  I have been involved in the BSM leadership team for the past 3 years, going on 4.  My dream is be an electro-pop indie artist who mixes in a unique flavor of American historical references within my lyrics.  I love my Mac, cities, trips to Palo Duro, art, food, poetry, friends, new experiences, and life in general.