This morning, my friend Melanie and I drove down to Anderson to attend the church that we go to during the school year – Mercy House. Which is awesome, by the way. It’s worth the two hour drive. I’m hoping to go a few more times this summer.
Anyway, the message was really thought-provoking. It was over Hebrews 3, with a focus on where the author says that Jesus is more important than Moses. Matt stressed that for that to be relevant to us today, we should fill in the blank with something that would be insulting to us if he claimed Jesus was more important than it. Jesus is more important than __________ (patriotism, family, consumerism, my hopes and dreams, etc). And he ended with a really beautiful comment about perspective that felt like it was meant just for me, so needless to say I had a lot to mull over.
I decided to be responsible though and wait until my highway driving was finished (taking Mel to Indy so she could catch her bus and then driving back up until I went off I-69).
So I turned onto state road 5 and turned off my music, thinking that now I could pray and reflect and tackle the message. After all, I had driven this road a million times, to and from Taylor, I knew the twists and turns and small towns. No big deal.
I had been very careful all day to follow the speed limit after my incident last weekend (see previous note), even highway driving. Vehicles were annoyed with me and passed me, but I stuck to 70. So I kept an eye on my speedometer while I was thinking and praying, making sure the needle stayed right around 55.
I was right in the middle of a catharsis of sorts when I looked in my rearview mirror and saw flashing lights.
Not wanting to even wonder about how long he had been following me, I pulled over. The officer stepped out of the car.
“Do you know why I pulled you over?”
“Was I speeding?”
“Do you know the speed limit through this stretch?”
“No…”
“40.”
Dang it.
“You were going 54! Give me your license and registration… you really didn’t see me by the side of the road?”
“No.” (I was able to find all the required objects more quickly this time since I had just had them out last Saturday)
“I was right there! The only way I could have been more obvious is if my lights were on.”
He was cranky.
The only reason I know his name is because of the signature on my speeding ticket.
Jesus is more important than my criminal record?
Perhaps.
Sunday, June 7, 2009
Tuesday, June 2, 2009
The Fast and the Furious
This past Saturday night, something happened that I never in my life thought would happen. I was pulled over for speeding.
I know what every single one of you who have ever ridden with me is thinking right now, especially the three of you who were with me on that record-breaking trip from Indy to Taylor – “Finally! She’s had it coming since she started driving at 18.”
And now, those of you that are wondering why I didn’t start driving till I was 18, just know that I tried at 16 – I had a very traumatic-at-the-time-hilarious-now automatic fail on the driving test. Ask my brother or grandpa about it – it’s one of their favorite stories.
But anyway, I had just started on my seven minute trip home from work, and turned onto Backwater Road… it has a real name, but I don’t know what it is – a number of some kind. For those of you who have never had the pleasure of driving on Backwater Road, the speed limit is 35 mph almost the whole way, even on the completely straight stretches. This is to avoid drivers flying off the treacherous curves and sinking forever into the backwaters.
Another thing about Backwater Road – my dad taught me from a very young age that everyone speeds on that road, so naturally, wanting to follow the crowd, I keep up a pretty steady 55 mph on the straight parts, slowing to 40 on the treacherous curves to avoid flying off the road and sinking forever into the backwaters.
So, back to Saturday night, I began acceleration, and just as I passed a car about to pull into the empty Dekko plant parking lot (who I assumed was a teenage couple wanting to make out or sell drugs), blue and red lights started flashing on top of the car, and a siren went off. Man. I need to work on my night vision.
So I stopped in my lane (there was no room to pull over), and not having had experience with this sort of thing, I unbuckled my seat belt to reach for my purse, figuring I should try to find my license. The officer walked up to my window, which I quickly rolled down (after turning off my music – I figured he didn’t want to hear the Slumdog Millionaire soundtrack while he was writing my ticket – M.I.A. would probably take away from the mood).
“Do you know why I pulled you over?” he asked, with a friendly smile.
“I was speeding,” I said matter-of-factly, never being one to successfully play dumb.
“Yeah… I clocked you at 46 in a 35. Now are you on your way home from somewhere?”
(I was sitting there in my black uniform pants and bright blue polo shirt, hair in a ponytail, waitress apron still on, and probably smelling strongly of pizza).
“Yeah from work,” I answered, trying to figure out how I was only at 46 mph.
“You’re probably really just wanting to be home,” the officer said understandingly, “And there’s about… oh three posted speed limit signs that you passed, but it’s so hard to go 35 there.”
I nodded in agreement. That was a good one.
“Well I am going to have to give you a warning – 46 in a 35 is a little much just for a verbal, but no ticket. You were wearing your seatbelt, right?”
I nodded.
“Well good! Now I need your license and registration…”
Stupid girl that I am, I opened the glovebox and the first thing I pulled out was a huge wad of napkins… next I found insurance cards. Then the officer found it.
“It’s that one there – in your left hand.”
Well spotted, officer. I then spent about ten minutes hunting through my purse for my pile of important cards, amongst which my license was (at least I really hoped it was in my purse…). In the meantime I found out the policeman’s name was Officer May and he lived in North Webster with his wife and two young kids. Nice guy. I finally found my license, and he wrote out my warning (which I thanked him for), and then sent me on my way (I drove 30 all the rest of the way down Backwater).
When I got home and told my family the story, Kevin and Jared were highly affronted.
“If that were me, he would have given me a ticket without stopping to ask questions!” Kevin grumbled.
Never have I been so thankful to be young and female. :-D
Regardless, I have decided to become a more cautious driver. Though highly inconveniencing – I now must leave three minutes earlier to make it to work on time, increasing my total driving time to ten minutes.
…and we may have to actually leave on time now on Sundays to make it for coffee before church starts.
I know what every single one of you who have ever ridden with me is thinking right now, especially the three of you who were with me on that record-breaking trip from Indy to Taylor – “Finally! She’s had it coming since she started driving at 18.”
And now, those of you that are wondering why I didn’t start driving till I was 18, just know that I tried at 16 – I had a very traumatic-at-the-time-hilarious-now automatic fail on the driving test. Ask my brother or grandpa about it – it’s one of their favorite stories.
But anyway, I had just started on my seven minute trip home from work, and turned onto Backwater Road… it has a real name, but I don’t know what it is – a number of some kind. For those of you who have never had the pleasure of driving on Backwater Road, the speed limit is 35 mph almost the whole way, even on the completely straight stretches. This is to avoid drivers flying off the treacherous curves and sinking forever into the backwaters.
Another thing about Backwater Road – my dad taught me from a very young age that everyone speeds on that road, so naturally, wanting to follow the crowd, I keep up a pretty steady 55 mph on the straight parts, slowing to 40 on the treacherous curves to avoid flying off the road and sinking forever into the backwaters.
So, back to Saturday night, I began acceleration, and just as I passed a car about to pull into the empty Dekko plant parking lot (who I assumed was a teenage couple wanting to make out or sell drugs), blue and red lights started flashing on top of the car, and a siren went off. Man. I need to work on my night vision.
So I stopped in my lane (there was no room to pull over), and not having had experience with this sort of thing, I unbuckled my seat belt to reach for my purse, figuring I should try to find my license. The officer walked up to my window, which I quickly rolled down (after turning off my music – I figured he didn’t want to hear the Slumdog Millionaire soundtrack while he was writing my ticket – M.I.A. would probably take away from the mood).
“Do you know why I pulled you over?” he asked, with a friendly smile.
“I was speeding,” I said matter-of-factly, never being one to successfully play dumb.
“Yeah… I clocked you at 46 in a 35. Now are you on your way home from somewhere?”
(I was sitting there in my black uniform pants and bright blue polo shirt, hair in a ponytail, waitress apron still on, and probably smelling strongly of pizza).
“Yeah from work,” I answered, trying to figure out how I was only at 46 mph.
“You’re probably really just wanting to be home,” the officer said understandingly, “And there’s about… oh three posted speed limit signs that you passed, but it’s so hard to go 35 there.”
I nodded in agreement. That was a good one.
“Well I am going to have to give you a warning – 46 in a 35 is a little much just for a verbal, but no ticket. You were wearing your seatbelt, right?”
I nodded.
“Well good! Now I need your license and registration…”
Stupid girl that I am, I opened the glovebox and the first thing I pulled out was a huge wad of napkins… next I found insurance cards. Then the officer found it.
“It’s that one there – in your left hand.”
Well spotted, officer. I then spent about ten minutes hunting through my purse for my pile of important cards, amongst which my license was (at least I really hoped it was in my purse…). In the meantime I found out the policeman’s name was Officer May and he lived in North Webster with his wife and two young kids. Nice guy. I finally found my license, and he wrote out my warning (which I thanked him for), and then sent me on my way (I drove 30 all the rest of the way down Backwater).
When I got home and told my family the story, Kevin and Jared were highly affronted.
“If that were me, he would have given me a ticket without stopping to ask questions!” Kevin grumbled.
Never have I been so thankful to be young and female. :-D
Regardless, I have decided to become a more cautious driver. Though highly inconveniencing – I now must leave three minutes earlier to make it to work on time, increasing my total driving time to ten minutes.
…and we may have to actually leave on time now on Sundays to make it for coffee before church starts.
Monday, March 2, 2009
How to Treat a Guest
I’m watching the sun set on my gmail inbox background and listening to Elliot Smith sing about refusing to ride into the sun and not doing a thousand things I should be working on. Instead… I’m thinking.
Last week, Brian McLaren came to our campus and gave an evening presentation, sponsored by IFC. A fair amount of Taylor students were there – the floor of the chapel was almost filled. I was excited to hear what he had to say – I had heard he was somewhat controversial, and I really enjoy listening to people who have different viewpoints than me… which sounds like a kind of ridiculous thing to say, but it’s true. So when I saw the full room, silly me, I thought that a huge percentage of our student body also wanted their worlds blown away and minds broadened.
To my surprise, Brian McLaren gave a very uncontroversial presentation about social justice – talking about the major issues in the world today and how we, as a church, should be talking about them and working to fight them. Like world hunger. And drinking water shortages. He then talked about our worldview, and the overarching story to how we approach Christianity, and how that fits into our understanding about what the church should be doing.
Then we had a Q & A session.
And all hell broke loose.
The first question that really captured my attention was one (or five) from a girl. She got to the mic, fired off a rapid stream of theological questions about the gospels, Jesus, and whether or not he believed there was a literal heaven or hell, and there was a brief pause. Then, roughly 75% of the student body seated in that room started clapping and cheering for her attack on his personal beliefs.
This was followed by a steady stream of people also questioning his beliefs, which he didn’t even address in the presentation. There was one professor who even did this, in a very insulting, belittling way. Though the one that put the icing on the cake was the last boy who “asked a question.” He basically got hold of the mic to give a public condemnation of the speaker, including his most sincere sentiments that the speaker would “have time to figure things out in the future.”
The irony of 18 and 19-year-olds telling a 58-year-old researcher that they had things figured out, and he didn’t know what he was talking about, did not escape me.
I was stunned and horrified at the picture of Taylor University we had given. At the way we had treated our guest.
If you ran into me that night, you probably were treated to a long vent and impassioned cry for change on this campus. Since then, I’m no less passionate about that desire, but after talking to multiple students from all over campus about it, and having a meeting with Randy Gruendyke (our campus pastor), to discuss my concerns, most of the anger has dissipated.
Last week, Brian McLaren came to our campus and gave an evening presentation, sponsored by IFC. A fair amount of Taylor students were there – the floor of the chapel was almost filled. I was excited to hear what he had to say – I had heard he was somewhat controversial, and I really enjoy listening to people who have different viewpoints than me… which sounds like a kind of ridiculous thing to say, but it’s true. So when I saw the full room, silly me, I thought that a huge percentage of our student body also wanted their worlds blown away and minds broadened.
To my surprise, Brian McLaren gave a very uncontroversial presentation about social justice – talking about the major issues in the world today and how we, as a church, should be talking about them and working to fight them. Like world hunger. And drinking water shortages. He then talked about our worldview, and the overarching story to how we approach Christianity, and how that fits into our understanding about what the church should be doing.
Then we had a Q & A session.
And all hell broke loose.
The first question that really captured my attention was one (or five) from a girl. She got to the mic, fired off a rapid stream of theological questions about the gospels, Jesus, and whether or not he believed there was a literal heaven or hell, and there was a brief pause. Then, roughly 75% of the student body seated in that room started clapping and cheering for her attack on his personal beliefs.
This was followed by a steady stream of people also questioning his beliefs, which he didn’t even address in the presentation. There was one professor who even did this, in a very insulting, belittling way. Though the one that put the icing on the cake was the last boy who “asked a question.” He basically got hold of the mic to give a public condemnation of the speaker, including his most sincere sentiments that the speaker would “have time to figure things out in the future.”
The irony of 18 and 19-year-olds telling a 58-year-old researcher that they had things figured out, and he didn’t know what he was talking about, did not escape me.
I was stunned and horrified at the picture of Taylor University we had given. At the way we had treated our guest.
If you ran into me that night, you probably were treated to a long vent and impassioned cry for change on this campus. Since then, I’m no less passionate about that desire, but after talking to multiple students from all over campus about it, and having a meeting with Randy Gruendyke (our campus pastor), to discuss my concerns, most of the anger has dissipated.
Wednesday, November 12, 2008
When you Least Expect It
Today as I was walking back from my 8:00 a.m. class in the brisk cold of a typical Indiana autumn transitioning into winter, just after I passed the library and was coming upon the path between Wengatz and Olsen, I was completely overcome with an intense feeling of love for humanity… well, not the condition of humanity… but for humankind in general, for the people… and I think that must be what it feels like to channel Jesus’ emotions, because I know there is no way I could feel this kind of inclusive love on my own. It’s a beautiful glimpse of God… and an incredible blessing to me in the middle of a busy, stressful week.
Monday, October 20, 2008
Bethany is...
A dear, sweet girl on my wing just wrote on the whiteboard on my door – it’s a small board, with the words “Bethany is…” at the top. Usually I then list where I am going to be when I’m out of the room. Sometimes I fill it in with other things when I’m feeling creative, like “Bethany is… class-y.” or “Bethany is… freshmen stalking.” or “Bethany is… undermining the system.” Just to keep people guessing.
As of five minutes ago, the board was wiped clean, as I was sitting in here working on my book report… but then said sweet girl wrote “Bethany is… a stunning masterpiece.” I kind of chuckled when I saw it – it fits her personality.
But then I thought, “What if we all really did view ourselves as just that – a stunning masterpiece?” Not necessarily just physically – but all of our combined experiences and traits and thoughts and talents and hopes and dreams… if I really, really, really believed that I was a masterpiece – and each brush stroke was shaping and embellishing me, how would that change my behavior and outlook on life?
I think it’s a kind of self-confidence I’m still waiting for.
As of five minutes ago, the board was wiped clean, as I was sitting in here working on my book report… but then said sweet girl wrote “Bethany is… a stunning masterpiece.” I kind of chuckled when I saw it – it fits her personality.
But then I thought, “What if we all really did view ourselves as just that – a stunning masterpiece?” Not necessarily just physically – but all of our combined experiences and traits and thoughts and talents and hopes and dreams… if I really, really, really believed that I was a masterpiece – and each brush stroke was shaping and embellishing me, how would that change my behavior and outlook on life?
I think it’s a kind of self-confidence I’m still waiting for.
Saturday, October 18, 2008
Musings
Have you ever wondered what our world would look like if we stopped caring about money and started caring about people?
Why do we claim to want to help the poor and then turn around and complain about the welfare system giving them “our” hard-earned tax dollars?
Why do we sigh about the naked children in poor nations of the world and then turn around and buy three more outfits we don’t need?
Why do we write a check when we’re feeling charitable but shy from actually personally getting involved with the homeless and destitute?
What would happen if we loved people without expecting anything in return?
Why do we claim to want to help the poor and then turn around and complain about the welfare system giving them “our” hard-earned tax dollars?
Why do we sigh about the naked children in poor nations of the world and then turn around and buy three more outfits we don’t need?
Why do we write a check when we’re feeling charitable but shy from actually personally getting involved with the homeless and destitute?
What would happen if we loved people without expecting anything in return?
Wednesday, October 8, 2008
Autumn
Today as I was looking around at the dull gray sky, crumbling brown leaves, and moist earth, I was struck by the thought that fall is the most beautiful time of the year. It also happens to be the time of the year when everything is dying, a stark reminder of the brevity of life. But in that time, you can see brilliant reminders of the beauty of life, of love, of humans and our relationships with each other. In the middle of this dark and dying world, there is light and life and love, like brilliant autumn leaves against a gray November sky.
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