The Marvelous Melinor

I've been looking through some old pictures, and a great many are of the amazing, undeniably adorable Melodi Williams. The youngest of the eight. The cutest of the three-year-old's presently living in the Williamsville household. The might be the only 3-year-old living there, but it doesn't matter. Look on these moving pictures of the pure pure heart of this melodious Meli. The effervescent expansive expression of the joy and brilliance of the world's cutest child.




She knows she's cute... she's absolutely got to.



Sooooo cute!! I love the glowing halo of hair especially. The only time frizzy hair is completely desired.



She'll hate me for that one... but I have a few years to get out of the house permanently before that happens.



Only the MarshMeli would be found in a chair on a table reading a playbill upside down with a look like that on her face and warm the hearts of millions.



This could make a tree cry.



I just want to squeeze her.



If you lost her, there's a chance she could be in the refrigerator eating a poptart. With a piece of cheese.



She likes make-up, and is far better and more creative with it than I will ever be.



She can be found sitting on a chair, as well as under one and possibly eating the ice cream out of the carton that everyone might have been looking for.

Ahhh. I miss this kid.

Everybody Plays the Fool

I am so proud of my amazing Burlington County Players! I was in this group of homeschooled Shakespeare lovers for 5 years, and have gone to every performance since I was too young to remember, until distance at Gville has limited my travels.

This year the drama geeks are in the midst of recreating Shakespeare's "Comedy of Errors" with a 70's twist to it. They all got to learn some disco dances and whatnot, and I live in constant jealousy. They're dancing to some fun songs, and singing a few themselves, like, "Everybody plays the fool." Elliott's falsetto is amazing. And Melissa's tears are adorable. And Caleigh's odd dancing towards the side is unmistakably hilarious and fun. Nic's heartfelt heartache agony in song will bring tears to the audience unsuspecting that the "comedy" will actually involve some emotion other than happiness and hilarity. I got to go to a rehearsal earlier this month when I was home for Easter, and oh my... how I miss acting! And I miss those experiences I will always hold in my heart with the BCP.

http://www.phillyburbs.com/news/local/burlington_county_times/bct_news_details/article/26/2010/april/28/4-h-conjures-shakespeare-in-the-70s.html

The link above is an article written on their performances yesterday. I am so proud!

24

Today is my mom and dad's 24th wedding anniversary! I had quite a few dates to remember not to forget lately, and I'm happy to say I remembered each one, and even wished my mom happy anniversary first, though at an unmerciful hour after I stayed up way too late finishing The Last Song by Nicholas Sparks. I've been reading more lately, which I absolutely love. I love to read. I miss reading as much as I used to. I think my junior year in high school I charted over 50 books I read during that school year. I think I'm about at 5 or so now... that stinks.

Anyway, I decided I wanted to blog about my parents. Since today is their anniversary, since I'm such a reflective person, I naturally have been thinking about how awesome they are and how much I'm thankful for them. I've heard so many people argue that homeschooling is the only possible right answer for education, but I think it's pretty obvious that is not at all correct. I think there are certain families and situations that make homeschooling as great as it can be. When I look back over growing up, I can see how much the people my parents are made the path straight for us little Williams children.Before we started taking outside classes, my mom made school fun, though we'd complain probably everyday... how can any homeschool student enjoy school enough not to on occasion? I remember crying about math ceaselessly to the point that my mom was probably crying harder than me. My dad was the one who taught me how to to do long division and how to do a lot of multiplication. My mom had to pass the "project" on to someone who could handle me while she transfered her academic attention elsewhere.

My parents were perfect for homeschooling my brothers and sisters and I. I can still remember singing worship songs, led by none other than the all powerful singing voice of my mother as we gathered the table at 8 o'clock. Hey, if we didn't do that, how else would I ever learn the old songs like, "Jehovah Jireh?" I think that was Zach's favorite for a while, until he turned to "I could sing of your love forever." It used to be written on the border of his old bedroom. After singing, my mom had us all take turns picking out a Bible verse we liked, and we'd have to share it with everyone (meaning mom and the other classmates/aka siblings), and say why we liked it, and then we'd have to memorize it and write it in our notebooks. Mom had us memorize Psalms and Proverbs. We were always in the midst of memorizing something.

Sometimes my dad would read to us, when the mom was busy with something else. We didn't argue with dad nearly as much. One look from him, and we knew we'd better stop complaining or it'd get very uncomfortable very soon. He never raised his voice. It was like his silent call to attention set us straight, and almost in fear.

My parents always encouraged us to chase after our dreams with all we've got. They encouraged us to dream, and always did everything they possibly could do to enable us to achieve them. But, they didn't just encourage us to dream, and then leave us to our "star light start bright, first star I see tonight" rhymes. They dreamed with us. They still do.

My parents are incredible people. I couldn't imagine having anyone else for a mom, or anyone else as a dad. I hope I can be a wife and mom the way my mom is and has been, and I hope I marry a man just like my dad. Their relationship is beautiful, and I praise God for placing exactly them in my life to watch and model myself after.

So.... Happy Anniversary! Hope you found someone to watch the little blonde haired chickens so you could go out tonight!

Annnnnd now. Back to work.

False conjectures

I just love writing. It's so cool. I suppose I'm slightly bored, and in a pondering mood of sorts. My throat feels 10 times its size, and sprinkled with aches the size of a normal throat, and I don't feel like talking.

I stalk a lot of people who blog. I know that sounds shady, but I don't care. People like their blogs to be read, so I read them. Sometimes. Anyway, what I like about other peoples' blogs, is people actually comment on them. And I've had 3 comments on mine total. Hmmm... lame. Anyway, this to say, it's kinda sorta pretty cool if anyone should so desire to comment if ever;)

Today after lunch, a friend and I were discussing the common expectation that going to a Christian school will present you with a seemingly unchallenging life while attending the college. We mused about the disconnect of execution in that false conjecture. Now before I continue, I restate my honest love for my college. I do completely love this school. I appreciate a great deal of the "guidelines" and how people don't get kicked out if they should "cross the line" or break the lifestyle statement. I love that girls who get pregnant are welcomed to continue their education here, regardless of the fact that there is no getting around that they "broke the lifestyle statement." I love that there is generally no slapping someone with a Bible if they make a mistake. I've been raised with a spoonful of Scripture from the day I was born, and I can't stand Bible slappin' and I'm already a Christian... not the point... anyway, I love that all are welcomed here. I think it's a great witness, and I detest the front that Christians very easily (including myself) put forward, that proclaims us as better than the rest of the world which falls beneath us. Not true. And disturbingly false and uninviting to the precious people around us.

Anyway, Lindsay and I continued our musing as the air misted around us. She in her ponytail, and I under my (brother's) hoodie shared our frustrations about how certain things are seen as not only entirely permissible, but beneficial for Christians. I can't get into much detail here, but I can say I'm guilty of consternation- I'm guilty of shock, and failing to be prepared to encounter such differing opinions on that which is seen as beneficial for a Christian.

I was homeschooled, and a great many people would impetuously lend my "half-full" view of life to what I did not experience in previous years of my academic career. However, I disagree that my lack of experience should build the conclusion that I am lacking. I've said a number of times, I was privileged with a multitude of invaluable experiences as a homeschooled student. The knowledge and upbringing I hold so precious now that it's collected in my "That which had fled" portion of my heart, is inestimable. A treasure too great to calculate. Hmmm... that has a nice hook;)

What I'm getting at, is I am so thankful for the fact that living here makes me think. I hate having to venture into uncomfortable territory as I sort through a passage of Scripture I had grown up thinking I completely understood, all to be confronted with unexpected opposition in front of an entire classroom. But as Lindsay and I agreed today, we will certainly walk away from these years of education knowing so much more of what we believe and why we believe it.

One thing I have to give a token to in my homeschooling years, was biology with Mrs. D. Two years of academic affliction in some ways, yet also two years that have prepared me for the appointments of the forthcoming, which have indeed arrived in my life. The issues we discussed in that bio class were much broader than the intricate little details I didn't even know could be of debating matter until debated here, but I gathered a foundation that in those position papers and other assignments I completed years ago.

Mrs. D was the most impacting teacher I had in high school. As I've said, the classes themselves were very beneficial and continue to be even now. However, she herself lent to the authenticity of the fruit born from those years under her instruction.

I'm going to head off to the D.C. for dinner, but I'll close on those thoughts. Ahhh the limitless list of labors in life!

O love of God, so rich and pure, how measureless and strong

I feel like I really haven't written for a while. I guess I haven't in the span of how often i had been writing before now. Only a few more weeks of school left! I am very very excited about that. I'm really not dreading classes at this point though, which is good. I guess I'm tiring, but I'm not quite as desperate as I thought I'd be. I'm in a pretty happy content medium right now. It feels good.

The only thing I am about to start a revolt about is allergies. I would love to be able to sing without nearly dying brutally on the floor. After all I am a voice major... so I have a question. Whose smarty pants idea was it to have a music school in the middle of the pollen capital? Think on that.

Anyway, I've been doing kind of a study on love in the Bible. Mostly agape love, meaning God's love. I'd write that in Greek if I could but I don't have the font... I love Greek. But when I was reading a few days ago, I found it strangely new for the first time, that love is not a human creation. We adapted the concept. We love because He loves. And these words I'm typing are probably boring, because they're all words repeated so many times they become so normal. I knew these words. I knew the truth in them. But I don't think I've ever grasped the concept comparably to how I have now. Love is a heavenly entity. It is only of God. We are able to take hold of that which is not our idea. We're allowed to love other people.

The reason I think I was struck by this, is for a few reasons. One, growing up in a charismatic church, I learned soon that God is not an emotion. He is not a human entity that we can relate to. It doesn't mean that God is not present if I don't cry in worship. It doesn't mean God isn't listening to me if I'm not struck by lightening. It doesn't mean God is punishing me by causing me to feel void when I seek Him. He's not human. When I expect Him to meet me in human relatable ways, I might be disappointed. Something else I learned, is how incredible a gift it is when God does meet with us, and we experience Him in a mighty way, relatable to our human sense. He meets us where we are. A God completely inhuman meets with us, so far below Him. What an incomprehensible gift!

So now I think of love in a similar way. Love was something God did. It was an element of God. And he expanded it, and gave love to us, the incomprehensible gift, an element of God. An element of an unearthly God, inhuman in every way. God the Father, the one who took intangible and made it tangible. He stretched our hands to make them able to grasp what shouldn't be able to fit in our hands. Love. It's of God. God IS love. How can we hold Love?

I know I'm in some ways rambling... I guess I can't even describe the revelation I feel I've had... But I'll just end here anyway. Cor class is calling!

Marco Polo

This is a song Whitney and I wrote today... She's beastly with music... If I lived any closer to her (she's already only a few doors down) I don't know how many songs we'd write...
We usually end up writing songs after we start talking about things we're thinking about. This time, we weren't in a pool playing games, but let's face it... life can resemble a game sometimes.


I can be your marco
If you're gonna be my polo
I don't wanna get stuck
By myself just singing solo
Listen to my voice
so you can hurry up find me
Hush all imitations
And walk up just right behind me


Stormy waters right before me
Keep you at a distance shield your eyes
Confusion lends to disillusion
Wait to hear my voice we will survive
Keep your arms out
Echo when you hear my shout


Need to hear your answer
Lead me in the right direction
Keep your call form drifting
In the current's swift rejection
Tend to your discretion
Don't be foolish just hang on
Grant me with your signal
Give me hope that I can ride on


Stormy waters right before me
Keep you at a distance shield your eyes
Confusion lends to disillusion
Wait to hear my voice we will survive
Keep your arms out
Echo when you hear my shout

All By Myself

Well everyone, I'll be all by myself tonight. My roommate Francine (aka Ali Lakey) is staying at her house tonight. So I shall be all by myself. And so, I realized, I would hate to have my own room. All the years and years I could not stand the nonexistent privacy I knew from sharing a room with at least one or two people... I need the presence of another person now. Crazy!

And mom if you're reading this, I do not grant you the right to weigh this over my head this summer when I resort to complaining of no time to myself. I will remind you of this right I did not give you if this statement is violated. Ok, moving on now...:)

So in case anyone doesn't know what i'm talking about, please listen to the song I attached to this blog (clicking the title of this post will do it too...). And share in my loneliness.

All by myself... except for Katie and Whitney sitting on my bed right now because I made them:) OK good night all!

The field of Scott

Sunday, lovely Sunday! Today has consisted of homework, and laying out on Scott Field with Trina. We read our books, and had a few parties on our faces, and took pictures. It's always so adorable to me to see everyone out laying on blankets and doing their thing on sunny days on the grassy green.

This weekend has been completely wonderful. Homework has been accomplished, and though there is still more to be done, it was a restful, reviving weekend.




This evening is yet to be lived, and for that I am happy. Ahhhhhh weekends in Greenville. And with the new coffee shop in the square down the road, it's been a lovely time.

So cute

Today has been oh so wonderful!! After sleeping in and hearing the breeze slip through the window this morning, the day already was indeed good.

Katie Whitney and I went on an adventure! We decided (after I persuaded them tirelessly) to go to Carlyle Lake, even though we had no idea where it was. And so we carried our cameras and sunglasses out into the beautiful day, and realized we still needed directions. So I called my roommate and asked her. Her directions were approximately "Go down 127 and turn at a sign that i think says something with an "E" in it!" So we did! And somehow we made it there!

And our motto of the day was, "We are SO cute!"

What do we know?

Vespers tonight!!

Vespers is the student led chapel on Thursday nights. And it is completely wonderful, and I always come out of there feeling so full of joy... 

Tonight the girl who spoke spoke about seeking approval from others. It's a human disease. It's what we all crave, some of us more than others. And something she said tonight resinated deep inside of me. 

People are so untrustworthy. We trust others to validate us. To approve of us. To think well of us. But who do we think we are? We're of the same people that crucified a perfect Savior. And somehow we find reason to trust these people, these fallen people, to know the difference between what is good, and what is bad, to validate us, the same fallen people? The same fallen people who killed our Jesus, even though he was spotless, blameless, perfect? What do we know?

And Jesus, Our Savior... says every moment, "Shaina Joy, I choose you. You are mine." And I rush back to the mirror, and to the people around me to make sure I'm "ok." 

I think I realized something tonight. Approval doesn't mean love. My parents love me. But it doesn't mean they always approve of the things I do or say. And I can love someone so deeply, and entirely despise the things he or she does. I love them, but I don't always approve. 

And here's where I falter. I get in the habit of knowing so well that I am so loved by the Lord, i misinterpret His endless love for constant approval. But His love is not bound by what I do right. His approval is still to be sought at every moment. I need to seek His praise and His affirmation. His love is in tact. And my worship is entirely due Him. 

I want to be a servant of Christ.

Galatians 1:10-- Am I now trying to win the approval of men, or God? Or am I trying to please men? If I were still trying to please men, I would not be a servant of Christ. 

Whip it, whip it good

Back at Greenville! Being back at home was like turning a slug into the energizer bunny... But the thing about the energizer bunny is he only plays the drums, and only one little tiny thing like in a marching band. To me that doesn't take as much skill as other stuff. For example, what if that bunny played the organ... that thing would have the hands fingers and feet going. So I have returned from my therapeutic visit home, and it's got my head moving fast pace again, and my hands ready to work, and my music making disease has got me on a high.

Tonight Whitney and I were absolute freaks coming back from worship practice at midnight. Basically we talked tonight together about how making music is unlike anything else we know. It is unbelievable sometimes. It's completely cliche to say it's like a drug... everyone says that. For me, it can be compared to something like that... it fools with my head. I'm serious. It makes me kind of enjoy hard times and times when I'm a mess because I like the songs I write and feel like, "Whew! That crap was so so worth it." Just because I thrive in inspiration. What is wrong with me?! 

Inspiration is like a hidden jewel in every piece of everyday. Sometimes I catch it, and sometimes I don't. And then there comes the challenge to describe the mundane in a way that defies exactly that... how can I say something that has been said too many times, that messes with the people who hear it into thinking they've never known what I'm about to sing to them? How can I shock someone with something they've always known? What can I do to bring out an audience member's  old memories and make them a part of what I'm singing even though it's actually about something entirely different? how can I enter someone with my words, and cause them to feel that they are in fact, their own? How can I make people think I'm singing about them, when I'm singing about myself? 

My music is my cry to be understood. It's a connection. Yes, it is my own. It is like my own child that I can cradle. It's something that will make me crazy with joy if I show no one at all. But here's my problem... I LOVE to share it. I love the moment when someone gets it. Like it's a falling rain, and instead of using an umbrella for shade, they are immersed and receive the rain that my hands have conceived.  And then... they are wet with it. They've been rained on. They possess the watery evidence. Point made. Point gained. Kudo!

Maybe it's the achiever in me that seeks to write one song better than the last. But I've made a principle I heard from Dave Clark a principle of my own. When I went to Dallas for a GMA weekend in 2007, Dave Clark (wrote a bunch of random songs like "Strange Way to Save the World" and stuff) told us his belief of how we should use the gift of songwriting. He said he heard someone ask a ball player how he got so many home runs one season, and his reply was, "I don't know... I just always swing hard." And so Dave said for every inspiration, for every song, swing hard. Write it the best way you possibly can. Don't give up and let it be just like something else. Make it good. Swing hard.

And something else he said... using a metaphor of a ball game, we, as writers, are up to bat. We're training to always swing hard. To hit it. To knock the ball out of the field. But we're the ones with the bat. And who is the one throwing the ball? If the ball itself is inspiration, who is the pitcher? And his answer was it's God. God pitches. He throws us a ball. And allows us to be the ones to hit it. 

Those things I heard Dave say were things I've adapted into my heart and into my art. Oh my gosh, it is so incredible to put it that way! How can we manage to swing slow, or to get a strike when God has pitched with intention that we hit it?! How can we not hit it hard?! 

And in our moments we're so joyful and excited in our inspiration, I believe we are reflections of our Creator. We get inspired. And we create. But what astounds me, is we actually need inspiration. We require something to provoke us to create. But God... what was there apart from Him? He needs nothing. Inspiration itself requires him. We are inspired based on our perceptions and our knowledge. But what of that has not come from God in the first place, and what of that is even able to exist apart from God? None of it. God is thee master of creation. The master of creating. He required nothing, and in His own awesomeness, from nothing, made everything. 

I can't even describe the thoughts I've been pondering just tonight. This perfect crisp and warm night. Tomorrow will be much more demanding and tiring, but for now, I've content and joyful. 

So I guess tomorrow is just another day to be ready with my bat, ready for when He throws me a ball intending me to hit it, and hit it good. 

Shells taken and received

The only thing missing from this moment is a sunroof in this darkened kitchen. I have the sliding door leading to the porch opened to just the screen, ushering in the hums from the cars moving down Lenape Trail . Next door someone's using a leaf blower, and I can hear a dog or two every so often. Warm weather insects offer their affection to the feathery fragrance of this promised Spring time. A scent no one could buy from a bottle. Red tulips sit outside on the table, lined with yellow on the edges as if the red said to the yellow, "Brighter! Make it brighter!!" A plane glides overhead, as if to watch over the perfect world below, to maintain it's soft peace. Birds sing their pleasant calls. Apparently my brother missed their alarms this morning, as he's still asleep. I felt guilty and got up a while ago. Even though IL time is an hour earlier, it doesn't mean time abides by the clock my body still lives on. 

Last night I went to my church's Good Friday service. Ahh it was so nice to be back in my church. It was a beautiful service. Different than years past, though probably also to do with the fact that Good Friday was usually lead by the church choir. I was quite content to abide by a more congregational worshipful service. I did really miss hearing my dad sing, "Jesus Paid the Highest Price" though. When he sings that song, I don't think anyone could remain dry-eyed.  

As I sat, I had Olivia, 8-years-old, on my right, and Allayah McGlinchey, 6-years-old, on my lap. There was a moment I kept from last night. Like when I swim in the ocean and gather a shell from the sea floor, clutch it in my hands and seek the surface, so I gathered a remnant from last night. Olivia clung to my arm as she sang clearly, and perfectly on pitch, "Oh the wonderful cross! Oh the wonderful cross! All who gather here, by grace draw near, to bless Your name..."  It made me tear up. And then Allayah on my lap. I saw her left hand uncurl slowly as she held it close to her waist. And then slowly she raised it higher, and higher, until she threw it in the air as high as her little arm could reach. I closed my eyes... and opened them. Further down my row was my little brother Nathan, 10-years-old, with his hands in the air as he sang to the Lord. And then his friend Lucas with his hands in the air as he sang with his family. All these precious little worshippers... it was making me cry... It quieted me. It humbled me, and caused me to bask in the splendor and wonder of being caught within a sanctuary of a worshipping people. A worshipping people that taught our children and young loved ones a way to worship without shame. 

When I witness children worshipping, it releases me to worship in a way different than when I acknowledge worshipping adults. It's like in that moment when all the ages of the earth join in a song, in an act of worship to our Saving Lord, we join with heaven. We sing the songs of heaven. We sing in the unity, the precious binding that envelopes each one of us in His sweet Salvation. The worship due to Him does not end or start with either end of the age spectrum. 

And I think God spoke something to me last night. Instead of finding and swimming towards that sea shell myself, this one was handed to me.

Our worship leader opened the alter, inviting anyone who wanted to to kneel, or come to the alter. It made me remember the countless times in youth group when Don would invite to wait upon the Lord. When we would seek Him, and wait for Him to come to us, to meet with us, to make us new in His presence. It made me realize I've become accustomed to just taking whatever He gives me on my own time. I don't wait for Him the way I used to. I don't come into His presence in my devotions and say, "I won't leave until You bless me, until You speak to me." Last night I sat to the side of the alter, and sang with the congregation, "I will exalt you, I will exalt you, I will exalt you, You are my God." and "We look to Yahweh, Yahweh, Our hope is Yahweh, Yahweh." It was such a powerful reminder to me. To physically place myself, on my knees, in a desperate place. Waiting for the Lord. 

I felt Him speak to my heart. Like He was telling me, "Wait for me Shaina Joy. I will come." 

So many times we settle for God to wait for us. We tell Him to wait to speak to us until we need Him to speak to us. Until we're ready to hear what He's going to say. Until we have enough hands for the shells He might give us. Until we feel we're ready to empty our hands of what we're holding on to now. We don't alter our schedules in case it takes longer. I remember how many times in youth group in high school we'd end up staying up past midnight, each of us slowly making our way up to our rooms as others may still be on the floor, knees bent, or on our backs praising, or praying. We waited. We could not bear to leave. As Don used to say, the Holy Spirit was so thick in the room you could "cut it with a knife." But it didn't always happen. And that was alright. But when it did happen, He came to us after we waited. 

And another awesome thing from last night.... I was able to take communion for the first time since I left Jersey in January. Behold.... the Gluten Free Table. There are a lot of people in my church who are gluten intolerant. And I could finally receive not only the Cup, but the Bread. 

Well, it's about time I go prepare myself for the day. I'm so excited to begin "training" with Bi today, and to reunite with Laura in the sunroom:) Home... such a blissful adventure. 

An April Article

And so today begins my April "issues." I like to pretend my blogs are read and appreciated and needed the way chronic newspaper readers read newspapers... so humor me even if you're not humored yourself. 

I don't like not being missed. Today I picked Caleigh up from my old college and went in to see my old teachers. I was their student only but a year ago... surely they'd remember me right? I went in to say hi to my previous voice teacher, she nearly walked right passed me, and stood awkwardly as I gave her a hug. Not at all like we haven't seen one another for nearly 12 months...  it was kind of funny, though a thrill of surprise in a dismal kind of way. My beckoning smile persisted, but she hardly met my eyes when she walked away asking how school was. I responded positively, and then that was basically it. 

This to say, I adore Professor Brown. My current voice teacher. That woman can make me sound like a happy songbird even when it's raining icicles in my heart and in the air beyond her studio. She's one of the most joyful women I've met, and is a true lover of music, and a believer in the beauty that can be found in its wonder. I know if I came back to Greenville after having graduated a year before, she'd be a completely different person than I encountered today at my sister's school.

Next, I went to say hi to another of my previous teachers. She was pretty nice, and asked me nice questions about my current school and my plans for the future. She made me feel like she was maybe happy to see me. I'd comment that that encounter was uplifting, especially compared to the one I had just experienced. 

And last, my old theory teacher. I don't think he recognized me.... how could that be though? I put my old profs through so much in my fire and unstoppable fervor to graduate when I intended to. They may have nightmares about me to this day. My response to that is-- come on... don't hate me cause I knew what I wanted, right? Hah! Ok, that's maybe a little much... but I do know it'd be ridiculous if they really didn't remember me. 

Then as I explained to him (my theory teacher) that I was on break and just wanted to say hi, he mentioned he remembered I was away at a school perhaps in "the midwest?" I told him a little about my new life and how much I'm loving Greenville. He responded to me cordially, not at all like I wanted him to. I think the truth is... Greenville has spoiled me. Ruthlessly. 

I've become accustomed to my teachers making the effort to engage in their students. They invest within us. They encourage, they ask for our needs so that they can lift us up in prayer. They sit by us on school trips and ask us how we're doing. They make the effort to visit our own home towns on choir tours. They invite us into their homes when we're taking a walk by their houses. They tell us to come in to say hello when we're getting out of class early. They stop to shake our hands and say, "Job well done!" After performances and concerts. 

For some reason, I forgot that wasn't always the case in my role as a college student.

I forgot the discouragement I faced in other circumstances. I forgot the way BCC "got me there" (the school motto is "we can get you there") was by the skin of my own teeth, and the split ends of my own hair, and by the strength of my own head and hands and those who supported me of course. 

It was funny to walk the halls that used to greet me every day I was on campus in my freshman and sophomore years of college. Quite odd to be a graduated student. Quite odd to be an alumnus, especially as I walked by those much older than me carrying books I once studied from myself. 

The second teacher I greeted today was pretty sweet. I don't mean to sound so down on BCC, even though I know I sound like it and basically, I'm not applauding the school... in light of my experiences at Greenville though I realize how great it is there and how different my previous experiences were in comparison. However, Ms. Hunter congratulated me on my accomplishments and so forth, and told me she appreciated me stopping in. 

Goodness me... the change in climates between Greenville and BCC... I can appreciate it so much having been through a much different pilgrimage beforehand. 

It is so good to be home. Perfect actually. Last night I was welcomed with the warning that the room was not cleaned yet entirely... I gave the invitation to finish cleaning before I entered because I wanted some time to hang with my mom and dad and stuff, but my sisters declined the invitation. So instead of pulling out my mattress to sleep on, I slept in Caleigh's bed....  with her. HAH! It was hilarious... and to be honest we do it a lot. It's not a big deal. We're quite used to it. And in fact, it was probably more comfortable than sleeping practically on the ground on a mattress...

So when I arose this morning, I put on my new dress I got with Karel last week. I love it. And went to get Cal, stopped at Borders and met Bomb, and took Caleigh to work. I missed all my little munchkins I used to watch when I had Caleigh's job! They screamed and ran over to me, and wouldn't let go. Ohhhhhh how I adore them!!! In front of their "teacher" that my sister works with they asked if I could work instead of her (who Caleigh works with)... that was pretty sad they said it in front of her, but so freaking adorable too. I greeted many of my old friends from the school that I worked with before going to Greenville. It was really sweet. 

And so now I prepare for making my grand appearance at drama tonight. I can't wait to see everyone, and be in the drama environment. It's the best experience of all of my schooling years, no doubt at all.

Ahhh, so my conclusion is I missed home, I missed my people, and I enjoy the fact that I was missed by some of them:)

And so this concludes this drawn out article. Yes, I will still pretend I am a columnist:)