Proud-ish

For the past couple weeks, I have been studying a lesson that I had to give today at church. The lesson is entitled "Beware of Pride," so you can kinda guess the topic.

The good ishes that happened during these weeks were all opportunities for me to see the pride within myself and fix it. So sometimes they were more like embarrassing ishes, or oops ishes, or forcing-myself-to-ask-for-help ishes. But they all taught me something more about pride, and something more about humility--which, in turn, taught me something more about Jesus Christ, who is the greatest example of humility to ever live.

Take this ish for example: I had to teach a mini-vocabulary lesson this week in one of my classes, pretending to address a beginning French class. I was super nervous but it ended up being fine. I did my PowerPoint, I felt all teacher-y. I sat down. Then the student instructor who was evaluating us let me know: the whole time I'd taught the class the wrong article for one of the vocabulary words.

Yeah. Oops-ish.

But I was glad, because at least I learned in front of my peers and not while teaching 101 to a bunch of wide-eyed French newbies.

It was a learning experience just like most every experience in life is; in the context of the lesson, though, it became a building experience. I wasn't just learning about humility--I learned that I could be humble if I tried to be teachable. I learned that I could recognize the not-so-great things in myself and change them to pretty-great things, as long as I caught myself in the act.

And that's what good ishes do. Even if they are embarrassing oopses that force you to confront your own weakness...they teach you to be good-er.

Tiny-ish

There is a tiny town smack-dab in the middle of Utah called Manti.

And when I say tiny, I mean tiny. You drive through canyons to get there, past miles of wide fields, waving at sheep and cows as you go. The houses come only as often as the fence posts end. Then, suddenly, you are THERE. Tiny shops line the tiny street for a block or two until the buildings end and the fields and the sheep and the cows begin again. It's a quaint place. It's open, and empty of noise or busyness. Surrounding the valley is a guardian row of distant yet not-too-distant mountains.

On a hill in this tiny town stands a white castle, one tower on each end, its grounds garnished with a few trees and short white benches. Above the entrance, the castle proclaims in all-caps "HOLINESS TO THE LORD," then, "THE HOUSE OF THE LORD."

The castle is a temple. I went there yesterday with a group of young adults--a group of friends, as a church activity--and felt the magnificence that is there. The beauty of the edifice itself inspires, that is true; but more importantly, there is a feeling of peace there. Of comfort. Of perfection, even, as much perfection as can be achieved in this world. It was amazing...in a tiny little town on a tiny little street, we found the greatest, largest, grandest thing of all: a closeness to the Lord of all creation.

Amazing-ish

College life is a good life.

A hard life.

A busy life.

But a good life.

Nonetheless, the hard-ness and and the busy-ness can be overwhelming at times. And the smallest, simplest changes in the smallest, simplest day can just explode my chest with gratitude.

On Friday I was looking into the future from my seat at work. My view was a little dreary: a dissertation in French 322 coming up, with the outline due Tuesday; a presentation on the dissertation after Thanksgiving; and the French final that would follow just a couple weeks later. Basically, I was looking through a pair of French-colored glasses, and let's just say it wasn't très beau.

After I finished my homework for my religion class, I internet-ed on over to Gmail to check out my inbox. Two little blessings, packaged and tied in lovely ribbon, sat waiting for me: one from my creative writing professor, the other from my rhetoric and civilization professor. The first said that class was cancelled at noon that day ("WHAT. YES!"). The next? That no homework was due that day, and no homework was assigned for the weekend (*speechless*).

Suddenly, in one fell swoop, my noon o' clock was empty! Saturday wasn't full of rhetorical readings!

And one thought came right to my mind--this is a great blessing from the Lord so I can spend time on my French outline.

Amazing.