"I Love It"

I am a realist about the present, but a romantic in regards to the past.  I don’t know why.  I can’t explain it.  Maybe it’s because I was a history major.  Or maybe this is WHY I was a history major.  Either way, in the past week one friend called me one of the most rational people she knows while another marveled at the way I can remember intimate details from our past so vividly and excitedly.

It is the latter half of my twisted brain equation that causes me to be a sucker for songs about time or place.  Notably, times and places in the past.  Give me a “coming of age” country song and I’m hooked.  You know the tale.  There’s some moonshine, a small town Saturday night, a pair of cut-off jeans and then a little love in the bed of the truck.  I may have heard the same story told fifty times before by different artists, but it doesn’t matter.    I hear it and I’m carried away into the past, to a place where I have found myself a thousand times, yet have never actually been.  

Surprisingly, the most recent song to send me into the past (or at least towards a celebration of it) is not a country song, but rather Icona Pop’s mega-hit anthem, “I Love It.”  I can’t get it out of my head.  I can’t stop singing it.  And I can’t help but turn up the volume when it comes on the radio.  In fact, there are times I find myself suffering through other “songs” on the local Top 40 station in hopes that I might have the fortune of hearing this aural cocaine before getting out of the car. (Nevermind that I purchased the song on iTunes AND have it on Spotify.  Why are songs so much better on the radio?  Another post for another time.)

I first heard the song at Taylor Swift’s (an apologetic of my Taylor Swift fandom will come soon) show in Atlanta when she played it, along with Lenny Kravitz’ “American Woman,” as her entrance music.  I admit I didn’t care for this song that all these teenagers were screaming along to, until I heard the line that makes it one of my current favorite songs.  

“I Love It” might just be another high-production club hit if not for this seminal line:  “You’re from the 70’s, but I’m a 90’s bitch.”  If you’re reading this and were born between 1980 and 1990 I don’t have to explain myself.  But, just in case, I will.  Like I said, I love the radio version of this song.  However, today, I noticed that on the radio (thanks, FCC) this line is changed to: “You’re from the 70’s, but I’m a 90’s chick.”  

Admittedly, I might be considered a bit liberal when it comes to loose language.  I was once told to keep my language between a 5 and a 7 on a 1-10 scale, because a 1-4 is too weak to emphasize anything, and when the situation calls for a 10, I was told that I don’t want to miss the opportunity to punctuate my point due to overuse.  I believe I abide by this rule, staying firmly within the 5-7 range.  I drift lower at work, reverent occasions, and with my grandparents and drift higher when I’m furious or, as my advisor said, need to make a point.    

Back to the song.  I understand why things are censored on the radio, television, etc.  Certain language need not be heard by certain ears.  So, to be clear, this post is not advocating for the lack of censorship.  I’m simply stating that I prefer the original lyrics to this song because of what they convey. During the 90’s I was ages 5-15.  That’s a pretty transformative decade.  Among other things, these ten years saw my entree into my own taste in music.  I realized, despite my parents’ best efforts, that there were other types of music than classic rock and Motown.  And the music I experienced in the 90’s merited the word “bitch,” not “chick.”  Hell (see what I did there), there was even a SONG called “Bitch.”  Bless Meredith Brooks; Mom loved that song, even though she wouldn’t let me buy the CD single at age 12.

Over the past few years the pop-cuture powers that be have decided that enough time has gone by that we can now begin to reflect on the 90’s.  We have “I Love the 90’s” on VH1.  Washed-up 90’s stars are appearing on Celebrity Apprentice, Dancing with the Stars, and other reality shows.  And frankly, it was time for a song at least referencing this decade that was so underwhelming to us all at the time, but now feels iconic.  I remember saying to my mom in the car one day, “I have to have been born into the WORST musical time period EVER.”  This may actually be true.  I’m not sure that any one band or artist from the 90’s would be remembered or canonized in pop-culture history if those deciding didn’t feel like they HAD to highlight SOMEONE from the 90’s.  But, damnit, “I don’t care. I love it.”  

In addition to the aforementioned Meredith Brooks, this decade of music gave us Gwen Stefani, Courtney Love, Mariah Carey, Britney Spears, Christina Aguilera, TLC, Alanis Morissette, Sheryl Crow, The Spice Girls, and Shirley Manson…to name a few.  Were these women simply “chicks”??? NO!  Let me give you a little run down.  Two of them fronted bands where the rest of the members were men.  You think anyone without a little bitch in ‘em gets away with that?  One of them sang break-up songs so cruel and bitter that she made Taylor Swift’s lyrics sound like she’s singing Lionel Richie songs.  Another was known for breaking into screaming fits on stage.  And just about all of them engaged in some sort of sexual activity that I would not personally condone.  Basically, they were BITCHES!  And they inspired a generation of girls (who are now young women) to let their inner-bitch surface, even if just for a moment here or there.  It was girl power to the max.  

Now, anyone reading this probably knows me and knows that in His sovereignty, God knew to provide me with great parents, a wonderful church, and an enormous fear of getting into trouble.  So no, I never engaged in any of the above activities in my youth.  (I saved my select few screaming fits for home-love you mom.)  But you’d better BELIEVE that in my car and on my Discman I was rockin’ some “Don’t Speak,” “You Oughta Know,” “Oops I Did It Again,” “Celebrity Skin,” “Only Happy When It Rains,” and “Wannabe.”  These songs and the women who sang them shaped me.  They gave contexts for my newly forming hormonal emotions.  They gave me music video dances to learn with my friends at slumber parties.  And mostly, they gave me reasons to engage music and to think about what these songs were saying.

All of this is why, as I watched those “tweens” at the Taylor Swift show chant the lyrics to this song, I grimaced.  These girls were not “90’s bitches.”  They grew up on Miley Cyrus and, well, Taylor Swift.  Actually, Taylor herself barely qualifies.  Though, I admire her desire to join us.  They don’t get it.  But, I do.  I’m 28 and most of my friends have children of their own, but when I hear “I Love It,” I am instantly transported to the back seat of my parents’ car on a family road trip with me trying to hide my inner teenage angst by putting on my Discman headphones and blaring “Ironic” as loud as tolerable.  I smile as I go back there in my mind…because it is the past.  I was a good kid.  I have grown into a fairly responsible adult.  But, somewhere down inside me, there is a “90’s bitch” that rears her head every now and then at just the right moment. Thanks, ladies.

Some Thoughts on Boston

I run races.  Not long ones.  And certainly not marathons.  5K's with the random 10K thrown in there about once a year.  To call myself  "a runner" feels like I am cheapening a term in which so many people take pride.  Nevertheless, I run races.

I started running races about five years ago to give myself a reason to exercise.  A training goal.  I also ran my first race because a friend asked me to run with her in honor of her family friend who was fighting (and has since lost) a battle with brain cancer.  It was in this first race that I was reminded that a race, and running in general, is about much more than a reason to exercise.

My high school track coach used to bristle at the idea that track was an "individual sport."  The only time I ever saw him angry was when someone on the team started acting like it was.  He argued that track is one of the greatest team sports, because you are truly competing against yourself and your personal best and that frees you up to cheer for your teammates to do the same.

This idea came flooding back to me as I ran that first 5K.  As I watched thousands of people fill the streets of Washington, DC in bright colors, funny hats, elaborate costumes, and smiles just to run a few miles to raise money for brain cancer research, I remembered my high school track coach.  As I ran step by step with a friend who normally ran much faster than me, but had slowed her pace in order to encourage this nervous first-time racer, I began to understand what I never grasped in high school as my coach preached: that runners have one of the greatest communities this side of heaven.

Have you ever watched a race?  Participated in one?  If so, you know that at a race you will find nothing but encouragement.  People who are there are running, yes, "by themselves," but really they are basking in the reality that they are a part of something so much bigger than one person.  Yes, most races benefit a charity, which is glorious in and of itself.  But even if they did not, races benefit the charity of humanity.  At a race some of the purest and best qualities of humanity--endurance, encouragement, discipline, community--exist to remind us that though this world is fallen, its Creator made it and it was Good.

And if you watch closely at the finish line of a race you will be reminded that this world will one day be Good again.  That same friend who asked me to run my first 5K told me that the reason she loves running the last mile of any race without headphones is to hear the cheers of the crowd as she approaches and crosses the finish line.  Not for her own personal satisfaction, but because she believes that it is the clearest image we have this side of heaven of what it will look like when we cross that final finish line one day.  When we approach heaven will all of the saints who have gone before not clap and cheer and welcome us across that finish line with open arms, and a place to rest, rejoice, and recover from our long journey?

I think they will, which is why yesterday's events in Boston saddened me so much.  They made me angry.  How dare someone try to taint this image of the finish line that means so much to me and countless others who have more claim to it than I.  How dare they mess with something so pure and good?

I am still angry, but as I read the words of Isaiah (and then of Paul echoing him in 1 Corinthians) this morning, "Death is swallowed up in victory[...]Where, oh death, is now thy sting?"  I am comforted.  And as I focus on that final finish line we will all one day cross, I am able to sing to myself a verse from my favorite Christmas carol: "Then pealed the bells more loud and deep: God is not dead nor doth He sleep; the wrong shall fail, the right prevail, with peace on earth, goodwill to men."  

Amen.

Things I Can/Cannot Do at a Men's College Continued

It's been awhile and this list deserves updating.

Things I CAN Do:
-Become exposed to the world of male fashion/lifestyle through such websites as theartofmanliness.com, redclaysoul.com, and rulesformyunbornson.tumblr.com. 
-Store my beer at a friend's house for Lent, then come "help" that same friend pack his house 3 months later and be offered that same beer from his fridge.  (Note: It helps that said friend does not drink and this College has an Honor Code). 
-Have another friend open that beer w/ his class ring.
-"Help a friend pack" by chatting and looting his house like a Katrina survivor. 
-Become quite comfortable with showering at guy friends' houses due to loss of power, lack of time to go home to shower, etc.
-Manage a Pinterest account for the College and get most of my Pins from my personal Pinterest account.

Things I CANNOT Do:
-Find someone to join me in seeing movies such as "The Vow," or "Magic Mike," or TV shows on Netflix such as "Dawson's Creek."
-A disappointing update from the previous list: since one friend has left, finding someone to watch "the game" with me has now been moved from things I CAN do to things I CANNOT do.  This is indeed a tragedy.
-Get 50% of the jokes.
-Have a roomate on weekend lake trips.  I'm the only one in the "Girls" room.  This isn't so bad though.
-Find someone to paint my right hand when I'm trying to paint my nails
-Make plans more than one hour ahead of time

 

I Work at a Boys' School (or Men's College)

I thought about copying sit-com names for this post. "New Girl." "My Boys." Both shows aptly describe my life and would have worked.  In the end, the direct approach seemed more appropriate.  I feel like this topic could have it's own blog.  In fact, I've flirted with that option on several occasions since I started here at Hampden-Sydney College in July.  But, I figure, due to my lack of consistant blogging, there's room on "Words with Womack" for some insights and stories from my time in guy-land.

So, for my first post regarding life in "Boyville" I will list "things I can and cannot do while living alone and working at a men's college." (Note: Every item on this list is based off of actual events from my life here.)

Things I CAN Do:
-Get my next door neighbor/co-worker to come kill bugs for me at midnight
-Cook (I use that term loosely) dinner for 9 guys and have them rave about how wonderful it is, even though it's not that great and we ran out of food. (Note: Guys love food--any food.)
-Always find someone w/ whom I can watch "the game."
-Drink beer at pretty much any time of the day
-Go on a road trip with or as a +1 to a party for a guy friend who has a long-distance girlfriend, and not get asked any questions about it
-Have someone help me re-pack my artificial Christmas tree and hang pictures on my walls
-Always be told I look or smell nice
-Always be told my apartment is clean
-"Pull the girl card"--(I'm not driving, That's gross, Can you lift this for me?, etc)
-Have fairly candid conversations while receiving valuable insight on the opposite sex

Things I CANNOT Do:
-Find someone to zip my dress when I can't reach it
-Find someone to help me get my measurements for bridesmaids dresses
-Borrow some earrings, shoes, a dress, etc
-Figure out what to wear to an event
-Watch "chick flicks" (unless there is a "hot" actress involved, in which case she gets commented on the entire time)
-Complain when I have "cramps"
-Watch "The Sing Off" with anyone (I would add "The Bachelor" to that list, but to be honest, one of the guys likes it--bonus!)
-Cry
-Be worry-free when one of the boys walks into my house (What have I left lying around?  Is my bathroom clean? Uh oh, my underwear drawer is open.)
-Drive around and sing loudly in the car to cheesey pop songs

I will try and add more to these lists as time goes on.  But, for now, I hope you get a fair glimpse into my life at H-SC. 

Coach Summitt

I doubt many people are unaware of the sad news released last week about the legendary Tennessee Lady Vols basketball coach, Pat Summitt, and her dementia diagnosis. Now, I am not a Tennessee fan by any stretch of the imagination. But I AM a woman who grew up loving sports without many women to admire. Coach Summitt was the exception. In middle and high school when I would watch her coach her teams or see her interviewed, I would somehow feel excited to work harder on my team and in my sport (volleyball--I didn't even play basketball). She is classy, hard-working, tough on her players while simultaneously loving them like a mother, and never too busy to say hello or sign an autograph for a fan.

I know this first hand. Rewind back to the winter of 2003. It was January or February, and I was starting Auburn in August of that same year. No matter, when a friend from church offered me tickets behind the Tennessee bench at the Auburn/Tennesee women's basketball game I sat behind that bench and sang Rocky Top with no regard to my future alma mater. That is the effect this woman has had on my life. As I watched her in person that day, able to listen in on every huddle and hear every piece of coaching, my admiration was cemented. After the game, we waited around, hoping she might come back out from the locker room to do her post-game radio show. When she did, I grabbed my new "Lady Vols basketball" t-shirt I'd been given and stood at Coach Summitt's shoulder. Seeing me out of the corner of her eye, she turned to me and I stammered: "Uhh, Coach Summitt? I think you're AWESOME!! Could you sign my shirt?" She looked at me like I might not have been the first young female athlete enamored with her, smiled, and said "of course, darlin." I don't know if she said anything else, but I just know that she made this former tomboy's day that winter afternoon.

As she embarks on this battle with dementia, I have no doubt that she will handle it as she has the rest of her career--with class, grace, determination, and fortitude. It's odd to say you'll be praying for someone you don't even know, and I realize this can seem like a celebrity obsession, but it's different. Without knowing me, Coach Summitt changed my life. She made it okay for a female to love sports and want to work as hard as possible at them. She made hard work and dedication look fun, and displayed the rewards with humility. Because of that, I doubt I'm the only one who would say to her today, "Thank you, Coach Summitt. We are thinking and praying for you!"

Lent

Earlier this month I sent an email to some college friends asking them to enter into the season of Lent with me. After sending it I knew I sounded crazy in the email. Why do I enjoy Lent? Doesn't that seem like an oxymoron? Who enjoys mourning and sacrifice? Maybe it's because I'm still "new" to the Lent thing (this being my fourth year observing it). Maybe it is because I need "an excuse" to slow down, examine my life, and truly observe a time of contemplative prayer and open hands. Or maybe, it is because a season in the church calendar set aside to allow me to own my sinful nature, my flesh, and my mortality in light of the Cross is exactly what I need. As of late, I've been a bit obsessed with my sins--even struggling to believe that the Lord could accept me after I have rejected him time and time again with decisions I make. But during Lent, I view my sinfulness differently. Lent is a time where I can say "Yes Lord, I do reject you--every day. I am human and broken and sinful and frail." Lent is a time where I have to confess, as one of the author's below says, "Jesus will have to do everything." I can do nothing to heal this sickness that is my sin. Jesus will have to do everything, and I will have to trust Him to do that which He promises to do. And Lent (and then Easter) is a time when Jesus says "Yes, you are human, broken, sinful, and frail. And you reject me daily. But you are my child, and I love you. I have died and risen from the dead to bring you into my presence. I have done what you can't do. So be at peace."

With that, I'll leave you with some of my favorite thoughts I've read on Lent this year. They are a bit lengthy, but I hope they will encourage you the way they have me.

"The search for sanctification never is that far removed from neurotic burden. There always is something half-comical, half-tragic about the banalities of what we “give up” for Lent.
And the knowledge of the unimpressiveness of our efforts in this area can lead us toward either triviality or despair. We can sacrifice the unimportant, and in this way not really care about what we are doing, or we can be crushed by the paltry efforts we make as they compare to the awesome horror of Christ’s death. So the insight that our bodies can positively relate to the spiritual life quickly can become a demanding, unyielding law that deprives us of the freedom the Gospels promise. We enter into a faulty problematic that induces us to ask how much is enough, or that weighs our sacrifices against what those around us do or do not do. In other words, the real, if limited, truth of Lenten restraint finds its perversion in the labyrinthine wanderings of the human mind, an anxiety about the sufficiency of our efforts that only really proves their insufficiency. Lent, when taken up into the cycle of man’s attempts at self-justification, can fix our gaze toward our own doing, and in this way upend the point of the liturgical season: what Christ has done.

Ash Wednesday, then, should be seen as standing guard over Lent, reminding us at its start of the core truth of Christianity: we must give up. We must give up not this or that habit or food or particular sin, but the entire project of self-justification, of making God’s love contingent on our own achievements. And the liturgy of this day goes right to the ultimate reality we struggle against, which is death itself. We are reminded, both by the words we say and the burned palms imposed on our foreheads, that we will die. Ashes to ashes, dust to dust. Give up! Give up, for you will not escape death. The entire logic of the theology of glory, of all our Pelagian impulses, of all human attempts at mastery and control, are searched out and stripped away on Ash Wednesday. We are seen for what we are – frail mortals. All power, all money, all self-control, all striving, all efforts at reform cannot permanently forestall our death. Our return to dust is the looming fact of our existence that, in our resistance to it, provides a template of sorts for all the more petty efforts we make to gain control of our lives.

In this way, the repentance that takes place on this day also can be seen for what it is. The penitential rite is not a kind of shame inducing act of self-hatred. It simply is a recognition, and thereby acceptance, of our inability to love and do perfectly, which no amount of self-help strategies can change. It points to the utter gratuity of grace, its unearned, unmerited, even inexplicable nature. Repentence, then, is liberating. On Ash Wednesday, our confession of sin really is saying, “we give up.” By repenting, we opt out of the logic that turns the good news of Christianity into another form of bondage, of accusation and moralizing. We do not, on this day at least, pretend to be anything other than the flawed human beings we are. And it is this very lack of pretending that is such a relief to sufferers weighed down by guilt. Ash Wednesday is a day for honesty. We no longer have to fear or elide the truth about ourselves."
From this: http://blog.mbird.com/2011/03/possibly-insane-thoughts-on-ash.html

"Jesus will have to do everything. He will have to accomplish it all. I am ashes and I am dust and there is no good in me and I am in dire need and lent has given me clear eyes to see my sin and I am the one broken under all this skin."
From this: http://www.aholyexperience.com/2011/03/why-do-lent-why-a-failing-lent-actually-succeeds-a-booklist/

"And eventually, the choosing becomes easier, the darkness lifts, and walking in Jesus’ way is not quite such a struggle…for a while. But the darkness will always return, often unexpectedly. That is why I need Lent, because it bears witness to the reality of darkness, of doubt, of fear, of pain. And it carries me through those real places, real experiences into one that is more fully and truly Real: the Reality of Resurrection, of Light, of Life."
-Kimberlee Conway Ireton
From: http://anglicanprayer.wordpress.com/category/church-seasons/lent/lent-quotes/

Things I love

It is embarrassing that I haven't posted in about two months. SO MANY BIG THINGS HAVE HAPPENED! And, while I want to post about several of them in the coming days and weeks, I am going to take this opportunity on Valentine's Day to talk about the things I love. I think it's healthy and that it pleases God when we take a moment to reflect on the gifts of "common grace" he gives us all. So, here we go:

1. Mom and Dad
2. Abby (and now also Holder)
3. Extended Family
4. My Communities of Friends
5. My Best Friend
6. K.C., the cat...yes, I'm serious.
7. Each of my Alma Maters (including the soon-to-be)
8. Music (Both thought-provoking and just silly)
9. Movies and Books that Tell Good Stories
10. The "WOW" moments in nature--when you almost lose your breath at the beauty before you, and the reminder that this could only be created by a loving God
11. "Aha!" Moments in studies, relationships, theology, etc.
12. That deep seed of faith and reassuring love that remains, even in moments of utter brokenness and confusion
13. That great feeling when you have the will-power to push yourself to the limit physically and you are bent over, dripping in sweat, but know you have given it all you have
14. Sports (and the stories they can tell)
15. Good beer, wine, and fancy cocktails + all of the coozies, coasters, and drinkware that accompany them. It's a small pleasure in life that I enjoy
16. Singing the "Auburn version" of "Rammer Jammer" after an Iron-Bowl win
17. Those moments in worship, both personal and corporate, when you are truly unaware of your surroundings and completely enveloped in your communion w/ the Lord
18. My Baptist, Anglican, and Presbyterian churches, and my mixed theology
19. College t-shirts
20. Baseball caps
21. American History
22. Mexican Food
23. Cuddling
24. A Real Fire (Indoor or Outdoor)
25. Charlottesville, VA; Washington, DC; Auburn, AL; Mtn. Brook, AL; and anywhere else I've called home
26. The Alabama Gulf Coast, the Florida Panhandle, Lake Martin, the Godfrey's lake house, and any other place that's served as a second home or a consistent restful vacation for me.
27. The perfect music mix for a roadtrip
28. A fan when I sleep
29. The Braves
30. Shrimp and Grits and Chesapeake Benedict
31. Mountain Views
32. Past dating relationships that have revealed to me more of who I am, who God is, and what He is doing in me
33. Higher Education
34. Random encouraging notes, emails, letters, texts, tweets, etc.
35. Guilty pleasures: The Bachelor, GLEE, Eminem, and an assortment of Christian music
36. The following candy: York Peppermint Patties, Twix, Reeses Cups, Dark Chocolate in any form
37. Singing loud in the car by myself
38. Sermon podcasts
39. Having all my old books and past journals with me, just in case I want to reference one at some point
40. Politics
41. A Great Night's Sleep
42. Conversation's that aren't forced and hold nothing back
43. Tivo'd re-runs of "How I Met Your Mother"
44. Summer: Rainbows/Chacos; Spring and Fall: Sperry Boat Shoes; Winter: Wallabies
45. My 21st birthday ring from Mom and Dad
46. Auburn's National Championship
47. Exploring New Cities
48. G-Chat, Facebook, and Twitter (Don't hate)
49. Pictures of Friend
50. A good laugh/cry

If you've made it this far, thanks. Happy Valentine's Day. I am thankful for not only the saving Grace of Christ, but also the common Grace God gives us in our daily life.