The million dollar diploma

I like a good sale.

Like the fuchsia cardigan I got at Old Navy for $3.86.

Or my Nikes I got at the outlet mall for $30.

Or the brown and cream eyelet sun dress for $12.

Or the jeans I'm wearing for $15.

I could go on and on. Rarely do I buy anything full price. Actually, I have been pretty blessed lately to not have to buy a whole lot of clothes in the last six months.

I love when friends clean out their closets.

Like 90% of the jeans I own.

A handful of shirts and blouses.

A couple pairs of shoes.

A few jackets.

A dress and some bags.

I don't take offense to hand-me-downs; in fact, I get quite excited that you were thinking of me.

What I am offended by is the lack of funding that schools are willing to present their students with. I refuse to buy a college education at full price. Hear me, admissions offices: it does not cost you $37,000 to house and teach me for a year. Not even close. I am not worth a measly $10,000. I am worth considerably more than that. I will present myself in a way that you will be honored to have me on your campus. With pride aside, this is a business. I would not buy a car for the sticker price, the same as I will not pay the tuition stated on the eleventy-billionth postcard you have sent me.

I will search high and low, scouring malls and overstock stores (love love Marshall's!) to find the perfectly priced sun dress. I will do the same with my tuition. I will go to college, debt-free. I will sit on the phone for hours, I will create some tears, I will threaten to take my business elsewhere. Where there is money to be had, I will get it. Yes, I will write essays on Chinese immigration, fire sprinklers, and the importance of real estate agents in the community. I will harass my teachers for letters of recommendation and keep the mailman busy. You see, this application process is the easiest way to get money. Say I apply for four scholarships that take an hour each and receive one worth $100. That means I have just made $25 an hour... That is considerably more than I would make working at Chick fil a.

Either way, I am going to college and I am getting a degree.

Momma and the moon

I was driving home late last night... and by late, I mean it was actually past 8pm. I usually hate hate hate driving when it's dark out, especially now that my prescription glasses are failing me. Anyway, the moon was absolutely beautiful. It was a full harvest moon; the kind that's big, golden, and hangs low in the horizon. I remember the first time I saw one of these giant moons; I legitimately thought the world was ending. Anyways, several years later, I joyfully stopped at every red light, ready to gaze at the moon without risk of killing myself or nearby drivers. Yet, something hit me that I have not felt in years... or perhaps, never at all.

I found it oddly comforting to know that my mom could be looking at the same moon. I wondered if she was standing out on the front patio, like I had done so many times as a child, looking up into the sky. I remembered how at that house, Orion's Belt was so perfectly lined up with the corner of the roof during the spring, and then slowly shifted over the garage in the fall. The Big Dipper rose above the eastward neighbor's house with the yapping dog, and migrated above the crazy old lady's house. The ocean is to the east, and the "dirty water" is to the west. Still to this day, when I'm outside at night I imagine myself on that patio, looking up into the sky as a frizzy-haired, eight-year old girl.

I can see why people worship the moon, the stars, and the sun. It is comforting to know that they never change. I love knowing that every single pair of eyes on this earth can look at the exact same image that I am. It somehow unites us under this giant glittery blanket. The constellations are out of our control, and yet, we can predict when and where they will move; it's a steady pulse, much like the rhythm of a lullaby. I love knowing that wherever I go to study next fall, I will always be able to see the same stars as I saw as a child. I am excited for the day when I have children of my own who will look up into the sky in the same way I had done so many years before.

I wonder if my mom has ever looked outside and wondered if her daughter is looking at the same image, too... but I am not so certain that I want to know the answer. I wish that she knew there is a great big God who created all of this beauty. One who is so much greater than all of the stars in the sky. One who has risen, but never falls. One who has been, is, and will be, even after the moon and the stars disappear. One who wraps around the earth farther than the sea of blackness can. One who can stretch His arms out as far as the east is from the west. One who does not just give comfort, but is comfort.

Yeah, I wish she knew this kind of God. But until that day comes, I will drive in my car, admiring the moon, and praying to the One that made it all.

A triumphant end to a tragic story

First, I'm not going to act like I know all the details and the politics and whatnot... because I don't.

What I do know, though, is that I saw a man on CNN crying "Tonight, we have our freedom! Tonight, we have our freedom! Tonight, we have our freedom!"

The first thing I thought was, "Sir, have you met Jesus?"

But ceteris paribus... this man's life has changed. He feels like a new man. He has the whole world in front of him. If freedom is having nothing to lose, then this man has won.

It's interesting the power that one man can have. I don't see mass genocide with Mubarak; but I do see a masked dictatorship, rigged elections, false imprisonment, rejection of free speech, financial corruption. This one man was able to destroy lives without huge casualties; it plays along with the idea that sometimes, it's better to die than to live a life of suffering. Mubarak stepped down, and Egypt was freed tentatively. Jesus stepped up, and the world was freed forever.

I've got to give a hand to those Egyptians. Whenever I see uprisings, I'm incredibly impressed by the organization and the determination. These people had a goal in sight and saw the "bigger picture"; they put aside their differences for a cause greater than themselves. That, my friends, is humility. Too often, I see groups with a common goal... and a whole lot of side goals. I think Fuel functions like this way too much. We all agree that we want to do some event; but someone wants to see skateboarders, someone wants to speak, someone wants it to fit into their life at their convenience. We struggle to give up our own personal ambitions or reservations in order to reach our final goal. There's little to no sacrifice.

Sure, getting a profound speaker or band or comedy group is not as grand a feat nor as important as liberating an entire nation. Until we ask ourselves the purpose of the out-reach event. Is it to have fun on a Saturday afternoon? Sure, of course it is. But that's not the big picture. The goal in sight is to bring dying people to Jesus Christ. And yet, while people are teetering on the fence of life and death, we sit in a room and draw up charts that never go beyond the brainstorming phase. We never rally up our troops. We never head to our community in the masses and share the Gospel. Instead, we wait for people to come to us; we put the work on the very people that need to be saved. Instead of reaching out, we more so say "Hey, if you have time, would you mind bringing yourself over here for a couple of hours and maybe, well, if you like our light show or our music and our games enough, would you mind listening to us for a few minutes?"

I don't see Egypt saying to Mubarak "Will you come over for dinner, and maybe we'll bring up freedom by dessert. We'll play cards and whatnot, you know, get you on our good side. Then maybe, would you consider allowing us to live?"

No. I see them attacking their goal with purpose in every step.

They rally by the thousands. We huddle in our fancy Sunday school rooms by the dozens.

They fought day and night because it was that important to them. We meet a couple of hours a week, if it fits into our lives.

They devoted their entire life to the cause. Their homes, their families, their jobs, their money, their bodies. We wrinkle our noses at the idea of contributing ten bucks.

Egypt succeeded because they saw it, wanted it, and did what they had to do to get it. We see salvation, want it, and the story ends there.

The Egyptians, overwhelmed with their emotions, cried out in public in praise of their new freedoms. When another person accepts Christ, maybe an applause will be heard.

So yes, I'm a tad irritated with myself and the rest of my church body.

Tom Brokaw stated that Egypt was not a tragedy. Arthur Miller, an American playwright, believes that "we feel a sense of tragedy when we are in the presence of someone who wants something and is ready to die to get it." Both are right. The Egyptians won - and yet for two weeks, the world felt that they were on the brink of tragedy. Are we?