Another semester, another bike accident

For someone who's never gotten a ticket for speeding, never had a car accident, and always wears a seatbelt, you would think that my bike safety record would be superb as well.

Well, think again.

Some of you might remember the flying-over-the-handlebars incident last semester when I made the mistake of applying my front-wheel brakes while going 25 mph down a steep hill.

Yesterday, I had another accident, and while I escaped the massive bruising of the first incident, this one was a little more dramatic in the blood department.

I was riding home from work and I decided to call Allison for her birthday and leave her a message. (Read: only one hand on the handlebars.) I was done with the message, listening to the sending options, when I hit the clear plastic bottle in the middle of the sidewalk. I remember the feeling of helplessness as my front tire wobbled out of control, and then the telephone pole was looming, my shoulder aiming right for its nail-studded side.

A jogger who happened by and saw the whole thing helped me up and hit my bike seat back into straitness. I didn't realize until he had already run on that my bike chain had slipped off the sprockets and hung useless around the pedals, but I called my roommate's fiance and they both came and helped me home. God is good!

I went to the doctor's today because there was some doubt as to whether I was current on my tetanus shots, but it turns out that those things last 10 years, so I'm ok for a while. That's my adventure!

Application essay

I just submitted my transfer application essay to Texas A&M University! (Finally!) I just thought I'd share the essay here on my blog, especially since I haven't had time to write much on here lately.

Essay A:
Though I now use various college emails for school, my primary email is the same one I have had since I was eleven: lives2read@ hotmail.com People always laugh, and I find myself laughing too, slightly self-conscious of such an extravagant declaration, even if it is just my email.

Exaggerated though it may be, I have always been enamored with books. As a skinny ten-year-old, I often escaped to the backyard where I stuffed them under my shirt. Hands free, I would climb the tree in our backyard and read for hours. Looking back, I think that homeschooling spoiled me; no child in the public school system has the luxury of free afternoons in which to lose himself in books! When I had finished my assignments and chores, I dreamed and read and wrote and played to my heart's content.

Once I left home and started high school, I began to realize that this affection for books was really only a surface symptom of a deeper love-affair with language itself. Language was so much larger than the limitations of the library. There was the spoken word, the acted word, the sung word, even the Spanish word! My high school was too small for eleven-man football, let alone a debate team, but the teachers more than compensated for the lack by hosting lively debates in class. I loved the satisfaction of presenting an argument well, of seeing understanding dawn on my listener's face. Even more satisfying was the whole-body communication achieved on the stage as I poured another persona into my voice inflections and gestures, making the audience believe. I began to see that it was not just language that I loved; I was captivated by communication.

Though I loved all of communication's various faces, I discovered my favorite in the brown-walled room where Señora Armenta taught Spanish. Somehow, by simply learning to form the sounds of another culture, that culture was no longer closed to me. We drove as a class down to an orphanage in Juarez, Mexico, for our spring break, and as I stumbled through the vocabulary to say simple things, I was rewarded with some of the sweetest smiles and hugs I have ever received.

That trip to Juarez was not my first contact with other cultures, nor was it the last. During high school there were other times in Juarez, in Mexico's interior, and in other border towns. After graduation, I traveled to a small country in Eastern Europe where I lived and served with a team of international missionaries for six months. Since my return, my friends have included Belorussians, Turks, Iranians, Russians, and Bengals. Their cultures and stories fascinate me, and because of my own experiences abroad, I can empathize with their struggles to insert themselves into our strange American culture.

I love books, I love communication, and I especially love cross-cultural communication. But I realize that all the love, talent, or training in the world is in the end just moving air and pen-scratchings if you have nothing to say. All the written and spoken words I would ever produce would just be me in love with the sound of my own voice except for one thing: the fact that Jesus Christ has completely changed my life.

I am applying for a degree in International Studies with an emphasis in both communication and media in the hopes that I can learn to better communicate the Good News of God's sacrifice and forgiveness that has transformed me. I believe that the strong academic reputation of Texas A&M University will open doors for me after graduation and give me a strong foundation upon which to continue to grow as an effective communicator. I have already grown much: I no longer live to read; I live for Christ.

Blueness

I had always heard about the crazy things that college students would do for free food. Now I guess I've become one of those crazy students!

Last week, the EnFuego homegroup dressed all in blue and gathered at Jordan's house to slather ourselves with blue tempra paint, all for the free food offered at Blue Baker for such outward displays of fanatacism. Faces, arms, legs, hair--everything was blue! We had a great time laughing at ourselves and singing the Smurf theme song as we gave each other the finishing touches in those hard-to-reach spots like the backs of our necks and the corners around our noses.In conclusion, the food was great, the memories are even better, but I still don't know what to do about my shower. :/

Last week I found a whole bag of pretty paper scraps at the craft store, took them home, and started making valentines. I can't remember when my sisters and I first started the tradition, but for years now it's been our February habit to cluster around a table cluttered with red and pink scraps of paper and ribbon and make love notes for all our family and friends.

Two Valentines Days ago, when I was in Moldova, my European friends were so confused by the mass of cards I was producing. Does Cherise have that many boyfriends? No--none! But who decreed that the Day of Love should be monopolized by couples?

One of my friends, a girl from Bangladesh, was explaining to me why she doesn't celebrate Valentines Day. "Love should not be just for one day--people you love should always know you love them." I heartily agree! But sadly, I'm not always the best at telling the special people in my life just how special they are to me. My life becomes ingrown sometimes, an unhealthy infatuation with the details of my day and the dictations of my day-planner. Appreciation requires pause. For me, Valentines Day is like an enforced pause, a moment consecrated, set aside for telling people I love you. I am so thankful that you are in my life.

Days set aside for remembrance were God's idea from the first, starting with the Sabbath, and continuing with all the Jewish holy feasts. They were like the stones set up by the Jordan; when their children would ask later, "Daddy, what does this feast mean?" or "why is there a pile of rocks here?", the things God had done would be retold, remembered, and bring praise to God. Even though Valentine's day might have some pagan roots, for me, the day is like a stone of remembrance, reminding me to pause and thank God for the love with which He's surrounded me.

How great is the love the Father has lavished on us, that we should be called children of God! And that is what we are! --1 John 3:1

sister Christmas picture