Tuesday, September 13, 2011

The awkward moment when a twelve year old has his life figured out and you don't

I feel like I’ve been on an excruciatingly long vacation for nine months due to studying abroad. I could have gestated a baby in that time.  Instead of bringing a newborn to school, I showed off my cool scar I received over the summer. Here’s what went down:
I was treading in the ocean when a shark with its jaws barred hungrily swam toward me. I could tell this was a shark with an ego.
Audrey: Hey! I bet you can’t draw blood without biting me.
Shark: Wanna bet?
And he smugly dragged his snaggle tooth against my leg.
And then I ran into a dishwasher.

[Normally I wouldn't show this picture, but I'm pretty sure it's going to gross out my mom.]

My roommates and I decided to live in the lodges this year so we could be around other people. It’s like an apartment complex with a lobby for all residents to use. We chose this over the townhouses, which is a two story condo with three bathrooms, a full closet for each person, and is a half mile closer to campus than the lodges.  The closets are so small that a girl accidentally locked herself in one and had to call campus police to come save her. This is what happens when you don’t pray about where to live.

 If Suite 203 had an education, it would be homeschooled, because it is awkward, like the awkward moment when:
1) The people at Taste of Marion think you’re interested in their organization but you really just want their treats
I have a church. What I don't have is cookies.
2) You move to the lodges instead of a townhouse because you want community, and then remember you don’t have any friends outside your suite.
3) You ask someone, “How was your summer? Did you get engaged?!” only to receive the reply, “We broke up…It wasn’t my choice.”

Before this first week ended, I attended a church I haven’t been to before, Exit 59. The pastor told a story about how he lost a teenager on a youth group trip in 1985. The group was from a small town of 2,000 in Canada. They drove to Chicago, which is where they lost Hopkins. It wasn’t until Pennsylvania that they realized Hopkins was missing, and that was only because no one had recalled telling him to pipe down in the past nine hours. They were a bit scared out of their wits, seeing as how cells phones, ATMs, GPS, or anything remotely useful did not exist in 1985.
“Now I’m telling you this story,” he said, “to show you how freaked out Mary and Joseph were when they lost Jesus for two days in Jerusalem.”
Mary: Where’s Jesus?
Joseph: What do you mean? Isn’t he on your donkey?
Mary: No, he’s not on my donkey! Oh my lanta, God gave us the Savior of the world and we LOST HIM!
They found Jesus in the Temple two days later.
Mary: Son! Why've you treated us like this? Didn’t you know we were searching for you?
Jesus: Why were you looking for me? Did you not know that I had to be in my Father’s house? (Luke 2:48-49). Boom. Roasted.
You see, at twelve years of age, Jesus knew who He was: the Son of God. When I was twelve, all I knew was that I played with imaginary horses all named after nuts. Except the first horse. His name was Dusty. Now as a senior, my personal and family finance professor has made it quite clear that I should have my life a bit more together than I do right now.
Professor: I want you look up a salary of a job that you’d like to have. If you’re a senior, this should be really easy. You should have some sort of idea figured out by now.
I’d like to be employed. That’s really as far as I’ve thought.
I hope that by the time I graduate at age twenty-one, I’ll be closer to the point where Jesus was at age twelve.  

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