With my new notebook computer, you would think I spend all day playing on the computer. But alas, I must confess my secret addiction. I'm addicted to one of Emily's toys. Her Little Tikes Little Rythm Maker Piano.
Maybe you could blame it on my musical family. Maybe I haven't had enough xylophone in my life. Maybe it's just fun to make noise. Whatever the reason, reality is that I like the piano more than Emily.
Well, enough of this. Time to PLAY!
There is something about kneeling in front of the toilet puking your guts out that reminds you of your place in the world. No matter how great or small, we are all human and vulnerable. While we often like to impress ourselves with our greatness, we often forget how weak we really are.
I spent the better part of this morning throwing up. Somewhere between heaves, I realized how insignificant schoolwork seemed in light of my recent circumstances. No amount of success in my work made me more or less vulnerable to being sick. And while I am thankful that I'm much better now, I can't help but remember the fragility of being human.
I know I serve a loving God who has a purpose for my life. Though I'm powerless to prevent myself from becoming grievously ill, God, through his sustaining hand prevents or allows this. I don't have to worry about the future because I know that God has a purpose in what He does and allows.
Job's example rings clear with me. Job says, in Job 1:21:
"Naked I came from my mother's womb,
and naked I will depart.
The LORD gave and the LORD has taken away;
may the name of the LORD be praised."
According to the proponents of graduate school, we should seek post-graduate education to have a better life. After all, with an advanced degree we are in better position to work on our true interests. You don't want to dig ditches for a living, right?
With nobel thoughts of education in my head, and grand thoughts of whitening my collar, I set off to grad school. Now, with one year behind me, I realized it's a ploy. Don't believe it for a second.
My first hint should have been my trip to the bookstore. By the time one of the friendly "book purchasing assistants" assisted me, my arms had fallen off. Then, I had to carry my books (and my arms) to the car. Fortuanately, some ancient laborer invented the backpack. We have spruced it up, made it snappy, and branded it "educational". So now, I can distribute the pain across my entire upper torso, instead of localizing it to my arms.
My second hint should have been "papers". As a grad student I read all kinds of academic papers. I even have to write a few papers to contribute to "the body of knowledge." Little did I know I would have to print out the entire body of knowledge and carry it around. Now I realize that "body" isn't simply a figure of speech.
With my books strapped to my pack and my papers in my hand, I was merrily making my way to my car when I realized that I'm a grunt. Somehow I missed the apex of the ideal work distribution and went sailing right down the other side. I'm like the guy I saw carrying buckets of concrete to the masons working on the new OSU bookstore. Except, I'm paying for the privilege instead of being paid.
Dr. Budd, my advisor, gives me some hope for the future. I realize that once I'm a professor, I'm allowed to store the "body parts" on lots and lots of shelves in my office. I can even bless some of my students by allowing them to carry some parts around for a while. Once I have my advanced degree, I'll finally get someone else to do the manual labor instead of me. So maybe, after all, getting a graduate degree is all it's chalked up to be.