I Pray Bingo Over Ye Cards!

Everything is hunky-dory: People lift their hands and sing with hearts full; the worship band is really bringing the house down; the sanctuary is simply skinny-dipping in the glory and the majesty of God. And then the scary part comes.

Worship is brought to a close and the pastor stands to pray over the children going off to their Sunday school classes to make art of Jesus in elbow macaroni and Elmers. However as everyone bends their heads to pray, you know that its not Lil' Jimmy they are thinking about but what awkward version of Pastoral Simon Says you are going to play today. Here are a few examples:

"Turn to your neighbor and hug them this morning!"

"Now go and meet someone new this morning!"

"Hold hands with the person next to you while we close in prayer."

"Tell your neighbor you love them!"

Its all good for the pastor up at the pulpit, smiling beatifically as he watches everyone shuffle and mumble apologies. Thats all fine and dandy for him, he got the lifetime pass from Pastoral Simon Says when he graduated seminary. The Catholics have it all worked out, too. Sometime in history a catholic got the bright idea of confession boxes. You literally get into a box and communicate through a wooden lattice. Brilliance.

Its not that i'm scared of people or anything. There was that phase I went through where i planned to become a hermit in Hawaii, riding wild dolphins and living on stockpiles of Reese's in my posh hermit cave. However even the most sociable person doesn't want to hold hands with a total stranger and then embrace them though. Actually...now that I think of it I know a lot of people who would do that. But they would do it expecting never having to see the stranger again. When you go to church with them you smile at them every week in passing and remember them as that one person with the sharp rings or sweaty thumbs.


While perhaps its my job to rise to the occasion and be more sociable when declaring love to my pew neighbors I have a new game suggestion for churches: Icebreakers. Why not give the congregation a hand next Sunday and give a specific question? Or better yet, play charades. Monopoly. ANYTHING.If the pastor asks the congregation to go any farther than shaking hands one Sunday I might just resort to a game of "Which Communion Cup if the Bread Under?" in the aisle.

Holy Hand Sanitizer,
-Hannah

Love Letters and Judgmental Senior Citizens

Growing up can be scary. Yes, its "turning a page in your life story" or "finding a deeper meaning or purpose with your destiny" but when you are fidgeting in the unforgiving wooden desk and preparing to take a test that could alter your future...its just scary. Like many other scary things though (mystery meat stew, the near-death experience between turning off the light and landing in bed, deleting important files accidentally) there is a bright side.

College, for example. Now thats a whole can of worms I'm not going to try and pry open in this blog post (perhaps in the future) but it is rather like training to be a ninja. Only a lot less awesome. From birth you are trained in by special teachers to know everything you must know to be a competent human being and student. You read, study, test, and then cram constantly in preparation for (DUH_DUH-DUUUUHHHH): The Test. Whether you call it the SAT, the ACT, or MY WORST NIGHTMARE, every teenager comes to it. Its time to put all of your experience to the test and you are suddenly wishing you hadn't spark noted that one lengthy tome in Lit. Class. (Not that I would do that. *cough,cough* >->). The sad part of my ninja analogy is that instead of gaining the honor of the silver dragon warrior (or whatever it is ninjas get), I get a piece of paper with my name in curly writing. And it doesn't even get you free food. But oh well.

So now that I've completed that ordeal, I was expecting rejection galore from colleges. For some reason when I think of a college board I imagine a scrubbed oaken chamber with two rows of grim old men who smell faintly of talcum powder. I see them sneering my grades, my essays, even that kindergarten drawing of a mentally unstable cat. I feel enraged just thinking about that imaginary room. HOW DARE THEY JUDGE ME!?!

But I was pleseantly surprised. Universities of this and that have been sending me emails constantly with titles such as "We Want You To Attend Our College, Hannah!" and "So Glad I Discovered You!" and "Very Impressed With You, Hannah!" and "Hannah, You're Extraordinary." I'm not even kidding, those last three are actual emails from universities. As flattered as I am, I must pull my self from this lovesick daze of flattery and be reminded that they only want to take all my money. (Hahaha...only I have no money...). Plus most of them are Catholic schools in the middle of the desert. Why?

So this is a message to all you young things out there who are similarly scared of the future and rooms of judgmental old men: One day you too will take a big test and receive loads of flattering fan mail from universities. Just wait.

Laughing Hedgehog,

-Hannah

A Poetical Fiasco

At the moment, life does not permit me to write out the long and hopefully interesting email in my head. I'll do that later this week. Until then, I will express my current state of life in this poetic scrap:

My schedule is stacked. My bags are unpacked. 

Homework unfinished, Trip excitement undiminished.

Final Week Approaching, Stress levels soaring,

Procrastination innate. Grades, don't deflate!

Lists, Lists, Lists:

Shopping, Packing, Travel Tips.

"To Do", "To Don't", "To Forget".

Mad as a Hatter, I'll be a cat that caters,

"A cuppa' sugar an' two lumps of tea,

Would you like a scone, Miss Lee?"

The clock ticks like a tell-tale heart,

When will school end and travel start?

(Oh, some quick explanation: I'm going to dressed as the Cheshire Cat at a tea room at the approaching British Faire. The next weekend is Finals Week. Early the day after Finals we leave for Britain. Do you see my dilemma?)

We're All Mad Here,

Hannah