What Would You Do?

This is such a cliche problem it is almost funny, but I still would like to take a poll on what you would do if you were in my place. First of all, I am housesitting for a family from Sunday-Friday, and they have 2 dogs and a gold fish. The seven year old managed to keep this fish alive for two months. I mean seriously, how often does that happen? My fish never lived more than a week when I was her age. Now, when I got here on Sunday after the family left, I thought the poor fish was sleeping. Is that possible? Do fish sleep? By yesterday, however, it was definitely dead. Very, very, very dead. Today, even more dead. What should I do? I don't want to tell the seven year old that after she kept her fish alive for two months I came in and it died the same day I got here. I went to the pet store today to find a replacement, but none of those millions of fishies looked like the one that died on me. What would you do if you were me and you were houesitting and the seven year old's fish died on you? Help!


We Miss you all.

This picture was taken after a fight with Kristen (our new missionary). She never did say why she slugged him. Then, there's Rebecca (leaving for Mission). Lovely Julie and Anona just got married. And Kirsten has her papers in for her mission. We miss all of you. We'll get to the profound parts in next post.


Hey, why does everyone else have a picture next to their post? I, too, am beautiful. Who's in charge of this thing?

What do I remember? I remember when I first started, Mike seemed gruff and scary, but we bonded when his Megaman T-shirt struck up a conversation about that terrific series of games. Aaaand I remember Rhett calling Brittany whenever he had desk. And I remember last semester thinking that seminar had the magical ability of ending just as late as ever, even though we started earlier.



Thank goodness for Advil, sugar, and prayer. I'm pulling through finals alive. I was struggling through my last class of the semester yesterday, and started making a list of things I'll do when I'm out of school. Please add to it.
Go hiking all day
Study for my GRE
Lay in the sun
Read about finance so I can understand Austin when he talks about work
Find out where my brothers live and visit them
Make a new tent pole for Austin and I's tent
Clean my parent's house Anona Sobczak

12 a.m. Julie Lott

It's 12:39 AM according to my computer. I still have about 2 hours of homework to go tonight. In other words, I probably shouldn't be taking the time to write this, but there you go.
I sat in seminar today thinking that that was the last of Sis. Morgan's PowerPoints that I will see. It was the last round of papers that I would participate in. The last of the relationships of trust that I have grown to depend on so much that at times I take for granted. The last. Done. Finished.
When I was hired as a sophmore, I had no idea how much that was the Lord intervening in my life. I had no idea what lay ahead of me that year, or what I was going to face, or what I was suppose to do, but the Lord did. So He brought me to the Writing Center. I look back on all the people that have taught me so much about what it means to live. I don't think I really knew before. The Center has changed me. I don't know how else to say it. Coming out of the Center, I am not the same person who was hired.
So much of that Center is alive. Sometime I think I can feel the chairs breathing underneath me, and the walls pulsing with the flow of blood and life. And there, in the center, is the heart: the room where we have seminar. Walking into that room, collapsing in a desk after the day to listen to instruction on writing does not seem thereputic to most people. But I think it may have saved me. At the very least, it taught me. I remember walking in there one day, Greg was sitting in the corner, Shalese bustling around up front, Millie charging through to Sis. Morgan's office, and others talking and chatting. I had not worked there for very long, but I realize as I sat their silently that this was special. That the Center was like a home; not in the way that most people define home, but a home nevertheless.
I know it is time for me to move on. But it's really hard--letting go. It's hard letting go of those people who I love, revere, and respect. Letting go of a place where my feet have automatically taken me for the past 2 1/2 years of my life. I don't even have control anymore, my feet just go there. It's become a sanctuary: "A small safe place in a troubling world." Leaving it is like cutting out a piece of myself and leaving it behind as well.
It sounds stupid and trite to say, but I do love the Center and when I say that, I mean the people. This is why I have tried to put all of myself into it. Thanks for being my friends, you guys. Thanks for listening to me when I am stressed and have to go on tirades about my car insurance and scribblers. Thanks for watching me cry in seminar after seminar and not saying too much about it. Thanks for helping me become a better writer, but mostly a better person. Thanks for being my family. Thanks for being my home.

I'm not emotional

I loved this Julie. It's like I told you--I may not be as openly emotional as you are, but I feel it, too. I know the Lord intervened in my life in getting me this job, and everything that has happened since then has been such a blessing to me. I was in Sis. Morgan's Intro. to Lit class my freshman year, and her class was my favorite. I kept trying to convince my roommate that she should come to class with me sometime just to hear how amazing Sis. Morgan was, but she never did come. At the very end of the semester, right before I left for China, I saw Sis. Morgan on campus and she stopped me, saying, "Kristen, I was just thinking about you last night." The question in my mind was...umm, okay? Why was my teacher thinking about me outside of class? And then she offered me the job. Since then, the Writing Center has been my only social network of friends. I feel more "at home" here than I do in my own apartment. Explain that one to me. Sister Morgan told me once, last semester I think, that when she hired me, I was pretty much a wimp. Now, three years later, I am not at all the same person as I was then. I think being around Sis. Morgan's feisty, assertive, strong personality has rubbed off on me somewhat, and I am sooo glad. I am excited to graduate and move on with my life (sometimes), but I am really not looking forward to leaving here. I'm going to miss the deep, late night talks with Sis. Morgan like we had last night. I'm going to miss seminar where I learned so much about myself and everyone else there. I am going to miss the parties as Sis. Morgan's house when for a rare moment in time I felt wanted and that I belong. I am going to miss Sis. Morgan calling me up on Saturday morning to go to a parade and make snake hats out of balloons. I have loved my job as a writing assistant, but working at the WC is so much more than just helping students become better writers. It is about US.
Wednesday, 07/11/2007 11:14 AM by KRISTEN MEISBERGER

Annoying Sis. Morgan

It's true that the Center pulses with an almost magnetic energy; I can't help but come here to say hi or do my homework or annoy Sister Morgan. I'll miss you, Julie. The Lord lets us get comfortable in one place and then moves us so we can grow. Carry us with you.


I'm sitting at the desk, and while reading this blog, it didn't take long for my eyes to fog over. It took everything in me to keep tears from squirting from my eyes. (Yes, I mean squirt. Because of all of the pressure from holding the tears back, if I would have let them go, I think they would have squirted.) I hate change, and I certainly hate that people are growing up and leaving, but I'm grateful for courageous friends who are willing to venture to far off places like Pennsylvania, Virginia, and Chile. You guys somehow give me strength thinking that if you can do it, I'll be able to do it in December.
Emily Poteet