This week, I got hit on.

Hold on, hear me out- this IS blog-worthy - wait and see.

This week, I got hit on, WHILE WRITING a final exam.

Before your imagination runs TOO wild, let me clarify several things:
1) I did NOT get hit on by a prof,
2) I did NOT get carried away by the sheer novelty of it all and start making out with some guy mid-paragraph, and
3) It is NOT AT ALL likely that any type of short-term, long-term, or any-term relationship will develop as a result of this quite unconventional "proposition"... (sorry folks, it's not THAT type of blog-worthy!)

Now, for what DID happen...

So, apparently, there's this guy.

This guy I've talked to like maybe 3 times this semester. Seems like a nice guy, and I know once we had a really good "get to know ya" conversation that might have lasted all of a minute and a half. Seriously, he seems like a great guy.

You know, the typical "not on my radar" type of guy, so pretty much the exact type of guy who usually asks me out.

Oh, you mean the kinda cute guy who sits on the other side of the room whom I sometimes smile at ever-so-charmingly?

Nope, not him.

Anyways, moving on, the date-ability or non-date-ability of the guy is not really the point.

So, on Tuesday, I file into my classroom, looking ridiculously grubby and unwashed with my 2-day old hairdo and my naked face (could have used a little doctoring that day, mostly due to my state of grubby unwashedness), holding about 18-million nearly-out-of-ink pens, wearing my comfy jeans and my oh-so-classy "I Love Nerds" T-shirt. However, somehow, despite the fact that I'm currently in the running for "Most Likely To Be Expelled For Sheer Ickiness", said T-shirt manages to evoke a compliment from my secret admirer (hereafter referred to only as "Gutsy"¹, or "Gutsy needs glasses"²).

Other behaviors that I don't consider odd at the time but which make far more sense later include Gutsy (name changed to protect the innocent) eagerly encouraging me to sit in the desk next to him, which was weird, especially when it becomes apparent that my friend Andrew has already claimed said desk, upon which I slip easily into the desk behind Andrew's and jolt to attention as the exam is distributed.

Exam instructions are given, exam is undertaken, and all seem to be rolling along in a jolly manner until somewhere around the 2-hour point, when Gutsy completes his exam (keeners like me will be writing for another hour yet). Somewhere in my peripheral vision Gutsy, who is sitting 1 row over, 1 up, front and center to the prof, finishes his exam and hands it in; for some reason he bumbles about for awhile before slipping a note onto my desk on his way out the door.

I am jolted out of my intensely focused exam-writing state (I was in the zone, man!) by the flutter of paper hitting my desk. I look around in shock, first surveying the note's author, who simply smiles at me and walks out the door. My eyes immediately jump with panic to my prof, who is perched not 10 feet away and staring back in my direction, fully aware of my latest interchange. Thoughts race as I contemplate the consequences of being caught receiving a note during a university-level final exam. None of the scenarios running through my head sound very appealing. I search my prof's face, and read only the slightest knowing hint of a smile; apparently she shares my sneaking predilection that the note is of a more personal nature. I exhale. The panic begins to drain from my face as I finally turn my eyes and thoughts back to my exam.

I am taking no chances. I leave the note untouched and visible on my desktop until the exam's completion, despite the raised eyebrows and annoyingly knowing looks of my neighboring classmates. I hope and pray that my prof does not reconsider her benevolent oversight, and continue plugging away at my final.

Finally I make it through the exam, and after the usual goading of the prof that "time is up... last sentences please!" I finally complete the exam, gather my materials, and slip my mischief-causing love note into my pocket, blushing at my prof's irritatingly knowing smile, and slip out the door.

In the safety and seclusion of the hallway I examine the note further to behold the contact info of Gutsy himself (ladies, let me know if you're at all intrigued... I can pass it on!) I ditch out on the after-class pub rendezvous that Gutsy made a special point to emphasize to the class before his dramatic exit, and head home, with my head only slightly too big to fit through a single-frame doorway.

I guess that's what one can expect when writing final exams for the theatre department....
Drama, drama, drama.


¹ I mean, the guy asked me out during a FINAL EXAM, what would you call him? [back]
² Well, he did tell me I looked good that day; or he liked my shirt, or something like that; whatever- the kid needs glasses. [back]

So last night was an epic adventure in the life of Kelly, as I did my first ever stint on CKUW, the University of Winnipeg's radio station. David EisBrenner, a well-known staple on the Wednesday AM edition of The Beat, a news program, was doing his bit for FUNdrive 2007 by covering the Milk Hours (basically CKUW's ploy to get real people to ask you for money all night long instead of playing randomized music). David enlisted the efforts of quite possibly two of his wackiest friends, Jeremy Yuen and myself. David's sister and Jeremy's girlfriend (yes, it's one person) joined us in the studio, the lovely Charisse EisBrenner.

Charisse is the smart one... she came in with no clear intention of speaking on-air. I however, had no idea how the night would go down, other than that there were three mics and one of them was sure to be in front of my face; It may as well not have been.

Anyways... the CKUW FUNdrive is very nearly but not quite over... so call in and pledge now!
FUNdrive continues until Friday afternoon; the goal this year is $38,000 toward the operating costs of running such a great, home-grown and locally-focused station, and as of 6AM this morning CKUW was sitting just over $6,000 away from achieving that goal.... so dig down deep and see if you can find it in your heart or wallet to make a contribution to keeping Winnipeg radio alive and original. I've put my two cents in; now it's your turn!

For those of you who aren't up to date on my current situation, I am currently living just outside the city of Seattle, Washington, where I am a volunteer youth intern at a church called Living Hope Free Methodist. The experience so far has been very beneficial and I've been overwhelmed by the goodness and grace of God and many of His people, who have blessed me in so many ways since I've arrived.

So when Pastor Jim and his wife, Kathy, with whom I live, free of charge, asked me to drive them to the airport Friday morning, I was glad to do it. The fact that I needed to get up early, difficult as THAT would be, was no real problem. And knowing that I would have to miss my guitar lessons on Tuesday evening in order to pick them up when they returned was mostly just water under the bridge. I was actually very thankful to be able to do something to serve them as they serve me by making me feel so welcome in their home.

Crashing their car on the freeway wasn't exactly what I had in mind.

Let me explain. I was driving home after dropping Jim and Kathy off, paying attention, staying awake, watching the road, not speeding, and all that good stuff, when the car in front of me put the brakes on. I tried to brake accordingly but somehow my efforts were lost in translation- their brakes are much less sensitive than the ones in my car. The few seconds it took me to adjust for that difference resulted in me rear-ending the aforementioned car.

The next few minutes involved pulling over and just sitting in my car in shock, trying to grasp the fact that I'd just been in an accident in Pastor's car, asking "WHY ON EARTH didn't I stop faster?", and searching frantically for Pastor Jim's insurance information.

Finally the driver of the other car came back, (probably annoyed that I hadn't had the courtesy to come up to her car instead), and we began to exchange information. We took stock of the damage, which appeared to be minimal, all things considered... I'm hoping that it extends no further than the bumper of both cars, but only time will tell.

Eventually a police officer arrived and wrote me up a ticket (gee, thanks!), basically said something to the effect of- you caused an accident, so you owe us money. Which is fair, but I'm sure I'll be owing enough people money in the near future as a consequence, without the aid of this ticket.

I drove home and got on with the fun part- calling Pastor Jim to break the news. They were in the air at the time, so I enjoyed several hours of suspenseful stomach-gnawing while waiting for them to respond to my voice-mail messages.

When they returned my call, they were gracious, as always, which always makes me feel much worse. Occurences like these make me fear and yet somehow long for someone to just angrily ream me out, tear me apart, like I know I deserve. Hearing Kathy tell me that she's glad I'm alright, and that's the important thing, and that cars can be fixed, does nothing to ease my feelings of guilt. It's times like these where my love-hate relationship with grace comes out- It's a wonderful concept, but it doesn't seem to be appropriate for people like me.

So it's times like these where my faith looks its grimmest. Somehow, I believe I am capable of accepting God's grace- it's been drilled into me from my earliest days of church-going, and I've come to expect no less from God, because I accept that He's perfect, and forgiving, and that He's going to stay that way. So I blame Him for letting me remain so imperfect, after all these years. I would much rather be flawless, perfect in all things, whether they involve actual sin, or just life and poor judgment.

And in the meantime, while I am shamelessly attacking God for my humanity, I'm making a hypocrite of myself by shunning the grace of others. I can accept it from God, I think because I've just given up on trying to convince Him of giving up on me. But no way will I accept it from His people. It doesn't matter that I can extend it to others and expect them to accept it. I am completely unwilling to accept forgiveness and grace when it is offered to me.

This is where God finds me frustrating, I think.

And I think he's trying to tell me that if I won't accept the grace of others, but chose to wallow in my own feelings of failure or disappointment, then I can't really have accepted or responded to His grace. Because it's supposed to transform us. And because it's supposed to override the judgement of others.

Think about it. If I believe that God forgives me, but I refuse to be forgiven by others, or even to forgive myself, I'm selling God's opinion of me a bit short- more than that, I'm disrespecting his Lordship in the worst way.

If His opinion comes in third on my list of people to believe, if His judgement of me is a "nice thought, but a bit impractical", then I am not truly His child.

So walk with me in this thought. I am trying to learn to forgive myself. God knows, and Jim and Kathy know, as well as I do that there was no ill-intent or offensive way in me on Friday morning when I was driving their car home. We also all know that God was there, and because of His blessing and favour in my life I was not harmed but instead I am fine, and so is the driver of the other car, and the damage appears to be minimal. And on top of all that I have spoken to God, Jim and Kathy, and the police, and no one is burdening me with any great blame other than myself.

If I don't forgive myself, I run the risk of blowing off God and rejecting His grace- and that's the last thing I want to do. 'Cause between He and I, so far he's the only one on my side. Without Him, I would have no hope for myself. And I sure know I don't want to live that way. This way is hard enough.

So I am endeavoring to change the way I look at my flaws and mistakes, and even my sins, because I am harder on myself than God is. Here is a nice bit of biblical poetry about God for us to dwell on...
" For as high as the heavens are above the earth,
so great is his love for those who fear him;
As far as the east is from the west,
so far has he removed our transgressions from us.
As a father has compassion on his children,
so the LORD has compassion on those who fear him;" Psalm 103:11-13

And though I am that way, as often as I can be, with others, I am not that way towards myself. And God is tired of it. So he says to me,

"I, even I, am he who blots out your transgressions, for my own sake, and remembers your sins no more.
Review the past for me, let us argue the matter together;
state the case for your innocence." Isaiah 43:25-26

And I get the feeling that, for MY own sake, he wants this finished. He said it was finished, 2000 years ago, yet I am haggling over my sins. For His sake, He's put them behind Him, put them far from Him, at the bottom of the ocean floor, because He knows exactly how painful they are to us- He's felt each one of them. And because they are dealt with, we must leave them behind and journey onward.

He knows I'm hung up over it, it's only been a few days, and the dust hasn't even settled it. So even though it's painful to both of us, he is willing to rehash it with me, if I must. He says, "Go for it! State your case, let us argue the past. But it doesn't change the outcome, and there can be no more favourable verdict than the forgiveness you've already received. There are better things waiting for you once you move on from here. I'll stay here till you're ready, but know that everything better will come when you journey a little further, a little closer to Me."

And, Lord knows, I'm trying to do just that. And I hope to have your prayers supporting me.

So you can pray for me, that when I am guilty, that I would accept my guilt. That when I am innocent, I would stand on God's side and defend my innocence, instead of selling out on myself (I really am my own worst enemy. Or rather, the sin that lives within me). And that when I am forgiven, I would accept God's pronouncement on the matter as final, as I would a judge or jury, and would get the guts and strength to truly live as one forgiven.