limited

I’m shutting textbooks I don’t ever want to open again, turning in papers I don’t want to think about, and snottily picking through the lasts of the cafeteria food like I imagine the Queen of England being like if we threw her in Old Country Buffet and let her scrounge for herself.

And I’ve been swallowed in those books, locked in practice rooms, immersed in my busyness. And now I’m here. Not a paper to write or a textbook to read. The textbooks have spit me out Jonah style and I landed here. Christmas. Away in a manger, ba rum ba bum bum, fa la la la la.

Right. Christmas. Cue my red Christmas pants. Cue ugly sweaters. Cue a mom meltdown that results in an awkwardly silent ride to Nana’s because she ruined the same egg casserole she ruins every year. Cue fancy Christmas parties and free Mannheim Steamroller concerts. This is not a bad place to land. I can handle this. I can handle this because I have sprinted across campus in a mad panic due to forgetfulness at an estimated amount of ten times this semester. Lost my keys approximately five times. I have lost Toilet Talk after I was almost done with it and stayed up all night finishing it. And I’ve made my poor, poor roommate deal with the effects of this. Like when she looks over at me, and I’m staring at her. And then I start laughing.

Whitney, why are you laughing?

SARAH I DON’T KNOW HELP ME.

Or when she walks in and I’m sitting under our kitchen table with a blanket over my head, reading my Bible.

Whitney, what are you doing?

SARAH THANK GOODNESS YOU’RE HOME I MISSED YOU.

Or, most recently, when I captured a demon-looking bug in our room and have welcomed it into my life as I would a new best friend, or dog. If I liked dogs, of course.

(Sarah walks in)

Hey Whit…

Sshhhh…Humphrey is crawling on his apple! He loves his apple, Sarah. He is going to grow big and strong because I’m feeding him healthy foods!

I thought my roommate would up and leave me after one semester like the others have, with one of those “okay, well I’ll see you later…it’s been..fu…”

And five seconds later they’re in their getaway car, telling their driver to go faster because I’m a runner.

But she hasn’t, bless her heart. She’s staying with me. Though I can’t tell if it’s due to the awkwardness of THAT potential conversation with your best friend:

Best friend 1: you know, it’s just not working out. You’re insane.

Insane best friend 2: BUT WE ARE BEST FRIENDS STAY WITH ME OR I’LL DIE.

I’m sure that’s what she imagines, and I am oddly content with her staying with me out of terror.

So yeah, I’m home and I’m not sure if I’m ok with being home, but I’m here so I’ll smile about it, I guess. I introduced Humphrey to my family, and they reacted as they normally do when I tell them about new men in my life:

-my mom grew wide-eyed and grabbed the knife.
-my dad told me I needed to be careful. And that I should probably let him go.
-my brother was just shocked I actually caught one.

So winter break may be a little hard and not my favorite. But Christmas IS my favorite, so that helps I think. Plus I love thinking about mangers. And how God seemed to be a LITTLE diva-y when He refused the mother of His Son even a room to stay in. And gave her animals (which, if Mary felt any similar way about animals as I do, would have been enough to possibly stab herself with a shepherd’s staff or impale herself with the horn of one of the animals there…if any of them had horns…what kind of animals were there anyways? Do any stable animals have horns? I don’t know anything about animals, I don’t even know why I care.) instead. Really, God? That…wasn’t very nice. And I’m probably not supposed to say that to you because you’re omniscient and all, but…come on.

 The worst place to deliver a child.

And I’m sitting here wondering why we all sing about it. It even has its own title to a song, and is mentioned in countless other carols. Somehow, there is beauty in that manger. God could have given them a room but He didn’t and now that we look back on it, that manger was so….glorious. Why do we celebrate this unanswered prayer so much? I don’t know. I don’t get why it’s so beautiful. But it is. And I kind of wish it wasn’t.

Jesus didn’t get the glory He clearly deserved; why is this beautiful?!

Maybe if God did it to Jesus, He’ll do it to us. Because I clearly do not like running across campus to grab formal money or to get the book I left in my room. I don’t really prefer turning my room upside down looking for my keys. I could do without desperately trying to find a boy to pass out Toilet Talks with me every month. And I know my poor roommate would be a little less scarred if I didn’t sing Christmas songs to her in a low voice of a 50 year-old drunk packet-a-day cougar due to my inhibitions being slightly blurred from a mix of busyness, stress, and overall trance of confusion.

And, seriously, there are other things. Other things I just wish He would change.

But He didn’t. Not this past semester, at least. And it sucks.

But now that it’s all over and my last bubble sheet is filled in, my car has been loaded and unloaded, my toes are freezing due to a menopausal woman being in charge of the thermostat, and my new pet and I are home, I can honestly look back and say it was beautiful.

Not exactly what I wanted.

And I think that’s the point.