Baseless

Can't sleep, want to write, you're welcome.

Today's prompt for the day (yesterday by the time this gets published) from 365 Days of Writing Prompts reads:

Rolling stone
If you could live a nomadic life, would you? Where would
you go? How would you decide? What would life be like
without a “home base”?

My answer to this is... well... no. The biggest reason I would not choose this life is for purpose of community. I need good community to thrive, and that simply can't happen when I never allow myself to rooten. (I just made up that word. I hate made-up words. But that should be a real word.)

The other thing holding me back is that I'm a young, single woman and I highly doubt such a lifestyle would be safe for me. However, for the sake of this post, let's pretend that's not a thing.

Also money. Let's pretend that's also not a problem.

But, if not for these things, I would totally live the nomad's life.

At this point I would probably settle for living out of my car. I would drive around the country, no, continent, and find remote places to set up camp. I would cook my meals over fires and sing into the night sky. I would hike, live off the land and off the grid. I would make friends with the locals in random small towns and come back to the same spots every few years to catch up. The open road would be my sweet, sweet home.

But I suppose, as I aged, living out of a car would prove to be insufficient. I would then opt for a "tiny" house, which can be basically a trailer, built modestly, efficiently, and uniquely. This would also be a good option for if/when I got married. Because they're mobile, you can still take them just about anywhere. It's like a camper--but more like a home on wheels.

This type of living appeals to my love of nature, restless spirit (which may only last as long as I am young), my fantasy of a minimalist lifestyle, and the environmental and economic benefits associated with it. 

Of course, I have my doubts that this dream would ever come to fruition, but I'm still glad you asked.

God bless.

Sock Shopping

OR: Why a Relationship With Jesus is Better Than Marriage

I was in an outfitting store today and saw the greatest pair of purple wool hiking socks, but I didn't buy them because they were like $16+. But I wanted them.

Imagine you are in a similar situation. Your feet are cold and you need socks to keep them toasty warm. So you're shopping and finally find a pair of World-Socks that, while maybe a little pricey, are worth your money. While there may still be a little chill in your bones with them on (after all, hiking in Alaska can get brisk), they will keep your feet pretty warm-ish. Plus they will help wick away the sweat when the hiking gets tough. Their sizing is the typical sock sizing (for foot sizes 4-10) so they're in your range. The World-Socks are pretty high quality so they will last you several years, but eventually you know that they will wear out and get holes and you will have to throw them away. They just won't last forever. The packaging is a little jostled and you wonder if previous shoppers have ever tried them on before. But, again, they're pretty high quality so you finally decide to buy them. Overall, you're satisfied with your purchase.

Later (five minutes, five years, whatever), you see a pair of Life-Socks in the same store. They are seriously the coolest socks you have ever seen. Not only do they keep your feet 100% toasty warm even in the snow, they keep them perfectly dry too. They're size 8.5 so it's like they're custom-made for your feet. The Life-Socks package (which has clearly never been opened) advertises a lifetime guarantee: they will literally never wear out. They seem too good to be true and you almost walk away, thinking they must be way out of your price range, when you notice that little orange sticker: FREE.

Of course you buy the Life-Socks even though you may have already invested in the World-Socks. You still want to keep the World-Socks because, after all, they were a pretty good find, but you know that they'll never compare to your Life-Socks. In fact, wearing them both together is the toasty warmness you were looking for, even though the Life-Socks would suffice on their own. One is clearly far better than the other, but they're both good socks.

That's all.


God bless.

Talking

Hey-o! I've been in Alaska for the last several weeks but have failed to post anything. Sometimes I'm just really busy, and when I'm not busy, writing is not something I've been super gung-ho about doing. I think a lot of that has to do with how much talking I'm doing.

Yesterday Tyler asked me my favorite part about Summer Project and after a moment of thinking, I responded, the community. Here is a place where 20 women (and 25 or so men) who don't know each other are thrown together and expected to work beside each other and grow in their faith together. I live in an apartment with three other women, I "disciple" the four girls that I lead a Bible study for, and the rest I simply want to get to know on my own accord.

It's more a stereotype than reality that women talk more than men, but there is some truth to it, and women do love to talk. We talk about everything from our faith to the men in our lives to our diet. Once you start letting walls down, the goofy side of everyone comes out too.

I've found that my apartment is always in either hysterical mode or super serious, potentially crying mode. There's almost no in-between, but I love it. Switching straight from one to the other can be a little disconcerting, though. The other day I was super excited about new hatchets Evan had gotten for the outfitting supplies, and I ran into the apartment with them hooting and hollering only to find one of my roommates on her bed crying and talking about a spiritual problem she'd been struggling with. Whoops. I had to transition from ax-wielding wildwoman to concerned, caring friend in an instant.

Then there's the discipleship. Every week I'm to sit down with four women individually to talk about life and God for at least an hour. And I'm the one leading the discussion, helping them grow, etc. I'm not complaining by any means, but it's just a lot of talking to be responsible for.

And every moment in between is socializing with the girls, calling and texting friends back home, trying to connect with and reach out to the locals, making time to talk to Tyler every day, and making time to talk to God every day.

Don't get me wrong. I love a good, deep conversation. I love lots of good, deep conversations. But being bombarded with them has definitely been a lifestyle adjustment. I'm finally getting used to having multiple super-in-depth conversations a day.

And with that, I'm off to another discipleship session.

God bless.

Gods that Fail

About a week and a half ago, a professor at my school killed himself. He was a jazz pianist, taught music in the conservatory, and had been having hearing problems for almost two years. It was the kind where the brain confuses music for noise like clanging pots and pans; ugly, dissonant chaos. This, in turn, caused his depression.

I didn't personally know this man, so I don't know what he was like before he began to suffer from this terrible ailment. I don't know his priorities, his joys, his lifestyle. Forgive me, but I'm going to make some assumptions in order to explain something that I think is essential to understand or at least consider.

My first two and a half years of school were spent as a music major. I eventually wised up and realized that my true passion was psychology, so I dropped out of the conservatory. During that time, though, I met quite a few other music majors. Obviously.

I was astounded at how much this people loved, adored, and worshiped music. Music was the sun their lives revolved around. In fact, I was in a class my freshman year where the professor would recite, "Music is a lifestyle," and the class would respond in unison, "...not a hobby." Many students were so enthusiastic about chanting this one line. (I, on the other hand, refused to join in. I am a very honest person and simply wouldn't renounce my lifestyle where music was, frankly, only a hobby.)

Die-hard music majors spent every spare moment in practice rooms. They got music-related tattoos. Voice majors sang operatically to themselves as they walked down the sidewalk. They only hung out with other music majors, and they only talked about music. I could barely stand to eat a meal with one of these groups because I wanted so desperately to talk about something other than music for once.

Music was their god, the god that wouldn't fail them. Music is forever. Music permeates lives; music expresses the most vibrant ecstasy and the most heart-shattering sorrows. It is full of endless possibilities yet it is unified and all-encompassing.

But sometimes, music does fail. Sometimes, music turns to clanging.

When the god of your heart fails you with no hope of ever being there for you again, what is the point of living?

Of course, music is not the only god. Many, many people worship happiness. Happiness is often seen as the highest good. We search for it, strive for it, try everything to achieve it (in some cases, mistaking it for pleasure). When it eludes us, with no hope of it ever returning or even making the smallest appearance, when depression or anxiety gets the better of us, our meaning for life has been dissolved. Our god of happiness has abandoned us.

The same can be said for love; certain relationships. How many times has a separation from a loved one, such as a divorce or death, left someone contemplating suicide?

I am sure there are plenty more examples of this.

I'm not saying that a failed god is the only motivator for suicide. The majority of suicides are an attempt to end psychological pain, a trigger that may come about in any number of ways. I theorize that one type of psychological pain results from the god of someone's heart failing them, causing loss of hope and loss of meaning.


However, I believe that I have found a god that cannot fail. That god is God.

The god of my heart is all-knowing: he understands my desires, my strengths, my thoughts, my weaknesses, my emotions, and my needs.

The god of my heart is all-loving: he will work things out for my good even when I'm not happy with it (like a parent disciplining their child out of love).

The god of my heart is all-just: he does not turn a blind eye toward evil. He breaks down sobbing alongside us when we suffer.

I understand that there is evil and suffering in this world. I know it looks like God has failed his people, his creation, because he hasn't made everything all better. But God is also all-patient: we haven't reached the end of the story yet. The clock is still ticking.

The god of my heart is all-powerful: he can do something about this. He will not fail.

The god of my heart revealed these traits when he showed Death that even it has no power over neither him nor his people.

My god is God, and he is the god that does not and will not fail. It is because of him that I have a reason to live.


If you have a hard time understanding how this can possibly be true because of the evil and suffering in this world, I recommend "The Problem of Pain" by C.S. Lewis.

If you feel like God has failed you, I would love to address it, but I can't anticipate the nuances of your situation in order to write about it here, so please email me at maryannkbennett@gmail.com and I will be happy to correspond with you about it. I'm not famous or popular or even that busy, so don't feel like it would be a burden to me to hear from you.

Thanks, as always, for reading.


God bless.

22 years

Yesterday we had a big family party celebrating:

My graduation from college
Sam's confirmation
Five birthdays (yes, five.)
Mother's day

The fact that yesterday was my actual twenty-second birthday was not overlooked despite the hubbub, but I can't say it really felt like my birthday either. Or that I now feel twenty-two instead of twenty-one.

I only pulled the "birthday girl" card once: so I could take the first turn as judge in Apples to Apples.

Then again, my birthdays have gotten progressively understated. I guess that's expected with the onset of adulthood. Maybe in five to ten years I'll be making a big deal of birthdays for my kids and my own birthday will pass by practically unnoticed. In ten years I'll be turning thirty-two. And who cares about being thirty-two?

Then again, maybe an aged Taylor Swift will have a song out about the wonders of being thirty-two like she did for twenty-two. Maybe.

Oh, yeah. If you read my last post you might be hoping for a follow-up.

Only about 3 people said anything on Facebook, and about 5 other people who couldn't be with me in person texted or called.

I'm okay with that, actually. I'm not hurt that a lot of people I'm "friends" with didn't know the significance of yesterday.

Why do I have a Facebook anyway??
...Probably because then I wouldn't know what to do with myself when I'm bored and wanted to veg. The wonders of killing time via the internet has been ingrained in me since adolescence.

Nevertheless, I don't really want to be creeped on. I want to get phone calls from people I haven't seen in a while who don't know what's going on in my life so that I can actually tell them. Or even--(gasp)--write letters!

I should probably stop saying these things because 1) this is not what this post is supposed to be about; I'm rambling 2) It's probably heresy and the internet police are going to come after me. I'm supposed to be a good little internet user with my blog and my Facebook and my multiple email accounts and my hours mindlessly wasted.

Just kidding, I want to continue my rant. Descartes introduced the idea that in order to find truth, one must doubt all they believe. If something is undeniably true, it can be kept as a belief, but everything else must undergo close scrutiny in order to discover truth. I think I tend to do this sometimes.

But I'm a total hypocrite because I literally just paused writing this post to creep on someone on Facebook that I've never met and am not friends with. It's like people-watching from the comfort of my own home.

Anyway, my birthday was yesterday and it was good despite the chaos and I think I'd like to have another one in about a year and I'm grateful to the people that remembered and wished me a happy birthday. And that's what I'm really trying to say in this post.


God bless.

Facebook Birthday

In my recent post, I mentioned my upcoming birthday.

A couple months ago, I made the decision to take my birthday off Facebook for a variety of reasons. I probably don't need to tell you what having a Facebook birthday implies, but:

Suddenly, at midnight, hundreds of your acquaintances who would not have otherwise known, are alerted that it is officially your birthday. For the next 24 hours, generic "happy birthday!" posts are splattered over your wall and you are burdened with the task of "liking" all of them, commenting on all of them, or, if you're lazy, making a status saying, "Thanks for all the birthday wishes!" The end.

Not for me. Frankly, I'd rather have a few birthday cards from the people that care enough about me to remember my birthday without assistance than to have hundreds of lame, almost thoughtless virtual greetings.

So I took it off. It's not your business to know my birthday anyway if you don't know me well enough that it never came up. It's personal, like, you don't publish your phone number on Facebook, do you? No, you let someone ask for it (I'm hoping).

I'm curious what will happen this year. I'm guessing someone will remember and write something on my wall, which other people will see and follow suit. But I still think it will be significantly fewer people. Not that this is a social experiment.

I'm not out to pity myself by any means, but I am curious to see who knows my birthday when they aren't conveniently told.

I may or may not let you all know how it went. I'm not doing this because I hate birthdays (quite the contrary), nor because I want to keep my birthday a secret. I'm doing this because I care about intimacy.


God bless.

Brief Life Update

Mere seconds ago, a bird flew into the window and scared the crap out of me (figuratively).

I have been very much a slacker about writing posts for the last month or so. I have a couple excuses for my bad behavior. 1) I have been full of school work (consisting mostly of paper-writing). 2) After all that paper-writing, I have not felt like writing much at all, even though my schedule has cleared up.

But anyway. I have graduated from college (as of yesterday). I am officially a bachelor. hahahhahaahaha...

I've been playing a lot of Candy Crush lately.

My birthday is in exactly one (1) week.

I'm going to Juneau, AK for another mission trip this summer.

I'll be moving back into my college town in July, hopefully with a job.

Now you know.


God bless.