(xaris and shalom)

I'm going to China , I keep saying. It's funny to me how these things happen, words becoming truth, from the first time last year when I picked up a brochure, thinking that it would be interesting to study in China. And I am excited, very very much so, and also a little nervous. Everyone wants to know, Do you know anyone else going? I say, No; I've learned to make it a half-joke. It'll be like being a freshman again. But I know that it won't be like being a freshman, because I know a lot more about a lot of things than I did then -- about the people around me, about the world, about the things I've studied, and probably most of all, about myself, about who I am. About how I am ever and always caught in the hand of God. So that is a plan. And at the same time, I think about what classes I will need to take the semester after, to finish all of my requirements and graduate. Between hearing her memories of Rome and whatever else we feel like talking about,

Part of my job as a counselor last summer at camp was leading devotional times for the cabin. Some weeks we spent a lot of time tailor-fitting them to the girls' needs; sometimes they were more generic. One of my favorites that I did with maybe few cabins was based on Psalm 61. If I remember correctly, we focused on the first three verses or so. Hear my cry, O God, listen to my prayer; from the end of the earth I call to you when my heart is faint. Lead me to the rock that is higher than I, for you have been my refuge, a strong tower against the enemy. We were focused on prayer, and these verses are hauntingly rich in what they teach about how we can pray. What is the man who wrote this doing? Praying. How does he feel about his prayer? It's a cry... Where does he feel like he's talking to God from? The end of the earth! Does he feel close to God at all? No! So he feels like God is really really far away... but what's he doing? He's prayin