Thursday, November 14, 2013

the building of temples

"You are also being built together
for a dwelling place of God in the Spirit." Eph. 2:22

Today I needed someone who was not my mother tell me my writing was good. I had applied for an Honors Conference a week ago and received word on Tuesday that my paper had been declined. My mother said it was because my writing is too controversial, I told her I just wasn't good which is how I had been beginning to see my writings. I haven't been able to free-flow prose, my historical analyses are blander than usual and trying to write fiction leaves me grossly depressed. Needless to say at my local coffee shop today sipping my cappuccino in one of their holiday cardboard travel cups I was having no luck fitting into words what I thought of 19th century Civil Rights. (FWI: nonexistent.)

Anyhow I had been writing, re-writing and internally snarling at the black ink of my cursive when who comes bounding through the doors. My old English-1B professor with his leather messenger bag, urban glasses, and tasseled shoes. We chit-chat like normal people, I have a thing about small talk: the more of it the more weird I become. Then he asks if I still had the DJ Waldie essay from last semester, I promptly blink; stupefied. He says my thesis was the strongest one he'd seen in a long time and he'd like to show it as an example to his class. I promptly blink again. Just an amazing Rhetor I am, right. I say okay, he says okay, we say goodbye. (I'm paraphrasing here, in reality there is more chit-chat but I shall not bore you.) I spend the rest of the hour I have left with no more coffee and no new words written towards my Civil Rights Assignment. But... someone out there, who went to graduate school, teachers English, and wears cardigans said I was one of his three best student-writers. Oh how God provides marvelously.

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