Handicapped Pencils

The Library purchases Mirado Black Warrior pencils by the boxfuls. I find them to be a perfect fit for my hand and a perfect lead size for the lines I like making in books to underline important points. I keep a number of them in my office and handy in places where I work.

Today I needed to sharpen a full box of them so people could fill out forms. I stood at the reference desk by the electric sharpener and began to feed the pristine pencils into the little circle of the sharpener. I could feel the blades of the whirling mechanism engage with the wood, and heard the whine change from heavy work to the 'all done' status of nothing left to shave off.

One after another I fed the pencils into the sharpener until I hit an obstinate pencil. When the whine ceased, I pulled it out, and the wood was still completely covering one side of the pencil. The side that had been shaved away was actually naked or empty. The lead part was completely missing. Hum.

I stuck it back in and tried again, twirling and twisting the thin cylinder this way and that, hoping to get an even sharpening. Once again, I found the pencil only half sharpened. After five tries, I realized that the pencil would be worn to a nub and still not usable. How is that possible? I guess there is one in every box. But no. By the time I finished the box of 25, there were 3 defective pencils. This is not good.

Really, you say, its just a pencil. Get over it. And I do. Really. I tuck the defective things in a desk drawer. I cannot bring myself to throw them away. Is the cheap gene so deep that I cannot bear to let go of useless stuff? Or do I somehow hope that the pencils may be save from oblivion by some other process? Perhaps a pocketknife to sharpen them? A manual pencil sharpener? Surely there is salvation out there somewhere.

I do not have the time or freedom to address these poor little pencils right now. They will have to wait until a better day. Surely someone will come along and save them from a fate worse than death - being stuffed away out of sight where they will not cause anyone undue angst.

I tap the drawer gently and promise myself not to forget them. I will uncover a solution someday and return them to society where they belong. Until then, I hope they don't starve to death.

Day 1

Today the fall semester begins. So many others are still smack dab in the middle of summer, but we have jumped into fall. Every semester has its own flavor, its own pace. This year we are prepared for the usual meltdowns that freshmen sometimes experience when they don't quite have things figured out yet and suddenly dysfunctionality overwhelms them.

We get the testy pushy verbiage, the tears, the worries, the frantic questions. And we are prepared to provide the quick answer, the reassuring connection, the confident calling around to find out. Without reacting emotionally. We know that after the first two weeks, everyone calms down, learns the ropes, settles in.

This year is different. We do not have any meltdowns to soothe. There is a very fast pace and lots of demands at the desk, but students are not flustered, not adrift, not cranky. This year's crop seems more mature, ready to deal with these adjustments, calmer about connecting, safe in knowing that if they miss a deadline, there will be grace. And there will.

Already at the desk research questions are coming. Rather than an empty building for most of the morning, we are populated and not just with socializers. Real studying. How great is that? I look across the Info Commons, and instead of tons of facebook and yahoo mail and games, I see Word documents and database searches. A dream come true.

There is still activity by late evening, but not like previous years when students waited to begin until 9 or 10 pm. I like the way this semester is shaping up already. On the first day of creation, God said let there be light. On the first day of the semester, I am delighted to see learning. May it be filled with light.

Singing in Chapel

I am pleased to have been invited to cantor for Community of the Savior today. Not that I think I am a particularly good singer or anything. But given the trouble I have been having singing at all, and remembering the break through I had at the Worship Conference at St Olaf, I believe I will be able to do justice to the Psalm.

I am a bit concerned that I have not yet seen the music. Usually it gets sent a few days in advance so you have a chance to read through it. But they are not normally too hard, and I arrive early to connect with the music.

They have changed the orientation of the chairs, and the piano is now in a little alcove, a bit removed from the front where the cantor usually would stand. I chat with Pastor Cullum for a bit, waiting for the pianist to arrive. The usual pianist is not there today and I have not met the gentleman who is filling in.

Unfortunately, I cannot see the music since he has the copy. And we won't be able to make a copy since we do not have access to any office copiers. Not to worry. I can just stand by the piano and look on. The pianist arrives, and I am fortunate enough to have a chant Psalm instead of a melodic one. Sometimes the melodic ones are a bit tricky.

I pray that God will help my voice cooperate. No drop outs. No raspiness. No vibrations where there aren't supposed to be any. I enjoy the service, but during the Scripture reading right before the Psalm, I have to confess I was not really focused. My turn to sing. I open my mouth and - surprise! A voice that is clear and pretty floats out!

This is not my usual voice. Its actually pleasant. What happened? Did the cancer treatment burn off some nodule that was always getting in the way? Will this timbre last? I am loving it! I don't even have the usual nervous lump in the throat thing going on.

Hey - pay attention to what you are singing about. This is praise to God, and my heart is fully in it. He has delivered me from cancer yet again, and I am blessed with this amazing side effect of a clear voice. Yahoo!