Melody She Wrote

I've been thinking a lot about this thing called a language barrier. This week, my two other non-German-speaking labmates have been out of town. It has just been me, which puts English-only in a significant minority. On Wednesday, lunch was entirely in German. So was coffee break. It was not fun. I swung into the bathroom and cried. It was the second time I'd ended up crying in a bathroom after lunch. The first time, I blamed a sudden wave of inexplicable homesickness. This time, I was not so sure. I wasn't missing home at all. I wasn't missing Texas, or even English. Nor was I mad at or hurt by my labmates. They're the nicest people ever! So what was wrong? I'm going to take a quick detour and talk about road kill. You heard me. Every time I see road kill, I'm reminded of death. My spirit cringes, not in fear, but out of distaste. And every time, I feel like God says to me, "This is not how it was supposed to be, Melody. That's why it mak

I will first tell this story from my perspective. I’ve wanted my cartilage pierced for quite some time. Being in Germany was opportune; it would correlate with physics and also commemorate my time here. Numa also had wanted her tragus pierced, so we decided to go to the tattoo parlor and accomplish these great things. Joseph, Miquela, Robby, and Victoria came with us. I mentioned to them on the way there that I hoped I didn’t faint; looking back, I’m not sure why I did, since at the time I 100% correlated my former 2 fainting spells post-needle to the fact that they were medical procedures either taking blood or injecting antivirus. Everyone agreed that I wouldn’t faint. We got to the place, and the piercing artists (both female) took Numa and I to separate rooms; Miquela came with me, Victoria went with Numa, and the boys waited outside. I stared at a giant poster of Audrey Hepburn as she pushed a needle through my ear, then stuck the earring in. It did hurt, and I squeezed Mique

When I decided to major in physics, everyone thought I was crazy. Including myself. No one saw that one coming. Neither did I. It didn't make sense to anyone. It didn't make sense to me. I felt like God told me to go, so I went. I didn't go to be a missionary. I didn't go because I felt called to "preach the gospel to all." I didn't go because I had this "burden" for the campus. I didn't go because I liked physics, or was good at physics, or felt like I had some future in physics. Damn it, Jim, I'm a writer, not a physicist! I didn't go for any sane reason. And when I say that God told me to go, that's the sum of what I mean. I felt like He said, "Go. There." So I went. There. I had no "calling" past that. I know now that I went to be a missionary, but I didn't depart that way. Not like my friends, who feel called the share the gospel with nations and so embark on journeys. I embarked on a journ