The End

I think I might as well post this. I intended for there to be more, but at this point anything that I could write would not be as fresh. Actually the fact that there is no conclusion is kind of fitting. I don't expect the mission trip I went on several years ago to be the last time I go to Kenya.

"He came from heaven to earth, to shooow the way..." The song crackled through the airport PA in a distinctly analog fashion. I looked around at the other passengers waiting for their flight. From the collection of pasty-faced white people sitting in the boarding area, my eyes picked out a young, slick looking tourist with his well-dressed lady friend, and an Australian with a bush-savvy appearance. The women in our group were all crying. A strip of grass and two walls separated the boarding area from the adjacent room containing Lucy, Benjamin, and the rest of the Chengo family. We had come to know this family quite well over the past month. Through two pairs of windows I looked at Abigail, with her bright eyes and impish personality that pulled the rug out from under us and allowed us to be children. I looked at Immanuel, who had the brashness of his father in him. He had loved playing the guitar, so I had left it with the Chengos. I saw Rafael, Joshua, Gladice, and Peter. Their dark faces smiled at our pale ones through clear unnatural barriers. They waved, and we waved back. Some of them might never leave Malindi, at least not by plane. It was probable that none of them would leave Kenya. I would like to believe the women were crying at the tragedy of it. We were leaving, and they were not. They were staying, and we were not. Either way, it was an unbearable separation.

But I felt hollow. The process of saying goodbye was not easy for me. I think that Kenyans did goodbyes much better than Americans. There was a grace about it. Feelings were not left unexpressed, neither were they overexpressed. But as I searched for a mode in which to communicate my emotions, I found only a void. Thus, I felt hollow. I wanted to escape into that sterilized white pill of an airplane where the analgesic of transit numbed both emotion and the absence of it. In the meantime, I made a pretense of writing in my journal.

At some point the general milling about indicated to us that the plane was ready to board. We all walked out onto the tarmac, the wind whipping our faces as it always seems to at airports, and climbed up into the plane. I know nothing of aircraft, but suffice it to say that this was by far the smallest I have ever ridden in. There was only enough room for one seat on each side of the aisle.

The pilot spoke something important into the microphone, but it was rendered unintelligible by the static. Shortly thereafter, the plane began to take off, every wobble and dip uncomfortably perceived by its passengers.

I began to replay the past month in my head. Memories flowed over the surface of my mind like a film reel.

We are walking into the Jesus Cares Center (JCC) in Malindi for the first day of VBS. A kid rushes up to carry my guitar for me. I am made uncomfortable by this gesture. We all sit down and began to play with the kids. A child finds out that I play the piano. He kneels at my feet, and asks me to teach him. I kneel down so that I am looking him in the eyes, then tell him that I can't teach him because we have to start the program. He asks me why I am kneeling. I am overcome by a feeling of inadequacy. I don't understand this culture, and I don't like children showing physical displays of humility towards me.

"Eh, did you hear? They're from Cali!" The voice sucked me out of my reverie. I looked behind me at Joey, who was sitting next to the slick-looking tourists from before. They realized where we came from, and were expressing their excitement in loud British accents. Joey had a smirk on his face. We laughed to ourselves.

"I like bananas, I know that mangoes are sweet, I like papayas... papayas!" We are in a cement church in Kilifi village. The church is full of Kenyan children singing the American VBS standard, their eyes shining with joy. Multicolored flags are stretched across the ceiling, their tattered and diverse shapes adding a distinctly non-western spirituality to the church. When we are finished teaching the children this American song, one of my teammates speaks to our translator, mentioning that we would like to learn a Swahili song. They are more than happy to oblige. The drums begin to beat rhythmically, accelerating my heart and elevating my soul. The children chant in high melodic voices "Napende Jesu," which, according to our translator, means "I love you Jesus." (I looked up the word in a Swahili-English dictionary, and found the root word -penda is a verb that means to love or like, -pende is the imperative. Na- is a prefix meaning "and." So, the children were literally saying, "and must love Jesus.") The song is beautiful, yet fearful and foreign to me. The village leaders have seated us on benches while the children remain on the ground. We all feel slightly uneasy about this, grateful as we are to have a seat in a place where they are so rare.

"What are those?" Cassia was curious about the nuts I was eating. I had bought them at Trader Joe's before I left. They were cashews with Thai seasoning. Very spicy. I didn't eat very many snacks while I was in Kenya. We were so busy, I rarely felt hungry, and Kenyan food is surprisingly filling, so I was finishing them off on the plane. I knew that Cassia hated spicy foods, so I offered a cashew to her. When she reacted to the spiciness, a man sitting beside us laughed to himself quietly. Elena told me "We are all thinking about having a movie night or something when we get back. You are definitely invited." I told her of course. It seems a bit sad, but the material things I missed most while I was in Kenya were not flush toilets, mexican food, or even having a car. I really missed movies. Ironically, the first thing I wanted to do when I got back was watch The Constant Gardener, a movie about corrupt pharmaceutical companies in Kenya.

We are in Garashi village. A generator motor chugs away providing electricity for a single light bulb, a DVD player, and an old television. Andrew's Dad, Baraka, and I have spent countless hours trying to get the projector we brought to work, but the humidity has destroyed it. Technology generally seems to fail in Sub-Saharan Africa. This could be partly the quality of the technology we are using, partly the climate, but also partly a mystical resistance of the African continent to being tamed by technology. We are showing the Jesus film in Swahili and Giriyama (the tribal language) this evening. Most of the village has turned out to watch. It is an odd experience to sit in a field under the African stars by a donkey and watch a movie about the life of Jesus. In an African village, the dusty towns that Jesus walked through and preached in seem less exotic and foreign. I stare up at the Southern Cross and feel the sense of distance from my home. I feel comforted when I see the full moon. Everyone on Earth can see the same moon. I don't understand the languages they are speaking in these films. I could pick up a word here and there, but its mostly gibberish. Yet, I know the story. The people that are watching these films will learn this story. This brings me happiness, because this story has brought me hope and life. Maybe I will learn their stories.

"Look it's Mount Kilimanjaro!" Sure enough, with the sun setting over the clouds, I looked through the dirty plane window to see Mount Kilimanjaro poking above the clouds. It is one of the highest points in Africa, and I just saw it. I am amazed that I can be so fortunate, yet feel nothing. It reminds me of another sunset.

We are playing soccer by the Sumaki river in Garashi village. The word means "fish" in Garashi. I am remembering when Andrew and I took a bike to the river the other day to tell a woman washing her clothes that we would be showing a video later that day. It poured for a good 10 minutes and then stopped. The rain always did that while I was in Kenya. It was the short rainy season, so the skies would open and pour and then shut as suddenly as they had opened.

12:10 AM

I'm exhausted. But, I just finished my application to the Peace Corps, and my application to 5 schools of Public Health. Here is the list (in no particular order):

1. University of Washington
2. Emory University
3. Boston University
4. University of Illinois at Chicago
5. University of Pennsylvania at Pittsburgh

It's all out on the table now! Just have to wait for my letter writers to finish their stuff, and get my transcript sent to the Peace Corps, and I'm good to go.

In other news, I am looking at a job driving cars for Google. Pays better than Starbucks, that's for sure, but I will basically be giving my social life away as a result. We will see. This seems to be the year of menial labor for me. Is my degree worth anything besides the 6 figures a year my parents paid for it?

But the great part of it all is I can't complain, because I had the opportunity to be in grad school right now, but decided to put it off to figure out what I really wanted to do. Well, I suppose I can check two things off my list.

Also, I started volunteering at a hospital in the ER. That should prove to be interesting. I'm still in the bureaucratic rigamarole stage of the whole thing, but once I'm on the other end, it should be an exciting position to be involved in.

You know, it's funny to see than only a month ago I was full of ideals about being able to improve people's lives without a college degree and now it seems that I am contemplating taking a butt-kicker of a job just because it pays better than Starbucks. I mean, it would be cool to drive around California taking pictures, but every day? 6pm-1am? Sometimes working weekends? Well, I'd be used to the whole working weekends thing from Starbucks, but still....

Anyways, I'll probably read this in the morning and berate myself for my pessimism. The fact is, I am in a transitional year. It is good to remind myself that grad school would have been a bad idea if I had started it in September. I have a found a good community at PBCC, or rather re-found a good community. I suppose it scares me that I could lose that by taking the Google job (it isn't even technically a Google job, Google contracts it out to a third party company). It also scares me how much the idea of making an extra 6 dollars per hour is motivating me to consider throwing away the community that I have. There is some reasoning in the back of my head that says you'll have more money for grad school, but I'm looking to get financial assistance for that anyways. There's also some more reasoning that says I'm just getting tired of Starbucks and looking for something new. That same reasoning says that I'll probably get tired of driving a car around taking pictures of the street just as quickly.

In any case, now is a good time to go to sleep. That's a decision that isn't too hard to make. ;-)

October 2009

Well, it's been a while since I updated my blog, so I thought I'd regale you all with inane details about my life. You know, "you all"- that staggeringly numerous group of people that follow my blog.

Basically last time I posted on here, I had changed course and decided to defer enrollment to my Master's program at Northwestern. I had hoped to find a job working in a lab and apply to some PhD programs. But then Kenya happened. Also, the bad economy happened.

So I find myself living at home*, working at Starbucks, and making plans for a somewhat different career path than I had originally intended. It's been a long and complex road, filled with uncertainty and frustration, but also full of blessings if I look closely.

The short of it is this: I am planning to join the Peace Corps and get a Master of Public Health degree. After this I hope to spend some time working as an Epidemiologist. Whether that is in the States or abroad, I am not sure yet. And then, even further down the road, I would like to teach in a university setting, which would probably involve getting a PhD in something.

The thing is, I don't know if I would like to teach theology or science.
And that is the big issue in all of this. The question of seminary keeps popping up.** One thing that I realized was that I keep running towards it as a safety net if things don't work out the way I want. This stems from some sort of weird illusion in my head that theology is less of a challenge than science. I know for a fact that this isn't true.

This whole process has been really significant for me. For one thing, I've been forced, for what might be the first time in my life, to think about what I really want to do. I've been forced to examine my motives and look at my strengths. So far, this is what I've learned.

1. I can take an interest in many things. I can commit to very few. (I learned that in college- but it takes on a whole new dimension when it comes to career/life decisions)
2. Going to grad school just to prove something is a terrible idea.
3. Going to grad school to prove something is part of the reason I want to go
4. If I examine all of my motives for doing something, at least one or two of them will be bad
5. Simultaneously, some of my motives will be good. The trick is being honest about which direction the scales are tipping.
6. God is bigger than my plans
7. I owe the fact that this sunk in to the wisdom of another person. That's ok.

This list could probably continue for much longer. You might be curious about my good motives for going to grad school.

Here is the best one: If I can attain a degree that gives me the expertise to increase the efficiency with which diseases are recognized, identify the factors associated with that disease, and use that information to efficiently quarantine and prevent further outbreaks of the disease, I will have made the world a slightly better place to live in some small way. Knowing that I can use something I am interested in to help people is exciting to me. It would top the whole thing off if I could teach people about that so that they may improve upon what has already been done.

Here's the problem though: If I can attain a degree that give me the expertise to define the Trinity in all its subtlety, and then illuminate this in a way that brings people closer to God, then I will have given some people the tools to be happier. Knowing that I can use something I am interested in to bring people closer to God is exciting to me. If I could teach that, it would be awesome.

I don't want to even touch how preventing disease can bring people closer to God. (wouldn't death do that, technically?)

The main point is this. My best reason for going to grad school is that when I have attained the degree, I will be in a better position to help large amounts of people while doing something that interests me.

Here's the problem though: Right now I am working at Starbucks. Every day I make a drink, and when somebody consumes that drink, I like to think they are a little happier. I didn't need a college degree for that. To be honest, for right now, I like making drinks for people. It's interesting. Now it's entirely possible that I will soon get bored of this job, but for now, working there is pleasing to me. It's fast-paced, people oriented, and friendly.

Maybe the whole picture makes a little more sense now. God is bigger than our plans. I have wasted many words telling you about my thoughts, maybe a few feelings. At the end of this year, I will probably be going to grad school to get an MPH. After that, I will probably be going to the Peace Corps. But I don't know. Only God does. The best thing I can do is try to follow along on the path that He lays out for me. Of course, this is a trickier statement than it would seem to be...

*euphemism for "parent's house" the most dreaded fate of college graduates
**As a side note, I was finally accepted into the MA in Theology program at Fuller

The Beginning

Yet another attempt at being literary. All of this stuff actually happened, though it is colored through the lens of a 22 year old who has spent most of his life in California and has a terrible memory for dialogue, names, and details in general. Stay tuned for Part II, "The End."

Stepping out of the sterilized blue cylinder that was KLM flight 566 Amsterdam to Nairobi into Jomo Kenyatta International airport was a blurry swirl of unfamiliar stimuli. Perhaps the blurriness resulted from the lack of sleep, but even so, for one so unfamiliar with the non-Western world it was significantly outside my normal realm of experience.

To be honest, I hadn’t expected it to be as modern as it was. I had harbored in my mind a naive image of stepping outside the plane onto a dirt runway and walking into a grass hut after which I would be carried away to the village on a hand cart.

But Nairobi was no village, and the largest airport in East Africa was no grass hut. Our hand cart turned out to be a van much too small for all of us and our luggage to squeeze into comfortably.

In order to get through to that blessed van, though, we had to get our visas. We walked by duty free shops that looked as if they had been plopped down in a DMV office from the early 60’s. We walked by separate prayer rooms marked for Muslims and Christians. The Christian room was empty. Chocolate skinned airport officials, their uniforms and suits hanging on their bodies oddly, stared at us with smirking eyes, their mouths harboring neither frown nor smile but somehow both.

We milled around the necessary forms, obtaining them in no discernable order. After waiting interminably in line in paranoid fear of having my belongings stolen I reached the visa counter. The official took a picture of me with a digital webcam that looked very much out of place, and I descended to the baggage claim area.

The majority of that night was spent in ever increasing paranoia proportionate to each new bag we claimed. I had been the recipient of multiple well intentioned stories warning me of the numerous thieves and pickpockets lurking about in Nairobi town, just waiting to get their hands on my possessions, or worse, my credit card. As a result, my first few days in the country of Kenya were spent suspecting anyone who happened to walk too close to my personal bubble, which considering the complete absence of the notion of personal space among the locals, was quite often.

Kenyan customs goes something like this: We walk up to a table and the man seated there greets us.

“And where are you going in Kenya?”

“Malindi district”

“Ah, very nice, very nice….” With an accent much like a breath of fresh air he sung the words, “So, you have anything to declare?”

“No we don’t.”

He smiles and beckons us forward.

The next morning we went to catch a bus to Malindi. The rest of the group took a plane, but Andrew, his Dad, and I stayed with the luggage. The van drove us to the neighborhood from where the buses left, which Andrew’s Dad happily informed us was one of the worst sections of town.

Every time the van stopped, it seemed to have a magnetic effect on the swarms of touts and hawkers trying to fill their buses with passengers. Of course, I was only aware of this fact because Andrew’s Dad, Dale, explained it to me. From my perception, our van was being assaulted by violent hijackers banging on the windows. But the driver waved them off, informing them that our passage was already paid for.

We got out in front of the Busways station, which the driver was able to identify by some miracle unbeknownst to me, considering there were no obvious signs signifying its location. The large bus marked with the company logo may have been helpful towards this end, but to this day, I cannot understand how he was able to navigate the complexly organized chaos of the Nairobi streets. Tuk-tuks, hand carts, bicycles, matatus, buses, and personal vehicles all managed to share the same road with minimal injury.

Lucy and Benjamin, the missionaries whom we were meeting in Malindi, had arranged for a man to meet us and give us our tickets. The bus tout was trying to get us to load our luggage, but Dale informed me that this essentially signified a contract between the tout and us that would involve paying for the transportation of luggage on a bus bereft of our passengership. Loading the luggage seemed like a great option to me, though, considering that the three of us were trying to keep our eye on the total baggage, sitting exposed on the street in a bad section of Nairobi, of 12 people. While I was silently suffocating in paranoia Andrew casually mentioned:

“Sometimes people get nervous about this sort of thing. They really shouldn't Anyways, most people aren’t really interested in taking our stuff. They have their own places to be and things to do. There’s really no reason to be nervous, just keep your wits about you and you’ll be fine.”

“Ah no, this is a great experience!”

It actually was. True I was nervous, but also excited by how different everything was. Taking a bus back in the States would never be as much of an adventure as this would be.

As I stood there watching the daily movements and interactions of city dwelling Kenyans, breathing in the diesel exhaust that spewed directly from the bus into my face, stinging my nostrils (and eyes), I began to relax a bit. I was able to discern women waiting for the bus and businessmen on their way to their jobs. I was able to note that the bus personnel were just as interested in the safety of our luggage as we were, though it was extremely difficult to tell who was working for the bus company considering the complete lack of uniforms.

Eventually the man, Peter, came to meet us and give us our tickets. We all exchanged pleasantries and I was able to sputter out some broken Swahili.

“Bwana asi fiwe sana!” he sung to me.

“Ndiyo,” I replied. Kenyans always seemed to speak as if they were singing. Peter had told me “Much praise be to the Lord!” I had responded “Yes.” I later learned that the proper response to this would have been “Amen.” It turns out that word is the same in English and Swahili.

As the bus rambled its way across the country it would stop frequently to drop passengers off, pick them up, or simply serve as a sort of FedEx for bundles of produce or livestock. At each of these stops we drew crowds of merchants to the bus windows, all peddling the same jewelry, fruits, and packages of nuts. Initially I felt guilty for refusing them, and tried to avoid eye contact with them lest I indicate any false interest in their wares.

Somewhere along the twelve hour overland journey through Kenya, a man got on the bus and started yelling at us in Swahili. Once again I began to fear the threat of being hijacked once again, and once again Dale explained to me that the man was an "herbalist."

To my understanding, an herbalist in Kenya is roughly the equivalent of the "snake oil" quacks of mid-to-late 19th century America. According to this traveling salesman, aloe vera was a veritable panacea, curing tumors, viruses, bacteria, headaches, impotence , and even laziness. Despite the humor of the situation, I couldn't help but consider how dysfunctional the infrastructure of the Kenyan health system must be if the majority of people are desperate enough to buy ineffective or even harmful placebos to heal ailments for which normal treatment is too expensive or simply not available. To be fair, healthcare in the US faces significant problems, as is evidenced by the current call for healthcare reform. Nonetheless, even the most impoverished Americans could easily walk into any store and find a basic painkiller like Tylenol or Advil. Obtaining these basic medicines (by American standards) would be much more difficult in Kenya, especially in the remote areas that we planned to visit.

We arrived in Malindi later that evening. I had no idea what time it was, since I had lost my watch in Nairobi. Almost as soon as we stepped off the bus, we were virtually attacked by matatu touts trying to get us on a van to Lamu, a popular tourist destination north of Malindi. Benjamin immediately began helping us with our luggage. Something in me immediately desired to prove to him my manliness by handing him the heaviest luggage pieces.

I was immediately quite impressed with Lucy. Her manner exuded confidence and her eyes seemed to remove any facade that you had planned on constructing.

The first time I met her sticks out in my mind quite clearly.

"Karibu sana." she lilted deeply in welcome.

I paused while my brain hurriedly tried to assimilate what it had heard and come up with an appropriate response.

"Asante." Fortunately that was the correct word. I found that I eagerly desired the approval of both Benjamin and Lucy but for wholly different, and probably bad, reasons.

We packed our luggage and our bodies into the matatu (not the one headed for Lamu), and headed to the Lutheran Guest House. As Andrew and I greeted Joey in our room, we all got ready for bed, exhausted.

The first night I learned the following things:

1. A shower head does not have to empty into a tub. The floor works just as well.

2. Toilet seats are a luxury. Toilet paper equally so.

3. Large ants and strange worms are equally entitled to sharing your living space. There is neither point nor reason for you to attempt to get rid of them.

4. The number of holes in your mosquito net is directly related to the number of bites you will discover on yourself later the next day. Therefore, taping these holes will solve most of your problems, as well as a thick layer of extra strength DEET.

5. When there is no trashcan, an empty drawer works just fine.

6. When you are exhausted and jet lagged, a toilet that flushes for just a bit too long, and an irregularly clattering ceiling fan are sources of great humor.

7. When you later live in villages that have neither flush toilets nor irregularly clattering ceiling fans, returning to these things can be a surprising comfort.

The bus ride across Kenya had been beautiful. There are few places on earth where you can see baboons giraffes, and elephants just off the side of the road. As I went to sleep that night, I realized that this experience was going to be pretty awesome.

Kenya Photos

The guys. From left: Joey, Baraka, Andrew, myself

VBS! (photo courtesy of Abby Fisher)

The whole team in Kalifi village (photo courtesy of Abby Fisher)

Benjamin and Lucy Chengo. You can also see their
son Immanuel in the background, and the hallway
that we all helped to paint.

The rain catchment system. Gutters captured the rain, and an attachment funneled the water into the tank (center).

Grand Canyon!

Change O'Plans

I've had a lot of time to think while I've been home post-college graduation trying to find shelter and work in Chicago while planning out how I am going to afford a highly expensive education at Northwestern. Yes, you read that correctly. One of the crazy thoughts that rolled about in my head was deferring my enrollment. As soon as that thought entered my head, everything seemed to fall into place. I guess I should start at the beginning.

I didn't really think I was going to get into grad school at all. My GPA was not exactly anything to brag about, and though I had research experience, I thought it would be easy to see that I hadn't accomplished anything of substance in my undergraduate career, as far as it relates to my potential to succeed in grad school. My GRE scores were good enough to get me letters from random programs, and the Master of Biotechnology Program (MBP) at Northwestern was one of those letters. But, I thought that once a school looked at my GPA and CV, they would never accept me. Plus, I hadn't shmoozed with enough professors to get them to write me a letter of rec. So, I let the application deadline pass, assuming that I would just find a job somewhere.

Somewhere near the end of fall quarter I decided I needed to have some sort of post-graduation plan, even if it wasn't optimal. So I decided to apply to the Master's program at Northwestern and to seminary. I was really leaning towards seminary, but I thought that I did not put myself through the exorbitantly expensive GRE for nothing. Turns out, I was able to get letters of rec from a few professors and my mentor from my internship at Genentech. All I could do was cross my fingers (halfheartedly).

It's weird how life is consistently unexpected. You'd think that would make it more predictable (just expect what you don't expect), but I guess then the whole thing would collapse into logical absurdity. I ended up facing a lot of red tape with seminary, and the ball really started moving with the MBP. I should say it wasn't totally passive. There were several emails sent back and forth between myself and the program coordinater regarding scheduling an interview (I was worried about paying for the flight out there if I didn't have a good chance of getting in-the fact that weren't willing to pay for that was probably the first bad sign, but I had pretty low self-esteem regarding my grad school options at that point). Anyways, I found myself accepted to Northwestern, and in limbo regarding seminary (bad pun, sorry).

So, I headed out to Chicago and I checked out the campus. The campus was beautiful, and I fell in love with the city. That made it difficult though, because I wasn't sold on the program. After much back and forth, I grew tired of the indecision, and I decided to go for it with Northwestern.

Problem is, tuition was super expensive. I was able to receive a significant offer of financial aid in the form of Federal loans, but that still didn't cover the total cost. The program did not cover tuition, nor did they offer TA or RA position to help defray the cost. I was thinking about these problems right up until I had to move out of the AGO house. While doing that, I uncovered a letter that I had received a while ago from the University of Rochester Medical Center about their PhD program in Toxicology. Unlike the MBP, this program offered full financial coverage. I mentally hit myself over the head for totally ignoring this, as I apparently had. I had probably assumed that I didn't have a shot at getting into a PhD program, even though the idea of getting a PhD had been a little gnawing desire deep within me for a few years.

So I put the letter away, and didn't think about it again until after all the graduation hoopla had passed, and sat down to figure out how I was going to pay for Northwestern, all the while rushing to find a job and an apartment for when I was living in Chicago. Then the idea came. I could defer, get a job in a lab, and earn money to pay for the program. In the meantime, I could apply to some PhD programs and see if I can get in. Of course, this idea came with a lot of "if's". If I get a job in a lab, then I could get the experience to apply to a PhD program, assuming my research is sound... etc. But the idea just seemed right. I needed time to figure things out anyway. I needed to time to prove that I could survive on my own without the green-colored apron strings which had supported me through college. Not to say that those strings wouldn't be cut if I went to grad school, just that they would be definitely be cut if I got a job.

Well, anyways, that's where I stand. I haven't actually deferred my enrollment, but it is more than likely at this point that this is what I am going to do. This whole process has given me more confidence that applying to grad school is not as much of a lost cause as I thought, and now I can give more focus and drive to the process. I am stepping out on a limb here, but I believe it is the right thing to do, and I trust that God has me in his hands. In the meantime, I'm getting pretty excited to go to Africa! But, I've got to sleep, I've got work in the morning, and let me tell you, construction work is definitely not lab work!

Commencement!

Yesterday was the commencement ceremony for the College of Agricultural and Environmental Sciences, which for some reason oversees my major. It's embarrassing to admit, but I got choked up. This makes no sense, because I don't feel as if I have accomplished much by graduating from college. I feel like I still have to prove myself, like there is more to do before I can pat myself on the back. But my emotions did not follow from anything directly related to the ceremony. Firstly, I am a sucker for stirring music, no matter how cheesy it is. Second, I am a sucker for any kind of ritual, which is probably why I was attracted to the fraternity life in the first place. Very embarrassing, especially for someone who supposedly has a technical bent. I'm almost certain that is the explanation for getting choked up. As a side note, the robes you wear for a Ph.D. are much cooler than the Bachelor's degree robes. Kind of makes me want to get a Ph.D. just for that.

Well, anyways, I should get to sleep. I'll write more later.

Final Finals

Tomorrow, I embark on my last journey through the land of finals as an undergraduate student. This last trip shouldn't be too difficult. After all, only one of my finals is actually a sit down 200 point deal. My genomics class doesn't have a final, and my animal ethics class has a take home final.

So goodbye for now. When I emerge again, I will be a beautiful alumnus butterfly!

Life Update

So this was written a while ago, then rewritten, and rewritten again. At this point, I basically have one week left until I graduate. I also realize that it's been a while since I updated my blog. You would think that's because I'm busy, but it's really not. I've definitely been frittering away my time watching movies like Kill Bill, Indiana Jones, and the best movie of all time...Good Will Hunting. Seriously, everyone should watch that movie at least once in their life. And if you think it's about a math genius, then you've missed the point.

I will be graduating from UC Davis in about three weeks with a B.S. in Biotechnology. Hopefully I will be able to go backpacking this summer with one of my fraternity buddies, and visit one of my old friends from camp who is going to be in Seattle for a little while before she goes back to Spain. Then during August, I will be in Kenya, and in September, I should be heading out to Chicago to start working on my Master's degree at Northwestern University (in biotechnology of course). Also, I will be going to Lompoc to visit another one of my friends. Somewhere in there I will need to find a job to occupy my time until I go. I'm thinking that my best bet is the construction job I took last summer. (As of right now, I have no idea how I'm going to make money this summer)

So, like most college seniors, I am riding the roller coaster of the requisite emotions of excitement, fear, reflection, nostalgia, sadness, anticipation, cynicism, hopefulness, and a multitude of additional bittersweet feelings. But at the end of the day, I feel very peaceful. Whether this is from total ignorance of life's hardship, or a true assurance from God, I am grateful for it. If you are interested, I'm pretty sure it's both.

I feel guilty for writing this down, for it seems a bit self-indulgent, but this whole blog is self-indulgent so who cares! Anyways, I want to believe that my life holds promise. I want to believe that my life will not be full of mediocrity. I want to be assured that my weaknesses will not damn me, and my strengths will carry me through. But I seem to have acquired a certain lack of energy, a dearth of drive that causes me to spend time watching internet videos when I should be studying genetics. It is the same thing that causes me to take a nap instead of a run and eat pizza instead of a something healthier. So I suppose the fact that I am human bugs me a bit.

But honestly, I have no idea what the future holds, and my predictions are probably totally wrong. But I am confident that God has given me what I need to fulfill my part in this world, whatever that may be. To find connection to Him and let Him fill me with His love is enough. That is my prayer, at least.

Here Comes Spring Quarter 2009!

Last quarter of my undergraduate career!
I already don't want to go to class... even though my classes are quite interesting.

2:00am ranting

It's about 2 in the morning and I can't get to sleep, so I thought I would write until I get tired. I am at the AGO house at USC, which is really cool. They have a house cook. I wish the iota chapter had one of those. Also, everybody seems to be from places like Texas, North Carolina, and Virginia. I guess that's the one of the differences between a private and state school. That and private schools are ridiculously expensive. That just might be a factor in why you see so many local students at state schools.

Tomorrow, I am going to go to Fuller Theological Seminary to check out the campus and learn about the program. I really don't know what I am going to do at this point. I would like to go to seminary and grad school, but I have a feeling that if I pick grad school, I will get stuck into a track that will prevent me from going to seminary for a long time (e.g. need to pay off student loans, get a job, etc.). Anyways, I will have to decide by April 17th. Apparently that is the date by which I have to decide how the rest of my life is going to be. Yeah, it's a little melodramatic, I know.

Anyways, I am looking forward to the rest of my time here in LA. It will be fun to catch up with friends and spend time in a different part of the state. Well, I should probably try to get to sleep.

Winter Quarter 2009: complete!

I just completed a series of three finals in one day. My last final ended at 9:30pm. I am so glad I will never have to sit through an 8:30pm final again (at least at UC Davis)!

So now I am done! For spring break I am going to go down to LA to visit Fuller Theological Seminary. Maybe I'll check out the AGO house at USC. Probably going to just hang out and relax for the remainder of spring break. Small tangent... UC Davis used to give its students notoriously short spring breaks. During my freshman year, "spring break" was basically a five day weekend. Fortunately we get a good week now, which is definitely acceptable.

Finally, some life updates: I was accepted into the Master of Biotechnology Program at Northwestern! Fuller hasn't made a decision about my application yet, but that is due to some logistical issues with my application (kind of my fault, I applied for Spring 2010 with no reason whatsoever behind the decision). Support raising for Kenya is going well. Next quarter I'm taking swimming and music history classes (two separate classes, though I wish that there actually was a class that combined swimming and music history...swimming to baroque music maybe?).

Well, that's all from me!

Orthodoxy and Genetic Engineering Part II

This is a continuation from an earlier post in which I discussed my thoughts on Orthodox Christianity. I still haven't come to any conclusions, but I think I am going to start checking out my friend's church, Elevation of the Holy Cross, in Sacramento.

Now I am going to focus on another topic that has been flitting about in my brain these days. Envision a world in which the genetic code of every known animal is contained within a computer, and can be ordered by phone. Perhaps you want to have a golden retriever. Just pop the necessary genome* into an egg, and you've got a dog! Truthfully, this idea is not so far fetched. The entire genome of several mammals, including humans, has been sequenced, and most are available on a public database. Once you have your sequence, there are companies that will create constructs** for you containing this particular desired sequence, and these constructs can be taken up by a cell (or animal/bacteria) and expressed. We don't know enough about development or cell-genome interaction to pop an entire genome into a generic cell and see a normal animal develop, but as I have just mentioned, we have the fundamentals down.

The process of taking some sequence of DNA or specific gene and causing it to be integrated into or expressed by a host of your choosing is genetic engineering in its essence. Clearly the technology is powerful and multifaceted in its applications. For example, we can replace viral genetic material with some gene of interest and this will be taken up by a cell with 95% efficiency (i.e. it will almost always work). It is not too far-fetched to imagine using this method to deliver an anti-cancer drug to a tumor cell, for example. The virus that is most commonly used for transfection, as this process is called, is HIV!# We have taken a normally fatal virus and are now using it in a way that could potentially save someone's life!

So genetic engineering has powerful applications. Many of these are good, some could be bad. For an excellent coverage of the ways in which genetic engineering can be misused read Next by Michael Crichton.

The power of genetic engineering scares me. It's not that we are modifying God's creation. We have been doing this ever since we took a wild wheat seed and started growing the plant in fields over several generations. I believe He willed us to have free will in His creation, and though we have made awful mistakes, I don't believe the sin lies in the modification itself. My professor in the biotechnology class I am taking this quarter raised an excellent point when he called the whole GMO^ paranoia nonsense. As he noted, the dog is a genetically modified organism. It does not exist in the wild, yet we don't raise a fit about playing God when a lab runs up to lick our face.

My fear about genetic engineering is regarding the attitude with which we approach its use. As I have mentioned several times, it is a far more powerful technique than any we have experienced before. I fear that we will begin to exploit nature in a far more insidious way than we have done so far. Living things are not simply a bag of molecules that churn out products that are useful to us. We have treated them thus far in such a manner. Just take a look at a factory farm. On the contrary, I believe we are required to be stewards of creation. Of course I don't think a world in which all the animals run happy and free amongst the lush evergreen forests is a feasible or practical solution either.

If nothing else, I believe that we must have a deep respect and understanding for what exactly we are dealing with. Looking at the current trend, I wonder if our culture will soon view life as a sort of genetic Go Fish in which we simply trade undesirable traits for those that we think we want. It doesn't seem so far-fetched to me. There are plenty of people who won't hesitate to spend thousands of dollars on plastic surgery. With each new technology that comes along, it seems there is a tendency lose contentment and peace, rather than gain it. Take the cell phone. It wasn't too long ago that to own a cell phone was quite rare, and everyone got along fine without it. Now we are almost completely dependent on the technology, along with our GPS, and wireless internet. It goes without saying that this technology is helpful. But we don't need it to be human. The same goes for the power of genetic engineering. It can change our lives drastically, and many of these ways will probably be positive on the whole. But the core of our humanity, the essence of what makes us who we are, this should never come from a technology. Perhaps we may define a technology, but we must never let technology define us.

None of these fears are new, and perhaps they are unfounded. Nonetheless, I think the day where this technology is taken for granted is coming sooner than you might think. If we don't appreciate the awesome power that has been given to us, we will be apathetic, thus more likely to allow it to consume us in a dehumanizing way.

If you are interested in this topic I recommend Biotech Century by Jeremy Rifkin, and Human Dignity in the Biotech Century by CW Colson and NMS Cameron. I have to add a caveat... I haven't actually read the second one, but it looked interesting. So if it sucks, don't get mad at me. If someone has read it, I would appreciate a brief review.
Also check out this Wikipedia article for a great introduction to the basic fundamentals of genetic engineering. This article on lentiviruses (of which HIV is an example) is pretty good too.

*The sum total of DNA that is contained within a specific organism. For example, the human genome is the entirety of DNA contained within all 46 chromosomes. As a technical point, the genome size is considered to be half this amount, since humans, for example, contain two copies of each chromosome and in order for genome size to be compared among species, there must be some standard of comparison.
**A construct is DNA sequence that specifically engineered to contain some trait or feature that you are interested in. Often these constructs will be designed to enter a cell and express some specific trait. In this case, the construct is called a vector.
# or another lentivirus
^GMO, or genetically modified organism, is a term coined by opponents of genetic engineering to refer to organisms containing foreign DNA inserted by non-sexual means.

Useful Analogy

I realized something interesting the other day, and I wanted to share it with "you." Considering that I have no idea who reads this, or if anybody reads this at all, I put "you" in quotes. But that is the nature of having a blog. Illusory intimacy with an online audience.

Anyways, facebook was recently flooded with an interesting fad in which people write down 25 random facts about themselves and post it in a note. Then they tag people, and those people are supposed to write 25 random things about themselves. I have many thoughts about the activity itself, but I actually want to talk about a random fact that someone wrote about themselves.

Here is what this person wrote (paraphrased):
4 (or 14 I have no idea)- I hate waking up to the morning sun. I feel so disgusting with the rays of sunlight beaming on my face.

I really enjoyed this, because I have actually felt the exact same way. There have been many mornings where I have woken up, felt the penetrating rays of the sun baking my already sweaty and oily body, and wanted to die, or at least cuss somebody out.

I recently heard a talk on the "wrath of God." According to the speaker, God's wrath is simply the exposure of sinful humanity to God's holy presence.

Without the sun, we would all die. Plants could not live, animals could not reproduce (or eat the plants), and we would all go crazy for many special physiological reasons. Therefore it is arguable that the sun is a good thing. So why do I hate the sun when it exposes the disgustingness of my body after a night of sweaty sleep? Why do I curse the sun when it pounds into my eyes, used to a night of darkness? For that very reason. In the darkness and cold, our bodily secretions are not as noticiable. They do not irritate us nearly as much. My eyes are comfortable in darkness, and the sudden exposure of light throws the balance off.

If the morning sun makes me feel disgusting, how will I react to the presence of God? In the words of C.S. Lewis, do I like goodness I much as I have supposed?

Orthodox Christianity and Genetic Engineering: Part I

How would one relate the two subjects, you may ask? Well, I don't really plan on relating them at all. They have just been on my mind recently.

I have known about Orthodoxy for a long time now, since about my sophomore year when I met the one Orthodox Christian in my fraternity. Quite honestly, I have always found many parts of it appealing. Interestingly enough, the same parts that make it appealing also keep me from wanting to be Orthodox. For example, Orthodox Christians are sacramental, meaning they believe that in order to properly experience the presence of God, one must participate in certain rituals, or sacraments. These include (this is not an exhaustive list) baptism, communion, confession, and even marriage. No Orthodox Christian will say that this is the only way to experience God's presence. Certainly, many Protestants and Catholics experience God's presence in a legitimate way. Every Orthodox Christian will say that participating in the sacraments is the best way, though. Of course, Protestants will make analogous statements about Catholics, and Catholics, the Orthodox. Sacramentalism appeals to me because there is a beauty in being able to experience the presence of God in a time-tested way. It bothers me because I have been raised to believe that our salvation is not based on what we do, but what God does. Of course one could argue that salvation and experiencing the presence of God are very different things, but I would argue that they are very closely related. The one is evidence of the other. Not universal proof, mind you, but evidence.

The fact that Christianity is so divided bothers me. Many people will say: "Well when you get down to it, we all share the same basic beliefs." This seems ridiculous. If we all basically agreed, there would be no reason for so many churces to exist. Yes, perhaps you could say that all Christians believe that Jesus was God incarnate, that He died on the cross and rose again for our sins. But even in something as fundamental as this, there is a huge difference in opinion among the Christian churches. What does it meant to "die for our sins?" What does it mean for Jesus to be God incarnate? Orthodox, Protestants, and Catholics have very different thoughts about this. Maybe not so much about the person of Jesus, but definitely about the work of the Cross. The point of all this is that I think somebody has to be right, or at least more correct than everyone else. I am beginning to wonder if this is perhaps Orthodoxy. If so, why did it take so long for Americans to begin to recognize the church? One of the biggest weaknesses of the church is its tendency to closely tied to a specific ethnic group. Greek Orthodox, Russian Orthodox, Armenian Orthodox, etc. But nonetheless, before Orthodoxy emerged in the public consciousness, was the entirely of American Christianity in apostasy? I find this difficult to believe.

Stay tuned for Part II

Tahoe! (and some resulting introspection)

I had made big plans to road trip out to Seattle this past weekend, but unfortunately, huge snowstorms in the Cascades prevented this from happening. Ironically, Seattle itself was sunny the whole weekend. Tangentially, out of all of the times I have visited Seattle, it has been sunny 90% of the time. Guess I just bring that California sunshine right along with me. (yes, I know it's a sappy sentiment, and I don't apologize for it... I'm proud of being a Californian.)

Anyways, instead of getting stuck in snowstorms in the Cascades, I decided to do the same thing in the Sierras. Some good family friends had their annual ski trip in Tahoe, and they invited me along. I needed to get away from Davis, so I jumped on that invitation.

Normally, it takes about 2 hours to get from Davis to Tahoe if you take highway 80. Due to the inclement weather, it took us much longer. They picked me up at about 6:30am, and we didn't get to the cabin until about 1:00pm. But once we got there, we had a great time.

Let me pause here and give a plug for a drink called a "hot toddy." As I understand it, the drink is basically bourbon and apple cider. I had a pretty bad cold when I drank it, but as soon as I took the first sip, I cleared right up! Of course, you should probably take my advice with a grain of salt, according to this article from Wikipedia. This article also gives more accurate information on what the drink actually is.

Anyways, I had a great time skiing and spending time with friends. If you let me, I could gush on and on about the family friends that I went with. The mom is so caring and has such a deep faith. The dad is a man's man. He gets done what he needs to get done, and doesn't waste too much time with unnecessary talking, but you still know that he cares about his family. The children (five of them) are all so fun and smart. It is so great to hang out with them. I've known their oldest daughter essentially since we were born. She is awesome, and continues to increase in awesomeness the longer I know her. I am really grateful to have friends like them.

Having to go back home was actually pretty depressing. Seeing the love that my friends experienced and shared in their family reminded me of the impoverished state of my relationships in Davis. Also, I had a fun time with them and missed them. But getting back to my dissatisfaction with my social life in Davis, I am exaggerating quite a bit to call my relationships impoverished. The problem is mostly me. I don't really spend a lot of time trying to get to know people, and for the most part, I don't want to. I partially rationalize this by telling myself that I have to focus on getting good grades so that I can go to grad school. Deep down, though, I know that's not true. Truthfully, I am scared of relationships. I am scared of being hurt, manipulated, and rejected. I am also scared of doing those very things to someone else. At least, I was scared at one point. I think it's more like tired now. The fact is, pain, manipulation, and rejection are just parts of human relationships. If we didn't take that risk, we would all just own dogs and find relational fulfillment in that. We risk all the bad stuff because we can find great joy, love, and acceptance from other people. But I am tired of what seems like a long line of pain. I don't feel like I have enough energy to reject and be rejected. Of course, in admitting this, I am also admitting that I am looking at the whole picture upside down.

Let me emphasize that I have excellent friends in Davis, as well as many excellent potential friends. I am mostly saying that two things. One, I have been a supremely poor friend. Two, seeing my old friends made me realize that there is something better than what I have, and I didn't even realize it. I heard a great quote in a sermon this week and I think it gives a pretty good response to this rant.
"We make a living by what we get. What we give makes a life."

Eta Colony Visit!

I was close to crashing yesterday. The week had been pretty intense due to school, busyness, and all the other things that make life stressful. In this light, I wasn't really looking forward to spending valuable study time in Fresno, where the Eta chapter of my fraternity, Alpha Gamma Omega, is in the process of re-founding. Just for background, fraternities have multiple chapters, one per college or university, and the chapters are given a letter in the Greek alphabet according to the order in which they were founded. For example, the first chapter of my fraternity was founded at UCLA, and is known as the Alpha chapter. The second chapter, at Cal, is the Beta chapter, and so on. My chapter, at UC Davis, would be referred to as the Iota chapter. This would make it the ninth founded chapter of the fraternity. The Eta chapter, at CSU Fresno, was the eighth, but the chapter dissolved, and now some guys are attempting to start it up again. At this point, Eta is at colony status, and will be considered a full fledged chapter of the fraternity once they maintain their numbers for a year.
In any case, all my apprehension dissolved once I met the guys. They were all really laid back and fun. Additionally you have to have a lot of respect for them. Starting up a fraternity is tough work. They are essentially pledging the fraternity and running the fraternity at the same time. Having participated in both of these processes, I can honestly say that the guys at Eta must be superhuman. On top of all of this, they were fasting for the weekend to prepare for rush. I felt pretty guilty scarfing down the muffins and fruit they had bought for us while they sat there with their mouths watering.
They didn't make a big deal out of it, though, and we had a really fun time. We drove into the Sierras (it was about 1 and a half hours), and went tubing in the snow. I ate it quite a few times, and considering the fact that I didn't have any gloves or boots, I froze pretty quickly. I froze with a smile on my face though. I got to play Balderdash for the first time, and I got to meet ADX girls from CSU Fresno. ADX is our sister sorority. The ADX girls from Fresno were pretty cute.
Anyways, enough about cute girls. Incidentally, I have a friend who is adamantly opposed to calling females over 20 "girls." This makes a lot of sense, but it is such a habit for me to call members of the opposite gender "girls," that it will be tough to break it! But again, enough about gals, let's move on from women (how can I, I'm a single twenty-something!).
I think the best way to sum all of this up is this: I am basically married to my fraternity. We have reached the point in our marriage where I am starting to resent the inane commitments that my fraternity requires of me. I love it nonetheless, though, and I will miss the guys that make it up dearly when I graduate. This fraternity has provided me with so much. The gratitude I feel for Alpha Gamma Omega is difficult to put into words. Maybe I should take a page out of the Eta colonies' book and give back, as much as I might not feel like it at the time.

Typical thoughts from a senior in college

Today I had a conversation with a friend whom I hadn't talked to in about a year and a half. Of course, this is not an unusual circumstance. There are many people whom I have been out of touch with for a long time, and I will probably reconnect with them in future conversations. This friend happened to be my old Bible study leader from my freshman year of college. He has long since graduated, but still lives in Davis. We talked about the past memories, mutual friends, and our plans for the future. Fairly typical conversation material. Nonetheless, it was relaxing to sit in the warm winter sun and talk. Incidentally, Davis has experienced record highs in temperature for this time of year. Usually it rains pretty much daily for the entirety of winter quarter.

It's weird to contemplate life after college. For me, it will probably involve more school, but things will be different. Life in grad school is not like undergraduate life from what I hear. It is interesting to talk to my friends who have already graduated. Some decide to travel the world, others settle down in one place. Some have jobs, others are still looking. Some decide to get married, and others are comfortably single (or uncomfortably). Life after college is an infinite cloud of possibility, so I create artificial plans in order to keep myself from being overwhelmed.

The sad thing about leaving college for me is that you seem to lose a part of your identity. The friends you made may or may not be able to stay in touch with you, but no matter what, the nature of your relationship will change. You are no longer a student, thus you must switch from absorbing information to producing something that is valuable to society (or at least pretending to). I am not saying that I believe learning stops. One of the most encouraging things I have ever heard someone say is that you never stop learning. I'm only saying that the context and nature of the learning will probably change.

But despite all this, leaving college is just a form of change. With change comes a kind of loss, but it is also possible to view this as a kind of gain. I will no longer be a college student, but a (who knows) who once was a college student. In a way, I will be both, because there is still a part of me that has experienced college. Change is one of the constant characteristics of life, so it is good to embrace it. Everything is shifting, but we can still enjoy the memories of the past, the beauty of now, and the hope of the future. To quote Kung Fu Panda, a movie I recently saw and admittedly enjoyed:
"The past has already been lost, and the future we cannot grasp. But now.... now is a gift. That is why it is called the present."
How's that for some westernized eastern wisdom? I like it. :-)

Mouse Castrations, Grad School, and Kenya

So, it seems this is going to end up being an actual blog, rather than a creative writing outlet.
In an effort to keep in that spirit, though, I am going to write the first part of this update as if it was a novel.

It was 12:49pm on Tyler's digital clock. As the 49 changed to 50, his heart jumped. He was going to perform a surgery today, and unlike last time, the mouse had to live. As he walked out of the house, he noticed his housemates playing Super Smash Brothers. He wished that he could just kick back and relax with them instead of doing what he had to do. Then he remembered that he didn't even like video games. As he got on his bike and headed to class he mentally prepared himself for the surgery, reviewing the steps in his head. "Inject the mouse in the peritoneal cavity at a concentration of 0.01 mL/g...shave the mouse from the penis to the base of the ribcage... sutures should be made at the base of the testis... tuck the fat pad back into the body cavity..."

He arrived at the Animal Science Teaching Facility 10 minutes before class began. In the last 10 minutes, he reviewed the procedure to make sure he wasn't missing anything. Finally, the minute hand ticked over to 1:10pm. The TA started to speak.
"Ok class, we are going to perform the survival surgery today..." he began, speaking in a soft Sri Lankan accent. He continued on in this fashion until he said something that made Tyler simulataneously horrified and relieved.
"If you are either on the waitlist, or did not complete the practice surgery, I ask that you do not participate in the survival surgery. We have a moral obligation to minimize the harm done to these animals..."
Now Tyler was faced with a dilemma. Last time, he had only removed one testicle. Technically that meant that he had not completed the surgery. Perhaps the mouse only had one testicle to begin with. On the other hand, he didn't want to injure the mouse or screw it up like last time. But he wanted to prove himself...
"Ok class, castrations on this side, vasectomies on the other side."
In the end, Tyler decided to tell the TA he had not completed the surgery, and so he was able to watch someone else do it. He still felt disappointed in himself though, because he didn't have a chance to prove to himself that he could do it. "It seems," he thought, "that life can be seen as a delicate balance between taking risks and considering the consequences of those risks. In this case, I risked looking foolish in front of my classmates in exchange for not taking the risk of injuring an animal."

So that's what happened, if you're interested. There is a part of me that wishes I had gone ahead and risked injuring the mouse, because there was a good chance I would have done a pretty darn good job. But I will never know. Guess I just didn't have the balls this time around. *laughter*

Speaking of risks, I just finished completing my two applications to grad school. I applied to very different programs. The first is a Master of Biotechnology program at Northwestern University in Evanston, Illinois. The second is the Master of Theology program at Fuller Theological Seminary in Pasadena, California. I've noticed that people have one of three reactions to this. They either wonder at the strangeness of applying to such disparate schools, they adamantly push one over the other, or they like my plan.

Many of my friends at school tell me that they could definitely see me in seminary. Futhermore they don't think I would be satisfied with a scientific career. Many people in my family tell me that I should pursue biotechnology, especially considering the economy. I had my old boss from Genentech tell me that he could definitely see me doing science. He also told me that I should apply to more science grad programs to even the odds. I agree with him, but I also chose Northwestern's program because it fits me perfectly should I choose to pursue science. At this point, I don't know if I'll even be accepted at either school. I know that I am passionate about both, and I don't think that I'll be happy if I only pursue one.

In the midst of all this, I am in the process of applying to participate in a short term mission trip to Kenya. If I go, I will spend the month of August living in an isolated Kenyan village. The team will be providing medical supplies, health seminars and construction work for the villagers, in addition to a Vacation Bible School. The trip is pretty expensive, so I have to raise support. As part of the application, I had to list the names of 80 people that could potentially support me. That was quite a harrowing task. I didn't realize I even knew 80 people. In any case, I would really like to do this. It would be cool to be able to serve people in both a physical and spiritual sense. I hope God wills that I go.

Surgery

So this is the first post that could actually be considered a legitimate blog entry. I had what I consider a fairly significant experience today, so I thought I would share it with the online community.

Today, I performed my first, and hopefully penultimate, surgery ever. The penultimate part will make sense later. Of course, the surgery was on a mouse, and I botched it horribly. It was actually quite a sobering experience. What happened, you ask?

Well, the surgery was a castration, so had the mouse lived he would never have had babies again thanks to me. But since the mice were going to be euthanized anyways, the fact that he would not reproduce was a little irrelevant. Things started out well. After some chasing around the cage, and help from my classmate who assisted me, I was able to grab the mouse and keep him steady enough to aenesthetize him. He became immobile fairly quickly, and so I began the surgery. Let me tell you, I am so grateful that the poor mouse was scheduled to be euthanized after being subjected to my inexperienced hands. After fumbling around with his viscera for an inordinate amoung of time, I was able to remove one testis. At this point, though, the mouse started to regain consciousness! Luckily the TA was able to anesthetize him before he regained full consciousness, but he was twitching for a while until he was immobile again. The pained expression of my classmate assistant as the mouse jerked about is still uncomfortably vivid in my mind. To top it all off, I couldn't find the second testis! So my mouse still had one ball when I stiched him up. Furthermore, the castration was the simple surgery. Half of the class did the vasectomy, which was way harder. I couldn't even find the Vas Deferens in all that mess. I think I'm going to have nightmares about waking up to mice performing a botched castration on me!

Next week, I am going to perform this surgery again, but this time, the mice are not scheduled to be euthanized. The object is for them to live. I have gained a whole new level of respect for people who do this every day of their lives, and quite honestly at this point, I never want to cut up a living thing again. Hopefully I'll be ready to do this by next week, but in the meantime, I am trying to soak up all I can on proper surgical technique. I want my mouse to live, darn it!

I come away from this for an appreciation for the deep-rooted desire for life that we all share, and the profound feeling that though we may feign to play God, we are as blind worms when it comes to our understanding of His creation. Of course, I also learned that I am a bad surgeon. But who knows, maybe I'll get better!