So I enrolled in this poetry class for fall semester. First day of class, I knew I'd come home: the professor had little pictures of aesthetically pleasing birds and plants and lanterns all over the syllabus for no reason at all. And she attempted a one-word-per-slide Powerpoint, but then explained to the class that she wasn't very technologically advanced and didn't care much for Powerpoints anyways (we had only gotten through one slide when this came up). Perfect, right?It's so wonderful, but I'm quickly seeing that this class is bringing me places I did not plan on going and unlocking little safe parts that I didn't plan on unlocking. I thought it would be fairly simple - go to class, read some poems, go to my dorm, write some poems. I would insert some clever and witty diction every so often, and that would be that. But really, things have been coming out that I didn't even know existed down there in the bottom of my mind. I'm loving it and hating it as it's surfacing things that I need to deal with and be honest with myself about, but it's completely engrossing at the same time. I'm discovering a really hardened and compact place that needs to be broken, and that hurts. Instead of picking away at the pebble chips on the surface, this class (or more directly, the Lord) has handed me a sledgehammer. I know there will be all sorts of grace and redemption and loving from His side so I can only assume this unsettling and ruffling of my spirit is natural. Why would I need grace-love if that perfectly sinful part of me wasn't blasting to the surface, per usual? I think my spiritual poverty is turning from black/white to color very quickly. Needless to say, I'm still a bit insecure about what these poems look like, but if anything, it's started the blog-flow again. Have missed this a little.