Fans Are Beautiful Things

So I'm sitting at the dinner table with this beautiful invention in front of me: a fan. Since stepping out of my car into Lancaster city, I've been sweaty. Not like the a-little-dark-spot-under-the-armpits-sweaty that makes you consciously remember to not lift your hands up or do the wave in the near future. But more like constantly being in a state of stuffy, hot sweat. Kinda gross, right? Definitely not the ideal scenario to meet people for the first time or to make first impressions. And with people I will be spending six weeks with -- living and breathing and interacting together.

The real sweaty David that probably (alright, definitely) smells is a persona that I'm not crazy about. The persona I want to project is the clean-cut, not sweaty, not smelly, good-looking guy with an easy smile who doesn't wipe his brow every five minutes. But right now, that's not me. That is not the real, true me. I can't avoid my sweat, my grime, my uncleanly state.

This six weeks I'm going to learn a lot. I'm anticipating learning a lot about myself and being confronted with my faults and weaknesses and the dirty, smelly areas of myself. And that sounds nice and good and admirable conceptually. I'm sure when it happens it will be scary and confusing and not particularly fun. But it's true and I'll grow.

Jesus, help me be brave enough to engage myself these six weeks.

P.S. Mom and Dad -- I totally forgot to text you that I arrived safely in Lancaster. So I'm here!