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SPEND LESS, GIVE MORE p.6 | FINDING CHRISTMAS p.12 CRAFTY CHRISTMAS DIY p.20 | and MORE

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ISSUE:009 DECEMBER 2012

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MUSE — INSIDE MU — 4 BEING AN AFRICAN-AMERICAN IN HIGHER THEOLOGICAL EDUCATION//BRIAN BAILEY

ABOUT US Muse is an online publication produced by the students for the students at Multnomah university. The views Expressed do not necessarily reflect the opinions of Multnomah University Muse is published the first monday of the month during the school year For more information or to submit: Multnomahmuse@gmail.com Editor: Makenzie Halbert kenzie.halbert@gmail.com Designer: Matthew Howen mattmattmatthowen@gmail.com

— FEATURES — 6 SPEND LESS, GIVE MORE//MAKENZIE HALBERT — OPINIONS — 8 OUT OF THE CRIB, ONTO THE BATTLEFIELD//TIM REED 10 HOW TO LIVE ON LESS//MATTHEW HOWEN — PERSPECTIVES — 12 FINDING CHRISTMAS//LISA HEZMALHALCH 14 THE MOST WONDERFUL TIME OF THE YEAR//MAKENZIE HALBERT — ARTS & CULTURE — 16 SEASON’S CORNER//POETRY BY LAURA GRIFFITH 17 THE CLOSET//POETRY BY KIRSTIN WILL 18 MANNA FROM HEAVEN//QUINCY ROBINSON 20 CRAFTY CHRISTMAS//ELIZABETH ANGLIN 22 BREAKFAST WITH BEAU//BEAU STUMBERG 24 LIT SNIP

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Facuty Advisor: Cornelia Seigneur cornelia@corneliaseigneur.com

ELIZABETH ANGLIN

LAURA GRIFFITH

LISA HEZMALHALCH

BEAU STUMBERG

TIM REED

CONTRIBUTORS NOT PICTURED: BRIAN BAILEY//QUINCY ROBINSON//KIRSTIN WILL (CONTRIBUTOR PICTURES/COVER PHOTO BY MATTHEW HOWEN

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y y y y y y y y y y y y y y y y y y y y y y y y y y y PHOTO BY MATT HOWEN

We are almost there. Another semester almost done and a reminder that everything you stressed about and worried wouldn’t get done has indeed been accomplished. Those final papers and exams? Those will also get done. With the close of one semester, another presents itself and we all have the opportunity to correct, improve, and glean as much as possible from the all-too-soon approaching spring semester. My hope for all of you (and myself) is that we enter the spring semester with a fresh energy that allows us to reevaluate what we’re prioritizing. The truth is we are all busy (busier than perhaps we should be), but our busyness, in no way, has to be our focus or the lens in which we approach our lives. I’m sure you’ve heard it, we all have at some point: “You are so busy, how do you do it all?” The fact is, even when we bite off more than we can chew, things still get done. Even when there doesn’t seem to be enough time, there is. Worrying over tasks or talking about how busy we are all the time doesn’t accomplish anything. Sooner or later we come to a point where stress no longer has its place and we simply accomplish what needs to be accomplished. So when people ask how you manage to juggle it all the answer is simple: like everyone else, you just do.

Being more busy than the next person doesn’t make us more important; it doesn’t make us more valuable. However, I think we have a problem in our culture of seeing busyness as a symbol of value, at least subconsciously. Let’s not fill our empty silences with complaints of our hectic schedule, and when others point out our “impossible” schedules, let us defuse it. Our individual commitments are, of course, different than another’s but it doesn’t have to be discussed at length. What’s important is that we remain responsible to the verbal and nonverbal commitments we have made and not waste valuable time talking about there not being enough hours in the day. For a moment let’s return to the fact that as students we all may be more busy than what’s most healthy for us. That’s the reality of the season we are in. Fortunately, we are blessed with an entire calendar month of rest if we choose to use it for that. Rejuvenate, relax, be with people you love. Upon our return to campus my challenge to you for spring semester, dear reader, is to not dwell on or elevate busyness. Accomplish the tasks before you and do them well. Rest well in the month approaching. Until January, Makenzie Halbert

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BEING African-American <<<<<<<

=========== BEING AN AFRICAN-AMERICAN

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Higher IN

HIGHER THEOLOGICAL EDUCATION

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theological education BY BRIAN BAILEY

PHOTO BY MATT HOWEN

I am one semester away from earning my Master’s degree in Biblical Studies, and the prospect of doctoral work is both exciting and daunting.

As I fill out online applications and peruse the faculty of each institution, there is a reoccurring trend: the noticeable absence of minorities in general and African-Americans in particular. Out of 309 faculty members to the four schools I am applying to (this includes Multnomah as well as my undergraduate institution, so six schools total), 33 of those faculty are minorities. Of those 33 minorities, ten are AfricanAmerican. That is a little more than 3 percent (if my math is correct). This reality leads me to ask three questions: Does evangelical academia, as a whole, believe that higher theological education is a predominantly white profession? Do they believe that only Caucasians are able to produce exceptional research, add to the scholarly community and think deeply about theological and biblical issues? The more dreadful question I ask myself is: because of the lack of African-American’s in undergraduate, graduate and postgraduate theological education, does the African-American community believe that these things should be left to middleaged, middle-class Caucasians? With teaching at the graduate or undergraduate level in mind, I have had to wrestle with these questions within myself during my seminary experience.

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The conclusion I have come to is one that cannot deny either. In my experience, I have had to search for a committed biblical academician of my own race. During my time at both of the higher education institutions I have attended, there have been a handful of black students. Some graduated, others dropped out. I know of only two black students pursuing doctoral degrees in theology currently (and I am one of them). In addition to this, during my education, the only encouragement I have ever received to continue on in my education to doctoral studies has come from my Caucasian instructors. Never once was I encouraged to strive for an academic career by anyone from the African-American community (other than those in my family). Instead, some form of pastoral or lay ministry is what they would suggest for me (not that pastoring is any less worthy than teaching). As an African-American, this troubles me. Again, it leads me to question whether the lack of blacks in post-graduate seminary positions is an indicator of its value and worth amongst the black community. Or is it an indicator that we actually do believe that such work should be undertaken by Caucasians? The other side of the issue, from the statistics alone, does make one wonder if there is some form of bias. Of the 10 African-Americanâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;s mentioned earlier, only three held some form of a position in which they taught theology or biblical studies. This leaves me to wonder if there is a need to open the doors of Christian academia in order to not only bring balance for statistics sake, but for the purpose of encouraging more minorities (like myself) to strive for and pursue doctoral work in the area of theology and biblical studies. As I wrote in my previous article (Mixture does not Mean Relationship), I see this issue as one that must become important to both groups. The black community must become much more proactive in encouraging young, black students in their abilities to succeed in this field. It must become a value to us as a community. On the other hand, academia must become proactive in its investment and invitation of minority students. It must become important to them. As I scramble to complete all my applications, I am excited at the possibility of studying the scriptures at the highest level, but also I am saddened at the reality that I will be the rare exception and not the norm. This must change. Brian Bailey, Masterâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;s in Biblical Studies, Emphasis in New Testament.

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GIVE MORE RECASTing CHRISTMAS BY MAKENZIE HALBERT

Christmas is a celebration of the birth of the savior of the world, a birth that changed the course of history and the lives of men and women forever. It would stand to reason that this celebration wouldn’t consist of giving that only adds to the already-excessive possession of material goods that marks our culture. Isn’t it odd that the American traditions of the holiday often perpetuate a culture that stands in contradiction to the very message of the one whose birth we are celebrating? As Christians, maybe it’s time we reevaluate the way we do Christmas, spending less, giving with more intentionality, and truly shifting our focus. The Advent Conspiracy is a movement committed to “turning Christmas upside down.” They speak out against the consumerism that has plagued our nation and plagued the holiday, as well as providing resources to give to those truly in need and be a part of something bigger. Their plan for the recasting of Christmas is simple: Worship fully. Spend less. Give more. Love all. http://adventconspiracy.org/ Imago Dei Community, a local Portland church, was an instrumental visionary behind the cause to revise Christmas in the American church, seeking to restore meaning to the holiday season. Their reasoning for their partnership with The Advent Conspiracy is stated on their website: “What was once a time to celebrate the birth of fffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffff

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a savior has somehow turned into a season of stress, traffic jams, and shopping lists. And when it’s all over, many of us are left with presents to return, looming debt that will take months to pay off, and this empty feeling of missed purpose.” http://imagodeicommunity.com/blog/ advent-conspiracy/advent-conspiracy-whats-it-all-about/ Imago Dei has taken the message of the Advent Conspiracy and found practical solutions for spending less and giving more. They host an annual do-it-yourself fair where members of the community can come, not to buy, but to be inspired. Booths are set up alongside tables of delicious food and warm beverages while hundreds of people walk around collecting tutorials and ideas for homemade, simple, and heartfelt gifts to give to their friends and family. It’s a small step towards the upheaval of the Consumer Christmas that we have all grown accustomed to, but it’s proved effective. I was able to attend the DIY fair this year as well as host a booth. The number of people that came and showed fervent interest in the wide array of crafty (as well as not-so-crafty, there is no reason to be intimidated) gift ideas was astounding. There was everything from creatively potted plants to handmade cards, homemade beauty products to at-home smoked bacon. There was something for everyone no matter your level of hand-craftiness. People were excited, not only about the step away from consumerism, but about the fulfillment that comes from making something, taking time and not money, and giving it to someone out of love and generosity instead of necessity or tradition. I experienced this response firsthand as I spoke with numerous people who came to my booth to learn how to make crocheted accessories for their loved ones. I was blown away by the startling enthusiasm of the women who spent time at my booth. I say women because most the people who came to my booth were women as I was offering a tutorial for a gift primarily for women, however there were a few men as well. In fact, a couple of Imago Dei pastors excitedly observed my instruction and example, eager to try their hand at crocheting and make gifts for their wives. No matter your gender - you need not be afraid of getting crafty! As college students we are often brought to the solution of homemade, simple gifts out of financial necessity but we shouldn’t allow that trend to stop with graduation. Reexamine how you spend your resources, both in the holiday season and beyond. Take advantage of the resourceful, do-it-yourself culture of the city you currently live in. Give in a way that serves as a picture of the profound impact and revolutionary change brought about by the birth of Christ. Makenzie Halbert, Senior, English Major

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PHOTOs BY MATT HOWEN

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“Today I defy the ranks of Israel!... Am I a dog that you come at me with sticks?“ “Religious Myth #3: Believers are open-minded. Believing in God and other supernatural beings doesn’t mean you are open-minded. It just means you lack knowledge in the subjects of science, critical-thinking, and human belief. While most religious people adamantly believe the same things over a lifetime, most non-believers revise their points of view when provided with new evidence that disconfirms what they originally thought.” These words stared at me from my laptop screen, found as I was absentmindedly web-surfing last week and stumbled upon an atheist humor website. In fact, the subtitle of the website states, “They’re your beliefs, I’m surprised you don’t laugh at them too.” I believe that humor reveals values, fffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffff

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and I was grieved to read through the website and dig into some of these secular values. I found a great deal of hate and lies all directed towards the target of Christianity -- ultimately directed at us. We have a lot more to fight out there today as Christians than we ever have before, and never before has it been more important for us to engage in the fight. And yet, never before have we engaged this fight less. When we get out of our “perfect” Bible college with its little theological squabbles, we encounter a minefield of ideas and values that seek to debilitate us. People associate us with ignorance. They associate us with hate, fear, hypocrisy, cults, and phonies. We are identified as the “anti-intellectual, anti-science freak show; the abstinence obsessives, the flat-earthers, homeschoolers, the holy warriors, the anti-women social Neanderthals, the closeted homosexuals, and every end-timer who sees the Virgin Mary in the grass over the septic tank.” You see, the culture out there isn’t neutral or kind to Christians - it is hostile. That’s the state of affairs. You think this stuff is exaggerated? Try getting out a little bit and getting your finger on the pulse of the world out there. I know that we try to be engaged in our culture, but the fact is that we still struggle with a large amount of “Ivory Tower” syndrome here in these hallowed halls. Many times I think that we are so bent on discovering the “middle ground” of Christianity and finding what our own personal values will be that we slip into postmodernism. This is fine to an extent, but I think that postmodernism is dangerous. It creeps like a cancer that eats away at its host until there’s nothing left but the disease. It corrodes our beliefs until we are too weak and ineffective to stem the tide that seeks to destroy us. If we aren’t careful, it will render us totally useless for advancing the cause of Christ in this generation. Young David was faced with the same thing in God’s word. As he stood at the edge of the battle lines, he saw the giant Goliath, towering above all of the ranks of Israel. Goliath was big, loud, and a proven champion. He spread lies ahead of him and blasphemed the Living God. And yet, David didn’t stand by and cower in his tent like his brothers did. Rather, he held aloft the sword of truth, engaged the enemy, and emerged victoriously. We face the same option today as David did. We could be like his brothers or like the other ranks of Israel, who allowed fear or apathy to overwhelm them and force them into uselessness. They were willing to compromise with the enemy and allow the Name of God to be blasphemed. They were unwilling to meet the battle where it was drawn--the battle for Truth. Sure, they were on the battle lines, but they did nothing to further the cause of the Kingdom. Or, we could be like David. We could hide in the chapel, or we could partner with Christ and wield the Truth that He gave us for such a time as this. We could provide a competent apologetic. We could live a genuine Christian life. We could be the Church that engages the world around us. We could be the men and women of Christ that shape the future and help build the Kingdom without borders.We could, you and I, stem the tide that aligns itself against the cause of Christ. The battle lines have been drawn. You step from this campus into a net of lies and poison, aging and brewing for thousands of years for one purpose - to destroy you. So suit up! It’s a battlefield out there. Tim Reed, Sophomore, Intercultural Studies/Mission Aviation fffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffff

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SBB B B B B B B BT mbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbn H OW T O L I V E

ON LESS BY M AT T H E W H OW E N

Two years ago I decided to stop using shampoo for the rest of my life (maybe).

Baking soda, my coolest friends told me, is a reasonable alternative that is both effective and surprisingly cheap. By mixing baking soda and water, one can create a simple version of an expensive thing. According to the internet, there has never once been an instance of shampoo costing less than baking soda. As a Christmas gift, from me to you, I would like to tell you all about the way I clean my hair. Create a concoction of water and baking soda (1pt baking soda, 10 pts water). This is a great natural cleaner/shampoo alternative. Then, if you want to get fancy, mix another concoction of water and apple cider vinegar, a great conditioner substitute and also less expensive than traditional conditioner (1 pt ACV, 10 pts water).

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Now I will reveal the structure of my financial reasoning: If shampoo costs this much, and it produces this,

($2-10 a bottle) (clean, attractive, healthy hair)

and baking soda costs way less, ($2 for enough for a year) and it produces this, (clean, attractive, healthy hair) then, I’m never going to buy shampoo for the rest of my life. Here are my money stats: I would regularly buy the cheapest shampoo I could find (maybe $3), in the standard size (generally 12-14 oz), every 1-2 months, depending on how good I wanted to look. This means anywhere from $18-36 a year would be spent on hair fashion. Compare this with the $2 baking soda cost: $16-34 dollars of savings! By estimating the average amount saved, $25 a year, I have calculated that if I use baking soda instead of shampoo and live for another one hundred years — which I will due to future advancements in science — I will save about $2500. And on top of that, with inflation, I’ll have saved, who knows, maybe $1,000,000. But there is actually an important principle at the core of this article. I think it’s the principle that the average American thinks that he or she must do what has always been done. You don’t need to use shampoo to clean your hair. Nearly everyone who I’ve told about my baking soda lifestyle has given similar responses: “but don’t you need to use shampoo?” — or — “isn’t that not as good as shampoo?” — or — “baking soda and water aren’t gooey, does it actually clean your hair if it’s not gooey?” — or — “only in Portland.” I have determined that there is one great assumption at the base of all these questions: since they sell shampoo to clean hair, we must use shampoo to clean hair, what else would work to clean hair? This article is about more than shampoo vs. baking soda, it’s about living a life based, not on cheap societal standards (like shampoo washed hair), but on what actually works. In my most cynical moments I think that shampoo companies want to enslave people by creating a need for their largely unnecessary product. In other, less cynical moments I tend to think that the lesson of the baking soda is a pretty trivial example of the important principle of living on less. Matthew Howen, Senior, English

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FINDING CHRISTMAS

BY LISA HEZMALHALCH

PHOTO BY MATT HOWEN

Nat King Cole’s album, The Christmas Song, is by far my favorite Christmas album in the whole world. The moment I hear the bright and hypnotic string introduction of the first song I’m transported to a time long ago when the whole family would gather together at my Grandparents’ house on Christmas morning. Nat would sing to us while we ate, laughed, and opened presents – and there was never a shortage of food, laughter, or gifts. The internal warmth I gained from being with family, as well as the roaring fireplace, seemed to last for weeks after our Christmas morning celebration. The joy from those times together made Christmas my favorite holiday. But even though Nat kept singing to us every Christmas, the warmth of those mornings began to wane. I was 10 when my grandma died and since she was the activity director for all things Christmas, our traditions quickly died with her. Despite her death and the change in our traditions, I tried to keep Christmas in my heart every year no matter what it looked like. However, divorce, more death, moving away from family, and extreme poverty challenged my love for the holiday that I had once held so dear.

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In fact, Christmas hit a low point about three years ago as I spent the morning alone with my Mom who was about to have a surgery that we didn’t know if she would recover from. We talked about the good old days and what life might look like should that day be our last Christmas together. She left that afternoon and I spent hours alone in my house sobbing my eyes out. Most traumatic Christmas ever! Thankfully, my Mom survived her surgery, but the damage to my favorite holiday was done. Every year after that, as the weather would change and Christmas decorations would go up, I grew increasingly anxious the closer I got to December 25th. I would groan internally upon hearing any Christmas music, but especially – especially – when Nat would sing. Every time I heard his voice it was a painful reminder of the Ghost of Christmas Past and how much of a Scrooge I had become. And of course I was a Scrooge! If you knew nothing about Christmas and then read this story you would think that Christmas revolved around some guy named Nat King Cole and that family and gifts were central to the holiday as well. Ha! And therein was my problem. My foundation of Christmas was constructed on circumstances that could change from year to year and very much did. It’s no wonder Christmas became a thing to fear. I had built my gingerbread house on snowflakes instead of on the Rock of Ages. Last Christmas I decided to stop being a victim of Christmas. As the season began I asked Immanuel, God with us, what I should do for Christmas – what we should do for Christmas. I walked into last Christmas on a firm foundation, hand in hand with my Savior and letting him call the shots. He did, and I had a great Christmas! I mean, it still had its hard moments – my Christmas lunch consisted of Panda Express at the beginning of a 4-hour drive from my Dad’s house to my Mom’s house. But I knew that Immanuel was with me, and I finally began to feel joy in my heart again. This time the joy I felt was deeper and more eternal and the warmth I felt didn’t come from my family or a fireplace but the Prince of Peace and the light and life he brings. This gal, who had been walking in darkness, saw a great Light. I managed to pop in Nat’s christmas album during that drive and joined him and the angels in worship of the One born to raise the sons of earth and born to give them second birth. Lisa Hezmalhalch, Graduate Resident Director--North Aldrich, Masters in Counseling

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PHOTO BY MATT HOWEN

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BY: MAKENZIE HALBERT

For me, Christmas arrives only after months of preparation, anticipation, and borderline-aggressive holiday cheer. This isn’t entirely independent; I come from a family that loves Christmas. It may be possible that I am the most avid Christmas-lover of my clan, and it is definitely true that I, over the years, have assumed the role of fervent tradition keeper. When I returned home for my first Christmas since moving away to college, you can imagine my outrage when my mother told me my older sister didn’t put up a Christmas tree or even a shred of holiday decoration. This was unacceptable. Christmas comes but once a year and the tradition and festivities must--they must--be taken full advantage of. Every Christmas Eve that I can remember has been spent attempting to sleep in my older sister’s room as we shared in the enthusiasm of Christmas morning and passed the time watching the same classic movies starring elves and talking animals. Apparently my sister had grown up, this was something she was no longer interested in. Apparently, tradition didn’t matter (let’s recall for a moment that I was 18 years old and pretty convinced of my own maturity).

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My mother gently explained: my sister wasn’t excited about Christmas this year because this was her first Christmas since her painful divorce and the holiday was a reminder of the family that had fallen apart. I wasn’t hearing it. She had victoriously emerged from a messy situation with a strength I had never seen in her, and despite the year’s difficult times, it was Christmastime and everything was going to be fine. Everything could be like it had been every Christmas before she got married, tradition could resume! There was nothing to be upset about and these circumstances certainly did not call for a rejection of the holiday and all its charms. Christmas Eve came and I sat down between my sister and her son (my then-toddler nephew) for our family’s annual crab feast. This, I had thought, was one of my sister’s favorite family traditions yet she sat through the meal not saying much, seemingly disinterested. Mid-way through the feast she got up grabbing her coat, her son, and her car keys. I was reminded: joint custody. My mom suggested I accompany my sister to the agreed-upon, neutral location where my sister would leave her son with his father so he could spend the rest of the holiday with his family. The drive was quiet and slow as snow began to fall on the freeway, allowing time for the scope of my naivety and insensitivity to set in. My sister and I pulled into a parking lot and waited in silence. A blue SUV pulled up and my sister reluctantly got out of her car, pulled my nephew from his car seat, and handed him to his father. We watched her son drive away on the night that had always meant for our family a time to be together. The drive back to the family party was again, quiet. My sister fought back tears, but I, with my recent self discoveries, was not quite as strong. It didn’t matter to her that our family was together and that we would be engaging in all the same things we had done throughout the year, her family was in pieces and Christmas served only as a painful reminder of this. My Mom commented last year that I have “calmed down a bit” with my tradition keeping, crediting my assumed maturity. I credit that night, my humbling encounter with the truth that other people’s problems--broken families, painful memories, and constant reminders of both--make my frustrations about Christmas decorations seem incredibly insignificant. Some things are more important than tradition. Christmas at my house has since changed and even though every other year Christmas Eve promises the same painful exchange, this year, my sister put up a tree. Makenzie Halbert, Senior, English Major

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Season’s Corner When the Starbuck’s cups turn red With the smell of pumpkin bread Then Christmas is just around the corner When the air turns crisp and cold And the stores have tinsel, gold Then Christmas is just around the corner When peppermint fills the air When we all have joy to share Then Christmas is just around the corner When the bells ring at the door When there’s a sparkling tree in the store Then Christmas is just around the corner Laura Joy Griffith, Sophomore, English Major

PHOTO BY MATT HOWEN

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The Closet I sit in the closet alone My hopes and dreams My fears and tears The door is locked, barricaded No one else can enter here I sit here to think But mostly to weep and wish for the Day That wonderful day When I will go HOME When no one can hurt me When all is set right But while I wait, I cry My tears flow When no one will know how badly I want to get away I am chained by sorrow I am weighed down by knowledge Knowledge that others can hurt you with impunity So I retreat Back into the shadow, the comforting darkness Where there is no criticism, no weakness in tears I sit in my closet alone, hiding from the world In my closet, I am safe I can be me The weak broken girl The terrified child Not a strong woman In no way a warrior In my closet, there are no people Alone in my closet I wear no mask I am free within my little box I have a good mask A strong barricade protects my closet I alone hold the key Will anyone even try to break down the door? Kirstin Will, Freshman, Intercultural Studies Major

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manna

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Heaven

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PHOTO BY MATT HOWEN

“And had rained down manna upon them to eat, and had given them of the corn of heaven.” (Psalms 78:24). Many scholars have speculated about what this secret food was; bread, wafers, some kind of honey comb bread? The reality is that we just don’t know… but I do! I have discovered this secret food from heaven given to the Israelites of old. See, many are much like myself before experiencing the glory of the “manna”, saying in your heart that the falafel is sufficient for one’s palate, and for a while this was my naïve inclination. But there is more than pita and chick peas; I have found what scholars have been trying to understand for years, I have tasted the heavenly gift and it is called Shawarma. It is my theological conviction that Shawarma was the hidden manna given to the Israelites, now to be shared with the Gentiles. The Shawarma is the beautiful unification of both the pita and meat, with a choice of either beef or chicken, never excluding the power of the humus, along with flavored onions and sauces. Once you have gripped the weight of the glory in your hands, filled with juicy meat and flavored hope that can alone satisfy the empty soul that is your stomach, you enter into paradise. However, you may begin to wonder: how much? fffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffff

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Let me encourage you my brothers and sisters, its cost is no more than 5 American dollars (which is 20 Shekel), but even though its price may seem cheap, its value is unrivaled by anything except that of bacon and the Good News itself. See my brothers and sisters, this is the manna from heaven. “Oh taste and see…” that the Shawarma is good; let the juice flow down your mouth as the oil fell from Aaron’s head down to his beard. Let your stomach be filled, never to hunger again for a falafel or any other meal that falls short of the glory of the Shawarma. Shawarma has become so popular amongst us students here at Jerusalem University that we created a Sanhedrin, where we are to create doctrines around the Shawarma. Here are a few of them: — Falafel intake is not to exceed, nor equal the Shawarma intake — If Falafel intake exceeds that of the Shawarma intake, s/he is to eat at least one Shawarma in company of two or three witnesses belonging to the Sanhendrin. We have also been working on our eschatology: Shawarmagedon. The last month of the last week of the last day we are to eat Shawarma for every meal. I know this may sound a little extreme but many of us aren’t ones to talk about believing in extremes (remember parting the sea?). Last but certainly not least, we have reconstructed the five points of Calvinism in exchange for the precepts of Shawarmaism. ­ Total dependency on Shawarma — — Unconditional Pita — Limited Falafel — Irresistible Shawarma — Persuasion of the Saints (we must get everyone to eat Shawarma.) So there you have it, an answer of what manna truly was. I hope to see all of you in Portland soon; I have been learning an awful lot from school, work, and the Lord. Be blessed and forever be filled with Shawarma. Quincy Robinson, Junior, Greek/Hebrew Major

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PHOTO BY MATT HOWEN


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Crafty Christmas: POM-POM GARLAND DIY

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Materials: Scissors Yarn 1. While yarn is still attached to the yarn ball, wrap it around your four fingers many times. You can estimate how many times to wrap based on how full you want your pom-pom to be.

2. Using your scissors, cut the end of the strand from the rest of the yarn ball. You can now remove the yarn from your fingers and set it aside, but make sure it stays in a bundle

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3. Cut a small piece of the same color yarn (about 4 or 5 inches long), and tie it tightly around the center of your yarn bundle.

4. Slide one blade of your scissors into the loops of one side of your bundle and snip them in half. Do the same with the other side.

5. Now you can use your fingers to fluff your pom-pom into a more spherical shape. 6. Repeat steps 1-5 as many times as you want, and in as many colors as you want (I did red and white for Christmas). 7. Cut a strand of yarn to whatever length you want your garland to be.

8. Using the ends of the strand that you used to tie the center of the pom-pom, tie each pom-pom tightly to the garland strand, spacing them in an aesthetically pleasing manner. You can slide them around on the yarn to space them out well.

9. Hang your finished garland to add Christmas cheer to any room!

Elizabeth Anglin, Sophomore, TESOL Major

PHOTOs BY ELIZABETH ANGLIN

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BREAKFAST4

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with Beau

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The Country Cat PHOTO BY MATT HOWEN

As the official breakfast writer/hunter for Multnomah University I have to officially recant for a statement I made in my previous breakfast review. Although 82nd may seem like a black hole for breakfast spots, I have found an oasis in the desert. The Country Cat on Stark, only three blocks from 82nd and a mere mile from campus, is a spot I had walked past many times on my way to Bipartisan Café or the Academy Theater, but never gave it much notice. From the outside it looks like a bar out of a movie made in the 1960’s; the inside looks pretty similar, but with a country-kitchenmeets-Portland vibe. Unlike many of the restaurants I have reviewed, The Country Cat is not a bakery, but rather a restaurant that serves a mean southern style brunch.

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If you have never been to one of the many popular breakfast spots around Portland for brunch you are truly missing out. Before I moved to Portland I had never heard of showing up to a restaurant before it opened to get a spot, but in a city that loves breakfast, being early is key. Upon showing up at around 8:45 (which is late for many breakfasters), we stood under the awning watching cars splash through Stark and the grey sky shift directions with the breeze. The group of people waiting for the restaurant to open grew as nine oâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;clock approached. The door opened and the crowd flooded in, filling almost every seat before there was even one mug of coffee poured. Menus were passed out and the bustle began. Upon examining the menu I was whisked back to my southern roots and the deep-fried, grits-loving, Alabama country kitchen of my memories. Yet the tasty morsels before me were distinctly different than the specimens that still crawl in my arteries from my travels to Alabama. There was a local freshness that could be tasted by simply reading the menu and a Portland twist that was most noticeable in the giant pork diagram drawn on the chalkboard wall. There was pride in this open-air, northwest kitchen. Breakfast sandwiches with porchetta, jack cheese, arugula and aioli, cast iron skillet fried chicken and toasted pecan-bacon spoon bread with maple syrup are among the delectable items on the menu. Barbeque grits and a smoky bacon hash were quickly ordered as the Stumptown coffee filled our mugs. As the food arrived we noticed that although the quality of the food was going to be great the quantity was not as much as we had thought, we did however leave full. As a whole, the experience at The Country Cat was wonderful. Both meals ordered were rich and delicious. The service was polite, the food came quickly, and the coffee was good. I will warn that as a college student it is not a place I would recommend dining regularly as the prices were more spendy than some of the great breakfast alternatives. But if you are looking for comfort food on a rainy Saturday morning and your parents are picking up the tab, then this is a close and delicious alternative. If you have not experienced southern style breakfast in the great northwest, then please do yourself a favor: forget about the calories and go enjoy a delightful breakfast right around the block. Your slightly indulgent breakfast hunter, Beau Stumberg, Junior, Psychology Major (Photos by Michael Mallon and Matt Howen)

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lit snips

Christmas break: a time to relax, enjoy friends and family, and a perfect opportunity to do some reading. Lucky for you dear reader, this month’s Lit Snip is an engaging and thought-provoking piece of dream-like fiction, and a perfect addition to your winter break reading list. Even more convenient, Franz Kafka’s Metamorphosis is but a brief 100 page novella. I challenge you to read the first three paragraphs of the story and to deny any level of curiosity as to what Kafka may be trying to teach us by creating a story that centers around a boy who wakes up one morning as a bug. Whether you’re a reader or not, this story will take you a day to finish and the conclusions to be had are definitely worth it.

PHOTO BY MATT HOWEN

Matthew and Makenzie

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One morning, as Gregor Samsa was waking up from anxious dreams, he discovered that in bed he had been changed into a monstrous verminous bug. He lay on his armour-hard back and saw, as he lifted his head up a little, his brown, arched abdomen divided up into rigid bowlike sections. From this height the blanket, just about ready to slide off completely, could hardly stay in place. His numerous legs, pitifully thin in comparison to the rest of his circumference, flickered helplessly before his eyes. ‘What’s happened to me,’ he thought. It was no dream. His room, a proper room for a human being, only somewhat too small, lay quietly between the four well known walls. Above the table, on which an unpacked collection of sample cloth goods was spread out (Samsa was a traveling salesman) hung the picture which he had cut out of an illustrated magazine a little while ago and set in a pretty gilt frame. It was a picture of a woman with a fur hat and a fur boa. She sat erect there, lifting up in the direction of the viewer a solid fur muff into which her entire forearm disappeared. Gregor’s glance then turned to the window. The dreary weather (the rain drops were falling audibly down on the metal window ledge) made him quite melancholy. ‘Why don’t I keep sleeping for a little while longer and forget all this foolishness,’ he thought. But this was entirely impractical, for he was used to sleeping on his right side, and in his present state he couldn’t get himself into this position. No matter how hard he threw himself onto his right side, he always rolled again onto his back. He must have tried it a hundred times, closing his eyes, so that he would not have to see the wriggling legs, and gave up only when he began to feel a light, dull pain in his side which he had never felt before. Excerpt from Franz Kafka’s Metamorphosis

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MUSE PHOTO BY MATT HOWEN


Muse 009: December Edition