And What Might This Be?

I took an ink blot test on Wednesday. Before you jump to conclusions and assume I've gone off the deep end and been locked away somewhere, let me just say that I did it to get extra credit in my psychology of the offender course. See, if we volunteer to participate in studies that the psychology graduate students do, we can earn extra credit in our psych classes! It's brilliant, really.
Anyway, I volunteered to help out a grad student who was the TA in one of my classes last semester. His name is Jacob and he's very nice (Unfortunately he's married). Jacob needs me to come see him twice and take some routine psychological tests so that he can practice administering them in order to get his degree. Wednesday was my first visit and it proved to be quite interesting. I met him in the psychology clinic at Terrill Hall and he took me into big room with a nice couch, and we began the first part of the testing.
Ok, Claire, first of all, this test is completely anonymous and it's only being used for teaching purposes. Thanks so much for helping me out. I'll need to ask you some routine questions about your background and medical history. Is that ok?

Sure.

Alright. Has anyone in your family ever had a nervous breakdown?

Not one that was ever diagnosed. Hahaha. Oh. Sorry. Um, no.

Any mental retardation in your family?

Nope.

Is there any mental illness?

(I pause for a second and wonder if I should launch into the details of my extended families. Either side of the family would be quite a field day for someone like Jacob) Mmm, no. We're all pretty normal. (I picture my mother's reaction to this and laugh out loud.) Sorry. We're normal. I promise.

At this point Jacob is probably already questioning whether or not he should trust my answers. I made a joke about one question and then randomly laughed out loud during another one. He assured me there was no reason to be nervous, that he wasn't analyzing me. Good to know, Jacob.
After some more boring questions about my performance in school and my social life, we move on to the ink blot test. The official name for this test is the Rorschach Ink Blot Test. There are ten official inkblots. Five inkblots are black ink on white paper. Two are black and red ink on white paper. Three are multicolored. After the individual has seen and responded to all the inkblots, the tester then gives them to him again one at a time to study. The test subject is asked to note where he sees what he originally saw and what makes it look like that. The blot can also be rotated. As the subject is examining the inkblots, the psychologist writes down everything the subject says or does, no matter how trivial.
Now that you know how the test is administered, I can tell you just how awkard yet hilarious this experience was. Every time Jacob handed me a card, he would say And what might this be? It was very difficult for me to keep a straight face. I wanted to use my British accent and say Hmm, yes, quite a quandary this is. What might that be? But I didn't. I took the card from him and stared at the blot. At first I didn't see anything, which made me concerned, so I had a little internal conversation with myself before proceeding.

Should I see something? This only looks like an inkblot to me! Oh my God I'm going to fail the inkblot test. Ok, Claire, be cool. Flip the card over. Maybe then it'll come...

A monster.

Great. A monster? Really? Surely that can't be a good answer. Do better on the next card.

A crab.
A bowl with something sticking out of it.
Oh, that's a bat.
A fountain.
A skyscraper between two cliffs. Duh.
Seahorses.
An angry face. Chuckle.

By the end of the test I felt I'd quite gotten the hang of it. All I had to do was tell Jacob what the blot looked like to me and hand him back the card!

Jacob: Alrighty, Claire, that was perfect. Now here's what we're going to do. We're going to go back through the cards and I'm going to read your answers back to you. I need you to show me on the card where you saw what you did, ok?

Uh oh. I have to explain my answers? Great. He isn't going to see them the way I saw them and then I'm going to fail the inkblot test.

Well, as it turns out, I passed (Everyone passes. It's impossible to fail the inkblot test, though you could come out with unfavorable results. Like being crazy). I was able to convince Jacob of all but the crab. He just couldn't see the crab. I tried. I gestured and I outlined and I told him to squint, but he still couldn't see my crab. But, I figure nine out of ten isn't too bad. Jacob tells me that I am a wonderful test subject and that he'll email my teacher about my extra credit and call me in a couple weeks for my MMPI test.

That's a check yes or no test, and I think I'm better at those. I just can't wait.

And That's My Final Answer

Last night I had to go back to the sorority house for a meeting that I was told would officially cancel my membership in the sorority. I thought I'd already done this, but I showed up anyway. The adviser and the other girls who were in the meeting with me tried for fifteen minutes to convince me to stay in and give it one more shot. Obviously, my mind was already made up, and I apologized and said that I wasn't going to be coming back. The adviser explained that they had recognized some of the problems within the sorority and that they were working on it and that I shouldn't take this decision lightly. Duh. Then the other one said this: "And I mean, you have such a great voice. We'd really hate to lose that."
Seriously?
The only reason this girl gave for wanting me to stick around was the fact that I can sing. They talk about how they stand for good character and integrity and sisterhood, yet they guilt tripped me the entire time, and made it seem like the only reason they even wanted me to come back at all was because I could sing. Well that, and it makes the sorority look bad to have people leave. That meeting solidified my earlier decision to leave.
Although I'm annoyed at how things were handled by the sorority, I'm relieved to be done with everything. I've left the building, and I've taken my great voice with me.

Jenga

We bow our hearts, we bend our knees
Oh, Spirit, come make us humble.
We turn our eyes from evil things,
Oh, Lord, we cast down our idols.

Give us clean hands, give us pure hearts
Let us not lift our souls to another.
Give us clean hands, give us pure hearts
Let us not lift our souls to another.

Oh, God let us be a generation that seeks,
That seeks your face, Oh God of Jacob.

We sang this song during a worship service I went to last night and it's been on my mind ever since. I've always loved this song, but today it bears a new significance in my mind. Really the one line "we cast down our idols" is what my focus has been on.
I have been so convicted lately of the things that I put before the Lord on a daily basis. For a while I let my list of idols stack up and stack up until I had this massive pile of things that were starting to block my view of the Lord completely. He let this go on for a while, allowing me to pick things up and move them around, only to move them again a short while later; it was an ongoing balancing act between me and my stuff.
When the time was right, God came in and simply nudged my pile, sending the whole thing crashing to the ground, my concerns and secrets flying about every which way. What are you doing?! Do you know how hard it is for me to keep everything just where it's supposed to be?! I lashed out, furious at him for what he'd done, and began trying to scrounge everything back up thinking that it would take me forever to get everything put back in its place.
He lifted my chin so that I was facing him. Claire. Of course I know how hard you've worked to keep all this together. But don't you see you're wasting your time? You've missed the mark entirely on this one.
God was trying to explain to me that rather than continue this balancing act I had going on, all I needed to do was forget about all of it and let it fall where it may. I was so focused on my pile of idols that I was starting to lose sight of what was really important in my life.
So here we are, Jesus and I, sorting through this jumbled pile of things. He tells me which things stay and which things have to go. Sometimes I argue with him and clamp onto something, refusing to let him have it. He is patient, and reminds me of who I am and what I really need. Slowly, my grip loosens and I hand it over.
The pile has begun to dwindle, and sometimes this makes me extremely nervous. But it has also brought a sense of peace, for which I am grateful. My pile and I must become smaller, so that Jesus can become larger. That is my goal.