Sincerely Sophi

Let me paint you a picture. It's a Friday night and 23 theatre kids trickle into Woodmar theatre dressed in an array of 80s clothing, from neon bodysuits to 'authentic period' sneakers and sweatshirts.  It is the night of the 80s dance at George Fox University. Student activities members hang slinkies and disco balls from the ceiling of the EHS atrium while actors fill up water bottles and stretch.  In addition to it being the 80s dance, it is a choreography rehearsal for Oliver! The Musical on the third floor of EHS/Woodmar. And the cast is amping up for the night of dancing and singing "Oom Pa Pa"...(if you don't know the song already, look it up and you'll understand the hype).  The first hour of rehearsal is mostly normal, other than the occasional sound from the hall as the dj sets up.  On our first break, actors sprint downstairs to get water and take a photo in our 80s jazzercise outfits before the hordes of students rush in to dance the night away.

It's strange. There is often a tension I feel with my writing between needing to share it with every person I know and wanting to crawl in a hole and cry before anyone ever reads it.  I don't feel this with all writing. Academic essays, for example, can feel a tad scary to share, especially with my peers whom I (unfairly) place on a pedestal of academic success and intellectual thought. However, I usually hold far less intimate relationships with my rhetorical analysis or honors essay than I do with more personal writing. There is some creativity and a piece of me that exists in these pieces, for sure. But the form of academia seems to remove a layer of vulnerability, and the content tends to stem more from a required prompt than from the wonders of my soul.  But there are other kinds of writing...the vulnerable stuff. The honest stuff. The stuff that I wrote from a very real experience–in the middle of tears or angry questioning.  I finish writing this kind of work and it is l

     "Laundry Day"  It's a term I've heard thrown around my whole life.  For some, it's the exact day and time they make their way to the laundry room to wash their clothes every single week like clock work. It is a routine that becomes a ritual.  They carry their simple load of dirty laundry from the week in a basket, or perhaps in one of those cool laundry backpacks, to the hopefully unoccupied laundry room. And they go about their laundry process, returning exactly 36 minutes later when their timer has gone off to switch it to the dryer, being sure to pull out anything particularly delicate to hang dry on their little white rack that they keep in their closet.  An hour passes and they return once again to the laundromat to pick up their dry clothes and return to their bedroom where they immediately sort, hang, fold and put away the clean laundry. Perhaps on “laundry day” they are wearing one of their least favorite outfits, but it is still relatively put togeth

There's something about the rhythm of a coffee shop.  Each one is different. Unique. Some are just the right atmosphere for studying, others for long conversations with friends.  Coffee shops create a beautiful space for encounter with God. They create space for community. And in community, I see God. Or when by yourself, they foster a space to be reflective. Or even simply to be extra aware of being by yourself, and thus notice God in the absence of others.  Also, coffee shops have baristas. Beautiful humans with the gift of encouragement and conversation. They have the special opportunity to fill a physical need (for caffeine) but also, an emotional and spiritual need for human connection. For smiles and joy and thoughtfulness. Even in brief interactions.  I have truly seen God in my interactions with baristas.  Last year, a sweet Coffee Cottage barista Naomi, asked me how my day was going. I smiled (extravert that I am, thrilled to being having a conversation with a new human).

(the following blog post must be read in a cockney accent...)  'Ello Govna!!!   (Friends and readers), At Fox we recently began rehearsals for the classic musical Oliver! Based on the Charles Dickens novel, Oliver Twist .  The play takes place in London and as most of the characters are poor, working class folks (or pick pockets) speaking in a cockney accent comes with the territory.  With just 5 weeks to prepare our accents before opening, the start of a new social experiment is born... How many times can we speak in an accent in our day to day lives...? ...How do the words we say every day sound when chewing the diphthongs in syllables and bringing the sound forward in our mouths?  What might our voice lessons be if we sang "Welche Wonne" or "Do Ve Sei" in a cockney accent?!  What if we showed up to class to discuss journalism, American literature, or Faith and Art in our bright big accents? Of course ... These ideas are slight exaggerations and most of us don

  Hello friends, I have been asked by my Studies in Writing professor to answer the question of how to define success in terms of my writing. In order to do that, I think I first must define the purpose of my writing. Who is my writing for? What is my writing for? I am currently reading Art and Faith by Mokoto Fujimura for my theatre ministry class. (More on my experience with this book and class to come, I'm sure, because I am feeling enraptured by these conversations about the interaction of art and faith in my life.) All that to say, today we spent over an hour talking about this quote from the book:   “our Creator gives us a mandate, despite our brokenness: to create in, through, and for love.” If God is love, then this statement is saying I am commanded to create in, through, and for God. In my art, my writing and my theatre, this means I am creating IN the presence of God. I am creating THROUGH God by creating with the materials God has given me. I am partaking in His creati

 There's a certain energy about audition week. The buzz of nerves and the anticipation of walking into room of empty chairs and putting on a 32 bar performance that you will (hopefully) be proud of.  Friends in sweatpants pile into each other's apartments or empty classrooms to squeeze in moments of rehearsal on late nights or in between classes.  Every conversation somehow seems to turn to ...auditions . "Who will be who?" "Are you auditioning?" "Oooo you should audition!" " Wanna rehearse? " Theatre makers scratch down verbs on the lyrics of their sheet music while humming the tune softly. Some, like myself, forget there are those not in the world of music and find themselves doing lip trill exercises walking down the quad, or singing their song in the Ross hallway only to come upon someone cleaning the building.  Homework is forgotten. Anticipation builds. And nervous theatre students drill their professors on what auditions look like