Adventures in Shaving

When I was maybe a sophomore in college, I went out with a bunch of my SAI sisters to Cold Stone after a meeting and one of the sisters starts telling this story about how she had just shaved her legs and needed someone else to feel how smooth they are and ended up calling an ex-boyfriend of hers and... you know how that is. This story was then followed by a complete reenactment of her dance audition to be a cast member on a Disney cruise, in the middle of the Cold Stone lobby. I tell you this so that you have context for the story to follow as I take my place in the proud tradition of sisters sharing more information than is maybe necessary, but just as much information as is pertinent to the amusement of others. With that in mind, let me tell you that I shaved my legs this weekend, for the first time since I left. 

Yeah. I know. Let me tell you about it.

There are several reasons why I hadn’t shaved, which I shall enumerate below.

1. You may remember the packing list fiasco way back when. Razors were on the list of items that I could “more than likely buy when I get there”.
2. When I got here, I reserved all pre-bank account spending for the essentials. I pulled out £200 from an ATM using my American debit card and I figured I’d go on a big cosmetics run once my Scottish bank account opened in a week or so.
3. I had to wait until I had my BRP (basically, my permanent visa for the year, not just my entry clearance) until I could put in the paperwork for a bank account. I couldn’t get that until September 20th.
4. I went to the RBS branch nearest campus, which was swarmed with students. It took them three and a half weeks to open my account.
5. It took a full week after my account was open for my financial aid check to clear. 
6. All of this meant that my big cosmetics run didn’t take place until the last day in October. 

I’m not sure why I stuck to this “wait until you have money” plan- I’ve charged maybe an extra £100 on my credit card than I had planned on in the first place, and I could have just as easily spent some of that money on proper shampoo, conditioner, soap, and razors. I certainly feel more settled now that I have cosmetics that smell more like me as opposed to the stop-gap shampoo and conditioner I bought upon getting off the plane, desperate to no longer smell like I'd been on a plane. But for whatever reason, I waited until now and man, did that have some interesting results.

At first, I was actually pretty excited to be living somewhere where jeans would be the norm and where I would have next to no occasion to show my legs to the world. Not that I’m Victorian about it, just that my legs are nothing to write home about and I'm always ready to cull unnecessary parts of my beauty regimen. Plus, my new bathroom doesn’t exactly offer ample space to work with when shaving and, as I am fond of saying, with complete innocence, there’s a lot of real estate down there. I felt like I was dodging a bullet.

But then I realized that it’s not as frigid here as I expected it to be and that I could have been wearing the one dress or one of the two skirts I brought with me if I wanted. And while yes, I wore them with tights, the tights weren’t exactly necessary for warmth. They were necessary, however, if I wanted to preserve any semblance of my femininity. 

See, my German genes come out primarily in how much hair my body produces. While it’s a benefit when we’re talking about the Disney princess-esque locks that flow from my scalp, it’s less fun when we’re taking about underarm hair or leg hair, both of which I’m fairly certain I could have braided as of Saturday morning. I could feel the hair on my legs move in the breeze when I was wearing shorts in my room, which was not an unpleasant feeling, but also not a feeling that you can openly discuss. Unless you’re a dude. Which, dudes. I get it. I now have an appreciation for why you could prefer shorts even in winter. 

Also, I have weird bald patches on my legs and I’m not sure if I should be concerned about them or thankful for them. 

So, having gone shopping with my newly-recovered cash, I returned ready to take a shower and get down to business (she again said completely innocently). For reference, this is the size of my bathroom:

Itty-bitty living space

It's like I never left the plane.

Clearly, shaving in the shower was not an option. Slightly better was the idea of shaving in the sink, so this is what I endeavored to do. What ensued is what I imagine happens when a teenager finally goes to shave a struggling beard. I had to rinse the razor after each swipe. Pretty soon there were clumps of hair in the sink. I started to worry that I should have invested in a pair of clippers for the first pass. I didn’t think the razor would make it through even one leg. 

I like to think that all my life was preparing me for this moment. Those thirteen years of ballet were not wasted as I balanced on one leg and stretched and twisted and turned to reach opposite sides of my ankles and to get the best possible view of my kneecap, a repeat offender for harboring escapees from the razor. And there was a fair amount of dedication and tenacity required because you haven’t shaved your legs until you’ve waited fifty-two days to get around to that. And I’m going to hazard that there was some physics in there as well, maybe some calculating of the coefficient of static friction of bare feet on a water-soaked bathroom floor. Also some praying. But in the end, I prevailed. I walked out of there with the smoothest legs I’ve had in months and not a drop of blood on the floor. Boo-freaking-yah. 

Now, I’m not one to submit to the patriarchy. I’m a whisky drinking, football watching, action movie loving, change-my-own-tire kind of person and if I wanted to wear my skirts with hairy legs, ain’t no power in the ‘verse that could stop me. But damn, it feels nice to have smooth legs again and toes that don’t look like they could stand in for hobbit feet. It’s a matter of taking control over my appearance. 

I was talking to one of my friends in Sunday School a couple of years ago, shortly after she, her husband, and her preschool son had moved into a new house and she said, “The trick is to unpack the kitchen first. You do that and you can tackle basically everything else.” And I cringed a little internally because a woman, saying that you need to get your kitchen in order? How much more stereotypical can you get? But the more I thought about it, the more it made sense. As the Night Vale novel put it, if you know a place, if it is or has been your home, you’re going to know where the silverware drawer is. It’s a way of getting settled, of knowing where you are, of returning your circumstances to some kind of normalcy. 

I can generally be about some kind of normalcy. 

So, my friends, when you move to a new country and you’re trying to “settle in”, take all the help you can get. Even if that comes in the form of pink razors and bathroom gymnastics. 

Long Story Short

Editor's note: We're going to go a little deep here, and while this might be familiar ground for some, it's not very comfortable ground. I don't have any nice pictures or fun gifs for today, so, if you'd like, you can read this heart-warming post I wrote instead, which features Chris Pratt dancing at the end. 

I remember this guy asking, back in high school, if God could make a rock so big that God couldn't move it. He didn't ask it as a question in class or anything, just as one of those smartass little tricks that we learn when we first question who God is, sitting in an overfull classrooms with a 70's color palette and no windows. And it is a neat trick. Logically, it's impossible for God to create a rock that God can't move because God would be making something that proved that God wasn't omnipotent. But if God can't make that rock, then God's not omnipotent. Either way, there's no way God could be all-powerful.

It's not a question that bothers me anymore. It's so many angels dancing on the head of a pin. It's nonsensical and not useful and, though I'm no philosopher, I'm fairly certain it isn't properly framed. I'm not concerned about the status of God's omnipotence.

Or maybe I am. I remember asking, in college, if God could make a universe with growth and progress but without suffering. If God can do anything God wants, I asked, God, in God's infinite wisdom, could have come up with a better universe than this. One where humans get all the benefits of maturing without all the growing pains. My friend who I was talking to, sitting with me on the quad on a sunny afternoon fading to evening, was convinced that that's not how it works, that this universe was the only way God could have created intelligent humans with free will, which are, after all, the point of creation. God can do anything, but God's still constrained by the laws of nature. My answer at that point in my history (and to an extent, my answer now) is that if that's the case, God shouldn't have bothered.

And that, my friends, is how you stumble into theodicies or ways of dealing with the problem of evil. But no need to stumble into it if you're a theology student- you get to have classes on it! Basically, the problem of evil goes like this: if God is all-powerful, all-knowing, and all-loving, why is there evil in the world? Shouldn't God, as an all-powerful being, be able to prevent it? And if God, as an all-knowing being, knows what's going to happen, wouldn't God head off evil at the pass? And if God's good, why would God allow suffering¹ to exist?

You can say that God allows suffering because that's how we as people grow. If God intervened to stop every difficulty, if everything were easy and we had no problems, then we wouldn't be much more than children, not challenged to engage more deeply with the world. And I'll allow that in our current state, we do seem to need some prodding. But not this much prodding. Not this much pain. There's no reason twenty children need to die when a gunman enters a school. Surely nineteen would have sufficed. Once.

You can say that God did the best that God could. This is the best of all possible universes, as they say. God set it up as good, declared it very good, working within the laws of nature. Even as it breaks, God can't intervene too often because why would you set up the rules if you're just going to break them? So either God's power is limited or God limits God's power in order to let the universe work itself out. And while I like the idea that God would let us determine our own fates, how on earth does God sit by when God knows that all this pain could be fixed with a wave of the divine hand?² 

And besides, if you're going to lay all the pain in the world at the feet of humanity, whose sin brought brokenness into the world and whose inaction allows it to continue, I would submit that maybe God shouldn't have made the world so damn breakable in the first place. Why make a china shop and hand it over to the care of a bull? A lost, scared, confused little bull, just looking for some meaning in the glasswork and figurines that it can't help but knock over at every turn.

There's a bigger question here of how and how much God acts in the universe. Does God act within the laws of nature, sustaining everything and letting it work itself out for the most part? Did God set up the universe and step away, only interacting with it in supernatural ways when God sees fit? Is God something spiritual and undetectable, directing human souls but unable to move mountains? Or maybe God could move the mountains, but God chooses not to, knowingly limiting God's abilities because...

Because why?

Maybe we can't know. You know, maybe life is like the last chapters of Job, where we are reminded that God knows greater things and we should step back in humility and say, "Surely I spoke of things I did not understand, things too wonderful for me to know,"³  and forget Job lost everything he had in light of the fact that God gave him everything back and more and he lived to a ripe old age.

Theodicies aren't questions for people in pain. This is not something you discuss with someone who's grieving. There's a much better way to respond than, "Everything happens for a reason, even if we don't know what that reason is." And despite how angry the problem of suffering makes me, it's also not something I think the church as a whole needs to be worried about. At least, not right now. Why does God do what God does or does not do? As far as I'm concerned, or the answer that I have to settle on is, that's up to God.

What we can do, without ever answering any of these questions, is love each other. Without knowing anything for sure about the origin of the cosmos or the existence and character of God, we can feed the hungry and heal the sick and take care of the poor and the orphan and the widow. We can visit those who are in prison and give shelter and clothes to those who need it. Those of us with voices can speak out for those of us who don't. I know that today, regardless of the courses of the stars above and below me and outside of my personal knowledge of any kind of salvation, I can be kind to the stranger, supportive to my friends and attentive to my family, the lowest bars I have for decreasing sadness in the world.

Maybe God's out there somewhere, making and unmaking boulders to try to prove a point and that's where he's been this whole time. Maybe God is down here, sustaining the saints who run homeless shelters and manage food banks and teach middle schoolers.

Given, the choice, I know which God I want to believe in.

---

 
1 To simplify my thoughts, I replace "evil" with "suffering," specifically, human suffering. I figure we can take human suffering as a test case and expand the definitions as necessary later. Also, I am so sorry in advance for appealing to school shootings in the next paragraph to make a point, but someone recently asked me how the suffering in the world outweighs the good and while I don't know if it does it does, if there's an actual way to measure suffering or goodness, I do know that there are definable pains someone needs to answer for, especially, in my mind, the people or entities that could have done something to stop those definable pains.
 ^↩
2  Jesus is the Christian answer to this problem. Jesus and the New Creation. God's not sitting idly by- God has a plan in motion for the redemption of humanity and all of creation and all the pain that we bring upon ourselves or brought upon ourselves in the Fall and it involves sending God's Son to die on the cross and bringing the world to justice and mercy on the Judgement Day. God doesn't save with a hand-waving trick and God plays a long game. 
 ^↩
3  Job 42:3. I've even got a Bible gateway link for you, if you didn't want to google. 
 ^↩

With Some Help From Starlord

I'm one to believe in lessons taught by the universe, or fate, or God, depending on your view. I tend to think that for many situations, there's a moral to be found, if you're looking for it, a thing that you can learn and apply to future situations. Sometimes we, as humans, don't learn those lessons right away or we learn them, but we fail to apply them to our current situations. This is one of those second ones, I think.

It's like with music. When you're starting out, you see a crescendo on the music and you don't know what to do with this sideways triangle that's missing a side and the director stops everyone, tells them how a crescendo works, practices it, and then asks them to do it. In a perfect world, one music teacher one time would have to teach students what a crescendo means and after that, every other crescendo would start out softly and get louder over the length of the marking in the music. But anyone who's been in any kind of music ensemble knows that this world is patently imperfect.

Now, I'm aware that no one else sees me the way I see myself. That is a lesson I've learned over and over again. The world inside of my head, which contains a substantial section where I analyze how my actions and words must be coming across to those outside of my head, often follows rabbit trails that in no way reflect reality. But I spend so much time on it, I assume it must be true. I assume that everyone else sees a bold, incompetent sucker who's barely holding it together because that section of my brain that analyzes my actions only picks out the actions that support that hypothesis to analyze. I've been told that my brain is mistaken.

I think this current bout of self-doubt stems from the newness of my situation. Again, it's like music. I spent eight years taking flute lessons and I got pretty good at it. I can pick up my flute and sightread most of the music that I'd need to play, maybe spend a couple of minutes on some tricky passages, and it'll all sound passable. When I switched to french horn, I did a whole lot of learning with significantly less practice time and while at the end of those eight years, I could pretty much play anything that needed playing, I'm less confident on horn than I am on flute. The graph of confidence goes down with each instrument depending on how much time I've practiced. My ukulele skills are better than my piano skills are better than my guitar skills are better than my organ skills. I know it's just a matter of practice at this point. All the basic skills and musical intelligence are in the bank, but applying those to new instruments takes time.

So when I'm reading these journal articles and book chapters and essays, I have to remember that I need to practice reading. John and Hank Green talked about that on their podcast last week- critical reading is a skill and you have to practice, or it gets rusty. And while I have all the time management, study skills, and critical thinking down from, you know, sixteen years of school, I'm applying them in new ways and that takes practice. It takes time. I'm not going to be automatically good at it. And that need for practice doesn't say anything about my intelligence or my value as a person. It just means that I have to practice.

The kicker here is that I'm the only one undervaluing myself because of that need for practice. I'm the only one who thinks I'm the dumbest dumb-dumb to ever dumb.¹ Everyone outside of my head has been incredibly supportive, seeing things in me that I typically gloss over. And the lesson I've learned that I have to apply again here is that I should listen to them and be supported and use that to get on with my life. Let's do this academic thing.

gifs source

I am good. I am smart. And I have a lot of studying to do.

---

 
1 This may also be due to some thing called the Dunning-Kruger Effect, which I first read about in this fabulous article about the equally fabulous PBS Idea Channel.^↩

A Boy at Starbucks

Let me first direct you to an article decrying needlessly complex language in academia, here, because it's how I feel, yo. Use your words. No, your normal words. The ones where people understand you. And don't get me started on sentence structure. Oi.

Okay. Onward to a different point.

Have some leaves and some light and be happy. 

I like working at Starbucks. I know, I know, I didn't move to another country just to have my grande mocha served to me with an accent, but it's familiar, it's comfortable, and it's got good internet and an entire floor of study space. Give me a quaint Scottish coffeeshop with ten picture windows where I can sit for four hours after I've finished my drink and I'll be there in an instant. Until then, Starbucks it is.

I'm here more than I should be, probably. At least part of the staff recognizes me. And I've learned the combination to the bathroom upstairs. I've spent most of a morning repeating it to all the people who tried the handle, pushed against the door, and stared at it like the material world had betrayed them and everything they held dear until, I told them there was a combination. And of course, there are various language barriers, so I've gotten up a few times to type in the code for them. Seemed simpler.

It's nice to be helpful, you know? While I still start when my voice comes out in that round, broad, campy American fashion, it's good that the words it carries are useful ones, making someone's life easier for a minute. I've been on the receiving end of so much help lately and try though I might, that's never going to be a life-mode I'm comfortable with, so any time I can make up that altruism balance in my life, I'm going to.

Halfway through the day, a guy came in and sat at the table in front of me and I wouldn't have paid him any attention except I thought he was someone I'd met, but he wasn't, and then he caught me staring, which was embarrassing enough that I went back to my laptop, pretending like I hadn't noticed him at all. There have to be twenty people here at any given time. I could have been staring off into space in his general direction for all he knew. I could have been staring at someone, anyone else. He could assume that there wasn't any significance to my glance, I told myself. Reasonable doubt is the saving grace of public interactions with strangers.

Anyway, this guy who I could have ignored had a friend who came in maybe half an hour after that and they started going through some science classwork. I thought for a minute it might be physics or astronomy because they were talking about absorption spectrums, but it turned out to be chemistry. Normal enough. What I wasn't ready for was overpowering nostalgia for undergraduate physical science classes, with their equations and their problem solving and their straightforward application of empirically derived physical laws. Oh, thank god, I thought. Numbers. Math. Integrals and derivatives and even, yes, fourier transforms. Give me something that makes sense. Give me something I know.

That feeling, that wanting to latch on to something concrete, is something I've heard from other people in our program. As one of my professors said at the beginning of the year, "At least with physics I can tell that I'm getting somewhere." And for me, the sciences, they're something familiar. No, I don't think it's the normal human experience to label calculus as familiar, but it's my human experience. There's something wonderfully useful and helpful about science and applied sciences. It's accessible and beneficial and provable.

Of course, I also had four years of undergrad and four years of gainful employment to consolidate my knowledge of basic science. I can't expect theology or even this weird intersection of theology and science to have the same kind of comfortable relatability in just a month and a half. It'll take two months, minimum. Three, if we want to be safe about it.¹

And that's okay. Because I didn't come to another country to bask myself in the familiar, either.

---

 
1 We all know I'm joking, right? This is a joke. It's funny because it's such a vast underestimation of the time it takes to gain proficiency in any endeavor. Oh boy, do I like explaining jokes due to a lack of vocal context. But also, my favorite joke is one that's explained, so what do I know? 

 ^↩

The Limits

First, I need you all to watch the new Jessica Jones trailer. I'll be here when you get done, don't worry.

(... I realize in retrospect that a sizable chunk of my readership are people over the age of forty who have little interest in Netflix adaptation of Marvel comic books, nor do they view comic books as a particularly mature medium, and while I could argue that point into the ground, I don't think it'd be a beneficial use of my time. All of that to say, you don't really have to watch that trailer if you don't want because it's not, like, spiritually important or anything at this point. It's just flipping awesome to me.)

Now, on to the actual post!

The theories that work best are the ones that hold when you push them to positive and negative infinity. I learned that in my first physics-major level class, in Mechanics. You push the theory to the boundaries and if it doesn't hold up, you need a better theory. Newtonian physics can't explain Mercury's orbit because it's outside the limits of the theory. You need Relativity. It's a useful test. It helps you point out your weaknesses in what you think is true.

What I'm saying is that if you're proposing to feed me truth, that truth has to work at the limits.

I ran into this problem on Sunday morning. The pastor had been preaching about humans being made in the image of God and we were talking after the service (four women, I might add, having an intellectual discussion about what the definition of Imago Dei really is) and discussion whether we liked the pastor's examples of what defines humans as being distinctly human, set apart from the rest of creation. I pushed an idea further than I should, saying that the idea of a chimp developing speech isn't too far-fetched and my friend pushed back, saying that I was taking a hypothetical too far. And that's when I came back with what is my perpetual trump card in an argument like this. "A theory has to work at the limits. That's how you know you have a strong theory."

And then we talked ourselves down and chatted about lunch and apologized for seeming combative or argumentative and moved on with our days. The thought that stuck with me, by the way, from the sermon, was how the pastor talked about humanity as a glorious ruin, a CS Lewis quote that I can't find, and as a masterpiece that could be restored. The idea that's still percolating in my head is how I could be restored.

That's the difference here, I think. The line between what it means to be made in the image of God or the discussions of how the universe came to be or whether there's a purpose to all of it, those are intellectual discussions, in some way. They're things that we can debate and contend and ponder and built academic arguments around. But when someone asks me if science and religion have to be enemies, I'm going to tell them no. Because at the heart of it, this is not what matters to you and me. You and me, we were always going to pick and choose anyway, to find profundity where we like, where we felt like it was, in the words we scribble in journals, in the things we get tattooed on our arms, the phrases we repeat in our hearts.

I'm not going to get "Test the limits of the hypothesis" inked onto my skin.

"Glorious ruin," on the other hand...

There's a beating heart that neither science and religion can get at, I think. There's an unconquerable life that refuses to be informed by the best of ideas. It knows how it feels, it knows what tugs at it, and institutions, no matter how well-intended or how well-informed, don't tug like that. I don't know how to formalize that. I don't know how to put that into theoretical terms and honestly, I kinda don't want to. I don't want to put this little flame of hope and beauty into any kind of box. I want to leave it as a light, floating out into the sky and the hills, wherever it wants to be.

But I also believe there's value in thinking about our place on earth, in the universe, our responsibilities. I think there's many a way to inform our view of the world, some more helpful than others.

I want to find the helpful ways.

I want to help us soar.

The Line

Editor's note: I wrote this on maybe Tuesday? and I cannot be bothered today do any actual editing or to see if my point or metaphor was valid or if I indeed have a point or use a metaphor. So if it's brilliant, that's awesome and I'm going to give my past self a high-five but if it's a waste of internet space, that's what personal blogs are for, my friends.

So, say I want to have kids. Say that this is a choice I've thought through deeply. What did that thought process look like?

-I probably evaluated my reproductive health, to make sure that I could produce a healthy baby without risk to myself or the baby.
-I probably looked at my financial situation to make sure I could support a baby.
-I thought about myself and whether I'm really ready to be in charge of another life, if I can really make that time commitment, if I'm strong enough to go through pregnancy, childbirth, the first few months of sleeplessness, and then the years after. I probably thought about whether this commitment was something I was mentally prepared for.
-I thought about that baby's life, where the baby would go to preschool or school or who would be an influence over the years, what I would do when the baby started to be a child that started to be a teenager that started to be an adult human, how I would guide that life and what help I'd need in guiding that life.
-At the end of all of that thinking, I probably ran one more check against my biases. Is this just the hormones talking? How does my place as a woman in society influence how I feel? Would this baby be something that I'm doing just for myself or is there something deeper, some unspoken but present biological need to pass on my genes? Is the choice to have a baby helpful, sacred? Is this something that I need to be doing? Is it something I'm doing for the right reasons?

Now, having a kid is one of the most important decisions that someone will decide. I would posit that it's a decision that can be made outside of a relationship, but that's neither here nor there. There are a good plenty of logical steps to go through. And, after that, there's a good deal of deep emotion to wade through.

When we take the time to consider our lives, our purpose in the universe, I think we do it in the same way. We think about all the logical considerations and then we sit down and think about how we feel and where that feeling comes from. Do we believe in a higher purpose? Do we just have an instinct in our gut? Do we think that both of those things are infallible?

That interplay between logic and emotion is something I'm interested in. I think we're primed to follow our gut when logic or reason or science tells us otherwise, especially when we're deeply invested in an idea. Even if getting pregnant or having a baby is something that's especially difficult for me because my ovaries are lazy, that doesn't mean that I wouldn't try to have a kid of my own because I feel deeply and within my heart that I would be a fantastic mother. And I may move to other ways of being a maternal figure when my body fails me, but that's only because I've decided that I want to be a mother. I want to help the world in that way. And that decision will be slightly irrational on my part. Nothing about rational, logical science can explain to me why I want to have kids.

I think that may lead to a fundamental difficulty here. There's a line between being in love and being reasonable. And I think when we can resolve the line between love and reason we will have gotten somewhere.

Nothing Short of Thankful

It's the little things in life I like to be thankful for, mostly because being thankful for the big things opens up a whole world of guilt and questioning of grace and a perpetual crisis of faith triggered by the undeserved and under-utilized goodness inherent in my life. A smile or a Facebook message when I was feeling low? Acceptable blessings. A solid home life and a position in a society bent in my favor providing for my every whim? An unfathomable blessing that brings up troubling questions.

So today, I'm thankful for my french press. Cheaper than a coffee maker, unobtrusive, and makes me feel extraordinarily European when I'm getting my caffeine fix for the hour. 

I'm thankful for my fairy lights, making my room feel magical and whimsical and homey.

I'm thankful for chili and cornbread and friends and wine and a surprisingly efficient public transportation system.

I'm thankful for my boots, bought after a marathon brunch in New York City, broken in while climbing Scottish hills, and now as comfortable on my feet as flip-flops at the end of the summer.

I'm thankful for Night Vale, for its weird and wonderful stories, for its comforting voice and its challenging subtexts. 

I'm beyond thankful for my ukulele and for singing. I think music is actually one of those huge boons from a benevolent deity, an undeserved gift that gives me hope that maybe the world is actually good, after all. 

I'm thankful for sunny skies, farmer's markets, and friends to enjoy them with.

I'm thankful for overcast skies and orange tree leaves and the quietness of fall. 

I'm thankful for books. And albums. And DVDs. And rings. And mead.

I'm thankful for happiness, for an uncomplicated, unencumbered, expectation-less simple contentment, humming to myself while the world whirrs around me. 

I'm thankful for today. And tomorrow, when it comes.