What The Muffin?

On Joyful Noises and How I Don't Hate Them

2012-03-03T10:18:00.000-05:00

NOTE: Because this post is about music, there are a lot of links below. For each of the artists, I have provided the link to a YouTube video for one of my favorite songs by each of them. There is no judging allowed whatsoever. Thank you.

I adore music.

I pretty much live it. Breathe it.

If someone were to uninstall my Pandora app, I don’t knowthat I’d die, I think I’d probably just cease to exist.

There’s no genre that I pledge my exclusive allegiance to.My interests range from the classy, like Mumford and Sons, Corrine Bailey Rae,Florence + the Machine (whom I really did love before everyone else claimedto), and probably my absolute favorite, Adele (ditto. For realz, people. If youdidn’t do an interpretive dance to “Cold Shoulder” and “Best for Last” when “19”came out, step off because you’re on the bandwagon) to the…ummm.. questionable.I’ve been guilty of knowing too many lyrics from Gaga or Ke$ha, along with alittle bit of Katy Perry. I really have no shame.

You’ll notice that there’s no Christian music on there. Andbehold, you’ve discovered the inspiration for what I’m writing right now. Nowshhh…I’ll get to my point in a second.

Most of my friends at Gateway were music majors. Do you haveany idea what it’s like to be an ed major at a table with five music majors? Imight as well have been at a table with people speaking Mandarin. My proudestmoment was seeing a t-shirt once that said “I’m a fermata. Hold me” and LOLingbecause I took piano lessons for a week when I was ten.

I would spend hours in the practice room (or, on the rightday, laundry room) listening to various artists between whom I honestly couldn’tdifferentiate, while my friends prepared for the week’s chapel services. Timesin the car were spent as impromptu concerts and/or practice sessions as I listened to the same fongs overand over again ad nauseum until my eyes would reflexively roll right out of myhead.

Why? Because I don’t get any of the theory or technical artistrythat my friends do. (Sorry, guys!) I’ll sing it worshipfully in church becauseit’s there, and I’ll have an uneducated opinion that it sounds good, buthonestly, I don’t find much distinction or originality in the Christian musicthat I hear anymore. This is in addition to the fact that most of the music Ihear in the contemporary Christian category could be easily mistaken for a “secular”love song. No distinction whatsoever. In the words of one of my best friends, “boyfriendJesus songs”.

On the flip side of this argument, I am perfectly willing tosuggest that perhaps the reasoning behind my apprehension towards music in thecontemporary Christian genre is my lack of consistent exposure. Because I dofavor alternative music, I don’t generally make my music selectionintentionally faith based.

Which brings me to this past week. At my workplace (aChristian day care center, for those of you not in the loop), we have limitedmusical selections at our disposal. Basically, you can either play children’sCDs based towards the ~~super-flaky~~ Conscious Discipline curriculum, oryou can play the local Christian radio station. Let me first say that I’m notby any means a fan of this station. It’s run by students at MVNU and honestly,there’s nothing overtly wrong with it. It just features students who I suspectOD’d on their daily dose of happy flakes and think that everything they say isa.) incredibly interesting and/or b.) hiLARious. However, you can only listento songs such as “I use the potty respectfully” about 14 times in a five hourshift before you go completely Looney Toons. Soooo…perky Christian radio it is.

Here’s what shocked me. Despite the bubbly nature of thoserunning the staton, I didn’t totally hate it. In fact, over the four-ish monthsthat I’ve worked at the center, I’ve developed a familiarity and relativefondness for some of what I was hearing. Don’t get me wrong. I would go home andlisten to my other, preferred music. But it wasn’t the torture I anticipatedand I noticed subtle changes in my thought process and attitude as I listened.

This prompted an experiment. What if I cut out the otherstuff for a week? Just solid Christian music for seven days. Not the radiostation, because let’s be serious. I can handle five hours, but with my constantmusical intake? No. So my non-working hours have become supplemented with KirkFranklin, Israel Houghton, and Royal Tailor (my personal very favorite) Pandorastations.

I’m not even going to lie to you. It’s not been easy at all.Today is day six, in case you were wondering. But I’ve liked it. I’ve actuallyenjoyed it. And I don’t feel the need to cut everything from my musiccompletely, but I do feel like the week has given me new insight andappreciation for music that I really wasn’t giving enough credit or time to.This music will likely become a bigger part of what I listen to, and I’mstrangely okay with that.

Here’s all I’m saying. Don’t judge what you haven’t tried.Most things are at least worth a sincere thought and/or effort. It won’t killyou. In fact, it will probably make you a more rounded individual with culturedtastes.

And who knows? You might find something that will actuallyenhance your life.

PS- This has probably been my favorite song so far this week.

My Siri God

2012-02-29T00:54:00.001-05:00

I caught myself doing something in prayer tonight.

I’m pretty sure that I didn’t mean for it to come out theway it did, so thanks for that whole knowing the heart’s intents, God. Butafter it came out, I realized that it was certainly not an isolated incident.

Sometimes, when I’m talking to God casually (which isn’tnecessarily a bad thing, mind you), I’ll find myself making remarks somethingalong the lines of, “Please help me remember to…..”. I don’t know why, but thisstruck me as amusing tonight.

For those of you who are the owners of the iPhone 4s, or arein anyway familiar with this product, you know about something called Siri. You’veprobably seen commercials or heard it mentioned among friends. Personally, I’mtoo cool to own an iPhone and I rock an Android with a super-classy slide outkeyboard (holla!), but I really wish that I was able to download a form of Sirifor my phone. It just amazes me and I want it.

Siri is convenient. She is all-knowing and matchless in allof her ways. She will take your obscure request for an egg fu yung dinner andsuggest that there are 47 Chinese restaurants fairly close to you. From what Ican gather from commercials and an incredibly hilarious episode of Big Bang Theory,she’ll remind you of events and call you by the name of your choice, no matterhow completely ridiculous It may be or how much your friends laugh at you.

She’s non-judgmental. She’s chill. She’s your own,super-awesome, electronic assistant.

I feel like I treat God like Siri sometimes.

I feel like I’ll be talking to him and I’ll bring up asituation that I’m having issues with or need guidance on, and rather thangenuinely digging into His word or seeking His guidance, I’ll simply look up atthis almighty digitized program in the sky and command, “Tell me how to solvemy problem.”

And then I become irate when he doesn’t immediately spitforth an answer and call me Rock God.

A couple of years ago, I started getting into reading all ofthose interesting, deep theological books with trendy names that you see atLifeway on the shelves. I’m not going to lie. I still love to read some ofthem. I have three currently on my bookshelf that I’m always too busy tofinish. While having this literature easily accessible and well-written is abeautiful thing, it can also work to one’s detriment if he or she isn’tcareful. It’s so easy when reading pretty interpretations to get caught up inthe nuance and attempt to reduce God to some equation or formula and think wehave him all figured out. It’s not intentional. Personally, I like lookingthrough books because it’s an art form that I can appreciate. Some people findGod through music, I find Him through the written word and finding what otherpeople have to say about Him interests me.

But it does happen. And from experience, I’ve found thatonce you think that you have God figured out, he likes to change things aroundto show you that that isn’t exactly the way things work.

God is for seeking. God is for longing after. And yes, hedoes desire to give us good things and is a source of help in times of trouble.But he’s not Siri. And for this I am eternally grateful.

Even if he doesn’t call me Rock God.

On Grace

2012-01-15T22:34:00.001-05:00

Recently, I did something stupid.

“That’s not unusual,” you might say, “You frequently dostupid things.”

Well, first of all, that was so rude of your internalmonologue that I just made up to say. Second of all... you do have a point. Ireally do.

But this was a paramount incident of stupidity. I knew itwas stupid. And I did it anyway. And I felt bad before I did the stupid thing.And I felt really bad after the stupid thing. Not immediately after. But itdidn’t take too long.

I didn’t talk to God for a little bit after I did the stupidthing. I was ashamed and didn’t think I was worthy to have him listen to me.And finally, I told him just that. That I didn’t deserve to have him hear myapologies. That I had really blown it and screwed up big time. I didn’t deservehis mercy or grace.

And I feel like God looked at me for a second. And he lookedat me with a blank expression and then breathed a really loud “Psssshh!” beforebursting out into a major LOL session.

Well, that’s not nice, God. I get that I was stupid, butmust you laugh at me? I mean, you’re the Almighty and I don’t tell you how todo your job, but sheesh. Ouch.

After God got done doubling over with laughter, he breatheda big sigh and put his hand on my shoulder. “Bex,” he said, “You didn’t deservethe mercy and grace before. That’s why it’s called mercy and grace. What makesyou think that this is bigger than anything else you’ve brought to me? Don’tyou realize that I’m God? You’re human. You mess up. Don’t sweat it. Don’t doit anymore, but don’t sweat it.”

And then he picked up my dirty laundry and through it in thewashing machine. And the nice thing isthat my sins aren’t made of a very durable fabric. They won’t just shrink inthe laundry.

They’ll disappear for good.

Monkey Boy

2011-12-24T02:12:00.002-05:00

I’ve been working at a preschool/day care for about twomonths now. To summarize the experience involved with this, I can really onlyuse one word.

Insanity.

The pay isn’t fantastic. The job has its days. I love mykids to pieces, but on some days, it’s only the love of Jesus that keeps themfrom going through a wall.

The most recent turn of insane events has landed me in theinfant room for the majority of the past week.

Basically, I’m working with morepoop than I ever thought possible and have survived multiple attempts on mylife from being gummed to death.

There’s this little boy in my class who hasn’t beendeveloping at the right rate. He’s about a year and a half, around the same ageas my niece, but to look at him, you’d never know this. He’s tiny. But theteachers have taken to referring to him as Monkey Boy because you can’t turnyour back on him without him climbing onto, into, or over something; a bigno-no when it comes to Ohio Licensing Laws (which I’ve come to hate, by theway).

Tonight in the baby class, I had three kids. Two littlegirls and Monkey Boy. The two girls like to climb to, but are easilydistracted, so I ended up sitting on the mats with Monkey Boy, prepared toscoop him up and drag him back if he climbed too high or too far to be safe. Atfirst, the dragging and scooping was a delightful game. He would wobble out ofmy reach, I’d go after him, and he’d giggle as I grabbed him, spun him around,and put him back on the mats.

Monkey Boy stopped being amused after about ten minutes ofthis game. He started to cry when I picked him up. And if he wasn’t crying, helooked up at me with his big eyes, giving me a look that said, “Really, lady?Really?” The table looked so inviting to climb on. What treasures could thebookshelves above hold? And I, the mean lady who was already losing points forbeing in the weird place and not being his mommy, was just dragging him awayfrom his goal after he had worked so hard and gotten so close.

When this happens in the older classes, you can explain tothem that they’re not making safe choices. They don’t like this even a littlebit. But they can comprehend it. You can’t explain to an 18-month-old that hischoice to climb over the book shelf, up the stairs, and into the washer anddryer isn’t exactly the safest thing on earth. He lacks the cognitive abilityto process this. He doesn’t understand that what he’s doing is dangerous. Hedoesn’t understand that you’re there to protect him and keep his best interestsat heart. All Monkey Boy knows is that he wants that, you’re not giving it tohim, and he’s going to cry until he throws up, dang it, and you’re going toclean it up and smile all the live long time you’re doing it.

Monkey Boy convicted me.

As a type-A planner, I hate not knowing what’s going tohappen. Worse than that, I hate thinking I know what’s going to happen and thenhaving my bubble burst at the last minute. I hate when my structuredisintegrates and I have to…gasp…live in the moment. I’m not always open to newarrangements or being pushed out of my comfort zone. If I want to do something,I’m going to do it. And you’re not going to stop me, they’re not going to stopit, and He most certainly isn’t going to stop me.

And this puts me into a bind because sometimes I just don’tmake the right choices. And sometimes the choices aren’t even bad. Just…notwhat I need. And so I find myself so close, only to feel strong hands draggingmy feet back, away from the things that I think I need. And I look up at theowner of these strong hands with a look that says, “Really? You’re kidding me,right?”

But is it possible that there’s something I don’t see? MaybeI’m not able to process or comprehend exactly what it is that I’m supposed tobe doing. Maybe there’s something there that I’m not seeing. Maybe the person I’mlooking at, asking why he’s so mean to me is simply looking out for me andkeeping me safe.

It doesn’t mean thatI have to like it. What I want still looks so inviting. But maybe, just maybethere’s a reason.

Megachurches Are Churches, Too

2011-10-16T14:53:00.000-04:00

A confession needs to be made. And it might not go over all too well, but it needs to be made nonetheless. So, brace yourselves.

I've done a lot of research on non-denominational churches. Like, a lot. And not as in "I had this report to do for a class in school" research. As in, "I was looking into a serious life change involving a change of place of worship".

I hinted at this back in July. That was around the peak of my research efforts. And have I reached a verdict? Umm...not really. I will say that I have no immediate plans to change and am still praying and carefully considering what all such a change would entail. In fact, when I (hopefully) move back to St.Louis in January, I plan on initially attending the church my best friend's parents pastor, like I did when I was at Gateway and it is, in fact, a UPCI church. It's a small church, they need help, and as crazy as things can be there, I came to love it (usually) while I was there. From there, things will be played by ear or, to use a pulpit cliche, as the Spirit so moves me.

So, why am I confessing this now?

Well, first of all, confession is good for the soul and I have nothing to hide from both of you that read this, so there's that. And second...well...that requires some explanation of why I started looking into a change to begin with.

Today, someone on my Facebook newsfeed posted a picture, It featured a megachurch sanctuary with a tagline that read, "Megachurch: Because this is more important than feeding the starving." Actually...here's the picture:

My brain imploded.

When I was doing my research, a lot of the churches I came across could be considered to be megachurches. Such places of worship have become something of a phenomenon in the Christian movement and, within some smaller church sects, somewhat taboo. A lot of people have accused these churches of "selling" the Gospel and have said that some of their methods can be considered disrespectful. For example, in St.Louis, on Saturday evenings, some of my friends in the student body at Gateway would attend The Journey, one of the more notable of these churches. I never got a chance to attend myself, but from what I had heard, the church took a casual approach, focused on a more teaching-based method of delivery. One of my friends came back with a Message translation Bible (my personal favorite translation for daily reading) which had been provided at no cost and she said that there had been a coffee shop outside of the sanctuary and many people had taken their beverages in with them to the service. So, yeah. Pretty dang chill.

And I'm so totally okay with that. It actually entrances me a little bit. Which, granted, is not necessarily a good thing. But rest assured, I will not choose my future church based on the presence of coffee and casual dress code. The church is Trinitarian and I am still firmly based in my Oneness beliefs, so that would more than likely be a no-go for me.

But here's the thing that absolutely sells me on these big churches. (Disclaimer: This is my personal taste and should not be taken as a slam on smaller churches in any way, shape, or form.) These churches, because of their massive size, have the means to make a huge difference in their communities, as well as in the way of Global Missions. And not only do they have the means to do this, but they actually DO make a difference. Regardless of what catchy phrase people want to post on an internet picture to disparage these large churches, the simple fact is that a bigger facility does not necessarily mean that help isn't being given to those who need it. It's not that a big congregation or a big building is more important than helping the hungry. Actually, these big congregations and buildings facilitate a great deal of help for those who need it most. Many of these churches possess things like food banks, homeless shelters, and soup kitchens. Many of these megachurches identify themselves as "missional" meaning that they cut back on some expenses in order to provide opportunities not only for domestic help, but for help overseas as well, which, hippie humanitarian wannabe that I am, is a huge plus.

Here's the thing to keep in mind. Another congregation having a different viewpoint on how to spread the Gospel doesn't give us license to say that they don't care. If you haven't educated yourself on their efforts, don't perpetuate the myth. If they're preaching truth, caring about people, and enhancing their community, isn't that what matters?

Why nitpick the other things?

An Insomniac Traveler's Prayer

2011-10-07T02:45:00.001-04:00

Oh Lord.

You see the time set on my alarm clock for the morning. You see the blazing 4 AM serving as a reminder that I just had to purchase a stupid early flight for my weekend o' fun.

You also see me lying here. At 1:30 in the flipping morning. Just as I've laid before you since about 10, determined that I would go to bed early to prevent the desires of punting small rodents and furry creatures across an extended distance from welling up in my heart and soul during my You-forsaken waking hour.

You see me mental calculating with each passing minute just how little sleep I'm going to get if I were to miraculously be smitten with your holy gift of slumber in the twinkling of an eye this instant.

And You, being omniscient in all ways- past, present, and future- can see me waking up in approximately 2.5 hours, gnashing teeth and asking you, "Why, God, why?" whilst begging for the sweet release of Benadryl to sweep me away during my flights to Chicago O'Hare and St.Louis Lambert respectively.

And therefore, oh Father, I ask thee that thou wouldest look down upon any mother that may, in fact, possess a potentially screamy baby or toddler who has considered getting on either of my flights tomorrow. And God, I ask that you would smite them upside the head and knock some sense into them so that I don't have to get all ghetto up in there. In thy mercy.

I thank you in advance for hearing and answering my prayers.

Amen.

Social Media No-No's: The Hashtag

2011-09-11T23:49:00.000-04:00

Confession time. Over the past few months, before finallystarting STNA classes and having at least a semi-job, I spent way too much timeon the internet. Confession time again. I still spend too much time on theinternet. And while we’re at the confessing, my smartphoneaddiction is partially to blame for this. These addictions together lead me tosee a variety of things on a plethora of mediums, namely Facebook and Twitter,that make my head want to implode. Thosewho know me already know of my slight painful obsession with correct speech andgrammar, but I felt, perhaps out of my insane boredom and lack of desire to seeany additional pictures of pressure sores or correct peri care guidelines*,I felt as though some fun tips should be thrown out there for those of you athome who insist on using a social medium. Help me to help you. There are some thingsthat people do that make me want to punch a small, furry creature. And that’snot fair to the creature. I originallyhad intended on this to be a top 5 list, with brief explanations for each. Butthen I got kind of carried away with the annoyance that is “The Hashtag” (seebelow) and decided that this will end up being in series format. This beingsaid, if you have a particular internet pet peeve, please don’t hesitate toleave it in the comments. It may be one of those that I have in mind, or mayremind me of an internal monologue rant in times past that will spark mywritten cynicism.

*EXTRA FUN! If you’re one of those out there not knowingthis definition, take a quick detour to Google search. After you’re donegouging your eyes out, remember that I’m actually paying to learn these things.Willingly. I’m sane. Promise.

The Hashtag

The hashtag(otherwise known as the pound key or number sign, #) rose to power through thefabulous world that is Twitter as a way for likeminded people…actually, evenviolently oppositionally minded people, to connect and discuss a single topic.For example, well-known trending topics that come to mind include #RoyalWedding,#JapanEarthquake, or even descending into incredibly entertaining memes such as#WhatIThinkAretheLastLinesInBooksIHaveNotReador #ReplaceWordsInMovieTitlesWithBacon.

The hashtag also proved to be usefulby youth leaders and officials throughout respective religious movements. Arecent example of this in my own life would have been Youth Congress, or shouldI say #NAYC11. For purposes such as these, the hashtag has proved to be aunifying and handy tool.

After a while, people decided that, inaddition to being a helpful connector, adding a simple “#” to their tweetscould give it that extra punch of snark, cynicism, or other humor device. Iwill admit to using the pound key for these dark purposes on a number ofoccasions. It’s just so tempting and there are so many events in a conservativeeducational setting that simply need to be expressed as a #BrainImplosion.

Then, the cutesy girls got ahold ofthe secret snark weapon and violated the sacredness thereof. Girls withsignificant others everywhere began to remark that they #LoveMyBF or #Hearts or#Loves or #HesTheBest or [continue until urge to vomit arises]. But it didn’tstop there. Cliché and painful terms filtered their way into the hashtagcommunity as well. Things like #Besties and other things intended to conveyjust how much like-super-totally-awesome-funzy time was being had with one’s#GalPals and inadvertently followed up with a string of mathematical values equatingto less than three and a companionship of colons and parentheses. <3 <3<3 :) :) :)

Once the cutesy girlsgot ahold of the hashtag, the world cringed but presumed that the worst wasdone. The hashtag had been defiled, but we could sleep well knowing that atleast in its homeland of Twitter, it still carried out a valiant and meaningfulpurpose, connecting us in conversation at the click of a #. And then theunthinkable happened.

Perhaps it was theability to link one’s Facebook statuses and Twitter feed together throughprograms such as TweetDeck or Selective Tweets, but somewhere along the line, someonein the Facebook community got ahold of the hashtag. Even worse, they weredistracted, fascinated by, and drawn to it like a small rodent to a shinyobject. It was all over from there. The hashtag had infiltrated Facebook likean invasive species that Park Rangers always post warning posters about andsimilarly spread like the emerald ash borer amongst Ohio’s wildlife. It wasbeing used willy-nilly and without purpose, rhyme, or reason. It waseverywhere. Punctuation in the middle of hashtagged thoughts showed up.Complete sentences that could easily have just been written out. And theVagueBooking. Oh, the horrors of material that it provided for VagueBookers*.

*To be defined at alater date

And so marks thedescent of the hashtag. Used, abused, and curled up in the fetal position,crying about the mess that its life has been reduced to. So tonight, mybrethren, I implore you:

Let’s save thehashtag. Let’s incorporate these handy rules into our everyday life.

1. )Punctuation does not belong in a hashtag. Twitter won’t even recognize a‘, /, or :, so neither should you. Hashtags are meant to be abbreviatedstatements or snarky run-ons. They’re not the place for punctuation.

2.) Same goes for spaces. If you add “#can’t wait for the weekend” to theend of your Facebook status, basically, all you’ve done is told me that you can’twait for the weekend, and also your finger slipped and pressed the pound keybecause that makes no sense. That’s not a hashtag, that’s a sentence. Treat itthat way.

3.) You can either have hearts and smileys or you can have cutesy hashtags.Either one will make me resent you. Both will make me want to junk punch you.

By following thesethree simple steps, it is possible to save the hashtag. Only you can preventsymbolic character depression. Let’s work together.

Ugly Truth

2011-09-03T02:27:00.000-04:00

My first year of Bible Quizzing we did the Epistles. I wasabout seven or eight, I think. And I had to learn the term “lustfulconcupiscence”. To be completely honest, I’m not really sure what that iswithout Googling….okay, Wikipedia-ing it (don’t judge me). The inclusion ofsuch verses bewildered parents of quizzers everywhere as they struggled toa.)help said quizzers pronounce the words and b.)explain this atrocity in termsthat wouldn’t completely destroy their child’s fragile mind and innocence.

By the time I was in my last year of Juniors, the people incharge of quizzing material had wised up and opted to take out the back half ofRomans 1, for obvious reasons that I won’t detail here, as they would probablyturn up in some pretty risqué Google search results.

I love the Word. My favorites are the Pauline Epistles andthe Major Prophets, loves that werefostered during my time at Gateway with some awesome related classes. TheEpistles, I’ve learned, are a universal favorite across denominational lines,and with good reason. It’s the Gospel. Love and mercy and God’s grace. All thegood stuff that God really wants us to know about Him and revel in. Even theMajor Prophets, on occasion, can be found as a crowd-pleaser. I’ll admit that I’vesought solace in Jeremiah 29:11 over and over again in times of trouble orconfusion and it’s great for uplifting. We use it to outline Messianic prophecyand show how Jesus’ arrival really was the fulfillment thereof. But a lot of times,not always, that’s it.

I’m not into fire and brimstone. Understand that now. Iunderstand that on occasion, reproof is necessary, and that’s fine, but I’mtotally not for beating someone upside the head with judgment by any means. Andthis is true for many, many people. Modern Christianity has focused on the goodthings in the Bible and for this I am incredibly thankful. These are thingsthat people need to hear. However…

When I was in late middle school to early high school, I gota book about Cassie Bernall. Just to fill you in, in case you’re unaware, this is the girlwho allegedly was asked during the Columbine shootings if she believed in Godbefore being fatally shot. The book was interesting, inspiring, and absolutelychilling, to say the least. But because of its incredibly inspirational book, Iread that book probably at least three or four times within a short period oftime after purchasing it. On one occasion, I was sitting in my living room, andan older family member came upon my reading and asked me about it. As I went tosummarize the book’s contents, I watched as the person’s face dropped. “I don’t feel like you should be readingthat,” they matter-of-factly informed me. I was perplexed. What followed was anexplanation of what exactly was wrong with my reading, backed up with ascriptural reference to prove the point.

“ Finally,brethren, whatsoever things are true, whatsoever things are honest, whatsoeverthings are just, whatsoever things are pure, whatsoever things are lovely,whatsoever things are of good report; if there be any virtue, and if there beany praise, think on these things.” –Philippians 4:8 (ESV)

In summary, my problemwas this. The book was sad; devastatingly so. And hence, it was not of a goodreport. And therefore, I, as a good Christian teen, should not be partaking ofthings not of a good report, including, more specifically, my book.

Granted, this storyis slightly ridiculous and (hopefully) not a typical scenario per se. But themindset is one that is, in fact, very present. A lot of times, in a search tohighlight the good in the Bible, we’ll candy-coat it. We’ll paint the Bible asthis pretty, perfect thing, filled with rainbows and sunshine. And the Word ISperfect. But the rainbows and sunshine are NOT ever present. The Word isgraphic. The Word includes faults and flaws and tales of real people doing somedirty, dirty things in pretty much any sense that you can think of. Loads oflustful concupiscence are scattered about! Because even though they’re in theBible, those people were…well…people. They screwed up, just like people today.The Bible is violent. It’s overshadowed with a constant message of mercy andgrace, but before frequently this grace is preceded by a ridiculous amount ofgore and blood and guts and slaughter and judgment, particularly in the casesof the Major Prophets, or almost any Old Testament book for that matter. Andthat nasty stuff is just as important.

Because-

First of all, there’sthat whole thing that we, as Christians, perpetually profess about God’s Wordbeing fully, completely true; every word of it. Yes. Even the bad stuff.

Then there’s thewhole thing about life not being perfect. Even for Christians. If you sell theGospel solely with pretty words, what happens to the people who have loads ofjunk in their lives? What do they relate to?

And finally, there’sthe accent factor. If you put a pretty thing in a pristine environment, thething is still pretty. But your eye might not necessarily be drawn to thepretty thing in that environment so much as it would be in a less than perfectsetting. When you have something perfect and clean in the midst of things thatare messy and imperfect, it makes you more apt to look at the perfect thing andsay, “Oh. That’s different.” God’s mercy and grace is accented by the fact thatit comes out of things that aren’t pretty.

It’s the whole beauty from ashesthing.

"I Know."

2011-08-15T02:57:00.001-04:00

It’s in times of conflict that I wish God had a present embodiment.

And yes, before some of you get super spiritual on me and say “He does have an embodiment! Jesus is the fullness of the Godhead bodily!” allow me to explain that I completely get that. Let’s just say that at present moments, this fact doesn’t exactly help me.

What would help me is to have Jesus in a bodily form, sitting right next to me on my bed, as I explain my situation to him.

Or rather…to be more truthful about it…while I chew him out.

During times of stress and trouble, God and I have a habit of going back and forth, at times in quite a bluntly veracious manner on both ends. I like to tell him exactly what I feel that he’s doing wrong and provide helpful suggestions on what he could improve on. He likes to, much more successfully than I, follow suit accordingly.

I can never seem to get the idea through my head that calling out the Almighty doesn’t work out that well in the end, seeing as he has quite the edge on me for some strange reason.

So, in an illustration that my friend, Meghan, would greatly approve of, basically my conversations go something like:

Me: Whyyyyyy?

God: YOU KNOW WHY!

Me: *ugly cry face* I knoooow!

And then the silence comes. The silence where I feel like God would look at me calmly, as if to ask me, “Are you finished now, you big baby?” And I would get all shifty eyed because I’m mad at him for calling me out and feel incredibly awkward for bringing the proverbial knife to a gunfight and attempt not to make eye contact.

The conversations continues more calmly after that.

Me: Hey God…I’m not happy with you right now. Kinda mad, at times, actually. This isn’t fun.

God: I know. Trust me anyway.

Me: *sigh* It’s hard.

God: I know.

There’s something bizarre about having the omniscient, all-powerful creator of the universe utter the words, “I know”, into your ear. On some level, it’s a duh moment. Well, of COURSE you know. It seems like something that doesn’t even need to be said. A given, if you will. But he says it anyway.

And that’s the very fact that brings me to my knees. God gets that I’m incredibly insecure, just one more thing among the many, many…well….all of the things that I totally gets about me. And so he knows that the best thing to do in that situation is not to give me an answer, even though it’s likely I wouldn’t get one anyway. I probably really wouldn’t take an answer from him in good spirit if I’m honest. I’d explain to him why that answer wasn’t satisfactory, because I don’t know how to keep my mouth shut and know my place.

So instead he tells me that he knows. He knows that I’m confused and broken and lost as ever, and he’s still right there in the middle of all of it, understanding both the purpose behind it, and my raw human disorientation in response to it. And he understands. And it’s at times like that that I wish that Jesus had a lap for me to curl up into while I cry on his shoulder, finding comfort in the fact that he knows the reason behind each one of those tears and is right there through all of them.

Good Gifts

2011-07-30T02:17:00.003-04:00

My best friend loves presents.

I know. That sentence makes him sound super-materialistic. But you need to understand that I love to give presents. Around the holidays, I'm that annoying person that is so certain that they got just the right gifts that they prod you on a daily basis with questions like, "Are you sure you don't want to open that early?" So, to clarify, I don't get asked for presents (usually). I'm actually just one of those people that likes to subtly put things in the mail, determined not to ruin the surprise this time, only to become my own worst enemy as the question, "Sooo...did anything good come in the mail lately?"

So, I like to give presents and he likes to get presents. Basically, it works out well.

So, in the middle of the summer, I went out and got a bunch of Skittles and burned...err...legally purchased some CD's that he had been dying for and sent them during a week that I knew had been ultra-dramatic and stressful, like the awesome best friend that I am.

And I have to confess one thing.

The reason that I love giving gifts is getting responses. Shrieks of joy are my favorite. One time, Seth (the best friend in question) picked me up and spun me around, letting me know that apparently I had done a good job. Also, that he was ridiculously strong for how skinny he is. You know you've done well with a gift for my friend, Ashley, when she tears up. Ams will jump up and give you the biggest hug ever. Meghan gets a goofy grin and hysterical laugh whilst clapping her hands like a five year old if you do well for her. It's all about the response for me. If you show me that I did a good job, I'll be on cloud nine.

So, on this particular occasion, the response was in the form of a gleeful phone call with a rushed, “Oh my gosh, hun! I.Love. It.” And there was much rejoicing on either end of the phone and my daywas made after receiving my own personal validation.

In Matthew 7 (also in Luke 11), there is a passage Jesus talksabout gift-giving.

9 If yourchild asks for bread, do you trick him with sawdust?

10 If heasks for fish, do you scare him with a live snake on his plate?

11 As badas you are, you wouldn't think of such a thing. You're at least decent to yourown children. So don't you think the God who conceived you in love will be evenbetter?

Here’s what this says to me: I pride myself on being an excellentgift-giver. I love giving my friends things and am confident that when I do,they are things that they will love and use, and hence, will feel my love forthem.

The odd catch to this is…I don’t necessarily expect the same outof God.

I intend only the best for those I love and wouldn’t settle forless. But somehow, I get caught up in the idea that God is going to give meless than He feels that I need.

I, as a friend, want to bless the people that I love. But I doubt thatGod, as my Father and Creator, wants to bless me out of His love.

It short-sells God, if you think about it.

He knows my heart and my path, past, present, and future.Therefore, if He gives me a gift, it’s going to be something good for me allthe way through. And if I ask Him for something out of sincerity, while Hisanswer might not necessarily be what I want or feel that I need at that moment, but he’s not going to give mesomething rotten, just to hurt me and laugh in my face. He’s a loving God, whoshows love for me far beyond love that I could ever show for any of my friendsthat I hold dear. If I want to shower them with good gifts to show my love forthem, how much more is He waiting to shower gifts upon me?

Theother thing I’ve noticed about myself is this: when it comes to God’s goodness,so frequently, I will look past and only see the things that I don’t feel likeHe’s fixing fast enough. I don’t stop and reflect on the things that He actuallyhas granted me.

IfI were to give a friend a gift, and they didn’t thank me, but instead looked atme and told me what exactly was wrong with said gift and how I needed to domore for them, I probably wouldn’t take that well.

Infact, I would probably promptly punch them in the face and tell them exactlywhat they could do with my imperfect gift in some colorful terms.

Iwould never accept that behavior from a friend, but I expect it from God. Ihave a love and desire from the validation that comes from knowing that myfriend is pleased with what I have given them. And while God doesn’tnecessarily need validation, He’s just as eager to receive praise and thankswhen He gives His good gifts to His children.

Armfuls of Baskets

2011-07-22T02:57:00.003-04:00

"I have a passion, but I'm caught in two worlds."

It was the subject of a conversation that had crept into the early hours of the morning, a scenario not uncommon where my friends and I are concerned. While usually light-hearted and littered with hysterical laughter from inside jokes, plans for the future, and happenings from the day, the tone had taken a more serious turn when we got onto the subject of struggles.

When you know enough about somebody, you tend to know what they're dealing with before they even elaborate. And in some cases, the very thing that brings you together is the fact that you're both fighting a battle at the same time. That empathy forges a bond stronger than double sided duct tape, a grand force to be reckoned with. You tend to get a feel for the emotions, the thought processes, and the background behind each of these individual fight. The subjects aren't brought up in a serious light on a regular basis, but are always there, fermenting to the point that when they are finally brought to the service, the intensity they bear bites with an unmatchable strength.

And such was the conversation in these late hours, until a lull in the conversation led to a heavy silence before the question was asked....

"You know this is all going on...and it's not going away...soo....you're my friend. Tell me. Do you think I've lost my anointing?"

Even in a place with lowered walls and distant boundaries....how do you answer a question like that? How do you gauge someone's anointing in the midst of a battle. For the love of almighty, you're not even sure of your own anointing at that place or time. What's there to say other than...

"Yeah....I think it's still there..."

Encouraging and smooth. That's your motto. That's what you're going for. Uplifting and informative counsel. Good job.

The silence continues. And sighs are exchanged on either end of the telephone.

And so you think of your own passion. The one that's been buried deep within you for as long as you can remember; since you were a six-year-old girl watching slides with pictures of Africa and Asia and South America from the visiting missionaries in the front of the church and that you simply cannot extinguish even if you try with all that is within you. In the middle of the confusion and uncertainty that seems to have become a permanent ornament in the life that you prefer to keep so structured and precisely planned, is the anointing still there? You're wrapped up in changes with your education, your living situation, with your finances....it's such a handful.

Handful seems so small. Belittling for what you have on your plate and, as you know all to well, what the party on the other end is bearing on their shoulders. Armfuls would be more accurate. In fact, heavy, full baskets weighing down on each arm could easily depict what it is that you have before you.

Baskets full of your stresses and your cares, as well as some things that you really don't mind carrying around; fixtures that you've grown attached to and crosses you've become accustomed to bearing. You've picked all of it up. Your friends, your family, your lifestyle. All in your arms.

And in the midst of carrying all of these things, you peer over your armfuls piled high and ask...is my anointing still there?

And you realize that....sure. It's still there. Sitting right where you left it. It's not like God was intending on taking it away from you. If that wasn't meant for you and only you, he wouldn't have let you survive the things you've been through. Only you can carry that anointing.

But you have your hands full. Your arms full.

There's. No. Room.

You sigh again at this realization, and frustration comes out along with the breath.

And then the solution comes.

That's your problem right there. Your anointing IS still right there. You've just been to busy juggling and carrying everything else that you were too busy to notice.

It's sitting there.

So why don't you pick it up?

Your arms are full. That's why.

No, stupid. I mean...what if you put the rest of that stuff down.

Well, no. That wouldn't work. These things need to be carried. Supported. They can't be dropped. Getting it out of your arms would require handing it over to someone else.

And go figure. The One you're walking with just so happens to be omnipotent and able to carry all things. Look right there. There's room for your baggage, too!

The voice on the other end speaks again, startling you out of your drifting thoughts.

"You think?"

"Mmm....yeah. It's there waiting for you. I think you just kinda have to hand everything else over and pick it back up again."

And in that moment...you're really not sure whose question you were answering.

In regards to searching...

2011-07-15T01:25:00.001-04:00

It's nothing that I haven't said before. Over and over again. Ad nauseum. To the point where it's just plain repetitive and, in mathematical terms, a given.

I'm confused.

The past year has been one of discovery. And, admittedly, with discovery comes a great deal of difficulty and struggle. But, in the end, it works out well and it's okay. Because I always end up learning something, generally from my own stupidity in regards to the matters at hand.

Through a series of circumstances, over the past few months, I've found myself in a freakishly similar place to the very one that I was in a year ago. Different surrounding scenario, but same mental and spiritual repercussions.The past year has been one of discovery. And, admittedly, with discovery comes a great deal of difficulty and struggle. But, in the end, it works out well and it's okay, save some serious to mild emotional scarring.

So, again. Summed up in one word: confusion.

It's not because I don't like the "rules".

It's not because I want to detract from God's Word to make it say what I think it should.

It's not because I'm bitter or have a vendetta against any one organization or religious persuasion or group.

It's because I have questions that have been going unanswered.

And it's because I can no longer allow those questions to remain unasked.

It's because I feel that, as a Christian, I find it foolish to blindly go along with something without seeking and studying for myself.

It's because I know that if I do the above, I will eventually come in contact with someone who will expose me and my ignorance, and through that ignorance, will be turned off to a crucial Message forever.

It's because I can't live resentful and half-heartedly for something that I haven't sought out and found for myself to be true, but rather went along with what everyone said I should believe.

It's because doing that is not having a relationship with God for what I've found Him to be, but for what I fear others will think of me.

And it's because that action is dishonest and hypocritical.

It doesn't mean I'm walking away from God or leaving the church or "taking the easy way out".

It's not because I don't care.

Quite the opposite, in fact.

It's because I do care.

Very much.

Enough that I want to know what exactly is required of me.

And that I want to know what's required of others, so that I can share that with them.

Enough that I want to immerse myself and fall back in love with His words.

That I want to soak in the love story that is the Gospel.

That I want to experience something beyond a list of rules.

Enough that I want the things I do and don't do to be out of a deep and sincere adoration for Him

Rather than just out of obligation.

And I want to share that love and experience with others.

Because it's too big and too great to keep to myself.

Because it drives people to be better.

To help others.

To feed them. To clothe them.

To meet their every need, while giving them Jesus at the same time.

That's what I want.

I don't want out.

I don't want easy.

I want to....

Know.

Saying Goodbye

2011-06-07T20:57:00.001-04:00

If you're within or associated the Gateway community in any way, you've undoubtedly been inundated with updates about a young lady named Miranda Donnell over the past 24 hours. Yesterday morning, I received a text message from Miranda's sister, Natalie, saying that Miranda had been admitted into the hospital after having some serious health complications resulting from a mysterious illness. The situation was critical and Miranda was placed on life support. Unfortunately, this afternoon, Miranda passed away.

Miranda was one of the sweetest girls that I have ever had the pleasure of meeting.She had a bubbly personality and was incredibly loud, with a contagious laugh that could brighten the worst day. I don't think there was any way that you couldn't simply love her. She was just a genuinely nice person all around. And funny. Absolutely hilarious, actually. I can remember many conversations with Miranda sitting on my bed in the dorm, with her talking about boys, particularly cowboys, something that likely in part drove her deep love for PBR. Her sense of humor stuck with her, even in the most terrifying of situations. For example, during my first semester at school, a group of us decided that we were going to The Loop to hang out for the evening. Unfortunately, none of us had bothered to check the weather before we ventured out, and springtime in St.Louis is notorious for its tornadoes. This minor oversight resulted in our driving halfway to our destination, hearing sirens, and then speeding back to Florissant, with Miranda half-laughing, half-interceding in the driver's seat.

Above all of these other things, the thing I admired most about my friend was her commitment and faith in God. Any person that even briefly met her could tell you this. Miranda was majoring in pastoral studies during the time she was at school, something that isn't exactly the norm for girls to do. She was all too aware of this and came up against many people who wanted to tell her that she couldn't fulfill her calling. And with all of the dignity and respect in the world, she would inform each and every one of them that they were wrong. If God didn't have a problem with her preaching, then who were they to stop her? She was driven and dedicated, completely sold out to God, and a fantastic example of a Christian to everyone with whom she came in contact.

I don't understand why God chose to take her today, and I'm sure there are many that knew and loved her that share the same sentiment. And it's quite possible that we never will. But it is a great comfort to know that her dedication and love for Christ led her to a much better place than this world could ever offer.

You fought the good fight, woman. Much love.

Life Happens Fast

2011-06-05T22:53:00.002-04:00

Today, I got to be incredibly proud of two of the greatest girls I've had the pleasure of knowing. Lori and Emily have been my freshmen since their first day of school when I was a junior. I was there to give them advice on what teachers were good, what teachers were bad, and even to provide my notebooks as a handy study guide when needed, and they in turn adopted freshmen when I left, continuing the cycle on. Both girls are talented and incredibly sweet, and I'm sure that they'll go on to do awesome things.

The event was bittersweet for me, taking me back two years to my own commencement, which is one of my fondest memories and marks the turning point of the route that my life has taken. I went to South America three weeks after I graduated, which was undoubtedly the most life-altering experience that I've ever had. I can't believe it's already been two years. What the grown-ups said was true. Time really does fly.

I'm looking in the future toward the events that the coming twelve months hold for me. I'll be graduating from Gateway with my associate's in Education and transferring to Liberty University for a degree in Crisis Counseling. The current plan is to relocate to St.Louis semi-permanently after graduation, getting an apartment in the city and starting my journey into the dreaded "real world". Somehow, within the past two years, I think I became one of those grown-ups myself. Gross.

And somehow, all of this grown-up stuff is still an incredible reminder that my life purpose is far from being fulfilled. I mean, on one hand I guess that's a good thing, because once it is "fulfilled" per se, I'll probably be dead and stuff. But on the other hand, I have little moments like tonight, when I got randomly asked if my summer was going to be spent in South America. Answering the question with a no was, to be quite honest, positively heartbreaking. I think I left a little piece of my heart in Asuncion, and it's a piece I need and fully plan to get back.

But for now, maybe I just need to treasure the next two years and the experiences awaiting me therein. And the two after that. And the two after that. Because it all goes by unbelievably fast.

A Time For Celebration?

2011-05-02T13:02:00.002-04:00

In top secret news that I'm sure that no one reading this has heard, Osama Bin Laden was confirmed dead last night. Social networking being the powerful thing that it is, I found this out from Twitter shortly after the news got out and before Obama's press conference and shared the news with my best friend who was sitting next to me while we were studying for exams.

Any notion of studying was quickly lost in discussion of what exactly these events meant, as well as eavesdropping on the commentary from our classmates, who were talking at excessively high volumes in all corners of the cafeteria. In addition to this, we were both paying close attention to our Twitter and Facebook newsfeeds and within about fifteen minutes, one thing became very clear.

People are just...dumb.

Let me first say that when I heard the news, I had a feeling of a little bit of relief, mixed with shock that it had actually happened. I recognize that the country can maybe, just maybe, breathe a little easier now, knowing that someone who has caused our country so much grief is gone now. I understand that this means closure for many people, friends of mine included, who lost family members and friends in the terrorist attacks and subsequent war. And I understand that for our country in general, this is a huge victory and something that should be able to bring people together. A little piece of me would have loved to have been in New York City or DC last night to see the reactions of those places. I can only imagine that emotions would have been running at an all time high.

Despite all of this, I have to admit that to say that my emotions on the subject are incredibly mixed would be a gross understatement. This is likely prompted by the horrendous stupidity that people were spewing forth, both verbally and via social networks. Within a few minutes of the news getting out, the cafeteria was filled with people doing three things.

1.)Praising George Bush

2.)Proclaiming that Obama is still a heathenistic do-nothing, unworthy of the respect that befits his office

3.)Hateful and vicious comments reminiscent of "Ding Dong, The Witch Is Dead"

The first of these is something to which I have absolutely no objection whatsoever. Regardless of how you feel about his time in office, you simply have to admit that there were, in fact, efforts made on Bush's part that in some way, shape, or form (no matter how small you make think it is) contributed to this. The man was placed in an extremely trying situation and handled the devestating tragedy that occurred on 9/11 to the best of his abilities, and while some people may not agree with the war (and I am, in fact, one of these people), he did his best in regards to security and defense of his country, and for this, it's okay to commend him.

The flipside of this argument brings me to my second observation. The people that I was overhearing would in one breath praise our former president, but then two seconds later would proceed to bash Obama, pointing out each and every flaw in his administration to date. Things that were of absolutely no consequence to the situation at hand, such as gay marriage being passed in a state and the debt, were being criticized and picked apart. The anti-Obama statememts worsened after his press conference confirming what we already knew. People said that he was making it all about himself, taking all the credit, and disparaging that hard work that everyone else did. In short, even though he's leading our country in a time of a tremendous national victory, the man is still scum and not to be respected for any of his efforts.

These anti-presidential statements were (typically) made in an ignorant and uninformed manner. Comments like, "George Bush is still my president" and the oh-so-overused, "Well, I didn't vote for him" rang in my ears and caused my palm to permanently fixate itself to my forehead for a great deal of the evening. It truly was a testament to the idea that in the eyes of many people, Obama simply cannot do anything right. This incident comes just days after the president succumbed to public outcry and released a copy of his birth certificate to quell the absurdly unfounded claims that he didn't have a legal right to run the country. After the release, people still found ways to criticize him, either by saying he forged it or that, to paraphrase one individual's remarks, "he wasn't getting reelected anyway, so why was he wasting our tax dollars and government time to validate himself?" The man simply can't please some people, and this is a sad, sad thing. As a nation, we do these things and then wonder why other countries view us as ignorant and self-righteous.

Putting the political aspects of this situation aside and moving ahead to point three, I'm going to do something incredibly lame and quote myself from a post I wrote a few days ago on Facebook.

"...As a Christian, I feel as though I'm expected, even obligated to hate. And that is something that I cannot stand."

Although the situations to which this quote was originally referring is a much smaller and insignificant issue in the grand scheme of things, this statement has rung true over and over again over the past several hours. As I mentioned before, I recognize that, as a whole, this occurence is a great victory for the United States. However, I am finding that there is a fine, fine line between maintaining national pride and fueling the fires of hate that we refuse to condone from anyone else. I have seen more self-proclaiming Christians making statements like, "Enjoy your time in Hell" and "He's dead! Thank you, Jesus!" over the past couple of days than I care to see in my entire lifetime.

While what this man did was, without a doubt, evil and heartless, the simple fact of the matter is that he still had a soul; a soul that God didn't care any less about than yours or mine. One of my classmates said it best, "Jesus died for Osama, just like he died for you." Last time I checked, this guy wasn't the only one of us who deserved death and hell. If I recall correctly, there's something known as grace that keeps us from sharing the same fate. Have we really reached such a point in our self-righteousness that we think that it's okay for us to rejoice in a lost man's eternal damnation? If we have, then we are in a sad, sad place.

To sum all of this up, it's okay to be proud of our country today. Give honor to someone in the armed services today. They do their best to protect you and are really the ones deserving of the credit here. It's okay to breathe a sigh of relief and recognize that for a little while, some people can sleep a little easier. And it's definitely okay to have a little bit of respect for the people in current leadership positions, no matter how much you dislike them.

But please realize that if you're rejoicing in the death of someone who symbolized hatred, you're only perpetuating the same principle that you're condemning. And that, my friends, is what we call hypocrisy.

Love and Shutting Up

2011-04-27T11:18:00.001-04:00

I'm wrapping up my second year here at Gateway...well...one and a half, but sophomore year nonetheless.

The past sixteen months have been eye-opening to say the least. I was always sure of what I believed on some level, but as for how that applied to interactions with everyone else was a completely different story. Everyone warned me before I came here that it wasn't going to be how I thought at all. People aren't always what they seem. You will end up in situations that you never dreamed would occur in your life.

Those people were so right.

Since I've been here, I've met people from pretty much any background you could imagine. I've met those on the super-conservative end and I've met people joining me on the far left of liberalism. And even some that make my liberal tendencies look like a nice middle ground. And, granted with some exceptions, many of these people from different backgrounds have managed to coexist relatively peacefully, forming bonds in some of the most unexpected of circumstances. These are the bonds that I have come to appreciate and the things that I love to see.

And then there are the exceptions. The situations in which conflict rises up and causes friction among the masses. While these scenarios might not necessarily be continuous or even plentiful, the ones that do arise tend to not only be long-lasting and tedious, but also loud and obnoxious. And these are the things that get under my skin.

From observation, I have noted reaction and response to circumstances that arise in my classmates lives. They range from the scandalous to the utterly mundane and are never lacking conversational sustenance. The rumor mill and novelty of such events keeps their notereity quite alive, and even causes them on occasion to grow into something monstrous, horribly disfigured and misconstrued until the essence of the truth isn't even recognizable. People's dirty laundry, be it true or falsified, is exposed to all the world, many times leaving a path of judgmental glances and presuppositions about what such things mean about the student in question. After all, they're supposed to be training for the ministry and therefore have an image to uphold.

To be completely honest, those observations break my heart. I hate hearing the whispers and the rumors. I hate that it's become okay to publically disparage a situation about which you really know nothing. And I hate that all of these things so frequently play into the fact that we, the people who are supposed to be Christians, are viewed as hateful and judgmental people.

In essence, I love Christ. But at times, as a Christian, I feel as though I'm expected, even obligated to hate. And that is something that I cannot stand.

We will say that we're willing to love our neighbor. But in all honesty, this is so frequently on our own terms. We'll find reasons that we can't associate with people who leave our midst. For example, "I can't approve of or condone what they're doing."

When are we going to learn that they aren't looking for our approval? They don't care about that. A lot of times, all they care about is whether or not they are going to be accepted and loved for who they are, whether they're making the "right" decision or not. The way to win people back is not by ostracizing them. It's not by criticizing them. It's not by posting cleverly disguised Facebook statuses showing your shame and disapproval for their decision. It's by loving them.

You don't have to approve. And the situation may very well not be right. If they ask for your input, share it with kindness and concern. Go to them as a friend and offer your counsel if that's what they want. But if they don't, why force it on them? In other words, shut up and quit making the real Christians look bad. And certainly don't share what you think is going on with everyone else, even under the guise of "I just want you to pray". It's quite possible that you're wrong in the first place. And if you're not, it's not your situation to share.

Love doesn't always mean interference and discussion. Sometimes love is just shutting up.

Dear Westboro Baptist

2011-03-02T11:57:00.000-05:00

Note: I know I haven't written in a million years. Sorry about that. For an abundance of lame reasons (too busy, lack of motivation, blah, blah, blah). I will attempt to write more in the future. Also note that this may be controversial and you may want to come after me with torches and pitchforks. I don't apologize for a word of it. This is my response to recent current events and is my opinion. That being said, here it is:

Dear Westboro Baptist,

Although I have heard echoes of the grief you cause, I had never really chosen to familiarize myself with any of your motives until I saw today that you won your case in the Supreme Court. Let me begin by saying that freedom of speech or no, people like you are the reason that the world thinks that Christians like me are close-minded, ignorant fools who want nothing more than to indoctrinate the world by beating them upside the head. Despite what you may say, God doesn’t hate the gays and neither do I.

You say that the war is God pouring out His judgment upon our country because we tolerate homosexuality, which is biblically regarded as a sin. We won’t go into my relatively unorthodox views on the subject, because, really, in all honesty, they don’t matter one way or the other in this particular context. Whether you believe someone was born that way, chose to be that way, or any other variety of theories, you’re forgetting two very important things.

First of all, let’s assume that this is, in fact, God’s judgment, like you say. I firmly disagree with this, but for the sake of argument, let’s just throw the idea out there. Why is it that God is pinpointing the sin of homosexuality and not your judgmental nature and lack of grace? What about your blatant neglect of Jesus’ command to care for widows and orphans, both of which are inadvertently present at the funerals that you seem to think are your God-ordained duty to disrupt? Unless I’m mistaken, there is no greater or lesser sin where God is concerned. Therefore, the idea that your actions are being justified by God is highly implausible, and, frankly, a bit sacrilegious.

In addition, you’re forgetting the foundation of what we as Christians are really supposed to believe in the first place. God doesn’t hate anyone and neither should we. I in no way claim to be a universalist and am definitely not saying that all roads lead to the same place. But it has never been, nor will it ever be, our job to pour out judgment and hatred. Jesus didn’t do that, so why should you? If you really want to save the world and exemplify God, try showing a little love and compassion. Do you really think that causing emotional distress in lives of innocent people is going to bring glory to God? Do you think people are going to be saved that way? You don’t have to condone the action yourself. You don’t even have to believe that it’s right. Hate the action, not the person. As far as I know, hatred has never brought forth a beneficial action.

This letter is short, it is simple, and it probably won’t influence anyone’s viewpoints. All you should really know is that you don’t speak for the Christians. At least not this one.

Peace and blessings.

Adapted Interaction

2010-09-23T02:22:00.001-04:00

Being called a jerk isn't generally going to hurt my feelings.

I have a tendency to be an excessively blunt individual, and if you met a majority of my friends, you would understand that this bluntness is a necessity and common trait among us. We are generally flat out mean to each other and this can, at times, become my default, something of which I am not always aware.

The group you see here has been my lifeline this semester. Generally speaking, I have developed two groups of very close relationships since my time at school- these three and the two that I mentioned earlier. The latter are no longer here this semester and as a result of various circumstances, I have admittedly not been taking it all that well, and these girls have played a huge part in keeping my sanity, despite these issues. The two girls on the right, Meghan and Ashley, and I developed a very close knit friendship last semester, and the girl next to me, Amber, is Ashley's sister and got here last month as an incoming freshman and fit right into our group right away. The fact that this group is what it is strikes me as a tad miraculous at times. Ashley and I are very strong-willed and tend to butt heads on a regular basis (and yes, this usually includes yelling). Meghan and I are best friends despite our polar opposite mannerisms (She's reserved and quiet. My talking involves yelling.) and views on just about everything (She's extremely conservative. I'm pretty dang liberal.) There are three races (Hispanic, Filipino, and Irish) represented, and between us, we speak or are in the process of learning about ten languages. We have very different talents, abilities, and even despite the fact that three of us are Missions majors, we have very different callings, both in location and capacity. Amber and Ashley are very artistic. Meghan and Ashley sing. I am the only tone deaf member of the group. Amber, Ashley, and I write. Meghan would rather someone hit her with a semi than have to write a paragraph.

The gist of that excessively long paragraph basically means this: all four of us, though very close, are very, very different from one another. We have things that bind us together and make us who we are, but at the same time, there are things present in each of us that have the ability to tear us apart.

Last night, I had a long conversation with Meghan which came about, to make a long story short, by my being a jerk. I had said something obnoxious in an obnoxious way and it had caused some hard feelings that didn't come up until a similar situation happened last night and I noticed the death glare.

I rarely fight with Meghan simply because she is more reserved. Usually the fighting is reserved for Ashley, and in that scenario, we will generally say harsh things, give each other the cold shoulder for a brief period of time, sometimes an apology will follow, sometimes not, but either way, within about 24 hours, both of us have forgotten it. Because I rarely encounter conflicts that I actually care about outside of this, I assume that this is the way it's supposed to go and that my actions are always going to be totally okay and acceptable. This, I learned, was not the case, something I hadn't known because nobody had told me. The discussion was difficult and I didn't exactly like being told that I was being obnoxious, but it was because of things like that that make the above picture possible.

I have noticed, particularly since I've been at college, that people put a premium on being "real", and I think that's because it's something that's very hard to find in today's world. In spite of, perhaps even because of, things like the emergence of reality television (ironically the least real thing on the face of the planet), people seem to think that they need to fit a mold in order to survive. And yet, this mold is sold under the label of individuality. "I'm an individual, just like all of them." I grew up with several people in many different settings that oozed fakeness from their very being, and it annoyed me so much that I decided I was never going to be like that. I decided I was going to be who I was, no matter what anyone else thought of me, and to be honest, most of the time that works out great. Some of the coolest people I have ever met in my entire life I am now privileged to call my friends and confidants. The problem, however, comes when my individuality and "being myself" ultimately hurts people and causes me to be un-Christlike in the process.

In case you haven't noticed in your casual reading, Jesus was a pretty blunt guy. He called the religious people vipers and his best friend Satan. But, this being said, there was a time and place for these actions, and it was only done when necessary. Overall, Christ didn't come to bring a spirit of harsh, blunt, egotism. His default and intent wasn't destruction. It was love of others and this concept continues on throughout the New Testament.

"...Be patient with each person, attentive to individual needs. And be careful that when you get on each other’s nerves you don’t snap at each other. Look for the best in each other, and always do your best to bring it out."

(1 Thessalonians 5:14-15, MSG)

Being real and blunt is perfectly fine. It is a strong part of who many people (myself included) are and what makes them them. These are the people that I love and with whom I can have a fun time. But while recognizing this, it's important to realize that not everyone works that way, and if you're tearing someone down, intentionally or not, maybe it's time to die out to your flesh a little bit. Friends were placed on this earth to supplement and enhance your life, but they really can't do that unless you supplement and enhance theirs right back.

That Ye May Be Healed

2010-09-21T11:17:00.002-04:00

NOTE: Please also read my dad's post here.

I sit here today, grieving and praying earnestly. Not for myself, but for the people back home in Ohio.

For those who know what has been going on, this is a great shock and tragedy. It's something that I certainly didn't expect and I know that many others share this sentiment. It is truly, completely sad.

All that being said, I must also express that I have been thoroughly disappointed with the way that the situation has prompted gossip, speculation, and judgment. With dear friends closely involved, it hits close to home, and hurts them, which is completely needless considering the fact that they are already going through things that most spectators can't even begin to understand. The judgment involved saddens me. I logged on to Facebook this morning (the source of all evil) and read destructive and disparaging comments one after the other. Vague, yes, but clear enough so that people in-the-know could understand particularly to what they were referring. There have been many vague comments posted, some of encouraging and uplifting nature, requesting prayer for the families involved, but the comments to which I am referring were of no such sort. They were meant to tear down, embarrass, and condemn.

A personal back story.

About five months ago, a very close friend of mine made a confession that has since turned my world ten kinds of upside-down, backwards, sideways, and all the other ways in between. It came as a complete shock. But one of the things he shared with me that night was James 5:16-

"Make this your common practice: Confess your sins to each other and pray for each other so that you can live together whole and healed. The prayer of a person living right with God is something powerful to be reckoned with." (MSG)

As time went on, similar things happened in this situation. People ran their mouths, spread rumors, and said all kinds of ludicrous things. People that didn't even know my friend or the situation at hand were all of the sudden experts into his innermost thoughts and condemnation followed. The whole thing ended up being disastrous and has ultimately led to broken friendships, prejudices, and bitterness. And this all stemmed from a group of Christians, training for the ministry no less, who are supposed to heal, uplift, and support.

The middle portion of that verse returns to my memory this week. Confess and pray that you can be…judged? Condemned? Have your reputation slandered, gossiped about, and trampled all over?

No.

Healed.

I am well aware that there can really be no parallels drawn between the two situations. They are completely different except for in one way. There was an issue in the body- our body as Christians- and it was put out there for the entire world to see. But please let the above story be a word of warning if nothing else. This is already a tragic situation and speculation, rumors, and cutting words don't help anything at all. All they are going to do is hurt the person with an issue and the innocent bystanders associated with the tragedy, leading to anger and bitterness. We don't have to condone what has happened, but we shouldn't condemn either.

Love the person. Love their families. Keep both in your prayers.

And keep your nasty comments to yourself.

Please and thank you.

The Glorious, Dysfunctional Relationship

2010-09-20T21:30:00.001-04:00

It was an innocent enough conversation and certainly out of the ordinary. I was heading down the road with a friend of mine with whom I don't spend nearly enough time on the way to the mall for some much needed retail therapy and to check on some job applications. And we were talking about the most prominant issue in our lives.

Guy problems.

We were discussing one in particular. A guy with whom my friend has had a long stream of issues circling around, to simplify and summarize, the fact that he essentially strings her along, refuses to commit, and consistently breaks his promises in a vicious circle that drives her insane. The most recent rotation of this circle prompted me to ask her, "So, how are things with Fred*?" This question resulted in angry eyes and a sigh that quite obviously meant that something was definitely going on. "What happened now?" I asked her.

What followed was a story similar to the one I had heard over and over again, but with a different ending.

"I finally just told him I was done. I was sick of him playing games, and in the end it just came down to one thing."

"What was that?"

"I just didn't mean as much to him as he did to me."

This statement hit me like a ton of bricks. It just summed up so much in so few words. But not in the way you might think. Not to worry. There has been no guy action that I haven't filled you in on. Trust me. You have no idea how little.

Yesterday, while sitting in class at my home church, admittedly only half listening due to the distraction of the presence of the world's cutest baby (my niece, of course) on my lap, the question was raised about God's plan B. Which, after much discussion, we came to the conclusion means us. We are, in all technicality, in some way, shape, or form, God's plan B. God created the angels, beings meant to worship Him without free will or choice. This, as we know, didn't work out 100% as planned, considering that a third of them rebelled with Satan and were kicked out of Heaven. And besides this, we can presume that the angels didn't fulfill the type of relationship that God really desired. They worshiped Him, but by no choice of their own. They were created to do so and didn't have any say in the matter.

Love isn't really fulfilling if the opposite party is forced into it.

So, God created us. Human beings. A little lower than the angels, as the Scripture puts it, and with a free gift with purchase as it were.

We have choice. Hooray!

But, yet again, something happens. Man fails. Man is given the choice to do good, and instead chooses evil, and we have what is known as the fall. Or, in the words of my Old Testament Survey professor, "the big jump off the freaking cliff". Sin enters the picture, and once again, the relationship with God is flawed. But something interesting happens here. God issues punishment, which is the reason for death, original sin, pain, etc., but then He forgives His creation. Restitution is made and Man goes along on his merry way until he falls again, only to once again be covered by God's mercy, makes restitution, and continues the relationship with God.

We can see the pattern of this scenario once again in the relationship between the Israelites and YHWH in the Old Testament. If you look at all that God does for them and then look at the grief Israel gives God in return, it looks strikingly like an abusive, dysfunctional relationship. The template for said scenario goes something like as follows:

God: Hey, Israel. You're my kids and I love you. Have some blessings and favor!

Israel: Woot! Thanks, Yahweh! You're the best!

God: No problem, kids. Glad to do it! Now, I have some things I'd like for you to do for me. Nothing huge. Just follow these commandments that are going to enrich your life and make the world a better place.

Israel: Ummm...yeah. About that. We're good with the blessings, but we're kinda good without the laws. Kthanxbai.

[insert rebellion here]

[insert God's wrath here]

Israel: Okay, okay! We're sorry! Forgive us!

God: Of course! All is forgiven! Now, let's get you out of this mess.

Israel: Phew! Thanks, God! You're the best!

God: No problem. You're my kids and I love you. Have some blessings and favor!

Israel: Yay! Thanks, God!

God: So, about those laws...

Israel: Ummm....

Lather. Rinse. Repeat. All through the Old Testament.

There are times when I'm reading the Bible and I'm especially glad that I'm not God, and I'm pretty sure the rest of humanity is as well. About the first time I bailed Israel out and they rebelled again, I would have blown a gasket, and said, "Nope! You're so flippin' smart. Figure it out yourselves!" and left.

And that's why I'm not God.

He's known from the start that we're imperfect and created us with the capacity to be such. Does He want us to sin? No, of course not! But he's given us that choice and knows that, unfortunately, frequently we're going to make the wrong one. Isaiah 40:6 puts it this way-

"All men are like grass, and all their glory is like the flowers of the field."

I came across this verse today while doing my reading for Major Prophets. According to the high, holy textbook, the word "glory" in this verse comes from the Greek khesed, meaning "faithfulness, devotion, loyalty, commitment". As you continue to read this passage in Isaiah, it goes on to say that the grass and flowers are short-lived and wither. Man's faithfulness starts out beautiful and ends up withering away into something ugly in short order. Strive as we may to reach perfection, we just won't. Things will always get in the way. And the simple fact is that our love for God, no matter how strong and sturdy we think it is, will never, ever match the love He has for us.

Our comparatively bipolar, wishy-washy relationship with the Almighty will always fall short. And in human terms, this is more than enough cause for a breakup. It's like my friend said. He just doesn't mean as much to us as we do to Him. We simply don't have that capacity.

But the glorious part of all of this is, if you think about it, that even though we are, in a way, plan B, we mean so much more. The angels rebelled once and that was it. They were done and condemned for eternity. We, as humans, should be condemned for eternity. We deserve death. But God in His unfailing mercy permits a plan of restoration and allows us to come back time and time again after our rebellions. And He keeps pouring out the blessings despite it all.

God chose to make us capable of imperfection.

And despite that, He decided to love us in our imperfection.

If that doesn't blow your mind, nothing will.

Over and Over Again

2010-09-13T01:44:00.002-04:00

I sat there for twenty minutes.

Simple as that. Just sat there. No agenda. No motivation. Really nothing profound about it. I had thirty minutes until curfew, the world on my shoulders, and laundry in the dryer.

And all I wanted to do was disappear.

So I did.

It's not like it's a hidden away place. If I were playing hide and seek it would be a super crappy place to take cover. But it's mine. The one place I have where I can go and be by myself and nobody actually has to know where I'm going. It's quiet. And better to go at night. I've tried it in the daylight and it just doesn't have the same effect. Perhaps that's just sentiment, but it really doesn't matter. When it's night and it's dark and there's nobody out there except for a few random people in the courtyard, it's where I can just go to disappear.

So I did tonight. I just had to. There's no explicable reason for why. There are things, but there are always things. But something about this place...the fact that at one point it's the one place where everything was laid out and everything made sense and was logical, even through a thick fog of confusion. There was some level of clarity.

It's ironic to me now that a place where you were once shattered can bring you peace at a later time. That the place you were sitting when you thought, "Oh dear God, this just can't get any worse" suddenly becomes a place you long to revisit because you can close your eyes and it's all right back and is all the same one more time.

So that's what I did. I set an alarm and just sat there. Eyes closed, attempting to push everything out.

To no avail, mind you. For some reason, closing your eyes is a perfect venue to open the floodgates and start bawling your eyes out all over again. Despite the fact that it's incredibly peaceful and for once you actual have the slightest shard of some weird kind of peace, you find yourself pouring out the torrential tempest that you were once able to contain, a skill that now seems incredibly invaluable, not to mention ridiculously far away to you now. And so you do the only logical thing to do at the time. Perhaps it's initially driven by the fact that it's the only thing that will keep the stray passerby from thinking that the insane sobs, the depth of which they do not understand, are not the markings of madness, but rather a deeper travail in the spiritual realm. But, no matter what the reasons, you start calling out to God.

It's gotten so old after a time. The same old things, over and over again. At this point, I'm sure that whole verse "no vain repetitions" has been trampled and stomped upon me so many times, that the Lord is probably looking at me going, "Really?"

But, where the whole rehearsed thing that you've called out over and over again is supposed to roll forth, something new comes out. It crackles as it comes from my throat and it startles me.

"Okay, I'm just done now."

The doneness has been declared over and over again, but apparently this is driven by a subconcious desire to be done. What that means exactly, I'm not sure, but presumably, that's what I want. Granted, I have roughly a few ideas, which then come spilling forth.

"I'm done asking for you to let me understand. Because apparently that's just not going to happen, now is it? I asked you when this all started if you would take care of it, and you promised me that you would. And where on earth has that got me? I'm sitting here, staring at a wall where a promise used to be. And I mean that literally. It is not here anymore. In any sense of the word. Not. Here. I'm done trying to understand because, even though I thought that nothing could, it makes this hurt a million times worse! You told me this would be okay. And it' s not. And all I can do is sit here as the already broken pieces of the one thing I thought was a sure fall apart even more. And I. Can't. Fix it."

The outburst was surprising. And once again, I sat there, attempting to process the emotions that I didn't know even had words. I'm not sure if I was being real with God, or just being belligerent. And then, it was like He said it.

"Okay. Are you really done now?"

The question leaves me sheepish as I realize the irony of the previous outburst. I mean, I said I was done, and then went on a rampage.

"Umm...yeah. Sorry about that."

And it's the thing He's told me over and over again. That I don't seem to get, even though I've written it out a hundred times, I heard it countless times more.

"Quit trying to fix it. Because you're right. You can't."

"Okay, but yeah. Seriously? Why this thing? Did you have to pick this thing? The one thing I care about more than anything else? I'm serious. Take anything else from me. Just leave this alone. Or better yet, fix it and take care of it like you promised! This one thing! The thing that I hold dearer than anything else in the world? That's the thing that you're letting get destroyed? This hurts! I can't do this anymore!"

Sometimes I wonder why on earth God doesn't take on the form of a giant hand for just two seconds, reach down, smack me upside the head and go, "For the love of Me, I've told you this a million times before, stupid! Listen!"

But instead, he just brings this back to my mind. The thing that got me through the beginning of this in the first place.

"But God chose what is foolish in the world to shame the wise; God chose what is weak in the world to shame the strong;God chose what is low and despised in the world, even things that are not, to bring to nothing things that are, so that no human being might boast in the presence of God." (1 Corinthians 1:27-29)

In other words, "Quit worrying about the things that are broken, stupid. I broke them so that I could fix them. And not only so that I could fix them, but that I could make them better. Oh, and by the way, that means you, too."

A Tale of Two Fishies

2010-09-08T22:14:00.002-04:00

Once upon a time, about a week ago, I decided that I needed a fish. It was simply a necessity and my dorm room could not go on without it.

Tonight, finally, we set out on a quest to find a fish. We traveled to a specialty aquarium store, but they were pretty overpriced and their bettas (which is actually what I kind of wanted) looked depressed. So, we went to Petco. They were much more affordable and had a pretty nice selection. And then I saw it.

The food tank.

Crammed with about a million fish for thirteen cents a piece. I simply had to save them.

Oh sure, the lady warned me they wouldn't last long. But I assumed this would mean like a week? Maybe two if I got lucky. The point was, I wanted a fish in my life, and this was the way to do it. So, I bought some food and some dechorlinizer (if that's not a word, I don't even care) and was on my merry way with two fish that I rescued. And I named them Princess Consuela (insert Friends reference here) and Punjab.

We got them back to the school, put them in the tank, and they promptly died. Ten minutes later.

Thanks, Petco.

The Greek Orthodox Gospel

2010-09-06T22:33:00.000-04:00

His name was Father Michael.

He was standing at the front of quite possibly the most beautiful church sanctuaries I've ever beheld in my entire existence. He had little hair on his head, glasses, and was dressed in a long black robe. I also noted that he was wearing a wedding ring, which perplexed me a little bit, as my knowledge of Greek Orthodox beliefs is admittedly a little rusty and I only knew them to be similar to the Catholics.

We approached him as we made our way towards the front, taking in the elaborate and intricate beauty that surrounded us. As we approached the altar area, he came down from the platform and extended his hand for each of us to shake and directed the kindest smile towards us. He introduced himself as one of the fathers of the parish, and welcomed us to the church.

The next ten minutes consisted of the most confusing blend of conversation, which could be described as both absolutely nothing of consequence, and yet so incredibly mind-blowing and life-altering. We discussed the parish and the church itself, and the symbolism of the different paintings and images in reference to the church, as he put it, "a physical depiction of the Gospel". He explained the history of the immigrants that had founded the church, the demographics of the current congregation, which he described as "vibrant and appealing to all ages", and went on to inform us when the services were and casually invite us to see what the Greek Orthodox way was like "in action". We said a good-bye and asked if he minded if we photographed some of the artifacts and images,which he said was perfectly alright, and we parted ways without another word.

We had opted for more of a self-guided tour so that we could take in the sights at our leisure, but the rest of the group had decided to wait for the the tour guide to lead them through. They came into the sanctuary a few minutes after we had finished talking to the father, and a couple of them came over to talk to us. They had lagged behind the rest of the tour group and came in as people were being seated and the guide was beginning to talk.

"Are we interrupting a service?"

"No, it's just a tour and he's getting ready to talk. Even if it was, it's Christianity-based, so it's not like you'd go to Hell for sitting in or anything."

The latter of these comments was clearly said in a joking manner, but the response that followed made me cringe a little bit.

"Um, actually it's all idolatry based. It's pagan. Pagan!"

The two of them walked away, leaving with their words sending my mind spinning.

Allow me to elaborate.

We are students at a Bible college. A school which has the word "evangelism" in the title. We firmly believe that we have the truth. The whole truth. And the organization with which we are, like it or not, affiliated has the motto "The Whole Gospel. To The Whole World."

This information in mind, explain to me who in this story displayed true Christianity? The man who, in general, we would consider to be lacking of the whole truth and in need of the evangelism that we like to push so much, who expressed his religion casually with love and humility? Or the truth-bearing Christian, who passed judgment and misunderstanding without a thought and with self-righteous indignation?

The fact of the matter is that sometimes, we're so caught up in getting the message out, that we make it too hard and lose the true spirit and essence of what Christianity is all about. We're so quick to condemn those that we think are wrong, even those that we know are doing wrong according to the Word of God, that we forget exactly how to reach them. We're so caught up and adamant about their "wrongness" that we forget the one thing that will minister to the masses.

Love.

It's not that love is what will save them. It's not that love is all that they need. They need Christ. And yes, they are lost. But are they really going to be drawn to a God that condemns them, looks down on them, and criticizes their beliefs without building a valid relationship with them? Is that the God we serve?

I don't think it is.

Sudden Influx of Awesome

2010-09-01T18:56:00.000-04:00

Am I doing anything of substance in college thus far?

Eh. Debatable.

I mean, let's look at the facts. I'm currently in a Life of Christ class, which I've been in for going on two weeks, and we have yet to mention Christ's life. Actually, the class is more of a painful rerun of New Testament Survey. It makes me want to weep tears of agony and pain. However, there is awesome in the form of Old Testament Survey, a class that makes me even more convinced that I was born to be Jewish and is enhanced by the fact that my professor likes to get loud and yell a lot. In a good way. There is also awesome in the form of Hermeneutics, a class on Biblical interpretation taught by someone with an actual doctorate and an amazing teaching style, along with a lot of friends in the class, that balance out the stupid that is inevitably brought by the...well...stupid people. Stupid people that say stupid things about situations they don't even understand, yet feel the need to give their keen insight on.

*dismount from soapbox*

Awesome also comes in the form of my Pauline Epistles class, which was changed at the last minute to an independent study course. Which means, basically, we have non-mandatory discussions about the text at Starbucks.

Woe to me and all that jazz.

Awesome also came about two weeks ago, which I briefly mentioned, but will now share pictures from. Basically, my two favorite people in the world made their way from the southern states in which they insist on inhabiting to St.Louis. One was expected, one was a last-minute surprise (which, might I add, I totally figured out before she got here).

I will spare you the sappy details and abbreviate simply to the fact that these are the people who basically made last semester bearable for me and that I love them both more than words can say and their leaving basically left a gaping void in my heart and soul (yes, I did go with the guilt trip route.) Can't imagine life without them and am so flipping glad I got to spend time with them, even if it was just the all-too-short two days.

Oh, also, Heather lost her eye. Which makes me sad, because otherwise, I pretty much love this picture more than words can say. Just like the people in it.

Thirst Quenchers

2010-09-01T01:50:00.002-04:00

The milkshake was totally not what I wanted.

I realize that the opening sentence of this rings reminiscent of days at the dinner table in the Gateway cafeteria last semester, when Heather and I carefully planned and founded the Fat Kid Association. But it's true.

I didn't want that blasted milkshake. The original discussion which prompted the obligatory trip to QT consisted of me bursting into Meghan's room (oh, there's a shock) after Hermeneutics, proclaiming that the perfect formula of Dr.Pepper with vanilla and cherry add-ins was necessary for my survival. And so we went to partake of this sixty-nine cent goodness.

It was all downhill from there. Darn QT and their catch "Buy 2 for a slightly less price each" deals, prompting Meghan to look into the milkshake freezer and say, "Hey, I'll pay for two of these if you want one." And besides, there was Reese's. That was new. Also, free. Well, free as a trade-in for some Flamin' Hot Cheetos.

The decision was good at the time. It brought joy to my taste buds and there was gladness in my heart. But then, the disasterous thought occurred to me, sitting on the floor of my friend's room after a deep soul-searching conversation. The oh-so-shallow proclamation of, "Oy. I shouldn't have got the milkshake."

"Why? Did it make you sick?"

"Um, no. It's just not what I wanted. I wanted Dr.Pepper with vanilla and cherry. And I got the stupid milkshake. I got what sounded good at the time but it was totally not what I wanted. That's all."

This was followed with the typical response of, "Oh, that'll preach," the typical reply when one of us says something redundant, shallow, or stupid.

Thirst is a fascinating mechanism. I remember in tenth grade biology (also known as the last year that I was good at science before I kissed my hopes and dreams of a career in medicine bye-bye) that my teacher also happened to be the Oceanography teacher. And the swim coach. Thus, she had a slight obsession with all things aquatic and water-related. I remember sitting in her classroom, during one of my ADD episodes, reading all of the posters on her wall. One of these had facts about thirst, in particular. Weird things, that I don't even know why I remember. Things like that the thirst mechanism is so weak, that if you aren't already hydrated, you'll probably mistake it for hunger. And that your body doesn't have a store of water if you get dehydrated, like it does of fat if you don't eat. That's why you have to drink all the time. And that a lack of water will kill you faster than a lack of food. That last one is pretty standard knowledge.

Sometimes you just crave water. Like when it's nine hundred degrees in the Gateway dorm and the Lord has decided he wants to smite you, so your fan doesn't work (not drawing from current personal experience or anything). Or sometimes you just crave...something. Like a Dr.Pepper with vanilla and cherry. And the worst thing that could happen in this scenario is for you to get distracted. Because the milkshake will be good at that moment, it just doesn't have the thirst quenching capabilities that an actual liquid does, you know? And you'll end up mad at yourself because you're still ridiculously thirsty and all the water bottles are gone, so you're stuck with nasty tap water.

Ew.

It perplexes me that I'm so worked up about poor drink choices, when in reality I make this poor decision daily, on a much grander and more impacting scale. I'm at Bible School, studying a subject that will lead me into a ministry doing things I love, and I came here with a thirst for God and to do something great for Him. I craved time with Him, in prayer, in the Word, all that good stuff that good Christian kids do. If I'm going to be perfectly transparent and honest, my walk with God made me, ironically enough, a little arrogant. Made me feel like I was better than other people because I didn't have a problem with my prayer time. With my Bible. Pray without ceasing? Sure, no problem. Devour the Word? Um, of course. And it becomes so easy to make it commonplace, particularly here, at a school surrounded by people that (sometimes, just in theory) follow my core belief systems. God is so integrated into all that we do that we lose that awe. I'm not saying it's a bad thing that God is integrated. Actually, that's pretty much the bomb. He should be. That makes sense, if you're here studying for ministry. Why shouldn't you get immersed in Him? But the danger of that is that it becomes so common, a way of life, that we lose the reality of just how sacred and special that relationship with Him is. We lose that craving for Him, we get distracted, and something else gets in the way. Life does.

Life is delicious. Despite some bumps in the road, I've been blessed with a pretty great one. Good family, the best friends I could ask for, and some pretty great experiences with the promise of many more in the future. And because of all this, it becomes easy to see how appealing life can be. And while it's not really bad, per se, when the distraction eclipses the thirst, it becomes a problem. After all, according to Philippians 3:14, " I pursue, looking towards the goal, for the prize of the calling on high of God in Christ Jesus." You're supposed to be pursuing your call. Losing the thirst isn't supposed to be an option. The distractions that life promise are good, fun, and not necessarily immoral or unbiblical. But if they're keeping you from your thirst and/or quenching your thirst in other ways, it's just not going to end well for you. You're going to end up down the road, on your friends floor, puzzling over why on earth you lost sight of what it is you really wanted and got the milkshake instead. It's not that it's bad. It's just not what you wanted.

And maybe it's just not what you were supposed to have.

Shoeboxes and Other Things That Lack Interest

2010-08-20T01:27:00.000-04:00

I think I've given up on the thirty day thing. By day eighteen. That's just sad. I got busy, lost track, and then lost motivation. Oh well, it happens. I've been with friends this week, some coming in for the school year, and some coming in just to visit and/or move out (and yes, I'm still bitter about that fact).

So...the new shoebox. I love it. It's awesome. It's me. It's shockingly (STILL!) clean.

It should be noted that the above painting was made by one of my fabulous friends. It may be one of my favorite things in my room currently. Or the Woodstock poster. It's a complete and total toss-up. (I completely kid and say this knowing my audience.)

Day 18: Whatever Tickles Your Fancy- Shoeboxes

2010-08-17T01:01:00.002-04:00

Last year's (well, semester's) dorm room became affectionately known as the shoebox. Honestly, this is really more of an insult to a shoebox than anything. It's slightly bigger than my room and is clean when you get it. My room was not. But anyway. You get the picture. The room was tiny, but it was mine and I actually loved it despite its tininess. Particularly when it got rearranged halfway through the semester in a momentous feat of interior decorating skills by Meghan, who thought she knew what she was getting into (she didn't).

Side note: In this setting, she likes to get her way. Which means I got yelled at a lot. Because I focused on little details like things on my wall. Rather than the fact that my bed was in the middle of the room and we were barracaded in by the desk. Psh. Perspective.

Did I ever get a picture of the finished amazingness of a room? No. Because I fail. But, rest assured, it was awesome.

But then, something miraculous occurred...and its name was Sophomore year. Which meant a new room. Twice the size of my old one and with tile flooring. Also (wonder of wonders, miracle of miracles) not one, but TWO wall outlets! It's paradise in a dorm. Fabulous. Also, it's hippied out. Because, well, it's me.

(Pictures shall follow when available.)

Day 17: An Art Piece (Drawing, Painting, Sculpture, Etc.)

2010-08-16T11:45:00.001-04:00

Once upon a time, there was a little girl who was a great artist. She was six. Everyone loved her artwork and proclaimed how wonderful she was. Soon, the little girl grew up, but her art skills did not. And for some reason, at the age of nineteen, nobody thought that her stick people and potholders were great anymore.

Another thing you must know about said girl (which may or may not be me.) She loved birthdays. Not her birthdays, although, let's not kid ourselves, her birthday is pretty much an epic win. But others' birthdays. She, in fact, went slightly insane around these birthdays, buying gifts up to a month in advance and exploding because she had to force herself not to give said gifts away ahead of time. So, one day, in the month of April, 2010, such a birthday was drawing nigh. While the gift for the friend had been bought way in advance, the unartistic girl decided it was missing something. So, against her better judgment, she recruited another friend (who had a car) and said, "Hey. We just got back from Spring Break and have a weekend with nothing to do and a friend's much bigger abandoned room in which we can ~~watch movies~~ meditate upon the Lord. But first, let's go to Target, because our friend's birthday is tomorrow and I feel like I'm missing something." And so, the girls went to Target and found, lo and behold, eco-friendly gift wrapping and gift bags. But, lo and behold again, the girl's friend decided she needed both of these things for HER presents for the birthday friend, so the unartistic girl was up chocolate creek without a popsicle stick. And then, as though a light shown from above (incandescently and/or florescently) an eco-friendly box appeared. And inspiration hit.

"Yea, verily, I shall paint this box!" she proclaimed in a loud voice, although she had no artistic ability to speak of and no idea what the heeze she was going to paint, for the love of all that is holy. And then, while in the music section, inspiration hit once more. "My birthday friend is a hippie!" she proclaimed in a loud voice, stating the excessively obvious. And Google was called upon on the BlackBerry and a picture of a Woodstock poster was pulled up and inspiration hit once more. "Let us traverse unto Michael's and get paint so that I may make a work of art!" The friend looked at her, doubting seriously, and laughed a little bit, but helped her pick out acrylics that matched the colors of the Woodstock poster, so that a grand effort could be made.

Many hours were spent toiling on the box (okay, two) and absolutely no paint was spilled on the friend-whose-room-they-were-borrowing's carpet (nope. None. Shhhh....) And after many false attempts (and pencil marks), the creation was completed.

And then the box was filled with Skittles and other gifts of no particular consequence (unless you were the birthday person. Then they made sense.) and there was much rejoicing.

Day 16: A Song That Makes You Cry (or Nearly)

2010-08-15T20:53:00.002-04:00

Oh this just opens doors for ridicule, now doesn't it?

I'm not overly girly (usually) and I think that I'm missing some crucial gene that allows me to cry at sappy movies. Like, I can be sitting, watching a chick flick with a bunch of other girls and they'll be sobbing while I'm sitting there, laughing at the cliche stupidity of it all. With songs, likewise. They just don't make me cry. Typically.

There are backstories with everything, but sometimes you just leave them unsaid and post a YouTube link to the song, instead. Let it be known that 1.) I don't full on cry with the song...just tear up. A lot. and 2.) Sentimental value is attached to it more than anything.

Day 15: A Fanfic

2010-08-14T15:13:00.000-04:00

People...I must sadly admit.

I'm giving up on this one.

I have rough knowledge of what this even means.

But I just can't bring myself to do it.

Plus, I'm getting ready to go back to school next week.

So yeah, it's just not gonna happen.

Day 14- A Non-Fictional Book

2010-08-13T01:22:00.032-04:00

"Search for God like a man with his head on fire searches for water." -Eat, Pray, Love

It started out with a movie trailer.

When I saw Eclipse (don't you judge me), one of the previews before the movie advertised Eat, Pray, Love with Julia Roberts. It had shots of Rome, India, and Indonesia and from what I could tell, basically just documented someone who was doing some extensive world traveling. This was, of course, enough for me. Italy? India? Bali?

Umm..yes, please.

Oh yeah. And James Franco is starring in it. Super yummy delicious.

Hastening on.

After I saw this preview, I was gushing to random, unsuspecting, innocent victims and was informed that this movie, was in fact, a book. After recovering from my happy little seizure, I was struck down once again by the realization that not only was this a book, but it was a book that was located in my own house. On my dad's bookcase. In his office. And the happy little seizure resumed.

I could not put the book down (until I had to) and it completely and totally consumed me. I mean, I could relate on some weird level. Not to the actual circumstances through which Elizabeth Gilbert was going, but the feelings and emotions described? It was like someone had jumped into my head and shoveled these descriptive words right out. And then, because they had gone through it, some insight followed. Now, granted, it's not totally, completely applicable, not all of it, because when she speaks of deities and stuff (in her search for faith. Thus, the whole "pray" part.) she refers to several of them. Things that I don't necessarily...okay, at all, subscribe to or look to, really. But, still, she comes back and gives a lot of insight (even then) into a relationship with "a god" similar to my relationship with my God. It's pretty amazing and awe-inspiring to see that some of the very conversations you've had have been had by other people. And it assures you that you are not a lunatic for having said feelings, emotions, and conversations in the middle of hopelessness, despair, and/or happier situations. And when I say not a lunatic, I mean that you are probably not crazy. But there's still that possibility.

Anyway, if you have free time (or even if you don't), you probably just have to pick up this book. And read it. Absorb it. Think about it. Because honestly, it's just that good.

"I would not have accepted any other answer. I would not have trusted a great booming voice....because that's not true wisdom. True wisdom gives the only possible answer at any given moment, and that night, going back to bed was the only possible answer. 'Go back to bed,' said this omniscent interior voice, 'Because you don't need to know the final answer right now, at three o'clock in the morning on a Thursday in November. Go back to bed, because I love you. Go back to bed, because the only thing you need to do for now is get some rest and take good care of yourself until you do know the answer. Go back to bed, so that when the tempest comes, you'll be strong enough to deal with it. And the tempest is coming, dear one. Very soon. But not tonight. Therefore: Go back to bed."

Day 13- A Fictional Book (Throwback Edition)

2010-08-12T02:35:00.001-04:00

I'm about to prove what a grown-up I am by using this book. But do I care? Not at all.

At the end of my third grade year, a lot of changes were going on around my household, the largest of which was the fact that, after nine and a half years, I was no longer going to be an only child. I was getting (Hooray!) a baby sister!

(NOTE: For those of you who actually know anything about my family, you'll note that I actually do have a baby sister. One who is twelve and a half years younger than I am. The sibling that is ten years younger than me is not a sister. This is a completely different story, one which I shall enjoy tormenting my brother with when he's old enough for it to bug him.)

So, during this excessively vulnerable time, my parents decided that to ease any angst that I may have had (if only they had known that they had no idea what angst was and wouldn't until middle school), they decided to get me a book about a kid my age going into fourth grade, who had a little brother (even though that part of the story certainly wasn't applicable) and a turtle ( If you don't know the signifigance, then too bad.) There was also an excess of fruit juice, some stamps on a suitcase, and a premature loss of teeth.

Now, if you haven't read this book, here's something you should know. In hindsight, it probably was not the best book to sooth any ill feelings toward a new sibling.

-Spoiler Alert-

The baby brother eats the kid's turtle. And is just a demon. Like, an absolute brat. And the kid gets completely dumped on and thrown aside for the bratty little brother.

In short, it's a great encouragement.

Not that any of this occurred to me, actually. I actually kind of loved the book. And then my own brother dropped it into a bathtub full of water and it got all stuck together and stuff. It was a sad day for all.

The reason this book actually came to mind? My own brother is heading into fourth grade. And guess what book he's reading?

Day 12: Whatever Tickles Your Fancy

2010-08-11T09:51:00.000-04:00

Have I mentioned that I hate that phrase?

As for what tickles my fancy today...it is always the appropriate time for a YouTube video. Especially when that YouTube video involves a tractor. Driving down the road. In my hometown.

Words fail me sometimes.

Day 11: A Photo of You Taken Recently

2010-08-10T16:46:00.000-04:00

Sometimes, you go to a different city and you find something just so perfect that you simply must pose with it. Such was the case in Philadelphia last month. We went to a museum, it was on Woodstock Street, I about had a joyful coronary, and photographs were required immediately. And may I just say, you haven't lived until you've been gawked at by Philadelphia natives for making peace signs next to a random street sign as they drive by. It is truly an experience.

Answers

2010-08-10T01:42:00.000-04:00

Who you are is of no consequence to me.
I don't care about your dark and twisty past.
I don't care about the present that consumes you.
I don't care about your seemingly uncertain future.
It doesn't matter.
When will you understand that?
I don't care that your faith is faltering.
I don't care that you're confused and feel alone.
I don't care..
Because it doesn't matter.
You're you.
White, black, yellow, red, orage, purple.
I don't care.
The person you are?
There's a reason for that.
Oh, you have problems? You have baggage?
You think that's an issue.
It's funny that you think of that as big compared to me.
You're at your wits end and have tried everything you know and some that you don't?
That's interesting, because I happen to have the answer.
You're frustrated because I have this answer and won't give it to you right now?
You're not ready for it.
And besides, it's bigger than you know.
You tell me it's a hopeless cause?
I don't know the meaning of that.
What's hopeless?
You really think there's something I can't make a way out of it.
Child, sometimes you're so foolish.
Limited by your human mind.
But it's okay.
Because you're not supposed to have all the answers.
That's why you're not God.
And I am.
What makes you think you know what's going to happen?
How every little thing will pan out?
Have I ever steered you wrong before?
Have I let you down?
No.
Never.
I've got this.
It's not a big deal.
I'm not limited by your doubts.
I'm not limited by what you do and do not believe.
I don't care what the other people say.
They don't define who I am.
Not in the least.
And neither do you.
Quit worrying.
Go back to sleep.
It will be a little brighter in the morning.
Just wait.
You'll see.

Day 10: A Photo of You Taken Over Ten Years Ago

2010-08-09T08:43:00.001-04:00

People, contrary to popular belief, my father is indeed a sentimental individual. And I have photographic evidence right here!

And then, sometimes pictures get (kind of) reenacted about 15 years after the fact:

Everybody say "Awww!"

Day 9: A Photo You Took

2010-08-08T01:16:00.000-04:00

It has been over a year now since I took this picture, and yet, it still never ceases to amaze me. I think I've posted it before, but let's recap. This picture was taken in downtown Asuncion last summer during my seven-week stint in Paraguay. Asuncion was once upon a time the most technologically advanced country in Paraguay. It had the first train system and a whole list of other accomplishments that, at the moment, I can't remember. But anyway, long story short, there was a big war, commissioned by the president at the time, and the country was seriously unequipped for said war. Basically, the three countries surrounding it (Bolivia, Brazil, and Argentina) got together and went to war against Paraguay. You know how tiny Paraguay is? And how big the other three countries are? Well, bits and pieces of all of them used to be Paraguay. If I'm not mistaken (and it's quite possible that I am) Paraguay used to be the biggest country in South America. You know, back when it was technologically advanced. Anyway, if you go to Asuncion today, it's like the city has been frozen in time. It's very antiquated, lots of old buildings, and native Guarani indians line the sidewalks, selling their handmade wares. Thus, the picture. Which happens to be of one such indigenous lady, weaving with her feet. That's right. Her feet. Mad skills redefined. What now?

A side note, this lady totally gave me the stink eye after I took her picture. Apparently, typically when tourists (which, I guess I kinda maybe qualified as) take pictures, the people want money afterwards. I was in a moving car, it was raining, I was kind of, sort of instructed to NOT give people on the street money, and so...stink eye.

Day 8: A Photo That Makes You Sad (Or Angry)

2010-08-07T11:28:00.000-04:00

This photo makes me incredibly sad, and in a weird way...homesick. This was my best friend while I was on AIM, Debora, in front of Rio Paraguay. I honestly can't think of a person on earth that I miss more at the moment and I still swear to myself that one day, I will get back to South America and eat pizza at Pancholo's with her again.

Doubly Applicable

2010-08-07T01:51:00.000-04:00

Sometimes, I flip back through things I have written in past months, looking for insight. Or just remembering stuff.

And then sometimes, I find things that are once again applicable. And worth reading over again.

Things like this.

Day 7: A Photo That Makes You Happy

2010-08-06T09:12:00.000-04:00

Cheesiness aside, I absolutely love this picture. One word comes to mind when I look at it. Simplicity. This was "the gang" last summer before we all went our seperate ways and life happened. It was probably one of the most fun days I've ever had and this picture represents some of the best days of my life thus far. I went to Paraguay three weeks after this was taken, and after that, things just changed. Rachel (in the blue) moved to Connecticut and got married. I went to college after I got home. Dawn (in the green) got her foster kids back soon after this. Just...things. As they always do. Life happens. So, you savor the good times and look back and they make you happy.

*end motivational speech*

Day 6: Whatever Tickles Your Fancy- The Gabri Edition

2010-08-05T13:34:00.000-04:00

First of all, I would never use the term "tickle your fancy". It just sounds....weird.

Today, I would like to share with you something much better than anything I could possibly have to say.

Meet Gabri. The living cartoon. If there was ever a person whose mouth you had to worry about because of its unpredictability, it would likely be her. You honestly never, ever know what is going to come out of her mouth, and therefore, some excellent quotes come as a result of this. Unfortunately, many of these also involve facial expressions of disgust and exasperation as a result of the inadequacy that surrounds her presence at all time, and many of her quotes are in context, but here is a small sampling that will hopefully get the point across

Gabri's rewritten lyrics to the song "Hey Jude":

Hate You
Thank You
Hebrew

"Michael, I don't understand why you don't trust me. You already know that I don't cheat most of the time."

Me: Everyone knows that I'm Mom's favorite

Gabri: No. You're the hippie. Nobody likes you.

And then, of course, there was the glorious day that she discovered air quotes...

Day 5: Favorite Quote

2010-08-04T01:02:00.000-04:00

"I am the planet's most affectionate life-form, something like the cross between a golden retriever and a barnacle."

-Elizabeth Gilbert, "Eat, Pray, Love"

(Look at that! I stuck to one!)

Day 4: Favorite Book(s)

2010-08-03T16:28:00.002-04:00

I love books. Ever since I was little, they've been pretty much the loves of my life. Its a slightly unhealthy obsession, to tell you the truth. I love the smell of books (especially old ones. I have a collection of Grace Livingston Hill books from the early 1900's that my grandmother left me and they smell...amazing.) I love the artwork on the covers. I love the colors. I love the creativity that it takes to finish an entire book. I just love everything about books. In high school, the highlight of every other Thursday (as I reveal my true inner nerd) was Book Jackets. Basically, if you were a bookworm (I was.) and had very little social life (Me again!) and weren't involved with extra-curriculars (outside of the occasional play practice, tada!), Book Jackets was Mecca. A circle of nerds (and baked goods) discussing what was good in literature (the classics, of course. And some of the lesser known new stuff) and what was not (i.e. Twilight, which we all agreed that, while good for a warm fuzzy feeling, was possibly one of the most abysmal pieces of literature to grace the planet. Terribly predictable and horribly written.)

That being said, I will divide into categories. Because, once again, I can't pick just one.

The Classics: Wuthering Heights by Charlotte Bronte

Tortured love on the moors. Brooding, angry, bipolar men. Stuck-up, snobby, tempermental women that give us a bad name. Fifteen storylines and twelve characters with the same name. A required accompaniment of SparkNotes the first time you read it. Such are the elements of possibly the best book ever written.

Contemporary: My Sister's Keeper by Jodi Picoult

If you are a perfectly decent human being, do me a favor. Never, ever, in your lifetime watch the movie version of this book. In fact, if there's a movie version of any of Jodi's books, don't watch it. But if you must watch one, please, oh please, don't let it be this one. This book will make you cry like a little baby girl. Because it's heart-wrenching, but an excellent, excellent book. And thought provoking. But the movie, no. They changed the ending (which is just wrong. Read the book and you'll understand why) and they cast Cameron Diaz. Epic fails all around.

The runner up for this category would have to be Handle With Care by the same author. Both books deal with genetic ethics (painful flashback to Senior Project), but in a narrative way. Both are mind-blowing and both require a truckload of Kleenex on hand.

Epic Awesomeness: Blue Like Jazz by Donald Miller

I honestly don't know how to categorize this book other than just that. Epic Awesomeness. And I couldn't just not mention it. Mind-blowing. You doubt? A quote.

‎"I want you to understand something. I want you to understand that God has never been nor ever will be invented. He is not a product of imagination. He does not obey trends.. He was answering your prayers because he is a God of compassion... Your problem is not that God is not fulfilling. Your problem is that you are spoiled."

Mhmm. Chew on that for a while. And then go read the book.

Also, a lifetime of thanks to Chantell for bringing Don Miller onto my radar.

Series: Ashley Stockingdale by Kristen Billerbeck

Literary masterpiece? Absolutely not. Girly, warm-fuzzy, single-girl-moderate-desperation read? One hundred percent yes. I got these books a few Christmases ago from my Aunt Shana (as is tradition. Always with the girly chick-lit books. I love her for this.) and have since read them about five times a piece and the third book in the series has probably gotten a little more mileage than the first two. The books also went through a phase in which they were passed around to about three or four girls in the youth group, under death threats if they were not returned quickly and unharmed.

Day 3: Your Favorite Television Program

2010-08-02T18:23:00.002-04:00

Let's do the multiple thing again. Once more, with feeling. They don't make good shows anymore. Actually, that's a lie. They do. But the internet at Gateway is slow and they're difficult to stream. Also, it's against the rules to watch television shows at school and we all know that I would just never, ever do that. Right? Right? Huh?

So, my three favorites (all discontinued, may they rest in peace) are as follows:

1.) Friends

It's just a classic. I don't how you can have lived through the nineties without loving Friends. It's just one of those shows in which there is something that you simply have to laugh at, every time, no matter who you are. And no matter how many times you see it, it doesn't stop being funny. Ever. It just...doesn't. And it's given pop culture (or maybe it's just my weird family) so many new household phrases. Unagi. Holiday Armadillo.

And, of course, the moo point.

2.) Will and Grace

Shamelessly addicted. It's a little sad. Especially when you spend a summer unemployed with positively no life and there are four episodes a day on Lifetime which you can Tivo...or...so I've heard. Not that I'd know that or anything. Positively hysterical. Always.

Also, I have lots in common with Grace. Like her singing.

3.) The Nanny

I'm pretty much fully convinced that the fact that I was not born Jewish was a terrible, horribly wrong mistake. I may be the most stereotypically Jewish Gentile there is. You know, without the Kosher thing. But, I celebrate Hanukkah. And Passover. And will likely get married under a chuppah in the slightly unlikely event that I ever get married. And if I were to be like the aforementioned unemployed Tivo-ing bum, I probably would have taken advantage of the influx of marathons of a certain nineties show known for excessively nasal speaking parts and frequent Jewish culture references that make me giggle a little too much. But once again, speaking completely in hypotheticals here.

Day 2: Your Favorite Movie

2010-08-01T23:22:00.032-04:00

I can never make things easy. I don't have just one favorite movie either. Let's go with the top three.

First of all, if you've known me for more than two seconds, you probably know that I have an unhealthy obsession with theater and, in particular, musicals. So, when I was the ripe old age of seven, I came across this wholesome little gem (said completely tongue in cheek) in which speaking parts were unheard of. The entire script is sung. Praise Him in the noontime. Anyway, at around seven, I was immersed in the world of Argentine fascism and corrupt government (and Madonna, of course) in a movie that I'm pretty sure is what started my minor obsession with South America and speaking Spanish. The description of said movie would not be complete without the most commonly associated scene/song (which has become excessively cliche.

Ladies and gentlemen, I give you "Don't Cry for Me, Argentina" from Evita.

And now I'm about to completely undo all notions of my being cultured that that clip may have caused. By admitting that my other favorite movie is excessively cheesy. And shameful. And I blame Gateway for it.

Between a group of my friends at school, the quote, "You go, Glen Coco!" became a common greeting and/or interjection into common conversation based on a mutual (and growingly obsessive) love of the movie Mean Girls (right before Lindsay Lohan lost her flippin' mind). There is very little about this movie that I do not positively love, and I am shamefully unashamed of that fact. I will likely be 85 years old and still texting my friend, Heather, whenever I see a box of toaster streudels (if you've seen the movie, you'll understand that my father invented these and is not pleased about this fact. If you haven't, none of the previous sentence made sense to you.)

Finally, the movie that will never, ever cease to bring a smile to my face, despite the fact that I can quote it backwards, forwards, and sideways in my sleepand is the ultimate cure for a crappy day.

My Big Fat Greek Wedding

It needs no introduction. If you haven't seen it, you must, simply to gather the essence of its epic awesomeness. It's just that simple. "What do you mean he don't eat no meat?"

Day 1: Your Favorite Song

2010-07-31T18:48:00.000-04:00

Oh, well this is off to a great start.

I actually don't have a favorite song. I usually have about thirty-five favorite songs. And pretty much all of them have some sentimental value. Which is typically why I love them. So, keep in mind, that this is subject to change within the next week. Day. Hour. Minute. Etc.

Musically, I'm currently pretty proud of myself. Why, you may ask? Because...lame person that I am, I have discovered two new amazing artists. All by myself. Which to you, is no accomplishment. But to me, it is. Because when you happen to have the single most musically plugged-in individual as your best friend, they've probably heard of them and/or told you about them and therefore you're just a copycat.

So I'm told. Not that I'm speaking from experience here.

Nooooo.

(Brace yourselves for obscure musical references.)

Anyway. My family went to Philadelphia a few weeks ago on vacation, and we were at this riverfront restaurant and I was listening to the overhead music and heard what sounded like either Macy Gray or the Noisettes (both of whom I happen to love). After a quick Google search of the lyrics, I discovered that it was neither of these, and I had found a new beloved artist. And after a quick text message, I learned that my musically inclined friend had never heard of them, and when he did, liked them. This caused much rejoicing on my part.

But wait! There's more!

Yet again, two week later, I was watching a movie trailer, Googled the song lyrics, and discovered yet another new amazing artist! And once again, never heard of and impressed. Glory!

So, without further ado, I present the two current favorite songs, by Gin Wigmore and Florence + The Machine, respectively.

Sometimes, I Abandon My Blog...

2010-07-31T18:28:00.001-04:00

I miss writing. So, here I am, with my lame attempt (or two) to rectify that problem.

I really won't have anything substantial to talk about for the next two weeks, until I head back to merry old St.Louis (praise Him in the dance!), but I'm going to steal a blogging idea (or two) from my friend Alyssa. I'm going to do something called "30 Days of Me". Nothing incredibly amazing or soul searching, but I miss writing and this gives me at least something to shoot for. And if other stuff happens in that time frame, so be it. I'll blog about that, too.

So, here's the line-up for the next 30 days:
Day 1: Your favorite song

Day 2: Your favorite movie

Day 3: Your favorite television program

Day 4: Your favorite book

Day 5: Your favorite quote

Day 6: Whatever tickles your fancy

Day 7: A photo that makes you happy

Day 8: A photo that makes you angry/sad

Day 9: A photo you took

Day 10: A photo of you taken over ten years ago

Day 11: A photo of you taken recently

Day 12: Whatever tickles your fancy

Day 13: A fictional book

Day 14: A non-fictional book

Day 15: A fanfic

Day 16: A song that makes you cry (or nearly)

Day 17: An art piece (painting, drawing, sculpture, etc.)

Day 18: Whatever tickles your fancy

Day 19: A talent of yours

Day 20: A hobby of yours

Day 21: A recipe

Day 22: A website

Day 23: A YouTube video

Day 24: Whatever tickles your fancy

Day 25: Your day, in great detail

Day 26: Your week, in great detail

Day 27: This month, in great detail

Day 28: This year, in great detail

Day 29: Hopes, dreams and plans for the next 365 days

Day 30: Whatever tickles your fancy

And, supposing you get the urge to join in, that would be fabulous as well. The current series Alyssa is doing is pretty awesome, too, but I'm saving it for later, as to have time to think on it and make it particularly awesome.

In short, I hope this doesn't bore you too terribly and that I get back in the blogging habit.

*fingers crossed*

As A Little Child...

2010-06-23T02:08:00.003-04:00

In my nineteen, almost twenty (yikes, that's scary...) years, after being an older sister, a Sunday School teacher, a student teacher, and most recently, an aunt, I have come to one conclusion:

Kids are awesome things.

They are incredibly, amazingly different than anything else on earth. My sister, Gabrielle, is pretty much the best example I can think of of this statement (that's her with the butterfly in the picture, by the way). She, according to everyone I've talked to, is a carbon copy of me when I was seven, like she is. She has a giant personality, a contagious laugh, and a gappy smile that could brighten the worst day. Sometimes, she twirls around in circles for the fun of it and she loves to dress up...and then jump into a mud puddle. She is blissful, she is insane, and she is pretty much the most free-spirited person that you'll ever meet on the face of the planet.

She is also incredibly inquisitive. She always wants to know how you say "slippers" in Spanish. (It's pantuflas.) She wants to know if a fossa is a dog or a cat. (It's related to the mongoose.) And no matter how many of her questions you answer, she's always going to ask one more. And it's probably going to be some form of the word 'why'.

She believes that I can do no wrong, even though God knows I've disproven this theory time and time again. I'll admit it. I've been mean to her, I've been angry, I've lost my temper and yelled, and I've made her cry. And yet, somehow, five minutes later, she come right back and it's as if it never happened. We disagree, but I don't stop loving her, and she doesn't stop loving me. She just comes right back, wraps her arms around me, plants a sloppy kiss on my cheek, and says, "I love you, Schnimma!"

I've given her wrong answers to questions, sometimes unintentionally, sometimes to test her gullibility. And sometimes I can't answer her question. And sometimes I just don't give her the answer she wants. And yet, she tends to trust me. And always comes back with one more thing to ask, never doubting for a second that I have her answer.

She has a faith in me that is truly something that only a child can have. It's a little intimidating and humbling, to be honest. I have to watch what I say, what I do, how I act, every moment I'm around her because she'll follow what I do and what I tell her because I'm her big sister.

All of this, and she's not even my kid. I'm just her sister. I'm not her parent. It's weird.

I thought today about Matthew 18.

1 In that hour came the disciples unto Jesus, saying, Who then is greatest in the kingdom of heaven?2 And he called to him a little child, and set him in the midst of them,3 and said, Verily I say unto you, Except ye turn, and become as little children, ye shall in no wise enter into the kingdom of heaven.4 Whosoever therefore shall humble himself as this little child, the same is the greatest in the kingdom of heaven.5 And whoso shall receive one such little child in my name receiveth me

I can be a big baby, but I'm bad at being a little child. I'm bad at being humble. I don't like doing it. I won't lie.

After reading this, I immediately thought about my sister. For all of the reasons that I just listed. You are hard-pressed to find a grown-up with those qualities, particularly those of blind trust. In adulthood, we have been around the block a time or two. We have seen bad things happen. We've gotten hurt. Plans haven't gone like they were supposed to. Dreams have been shattered. Hearts have been crushed. It's much easier to be cynical and jaded and not take anything at face value. I heard somebody say once that the best thing about being a pessimist is that you're not let down when things don't go your way and are pleasantly surprised when they do. A lot of times, I fall solidly into the callous, cynical grown-up column. And, unfortunately, a lot of times that applies to God, as well.

I don't always get my answer. Sometimes, I feel like I get the wrong answer. Sometimes, I just get an answer that I don't like. And sometimes, there really just isn't an answer to the question or situation or prayer, and I'm stuck. I don't understand why bad things happen. I don't understand why things are the way they are. I don't even understand why exactly I don't understand. And somewhere, in the back of my mind, I know that God is going to take care of it. I know that with my head. But, my heart is still breaking and I'm still scared and confused. So, I don't trust exactly what it is that I believe.

I won't lie to you. You can't ignore bad things that happen. I actually don't even think that's the smart thing to do. It's reality. In the real world, things don't always go great. It's not always sunshine and rainbows. Ignoring something doesn't mean that it isn't there. It still is and denial only works for so long. Having childlike faith doesn't mean that you ignore it, dance away from it, and never deal with it again.

Well, not exactly.

Any number of my friends can tell you that I am the overanalytical one. It gets me teased a lot, and it frustrates the tar out of me. My overanalyzing frequently bleeds over into my spiritual life. I want to know why God hasn't answered. Did I do something wrong? If he didn't answer this, how do I know he'll answer anything else? If he doesn't answer anything, why do I even bother talking to him? Better yet, how do I even know he exists?

Crazy? Maybe a little. Is it a process I've seriously gone through in my brain? More often and more recently than I'd care to admit.

Like I said. Not so good with the humble, blind faith.

Blind faith doesn't mean ignorance. It just means...well, trust. Catching your heart up with your mind. Back to my sister. Does she have any assurance that I'm going to give her the right answer when she asks me something? Nope. Does she trust me anyway? For some reason, yes. Even though I've failed her before.

God hasn't ever failed me. Sometimes, I think he has. Because, let's face it. I don't know what the heck is going on in the big picture. I don't have answers. I don't know what's going to happen tomorrow, the day after that, next week, next month, or next year. I don't even know what's going to happen five minutes from now. God knows all of that and, even if I don't get why he doesn't enlighten me sometimes, he knows why it's going to happen and how. I have no reason to not trust him. I have no reason to think that his answers (or lack thereof) aren't good enough or thorough enough or that he's misleading me. Even if I don't see everything right now.

Every Christmas Eve, each person in our family gets to open one present. This year, I wrapped a shoebox for Michael and Gabrielle and put their names on it together. They had been asking for months for a Nintendo DS, and I had told them that I had gotten them something awesome for Christmas this year. So, when we got to Christmas Eve, the box with their names on it was, of course, yanked out from under the tree and excitedly unwrapped. I will never forget the looks on their faces when they opened the box.

There was not a DS inside of the box. There was, instead, a sticker with a picture of a llama on it. Also, there was a cord that plugged into the wall. My brother, picked up the cord, used it as a yo-yo for a few minutes, and attempted to mask his intense disappointment, pretending to be fine with it. My sister, however, picked up the llama sticker, jumped up from the couch, and gave me a big hug. "I love llamas!"

The next morning, when we opened presents, the first place Michael and Gabri went was to their stockings. While they had been sleeping, I had put a new present in each of them, and it was the first thing that they opened that morning. Paper was ripped off and screams of joy were heard. Because, wrapped in these new presents, was a DS for each of them. At this point, everything made sense. The plug was the charger for the DS. And the llama sticker...well, actually, that still didn't make sense. Think of it as an added bonus if you're into that kind of thing.

To overuse a cliche in closing, I've said all of that to say this. Sometimes, you get something you don't ask for. Something that doesn't make sense or seem at all beneficial. It may look a little like the plug on Christmas Eve. You may get disappointed and be ridiculously confused as to how it got to you, why, and what on earth you're supposed to do with it. But don't.

Who knows? Maybe the cord is just a facilitator for good things you get later.

After all, what good is a DS without power?

Some Good Confusion

2010-06-18T20:48:00.000-04:00

Confusion is a word that has become commonplace in my life over the course of the past couple of months. It's not a bad thing. In theory, confusion eventually leads to some answers and growth. I'm waiting on these things. I've added a good kind of confused to my life this week, in addition to the pile of things I've accumulated that seem to be taking up my life as of late.

Yesterday, a packet came in the mail from Apostolic Youth Corps announcing the locations for next year. My dad got it in the mail and happened to mention this to me because one of the destinations happens to be Paraguay. This initially got me interested because I have friends there, love the country, and think it would be awesome to get to go back. And then some other things caught my eye. Two other destinations listed were Malawi and Sri Lanka.

Some logistics are involved in this, including the price of the trips, the length of the trips (Malawi and Paraguay are ten days and Sri Lanka is a month), and the fact that I could either return to someplace I love or see somewhere new that is on my map. I'm leaning towards Sri Lanka and Malawi because I've never seen them, but with those two, I'm torn. Sri Lanka means more time, more exposure, and because of the length of the trip, more die-hard missions junkies like me. Malawi, on the other hand, although a shorter trip, is Africa. Not just Africa, but underdeveloped, third-world Africa. Just the kind of place I want to make a career out of visiting, living in, working in. And, for those of you who don't know, I'm learning Swahili. It's a decision that is tough, but a nice, fun one to make, and I'm thrilled at the idea of going out of the country again.

I'm Not Sure How Proud of This I Should Be...

2010-06-17T01:45:00.002-04:00

I'm going to bed now. And at this second, I have not texted today.

At all.

Granted, this also means that I didn't receive any texts to respond to, but...

Not a single one.

And I survived.

My Resolve...It's Not Great

2010-06-16T10:46:00.000-04:00

I would not survive well in rehab. I would curl up in a ball and die. I really hope that this never happens though. Although it would be a great opportunity to break into song and dance. But really, nobody wants to see that.

My resolve to break the addiction that is the aptly named CrackBerry is not the greatest. As I mentioned in the previous post, my problem is that I just don't like to not answer things. Give me some credit, I only talked to two people yesterday, which is a nice improvement from the fifty people that I usually have an ongoing dialogue with.

And!

While I still could not bring myself to turn the phone off during the sleeping hours, it went on vibrate. Which means it might as well have been off, because I am dead to the world. And while I missed a message, nobody died and the universe did not implode. I was amazed.

But here was pretty much how the day went.

-Completely free time with nothing to occupy my time: I don't text anyone. They don't text me. Yes! I'm doing great.

-In the middle of something: Two seconds in, my phone goes off. Really?

This went on with a disturbing pattern throughout the day. And then I left my phone on last night. With sound. A step forward and two steps back, if you will.

Like I said. My resolve. Not great.

Accessible

2010-06-14T01:31:00.000-04:00

Sometimes, God pops up in weird places.

Tonight was one of those times. I've been reading this book that I bought the other day called "Crave". It has been pretty much rocking my world and has been giving me some new perspectives. That sounds super cliche and like a commercial, but it's really that good. It's all about comfort in a relationship with God and how we tend to get in a zone and don't want to move out of our box and we sometimes like to drag God along with us into our little box, then we get upset when He doesn't fit, etc. Basically, much like the title denotes, it's about renewing a craving for God. Simple enough.

It is insane sometimes how I make connections. They make sense in my own mind, so I'm going to try to spill them out here. I'll try to be logical, but if not, humor me.

I have this issue with accessibility. Meaning, I have it. Meaning, my beloved BlackBerry is attached to me at pretty much all times. Ironically, with the exception of right now when it's in the other room. But that's beside the point.

Two things have made this problem excessively bad.

The first is that I went to school, made friends with people all over the country, and then came back to Ohio. Where they aren't. So I don't see them everyday. So, of course I have to stay in contact with them.

Which leads me to the second thing.

I got an awesome new phone the day after I got home. One of my favorite things about it is that you can assign different ringers for different people, not only when they call you, but for when they TEXT you. Because I very rarely talk on the phone, more because of my friends' lack of interest than mine, the whole text message personalization thing. Is. Awesome. I have about ten people with their own sounds, and it basically indicates whether I really feel like moving to answer the phone or not.

Both of these things being said, I have a few people that I literally talk to everyday. This list is limited to about two or three. And when I say everyday, I mean pretty much daily basis without exception. Which brings me to this insane thing that happened tonight.

I was lying on my couch this evening, had the TV off, was reading my new book, and had literally just leaned back and settled in to read. My phone was on the arm of the couch opposite of where I was, charging. No sooner did I sit back, but my phone went off, and from the sound it was making, I knew that it was one of the people that I talk to pretty much everyday, that I hadn't yet. And then, I did something that I still haven't totally figured out.

I kid you not, I sat straight up in about two seconds flat and lunged for my phone. Lunged. As in, pounced. As in, I attacked that thing like a lion after a zebra on Animal Planet. I have no idea why the heck I did this. I was pretty sure it wasn't going to be urgent (and it wasn't). It's not like I hadn't talked to the person in years (we talked last night. And pretty much everyday before that). There was pretty much absolutely no logical reason for me to have a near-coronary and leap at inhuman speeds to read the fascinating words of wisdom that my friend had to bestow upon me (I say this completely tongue-in-cheek).

Sometimes I'm insane and overreact. Can I get an amen from anyone who has known me for more than two seconds?

So, after I answered this incredibly world-altering message, I got just a little bit convicted. Maybe convicted isn't even the right word for what I felt. But it's pretty darn close. So, we'll keep it. I got convicted.

I am, to a select few that are important to me, accessible pretty much 24/7. I am lucky enough to be friends with some of the best people I have ever met, and because of their awesomeness, I am prone to occasionally dropping everything to share a few quick words with these people, because I love the crap out of them and they know that. If my phone goes off and I know it's them, I'm probably going to answer it and have a big grin on my face while I'm doing it.

When was the last time that God tried to talk to me and I jumped fifty feet to respond to His call? If He were trying to get my attention and share something that was actually important in the grand scheme of things, would I rush out of my comfort and relaxation to listen? When was the last time I dropped everything to answer Him?

I hate to admit this, but the answer to those questions for me is pretty much....

1.) Never that I can think of.

2.) I'd like to say so, but I couldn't honestly say that I do that every time.

3.) Umm....I plead the fifth?

We're human and we live lives. There's nothing wrong with this. God gave us life for that specific purpose. For us to live it. The problem is that it is ridiculously easy to get distracted and wrapped up in menial things, tiny things, things that aren't necessarily sins, but are weights. We get wrapped up in this life and we, intentionally or not, shove him onto the back burner.

My mom and I were talking about some things that have been going on lately, and she is actually the one who pointed out the fact that my BlackBerry is pretty much welded to my hand. She knows about the people I'm close to and knows that I'm prone to dropping everything to spend just a few minutes...okay, I'll be honest, several hours, talking about our sometimes-incredibly-average lives. It gives me ADD of sorts. I'll be focused on something, determined to spend some time on something meaningful, until I hear my cell phone ring. And my productivity goes from 100 to 0 in less than two seconds. And then, somehow in the conversation, the verse about "Be still." came up.

I hate being still. I like my alone time, but if someone wants to have a conversation, I just may want to have that conversation. I hate the idea of turning off my phone. It is completely foreign to me, and, I'll be honest, a borderline addiction. But if I don't have that still time, where I shut everything else out and focus on Him, how on earth am I supposed to get anything accomplished? If I'm focused on everything else, how am I supposed to bring my needs before Him. No, wait. Forget my needs. How am I supposed to give Him the worship that he deserves? The worship and praise that he created me to give him, regardless as to whether or not my "needs" have been met. How self-centered am I to not be willing to shut out my outside life for a little bit of communion with Him?

So, today, I made baby steps. Steps that I had been thinking about even before the phone-lunging incident. It may not seem like a big deal to you, but today, during church, I turned my phone off.

That. Sounds. So. Pathetic.

I have my Bible on my phone, but after the scriptures were read, it got turned off, and it stayed off until after church was over. And I about had a twitch. It killed me.

But like I said, baby steps. And I'm sure there will be more. And more. And more. Until I can't help but lunge myself into the presence of God.

Sometimes Lauryn Hill Writes My Theme Songs...

2010-05-26T23:48:00.000-04:00

The past week or so, I have had a song by Lauryn Hill stuck in my head (oh, there's a shock to those of you who know me). And it really says all I have to say at the moment, because a.) my life is extremely boring other than occasionally running into doors or setting myself on fire (don't ask) and b.) the interesting things are more complicated than you can imagine.

The only things I can really say in light of things right now can be summed up in something my friend and favorite dorm neighbor, Natashia, wrote on my wall last week:

"life is so stressful. but god is faithful."

And once again, Lauryn says it better than I do...

"I trust every part of you.... Cause all that you say you do

You love me despite myself

Sometimes I... I fight myself

I just can't believe that you.... Would have anything to do

With someone so insecure... Someone so immature

Ohh you inspire me, to be the higher me"

One Epic Year

2010-05-21T19:13:00.001-04:00

Yesterday marked the end of the most epic and life-changing year of my life.

May 20, 2009 would be the day that my life changed in the most unexpected way possible.

I've said it so much in the past five months, that I never, ever, in a million years imagined that I would be doing what I'm doing now, where I am, or any of that good stuff. I keep thinking over and over again what it would be like to go back and see myself on that night, to look at my thoughts and to know at that instant that I was looking at some of my best friends and the people who would change my life.

For those of you who are slow, or haven't picked up on this, May 20 was the night that the chorale from Gateway stopped in Mt.Vernon. And it was the night that God pretty much straight up told me that I wasn't going to Kent State and I was going to be making my way to Florissant, Missouri instead.

A year has passed and it's not even just the whole Gateway thing that has changed in my life. In the time since that night, I've graduated from high school, gone to a foreign country, lived there for a few months, come home, got a job, left a job, essentially moved away from home not once, but twice, lost friends, gained friends, had friends get married, became an aunt, and so much more that I can't even write here. I've spent more time on planes in the past year than the rest of my entire life, including that brief 26-hour trip to and from South America. Twice. To and from Missouri. Twice.

It. Is. Insane.

I don't have any deep words today. I haven't had any of those lately, actually. But today, I'm surprised I don't. I'm just in awe of how much can change in a year. How much I changed in a year. And if this much could happen in one year, I'm amazed to think what could happen from here on out.

Last Night Reflections

2010-05-09T23:39:00.000-04:00

I'm sitting here in a dorm room that echoes when I hit the keys on my laptop keyboard because a.) it's a new non-shoeboxy room with high ceilings, tiles floors, and not enough of my stuff in it to keep it from being cavernous and b.) it is so ridiculously quiet here right now that every sound is accentuated and amplified.

Tomorrow, I'm heading home. Back to Ohio. I made a list of five people that were essential to say personal goodbyes to, in which I would most likely cry and/or get ridiculously, emotionally sappy as a result of (hopefully after I was away from them). To those of you who read this who have already received your goodbyes, I apologize for the sappiness. To those of you who haven't received your goodbyes yet, I apologize in advance. Please don't punch me for crying. You know who you are.

This semester has been....wow.

That's the only way to describe it. You (well, most of you) don't know anything that's gone on in my life this semester, things that I've thought, prayers I've prayed, changes that have occurred. You will never know the effect that one semester here has had on me. My life has been thoroughly changed throughout the course of roughly four months. The friends I've made here have become my family. I wrote an open letter to about nine of them about two weeks ago, to just barely tap the tip of the iceberg on the amount of epic awesomeness that each and everyone of them have brought into my life. I don't regret one moment spent with any of them, and I wouldn't change the friendships and relationships I've built for the world.

I won't lie. I have regrets. I have people that I wish that I would have built friendships with before the last week of school. One in particular. I've learned my lesson. Never let circumstance dictate your future friendships. Always make sure you know all sides of the story before passing judgment. And don't learn that the hard way. It sucks.

Keep your mind and heart guarded, but open. You never know who will creep in and surprise you.

Embrace change. It's the only real way to grow into a better person.

Sometimes the hardest things to hear are the things that you most need. Even if they really, really suck. A lot.

The decisions that you spent your entire life saying that you would never, ever make can sometimes make your life so much more awesome than you could ever imagine. And I'm pretty sure that God is up there saying, "I told ya so!"

What Now?

2010-05-06T00:19:00.002-04:00

He never said that we would get it

That things would be easy

That things would be cut and dry

That they would fit in the miniscule box we've shoved the Almighty in

He is not impressed with our theology

With our philosophy

With our so-called perfection

God doesn't expect you to not have problems

He doesn't expect you to shove them away

They are there

Don't pretend

Stop hiding

Stop fooling yourself

You don't have to understand to believe

But your belief is nothing without application

What?

You can talk about it but not face it when push comes to shove?

When you're faced with the situation that you preach about?

You talk about a lack of condemnation

But is it real?

You can believe something

Preach something

Orate until you turn three shades of purple

It. Means. Nothing.

Don't think

Love

Heal

Confess

Cry, if you must

Deal with it

Don't hide it

Deal with it

If you hide it, it's still there

Denial does you no good

It hurts

It kills you

Even if people tell you it shouldn't

You die inside

You break

You're at a loss as to what it means

For you

For them

For your every thought, philosophy, detail

Every last thing that you thought you had figured out is gone

What now?

Cautiously Cynical

2010-04-29T00:53:00.000-04:00

Over the past year or so, I have attempted to curb my negativity. After I graduated high school, I really kind of wanted to leave all of that stuff behind.

I love being sarcastic. I love having the occasional sharp remark, all in love and good fun. And, unfortunately, I happen to be a naturally cynical person.

I'm not proud of it really. I don't like having a jaded view of humanity. On the contrary, humanity fascinates me. I don't know when the flip that happened. But it does. Absolutely enthralls me. Human nature. How it interacts with God. How God interacts with it. Fascinates the life out of me. But when it does, unfortunately you come to the realization that nobody is perfect.

And some people are less perfect than others. And some, in your eyes, are more. But in those people, you usually attempt to find just one thing that annoys the crap out of you. Just so that you can be fair, you know? And if you look for the bad, you can usually find it.

This isn't really a good method, I suppose. I do try to give people the benefit of the doubt. I try to think the best of people. But some days, like today, when I'm feeling like death because one of my best friends decided to share her plague with me, I can't stand people. They irk me. Their habits. Their mannerisms. Their lack of actual manners. Ironically, their judgmentalism (as I sit there and judge them). Some days, I just don't like people.

Which really doesn't make sense. I love people. To a fault. I love a lot, I love deep, and it's been brought to my attention, that sometimes this works to my own detriment. If I love you, and you hurt, I'm going to hurt. I'm going to feel your hurt and I'm also going to hurt because I can't fix your issues. Even if I don't know your issues, I'm going to want to fix them.

But I can't.

Because of the stupid humanity.

And it makes me cynical. If I can't do anything to help you, what hope is there in the world? I'm one powerless human being. Each person on earth is the same. A powerless weakling with dreams that are more fragile than glass and hopes that are melted at first heat of the trial. Eventually, disappointment gets to you. It's not even that anything overly, terribly dramatic happens to you. Just life, I guess. Disappointment. Changes of plans. Changes of dreams. Usually for the good. For progress. To grow. But it can be disheartening. The people that we love and share life with, who are there to uplift and support us, are the same people that can break us down and shatter our dreams.

It. Doesn't. Make. Sense.

Why do we give people the power to hurt us? Because (and quotes like this are why I love Facebook statuses), in the words of William Arthur Ward, "To love is to risk not being loved in return. To hope is to risk despair. To try is to risk failure. But risks must be taken because the greatest hazard in life is to risk nothing."

If you don't risk rejection, you're never going to get acceptance. If you don't love, you're never going to be loved. If you don't hurt, you'll never know the awesome power of healing. If you don't fail, you won't appreciate the sweet savor of victory.

If you don't risk, you won't understand the power of reward.

Thank You Note

2010-04-24T00:54:00.002-04:00

Dear God,

My parents always taught me that when you get something, you're supposed to write a thank you note. So here is one for you. However mindless it may seem. I just felt like writing it all out.

This week bombed. It really kind of did. I won't lie. I have been exhausted, stressed, and emotional. School has piled up, sometimes stuff just doesn't go my way, and a lot of times, I really didn't (still don't, to tell you the truth) get where you're going with some stuff. I have gone to bed in tears more times this week than I have a long time, asking you for help. And guidance. And peace. And, most of all, strength.

And today, you showed up.

Not that you were ever gone. But you showed up today seemingly out of nowhere.

Have I ever mentioned how awesome you are and how much I love you? Because you're totally awesome and I love you.

You get it. You really get it. You get ME. You knew the whole time. You still know.

And you showed up when I needed you.

It was out of nowhere. Just a miraculously powerful peace in the middle of the stress and....just...well, life. Just sitting in class today, worn out, running on another night of three hours of sleep, you showed up and poured out your love and peace and showed me that you were right there with me the whole time and that you've got it all under control.

I'm happy today, God. I really am. I'm not just happy. I'm joyful. I have your joy. That I needed. Right when I needed it.

And for that, all I have to say is thank you. I can't say much else. I wish I could, but there just aren't words.

Thank you.

Pretty Much Awesome

2010-04-20T01:16:00.002-04:00

It's 2 AM.

I am seemingly needlessly awake.

I need sleep. I long for sleep.

College students don't get sleep. I'm not sure it exists anymore.

I have so much in my head.

And so I do what I typically do in the idle hours where my mind is full and needing rest.

I talk to God.

Note, I didn't say pray. Why? I'm not sure. At the moment, perhaps due to sleeplessness, the word pray seems to have this connotation that I'm hashing out some deep theological truth with my creator.

Which I most certainly am not.

I really am just talking to Him.

But at the same time, I have a million things right at the front of my mind.

I want.

I need.

I would like it if.

But for some reason, tonight I can't seem to bring myself to let these things out.

Yeah, I know you're supposed to cast your cares upon God, but some nights, I just don't want to talk about my cares to anyone.

I think God gets that.

So, I just say, "You know God, you really are awesome. And I don't mean that in the deep way like in the songs about how you reign on a million mountain tops with the power to strike down the evil in an instant. Not that it's not true. But you're just pretty much awesome. "

Sometimes you just need to give praise.
And it doesn't even need to be deep praise.

God is a friend. I love that about Him. He doesn't require my prayers to be deep. Or in Old English.

Sometimes, when it's 2 AM and you can't sleep, the answer is a conversation with your Best Friend.

Because he's pretty much awesome.

Guide Me

2010-04-13T20:14:00.002-04:00

Guidance.

That's what I need from you right now, God.
Wisdom.

Guidance.

A blinking light with an arrow, pointing me in the right direction in case I'm having a stupid moment and can't see the way.

Why are you so patient with me?

You never leave me.

It's hard to see you sometimes.

But you're never gone.

It's like I'm a kid in the pool playing Marco Polo.

The reason I can't see you is not because you aren't here.

I can't see you because my eyes are closed.

My eyes are shut.

Blinded by my own close-mindedness.

My human thoughts unable to comprehend your actions.

I can't see what you're doing.

And yet your voice still guides me towards you.

Walking by faith and not by sight has never taken on so much meaning.

You have a plan.

You do.

Bits, pieces.

Revealed to me everyday.

Slowly, surely.

Frustrating at times.

More times than I'd like to admit.

I want to fix it myself.

Take it into my own hands.

How foolish.

You made these hands.

You made me.

Crafted me.

And I think that my hands of clay can outwork your unchanging hands?

Foolishness.

Open my eyes.

I don't have to know it all.

I don't want to know it all.

You do.

That's enough.

But open my eyes so I can see that you're right there.

And that I don't have to worry anymore.

Works of Art

2010-04-12T00:27:00.002-04:00

On my windowsill, there are two Play-Doh figurines. Not clay. Play-Doh.

Red, yellow, blue, and green Play-Doh.

I love those things.

I actually have three. One's still on my bookshelf at home.

The ones I have here are a hippo and a Sphinx.

And you better not tell me any differently.

I got them about a year ago from the most talented artist I know.

My nine-year-old brother, Michael.

I came in after getting off the bus after school and he was sitting at the table, working on his school work, and when he saw me come in, he scurried to hide what he was working on and yelled, "Don't look!"

About an hour later, I was sitting at my computer and he came through my door with a big grin on his face. "Becky, I have a surprise for you."

He held out his two skinny little hands and hands me the first of the multicolored sculptures. "Do you love it?" he asked.

And of course I did.

It wouldn't look like much to you or anyone else. Because it's Play-Doh and not modeling clay, it's still soft and falls apart if you look at it wrong.

But I love it. It's the most beautiful thing I own. It's incredibly, awesomely precious in my eyes because my brother made it. I love it.

It makes me think about all of the times I worked in Sunday School or when I was student teaching. Even times when I was little and would craft masterpieces and offer them up to my parents, hoping that they would love the thing I made for them; my small, unimpressive offering. I have never had artistic talent, per se. I was always that kid in art class that would watch the teacher draw a cat, follow her steps exactly, and end up with a dog. And yet, every single time, my parents would look at the thing I made for them and call it good and wonderful. It would be as thought I had given them an original Picasso.

Other than the fact that my mother doesn't like Picasso. But you get the point.

I'm not sure what made me think about this today. But something clicked in my mind all of the sudden.

Humans are full of imperfections. Which is something that blows my mind. God created us. And he had the power to make us perfect. And yet, here we are. Human. Imperfect. We mess up, we get hurt, we hurt others. No matter how hard we try. There are imperfections.

And we try so hard to get rid of them. We make rules and laws and regulations and try to force perfection. We shame ourselves, and unfortunately, at times, others, into beating ourselves up because we're not perfect and sometimes we fall. There's nothing wrong with striving for holiness, for attempting to be Christ-like. But at some point, it's important to accept that you're going to fall, and that the important thing is that you get back up and try to continue on and do better the next time.

Which brings me back to the Play-Doh sculpture. Do you know why I love that thing so much? It isn't perfect. It has fingerprints and marks on it from when my brother was making it and shaping it into what it was supposed to be. The marks and the scars and the imperfections are what make me love it so stinking much. It's a gift from somebody that I love that loves me. The act of love is what makes it dear to me.

Sometimes, I feel like when I'm going to God, that I've reverted back to my childhood, holding up a piece of paper with some crayon marks on it as my piece of art. It isn't much, but it's what I can give. It's what I've labored on and attempted to create as a miniscule offering to the one who made me, who cares for me, who picks me up, that I owe so much to because of his endless goodness, mercy, and grace towards me. I feel like a small child, holding up a smudged imperfect product to God, and I'll be honest with you, sometimes I feel like it's nothing.

And sometimes you may think that it's nothing. Sometime you think that your life and your ministry and whatever it is that you're offering to God is nothing because you're imperfect. Your offering is imperfect. Isaiah 64:6 (The Message) says-

We’re all sin-infected, sin-contaminated.
Our best efforts are grease-stained rags.
We dry up like autumn leaves—
sin-dried, we’re blown off by the wind.

It's disheartening to think about this. The fact that no matter what, no matter how you strive for perfection, it's not going to happen. Perfection is not something that is achieved on earth. It's not something that humanity allows. The fact is that no matter how holy or righteous I may think that I am or may strive to be, I am still an imperfect, human sinner. I have so very little to offer God. Nobody on the outside can see its worth. I can't even always see its worth. All I can see are the imperfections, the things that are displeasing, the corrupted aesthetics of my miniscule work of art.

I hold out my hands and give God my small offering, humbled as a small child with a gift for my Father. My Father, whom I love and who loves me. Who sees ME. Smudged, corrupt, imperfect ME. His child. Whom he loves.

And my offering.

And he takes it in his hands and sees the beauty, and sets it on his windowsill. And he loves it, despite its imperfections. And he loves me.

And somehow, that's all that matters.

Stream of Consciousness

2010-04-10T13:12:00.002-04:00

It's the weekend before Spring Break is over.

Which means it's empty here at Gateway for now.

This has its pros and its cons.

You have small groups of awesome people up at all hours of the night talking about nothing.

But then you have the fact that sometimes you go downstairs to the cafeteria and find it deserted, which means you pretty much sit there, alone with your thoughts, attempting to write something that personifies your thoughts at the moment, hoping that somebody comes down the stairs, walks through the doors, and you are no longer alone with said thoughts.

You could, of course, be asleep. You went to bed at 4 AM last night. And then couldn't sleep. So you're really not sure what time you went to bed. But sleep evaded you.

You have a million deep thoughts on which you've been ruminating for the past couple of weeks, but you're sick of writing those down sometimes. They don't seem to come across the way you always want them to.

So you sit down and write.

Aimlessly, actually. You have no thoughts as to where exactly your writing is really going. You just write out thoughts.

And why are you writing in the second person, exactly? Not even the third person. That's pretty cool. Somewhat annoying when people choose to do so in everyday conversation, but meh. It happens.

Are you even going to publish this? Is it going to become a blog? Is it going to become a note? Or will it sit in the archives of your laptop forever where you'll never look at it again? Until someone in like, 100 years, decides that they're going to publish random writings that they find.

So, on that subject, think about all of the countless people who wrote, perhaps aimlessly in a cafeteria like you are now, not knowing that their words would live on, immortalized.

For example, Anne Frank didn't know that her diary was going to be published. The Apostles didn't know that their letters were going to be published. And yet those things changed society. Life. School kids today still read Anne Frank. Doctrines and beliefs are built upon the letters of the Apostles.

Do you think they knew? Like, I know that the epistles were inspired by God, but did they know how far reaching their words would be? Do you think they sat there, writing things out, thinking "Whoa, this is pretty important."

Not that it matters. It doesn't have really any effect on theology or doctrine. It's just something that a writer wants to know about other writers. Pure curiosity. That's all it is. Fascination, I suppose, too. Everyone wants what they write to matter. To pass on some thought that touches someone's life. Or heart. Not necessarily in a deep way. But that makes them feel something. Whether the writer wants them to laugh or to cry or to think or reconsider an idea, opinion or thought. You want what you write to matter somehow.

Maybe. Now I'm sounding like some of the English teachers that I hated.

I loved English. Loved symbolism. Hated that we spent more time on symbolism on grammar. What good is it to know that the kite in The Kite Runner symbolizes redemption when you can't even formulate a complete sentence with correct grammar and/or punctuation. Really? What is that?

But these teachers would always have this idea that whatever an author wrote had deep meaning. And sometimes, I think they would put more thought into the book or poem than the actual author did. Because surely people write things without meaning don't they?

Isn't this just kind of a mass stream of consciousness without meaning? Or is the meaning just that? To prove that there can be things without a deep hidden meaning? Isn't that a little self defeating?

And does anyone care?

Night

2010-04-08T01:18:00.001-04:00

When you sleep, your brain is supposed to turn off.

Your body shuts down for a matter of hours in some form.

To recuperate.

To rest.

To recharge.

So that it can exercise its full potential when the morning comes.

Typically, sleep happens at night.

Since the beginning of time, night has had a connotation that has been, pardon the expression-

Dark.

Evil things lurk in the night.

Night is when the bad guys come out.

Night is when you're alone with your thoughts.

You never heard of someone crying his or her self awake.

You cry yourself to sleep.

At night.

Sorrow endures for a NIGHT.

Night is long.

Night can seem endless.

It hides behind facades of having an AM after the numbers.

3 AM, to me, is still night.

That's not a morning.

It's not light.

Sorrow endures for a night.

It seems so simple.

It seems like it's so fleeting.

In the grand scheme, it is fleeting.

But not when you're in it.

But you need night.

Be it real night or symbolic.

Night is needed.

Night prepares you.

Night strips away the exhausting old.

Night allows you to wake up fresh

Night allows you to be sharpened and exercise your full potential.

Don't hate the night.

It's not forever.

It's not always pleasant.

But you grow and you develop and you change in the night.

And keep hope.

Morning's on the horizon.

Somewhere.

Every night gives birth to a morning.

And joy comes in the morning.

It may just not be time for you to wake up yet.

A List...Y Nada Mas

2010-04-06T20:22:00.000-04:00

I'm planning on picking up a third language this summer. And got the books for it today. I'm psyched.
The third language is Swahili, by the way.
Did I mention I'm psyched?
Did I mention that in T-Minus 10 months, I will own my dream car?
Did I mention that I'm psyched?
In case I didn't get my point across in the last post, God is good.
He really is.
Please get that.
I miss St.Louis.
I miss the people in St.Louis.
Tomorrow is my sister's birthday.
We told her that we cancelled it.
She didn't seem to like that very much.
I don't like getting my hopes up for stuff.
And sometimes I do.
That fails.
Sometimes wins.
But more than likely fails.
I think if I watch one more cartoon I may scream.

Good

2010-04-04T23:02:00.000-04:00

God's good to me.

Today's the day where we celebrate how good God is. And he really fascinates me sometimes. Especially lately.

It seems like a lot of times when we talk about how good God is, we mean it in this self-centered way. Like how God has poured out blessings upon us, supplied our needs, worked miracles.

And these things are all totally and completely awesome. I love blessings. I honestly do. And God is good to me. I'm fortunate. My needs are supplied. And even my wants.

Insert side note that tonight I found out that a couple in my home church is selling their VW Bug in February. Very affordable. And it's green. Score. Most definitely a want. But supplied. Nonetheless. But that's seriously not my point.

I was talking to a friend of mine tonight who knows what's been going on over the past couple months. The stuff that's not resolved, but that I'm getting through. And becoming better from. She asked how I was doing, how the situation was going, and when I replied, she asked me, "Have you heard from God lately?"

And the answer was mixed.

Yes and no.

Let's just say that God has no issue being direct with me. Like, going to Gateway was a direct thing. God pretty much had to tell me that he wanted me to go there. And I'm really glad he did. Going to Paraguay was a direct thing. God pretty much had to tell me (and help me through) every step of the way. And despite the issues, I'm really glad he told me to do that, too.

And this hasn't been like that.

But at the same time, it has.

Sometimes what you need...okay, what I need...is not a direct word. Sometimes God doesn't give you the whole picture right away. Sometimes all you get is a little piece of the puzzle. And God tells you where to put it. He redirects your prayers. So that they're less self-centered and more Him-centered. So that your prayer isn't necessarily, "Hey, God, I want this. Need this. Would prefer this."

It's more of a, "Hey God, you know what's going to happen. So, if you're not going to tell me, help me through it anyway."

Because really, that's the truth. He does know. He does get it. And he knows what it is that you want. He knows the desires of your heart.

But he also knows what you need.

And that's not always what you want at the time.

But it has a pretty cool way of always working out in the end. One way or another.

And even if what happens isn't ideal, you can look back and realize that God had his reasons. And that he really is good. Even if it's not your idea of good, he really is.

God is good to me.

Random Thoughts After Three Weeks

2010-04-03T23:11:00.000-04:00

This is for the dear people at church who have resorted to my Twitter feed to keep up on my life. Although I'm pretty sure I caught all one of them up at church tonight.

I haven't written on here in three weeks.

That's not to say I haven't written. Just not on here.

Because anymore a lot of my writing is deep, symbolic whatever and do you really want to read that?

No.

Okay, maybe you do.

So maybe I'll post it more.

My life is boring. Incredibly busy, yet uneventful at the same time, if that makes any sense at all. Lots of papers, lots of homework, and all of that other stuff that they cram into the last month or so of the semester. The fact that it's the end of a semester blows my mind. It's gone by far too fast. I'm on Spring Break for this week, and that is killing me.

I love where I go to school. You don't have to drive 45 minutes to get to decent shopping or any kind of entertainment for that matter. And yet it's not ridiculously busy. I really like St.Louis. I love the people in it. I miss each and every one.....lies.....not every one. I miss a number of them terribly. My BlackBerry has been in overdrive the past few days. With me texting them. Pretty sure they're sick of me. But oh well.

Three months this summer will kill me.

I don't think you get how much you've changed until you come back from somewhere after being away for a long time. It's been longer between the last time I visited home and now than it was when I was in South America. Which, to be honest, makes absolutely no sense to me. Time crawled by there, and it races by now.

But you really don't get it. It's not big things. I'm still me. In basic form. But at some point I grew a spine while I've been gone. And I'm still quiet, but I'm...I don't know...bolder, I guess? Not in a bad, obnoxious way. I just can stand up for myself when I have to. And I've always had stuff that I've believed. But now I actually vocalize it. And I'm more than sure that that will get me into trouble at some point. But somehow I'm okay with that.

I don't know if that's good or bad.

Maybe it's the fact that you're discussing the meaning behind something you wrote with someone at church and they tell you, "Wow, that's a mature answer. You've grown up a lot."

Or someone telling you that they've never seen you smile as much as you do now.

Stuff that you don't notice yourself, that pops up every once in a while.

And you wonder how you missed it.

And who else sees it, catches it, notices it.

And how you keep it.

You'll Do Fine

2010-03-12T10:10:00.003-05:00

I have a dad that overestimates me.

I say this as I'm waiting for ten o'clock to roll around, so that I can translate for my dad while he talks to one of his clients who speaks little English.

"You'll do fine," he says.

My dad seems to think sometimes that I can do no wrong. He's seen my Spanish grades and disappointing AP scores and saw me in tears via Skype while I was in South America, frustrated because my Spanish sometimes just didn't cut it.

And yet he has this faith in me that I'm good enough to translate this appointment for him.

Wow.

As simple as that is, it makes me think more.

I'm amazed at my dad's seeming overestimation of my not-so-mad skills, but what about my heavenly dad?

My earthly father has always pushed me and cheered me on (for the most part). He's seen me screw up a time or two and he's been there when I was at my absolute darkest, and frankly, scariest, times of life.

And yet he has faith in me.

How much more does my heavenly father care?

He's seen the darkest parts of me that nobody but Him will ever know about. He fully knows every twist and turn of the secret past.

And yet He has a plan for me.

Why would God entrust me with a mission? I'm not worthy of trust. He knows I've failed Him and I've stumbled and I've fell. He knows that I don't always have it together. He knows that I'm broken and feel like I'm missing pieces.

And yet He still pushes me forward.

It seems like he overestimates me, but God doesn't overestimate. He knows. End to beginning. Good and bad. Success or failure.

He KNOWS.

And yet, He has a mission for me.

"You'll do fine," He says.

Refocus

2010-03-07T23:16:00.000-05:00

NOTE: This post repeats a lot of the things I said in the last post, in a more positive way. I wrote it for Facebook, actually, and got some good feedback from my friends and decided that it was worth reposting. Ignore the repeats and focus on the meaning.

I have a map on my wall.

It’s actually more of a puny coloring page, standing in until I get one of those big classroom maps to hang over my desk. But it’s a map of the world, just the same.

There are four colors on this map.

The green means that I’ve been there. Granted, the only thing I’ve seen in one of the green countries is the airport, but I did have to actually leave the airport (and ended up getting lost), so it counts just the same.

The bluish purple means that I want to go there for fun. (Also, that I miscolored something and had to make it look uniform.) I want to go and visit, but don’t feel the biggest call there.

The purple means that I want to go there to work. Compassion Services, Peace Corps, something like that. I want to go there and help people.

The orange means maybe. (Hint: Everything that isn’t one of the above three colors is orange. There’s nothing that isn’t colored in.)

If you’ve known me for any length of time, you know that since I was little, I’ve loved looking at things from other countries. My uncle was in the Marine Corps and used to bring back things (particularly currency) from other countries and I was fascinated by them. I actually have an unopened Pepsi that he brought me from Saudi Arabia when I was about six. I would look at the postcards and the coins and want to go somewhere. I’ve always wanted to go to places. I can’t think of a single country that I wouldn’t go to if I had the chance, and I mean that whole-heartedly.

I made a list the other day of the countries I wanted to go work in. There were 42, and I’m almost certain I’m forgetting some. 24 were in Africa. 10 or so were in the Middle East and Indochina. The rest were in South America and the Caribbean.

I’m pretty sure that I added or subtracted unintentionally on the map, because it’s really hard to see borders on it. Because it’s tiny.

But so little of my world is green, and so much of it is purple. It’s slightly disheartening. I won’t lie to you. I’ve said that before.

What to do in that situation?

It’s spring.

Spring is a time of new beginnings, new births. It’s a time to start fresh and do things differently. I always thought that it was stupid to make resolutions in January. In Ohio, at least, January is one of the most depressingly dismal, cold, gray months of the year. That doesn’t inspire anyone to be a better person. That I know of. Spring always seemed better. It’s bright and warm. You wake up happier in spring. It just seems to make sense that that would be the better time to make a resolution.

So, it’s spring, so I’m going to make my resolution today. Because I woke up with my open window blowing fresh breezes and new beginnings into my room. And it just seems like the thing to do.
I can’t go right now, but I can prepare myself.

That means dedicating myself. In multiple ways.

It means not slacking off in school. I do work fairly hard and I pay attention, and I get a lot out of my classes. Most of the time. But I can do better. And I should do better. Because I owe that to the people I’m going to reach in the future.

It means focusing on God. It means that no matter how great I feel that my relationship with God is, it can always be better. It’s not perfect until I’m dancing before the throne. I can always pray more and study his word more. I can actually share what I have with other people, instead of making excuses that
I’m too shy or that they’ll think I’m crazy. In the grand scheme of things, those seem like pretty lame excuses.

It means decluttering my life. While I could probably stand to do some spring cleaning and get rid of some actual things, that’s not exactly what I mean. Hebrews 12:1 (NLT) says this:

“Therefore, since we are surrounded by such a huge crowd of witnesses to the life of faith, let us strip off every weight that slows us down, especially the sin that so easily trips us up. And let us run with endurance the race God has set before us.”

A lot of times, we get so caught up in the sin part of things. Defining what sin is and what we (and everyone else) should be doing(Completely different subject. Don’t get me started on that one.) frequently absorbs our life and we miss the big picture. Yes, sin is bad. It’s terrible, in fact. But there are other things that can be just as bad as sin. Called weights. But of course, we don’t want to deal with those. Because sometimes setting aside weights means getting out of our comfort zones. Getting rid of things that we really don’t want to get rid of. And sometimes setting aside weights is the most excruciatingly painful thing that you will ever do in your life. But in the end, you will be stronger and better because of it. And if you’re not carrying the weights, you’re going to be more able to run the race God set before you.

[dismount from soapbox]

So, that’s what I need to do. Nobody ever said that stuff would be easy. If they do, they’re liars and according to the Bible, all liars have their place in the Lake of Fire.

Too harsh?

Oops.

But for real. It’s not always easy. It’s not always rainbows and sunshine. But it’s the most rewarding thing I could ever do for myself.

And I owe it to the 42 countries in the distance.

More Than Enough

2010-03-06T04:12:00.000-05:00

I won't lie to you.

This week has been agonizing.

Pathetically, emotionally agonizing.

For me.

If you knew, you'd laugh. Or sigh. Or roll your eyes and say, "Wow, Becky."

Hang on, I'll elaborate. And you'll wish you hadn't asked. Or stumbled upon this blog.

P.S. I apologize in advance for the jumbled mess that this will probably end up being. It's been that kind of week.

Last week was our Missions Conference. Powerful stuff. Awesome services and an awesome move of God each night. And throughout the days. I've said it once and I'll say it again. My walk with God has never been stronger than it has been since I've been here. Last week seemed to be no exception. If anything, it was an affirmation.

Except for one nagging thing.

Paul says in 2 Corinthians that he dealt with a thorn in the flesh. He never tells you what his thorn in the flesh was, but you can speculate and he seems to get the point across that whatever it was that was nagging at him pretty much just plain sucked. Such is the case here.

Throughout last week, I received such a burden. Received may not be the right term. I got things reaffirmed.

For those of you not in the loop who don't know this, back when I started looking into AIM, there were other options that I had looked into. My first choice, to be completely honest, and my parents can back this up because they were there when I looked into it, was the Peace Corps. The only thing that kept me from signing on for 27 months in a foreign land at that second was the fact that I didn't have a four-year degree, which is "preferred" (AKA- pretty much required) for the extremely competitive program. So, I did AIM and learned that 27 months would most likely have killed me at the time.

I want to go places. A bunch of places. I want to do things. I want to help build houses. I want to help the hungry. I want to go to the third-world countries. I want to go to Africa. Like, now. I've had an obsession with other countries since I was little and my uncle was in the Marines. He used to bring me back coins and postcards. I actually have a Pepsi from Saudi Arabia (which has never been opened) sitting on my desk right now that he brought me back when I was 6.

God pretty much gave me the okay for this stuff. He has no problem telling me directly. I've known since I was 15 that I wanted to help people in poverty. I got a taste of it this summer. And I got addicted to it. I just want to do more.

So, God speaks to me. Reaffirms the call to go save the world, one humanitarian act at a time.

I'm on spiritual cloud nine.

But, like I said. Stupid thorn in the flesh.

But, maybe that's not a fair analogy. Paul asked for his thorn to be removed. Three times, actually. So, maybe mine's not a thorn like Paul's.

It's more of an issue, I guess. Stuff I've dealt with for years, indirectly. Not the same exact situation, but the same basic scenario replayed over and over. It wears on you after a while and makes you want to scream sometimes. And sometimes, God tells you to let go of it, for goodness sake.

But you don't exactly want to get rid of it. Sure, it hurts. It has its bad points. But at the same time, it's not REALLY hurting anyone, right? Except for you. Even more so this time, because God told you to let it go and you're not. Because we all know that ignoring that makes things so much easier, right?

Like I said, God has no problem talking to me directly.

But sometimes, he doesn't. Sometimes, he'll just kind of say something and nudge you. Like, "Heeeeyyyyy.....ummm...yeah, by the way....."

"You need to give me everything." God tells me.

"Okay, God. I'm giving you my life and my future. I'm not singing 'Please Don't Send Me to Africa'. I'm kind of singing the opposite. Send me wherever you want me. Give me the means to go, and I'll leave tomorrow if that's what you want."

And yet again.

"You need to give me EVERYTHING."

God knows when you're holding back. God knows when you say that you've put a situation in his hands and yet you still want to manipulate the outcome (unsuccessfully) by your own means. God knows when you say, "Okay, God. Your will be done, but please let it be this, this, and this."

It's not wrong to pray for an outcome. But sometimes when you leave something at the feet of Jesus, you need to lay it down and quit poking it.

And God will let you know this.

The only problem is that sometimes giving God everything goes against your very nature. Your instincts.

Sometimes, when the realization hits you that "Hey, stupid, this is what God wants. Please get it through your numb skull.", you'll sit on the floor of your dorm room and weep. You'll sob like a baby. You'll vow to yourself that you'll get over it.

And then the next day comes. And you're still a wreck. And you cry more.

Rinse, lather, repeat.

Over the course of this time, you get very good at hiding things. You get very good at putting on the mask. You can fool most people, sometimes even yourself, into thinking that you're okay. Sometimes, only your extremely perceptive friends can look at you and tell you, "You're smiling on the outside, but you're acting like a zombie. You're broken and it's okay to admit it." Even when you know you can't admit it.

Sometimes, you look in the mirror and tell yourself to stop the pity party right now. Because there are earthquakes in Chile going on and your problem is incredibly tiny and stupid. Because it is. But it's not.

And then one day, you may wake up and discover that it's been almost a week since you've decided to cave and give it all up to God. You may not have any peace about that situation. You still don't get why God can't throw you a rope and let you cross it. You don't get why you can't have what you want and still do what God wants. But at the same time, it the middle of a storm, you've found an odd kind of peace. It's not anything big. But it's sufficient. You know that God has a purpose. You know that everything works out in the end.

You remember being in elementary school and playing with your friend's rock polisher contraption. You would put ugly, disgusting rocks from the playground in that thing. The polisher would chip them away and make them new. They went in ugly, were put through the tumbler, violently transformed, and came out as something beautiful. But they had to go through a seemingly destructive situation first.

You still hurt. You still want God to let you take matters into your own hands. But God has given you a vision. God knows where he wants you. And you let him take control.

Your world is not okay. You are not okay. But God is there, even when you're not okay.

And sometimes, you realize that that's enough.

Actually, it's more than enough.

Epaphroditus Has Left The Building

2010-02-28T02:24:00.000-05:00

I was not aware that electronics were required to have names.

Until I came to Gateway.

My friend, Heather, whom everyone calls Becky, which has resulted in much confusion, and eventually my new name, is the one who informed me of this fact. While we were eating at IHOP, no less. I had never been to IHOP, either. It's like a whole new world.

Anyway, Heather has a laptop named Guadalupe and an iPod named Jack. Her phone, I think, is named Sophia, but don't quote me on that. Her old laptop's name was Walter. My friends apparently name their cars, too. Who knew?

So, after much deliberation, we decided that I should name my laptop.

And his name is Epaphroditus.

During the course of the semester, I have developed an obsession with the epistles. I thrive on New Testament Survey. It makes most of my classmates whine and complain, but I live for every Monday, Wednesday, and Friday at 9 to see what book we are studying.

*Note: There's not much suspense involved. We go in order. But hey. Oh well.

One particular morning, I decided to flip through Philippians before class that day and ended up reading the whole book (which consists of four chapters, but oh well). The name Epaphroditus is used over and over, because Paul was trying to make a point. He was, presumably, a good guy. Go read the book if you don't believe me. I decided that I loved the name so much, that I was going to name my son after this good Philippian man.

Thankfully, I discovered the electronic rule, sparing my future offspring from such horrors.

However, Epaphroditus is dead. At the moment. Which is why I've been such a bad blogger. He gave up the ghost the day after my last blog post and I haven't gotten around to taking him to get fixed yet.

The past two weeks have been fairly uneventfulish, to tell you the truth. I went to my first concert and had midterms, but other than that, I've been fairly consumed with papers and the beloved cafeteria couch. I love that couch.

Oh yes. And I managed to get snowed in in Topeka, Kansas.

We headed there for an outreach. We knew there would be snow. We didn't know that there would be seven inches of drifting snow. And ice. Which resulted in an extra night in Topeka. Not good times. I even had red shoes on. Clicking them does not work. Dorothy lies.

Sometimes It Snows A Lot On Valentine's Day....

2010-02-15T00:34:00.000-05:00

This morning, Florissant was greeted by a blanket of the white stuff. All of the snow we had before had melted away, leaving some of us bummed because that meant no playing in the snow. So, about the time it started coming down really hard at about five this evening, the roads got nasty and nobody really wanted to brave the roads for church. So, we stayed in tonight. And then went out in the snow.

Can I just say how it amazes me how Floridians act in snow? In our group, we had three Floridians, a girl from Alabama, and two Ohioans. The Ohioans were bundled up. Leggings, scarves, and heavy coats.

Of course, that doesn't stop me from doing intentional faceplants, which turn my face pink and frost my glasses. But I'm bundled anyway.

This is my friend from Florida. Ignore the fact that he's insane and swinging from a tree. It's what he does. But yeah. He's from Florida. And is wearing a sweatshirt in the snow. Craziness.

So, sometimes we throw our friends in the snow.

And sometimes they all fall in the snow and I watch from a safe distance.

Valentine's Day...

2010-02-13T13:56:00.000-05:00

Valentine’s Day.

There are various opinions concerning this holiday that are heard around the world. Some believe it is just a commercial holiday used by flower shops and stores to steal your money. Others believe it is a time to express their love for their significant other.

How do I see Valentine’s Day you might be asking yourself?

Valentine’s Day is a reminder. It is a day that we have been blessed with where we are reminded to cherish those we hold close to us and express that love in whatever way we see fitting. It’s one day where you are reminded to take a moment, afternoon, evening, etc. to love despite circumstances and situations.

After hearing and seeing some of the comments concerning Valentine’s Day, I just have to say that it isn’t a holiday meant to make those without a husband, wife, boyfriend, girlfriend, or fiance feel like an outcast, feel lonely, or feel deprived. If you don’t have a significant other, why be bitter about it? Sure, just about every person wants that special someone, but everything happens when it’s meant to happen. There’s no reason to be cynical about this holiday or about the love others share. Take yourself out to eat, grab a movie, buy yourself something you’ve been wanting, make yourself a delectable dessert, go out with someone you’ve just recently met… It’s important to remember that you have to be happy with yourself before you can be happy with someone else. Love yourself. Take care of yourself. And don’t be upset when others shine the love they have for their partners.

If you are in a relationship this Valentine’s Day, don’t just think of Valentine’s Day as a gimmick schemed up by the managers of businesses. Take this day as a beautiful reminder of the person you have right in front of you. Take it as a day where you can reflect on the relationship you have had, where you came from, and where you are now. Think about how life would be without your special someone. Look at their beauty, their amazing qualities. And let them know how much you care because every person has a need to hear that. For Valentine’s Day, I didn’t expect a bouquet of flowers, a new necklace, or even a card. All I wanted was to be with those that I love because isn’t that what life is all about?

Valentine’s Day weekend, I am taking time to spend with those that are close to my heart. I went to lunch with my mom today, spending the evening with my amazing boyfriend, and then lunch tomorrow with both of my parents. I have talked to my brother and sister. I just want every person I cherish to know that.

We have to get out of this mindset that Valentine’s Day is a cruel reminder to those people without significant others and a thief of funds to those that do have significant others. See Valentine’s Day for what it REALLY, TRULY is. A day to TELL those that you love... that you love them. It’s not JUST about your boyfriend, your girlfriend, your fiance, your husband, or your wife. It’s about those that change your world every day. Tell your mom that you love her, your dad, your siblings, your cousins, your friends, your aunts, your uncles, your grandparents… anyone that makes life worth living needs to hear how much you love and appreciate them today.

Love is life. All, everything that I understand, I understand only because I love. Everything is, everything exists, only because I love.- Leo Tolstoy

Sometimes In College, We Get Nicknames and Watch The Super Bowl

2010-02-08T15:48:00.000-05:00

Despite the fact that some of you who have already heard my new nickname have expressed displeasure, I happen to like the new nickname. Apparently, a girl here already had the nickname of "Becky" and getting called Rebecca by 100+ people on a daily basis gets old. And so, some of the people have come up with what they feel is a suitable alternative.

My nickname is Rebby.

I like it. Nobody else has it and it's different. So if you don't like it, meh. It's now on my dorm room door. And now the friend who suggested the nickname is revolting against it. What are you going to do?

For those of you living under a rock, last night was the Super Bowl. I went out to Buffalo Wild Wings with a few of the girls here and we proceeded to pretend to know what we were talking about while watching the game, along with enjoying some amazing yumminess.