It's a True Story!

Imagine, if you will, a dark morning. Tongo (the dog) is running around the house looking for an open door and a fresh face to lick. Mom is downstairs, getting the downstairs presentable for whomever decides to wake up next. The sun has barely risen.
Dad wakes up to Tongo's jingling dog tags, and decides it's time to get up. He stumbles around in the dark, looking for his clothes. Tongo is sitting on the bed, doing anything but minding her own business.
Mom opens the bedroom door to see my dad standing in his underwear, stumbling into a pair of pants; Tongo sitting on the bed; the lights are out.
Dad glances to the door and sees mom standing there and quickly explains, "I thought you were asleep. . .I didn't want to turn on the light. . .I thought the dog was off her leash."
My mom just stands there, on the verge of laughing, and my dad adds very defensively, "It's a true story!"

What we're wondering, now, as we laugh at this is: What does he think the fake story was?

Thirteen Going on Thirty

I heard about this great new thing today.
I guess it's some really great way to cut down on stress.
You know, take your mind off all your problems.
Aparently it makes them much smaller.
Okay, you dragged it out of me, I'll tell you:
You get this razor blade, and you run it back and forth across your wrists.
Ends stress just like that! It's a miracle.

Well, when you put it that way, sign me up!
Where do I get my razor?
It really ends my stress?
That's amazing!
How does it work?
Oh, I turn all of my stress into something physical so I can shift my focus from internal things I can't control to something external that I can control. Brilliant!

Who actually believes that?
Who actually believes that self mutilation is a really good idea?
Who actually believes that gaining control over one aspect of your life will negate all of the things you can't control?

7th grade girls. That's who.
7th grade girls in upper-middle class suburbia do.
7th grade girls who have their closest friends introducing them to "new ideas."
13 year old girls.
Thirteen.

A little girl today found a razor blade in her friend's purse and little pink lines on her wrists.
"Promise you won't tell anyone!"
Run like the wind and tell the first adult you see, sweet girl. Your friend is in trouble!

What do you do?
What do you do when the life of a thirteen year old girl is so stressful she has to externalize her pain?
What do you accomplish by suspending her?
What do you accomplish by kicking her off the basketball team?
She thought she had stress before. . .
When does she get better?
Does the cutting continue?

She's out of school.
She's off the team.
She's embarassed because everybody *thinks* they know what's goin on.
How will she deal with all of that without her friends to help keep her in check?
How will we get past judging her, and help her heal?
How can we make her know we're holding her accountable because we love her, not because she messed up?
Did she mess up? Sure. But we can't fix the past--all we can do is change the future.

Back to my original questions:
Who actually believes that?
Who actually believes that self mutilation is a really good idea?
Who actually believes that gaining control over one aspect of your life will negate all of the things you can't control?

We all do, my friends.
Where is your line drawn for self mutilation?
Is it food?
Is it pornography?
Is it overworking yourself?
Is it drinking?
Lack of sleep?
This little girl had little pink lines on her wrists--easily hidden behind long sleeves.
How do you hide yours?
All of us try to take control of something. Don't lie. You know you do.
You take control of something because you can't control anything else.

Solution?
I'll give you a hint--it doesn't involve razor blades.

Maybe there are things we need to take control over.
How about making them things that lead us to the faith we need to actually really (not just say it and not do it) give our lives (wholly and completely) over to God.
How about taking control over waking up early every morning and reading your Bible?
Even if it's just random verses.
How about taking control over our bedtime routine and actually getting down beside our beds and praying to God?

7th grade girls are very impressionable.
They pick their friends, and they start to rub off on one another.
They start to act like each other.

All of us are the same way--whether or not we'd like to admit it.
We assimilate to the company we keep. The movies we watch (how many people started saying "gosh" and "sweet" after Napoleon Dynamite came out?).
You spend enough time with someone, you are going to be changed.

Who is changing your 7th grade girls?

Who is changing you?

On Being a Big Sister

Saturday morning, I wake up at 5:30 to my phone ringing. It's Kali, so I answer it.
"Kari?" she asks very slowly. "Can you come pick me up? [pause] I got in an accident."
Now, being the calm, logical, levelheaded person I am I quickly ask, "where are you?"
"I'm out by the airport--by North Pole City."
Slightly alarmed that she would have to be at work so early on a Saturday morning, I ask, "What are you doing out there?"
"I was coming back from Lawton."
Most likely without masking the shock in my voice I ask, "what were you doing in Lawton?"
"I was at a Christmas party and it was late, so I went to sleep instead of driving home tired. I woke up early because I knew I had to work today."
"Good decision." I say. "Are the police there? Have you gotten all the paperwork filled out?"
"I'm sitting in the police car right now."
"Was anybody else involved?"
"No, I just hit the median when a car cut me off."
"Are you OK?"
"Yeah, just have an airbag burn. I'm alright."

We talk for a couple seconds longer and I head out the door to pick her up. I call my parents and ask if they'd heard from her yet, and let them know I was on my way to pick her up.

Why recount this conversation word-for-word, you ask? I'd like you to look over it again. And see how many questions it took me to ask "Are you OK?" The first words that should have come out of my mouth, and they were close to the last. This has been really bugging me for the past couple days. Why was I so concerned about what my sister had been doing, rather than if she was okay?

These 5am phone calls are what being a big sister is all about. If your little sister is in trouble, you drop what you're doing and you get her out of it. I've been a big sister for 21 years.
This was my first big sister phone call.
This was my chance to be there, as the big sister, and it took me half a conversation to even ask if she was okay.

I've always prided myself in my ability to put my emotions aside in an emergency and assess the situation calmly. One of my patients codes, I follow the necessary procedure. A kid cuts his hand and is bleeding profusely, I follow necessary procedure. Like a robot.
My sister calls and needs me to come get her--aparently I follow necessary procedure.

I'm a pretty protective person. But sometimes I let it come out as judgement. I take it personally when people I love make bad choices, and I proceed to try to fix the situation.
If I can fix it, maybe I'm doing my job as a big sister.

Maybe part of me was thinking my sister made a dumb choice, so before I'd go get her I needed to know how dumb it was. That way, as the big sister I could think about how to fix it on the ride there. Maybe when I found out it wasn't anything I could have fixed, I felt like I had to do something else to make up for it.
I still feel like I have to do something to make up for it.

Being a big sister is hard for me for some reason. I think it means that I have to be okay with being looked up to. And I think it means that I have to be comfortable with not having all the answers. I think it means I am required to be there, and shouldn't expect anything in return.

Am I Captivating?

I'm reading the book Captivating by John and Stasi Eldridge. I'm only about 1/4 of the way through it, so I could very well have this figured out by the time I finish it, but here's what I've learned:
I've learned that I'm uncomfortable admitting that I want people to see me as captivating. For some reason I didn't think it was okay to want people to look at me and say "wow, she's amazing!" I want the attention, but only secretly. And I've learned that it's okay to want to be wanted. And to need to be needed. It doesn't make me vain, or selfish, or self-absorbed. Aparently it's part of what it means to be a girl.
I'm always fascinated by the whole "God made me in his image" thing. I love to read through the Psalms and see this anger, joy, sorrow, love, and even jealousy that God has given us. And I love to see how he has them too. I love the thought that as the creator, God formed us in him image and we are constantly a people creating our own art. We are like God in so many ways.
What I never thought to look at has been pointed out to me in Captivating when it talks about how God is a God who wants to be saught after. He wants us to seek him, to know him, and to delight in him. It's okay for me to feel like this because it's more than likely that part of God directly in me. God made me like him, which is why (even though I constantly fight it) I want to be saught after. And it's why I want to be delighted in and celebrated. It's why I want to be known and understood.
And I fight it so much. I am so uncomfortable with being celebrated, even though somewhere inside I want to be delightful. I fight tooth and nail the fact that I want somebody to love me and need me, but somewhere I know I want to be (and will be) the perfect wife to someone.
Why am I fighting who I am as a woman made in God's image?
Why is it so hard to give in to this part of my nature God has programmed in?
How do I hold onto humility and selflessness while asking the question "am I captivating?"

Where is that happy medium between secretly wanting to be desired, and overtly making sure people think I'm desireable?
God's will and Satan's tricks look so similar sometimes.

How I Like to Remember It.

Friday night, we'd all go to bed. All of our friends had their Christmas trees up and brightly lit, but our living room widow had just our window clings and some colored light bulbs. There was snow on the ground, and Santa was due any day now but the Herron family had no tree. "It's not time yet," my dad would say whenever we'd ask. "We won't find the perfect tree if we go before it's time."
Then, there would come that Saturday morning. We'd get up and eat breakfast and my dad would announce, "last night, I looked out the window, and the stars were lined up just right. Our Christmas tree is ready for us." And we'd bundle up in our long-johns and snowpants, hats, coats and gloves and pile into the car. Dad would take his saw, mom would help us buckle up in our chubby bundle of winter clothes, and we'd drive to the Christmas tree farm.
It was well over a 30 minute drive, but we'd get there and march out to the tractor that would pull us deep into the endless rows of trees. "Douglas Fir!" the driver would call out as most of the families on the wagon would pile off for the giant soft needles of their soon-to-be Christmas trees. Our family did not move. We knew to wait for the call, "Spruce!" There it was! This was our stop! Now to find the tree that was waiting for our family.
We'd run through the rows and rows of trees, looking for our tree. Too tall. Too fat. That one has a hole in the side. That's a two-trunker. We'd split up--mom would take half and dad would take the other half. We'd mark a tree here or there and bring the whole family together to look at it.
Then, like some sort of miracle, all of us would find it at the same time. Mom would circle around it. Niki, Kali, Drew and I would yell "we found it! We found it!" Dad would hold his hand up to make sure it was the right height. We'd check the shape. Lay down on the ground and check the trunk. The branches looked as if they could hold our assortment of hand-made and store-bought ornaments. "This one's the one," my mom would announce, and my dad would nod in agreement and get down on the ground with his saw.
Gleefully, my siblings and I would call out, "tiiiimmmbeerrrrrr!" as the tree would fall to the ground. Dad would grab the trunk and we'd all pile at the top and carry it to the aisle to wait for the tractor.
Getting the tree tied up was always fun. We'd look around at the other trees and I'd be so proud that we found the perfect one, and all the other families had to settle for second best. Into the trunk the tree would go, and we'd all pile back into the car for the long drive home.
We always had perfect Christmases, and we always had the perfect tree. Sometimes it would reveal itself the night before Christmas, other times it would come as early as the first week of December. But we always found it. Every single time. My dad would wait for the stars to line up juuuuust right, and when that perfect moment came, we were up and running.

Patience is a virtue. But when the waiting is over, run as fast as you can for the prize. It will always be the most perfect then that it ever will be.

Coming Full Circle.

I don't really have anything in particular on my mind. But I feel like writing.

I have gotten in this odd habbit lately of going out and doing exactly what I want. If I decide I want ice cream, I will go out and get some. Tonight I really wanted to shoot hoops, so I went to the store and bought a basketball. Yesterday I wanted to make t-shirts for a friend and myself so I bought iron-on letters and spent a couple hours on that.
So it seems I'm good at knowing what I want and then going after it.

Or it means I'm good at finding ways to occupy myself.

I very consciously have made the decision three nights in a row to not actually write in my prayer journal. I got it about 3 weeks ago at a Bible study and had written in it every night until 3 nights ago when I decided not to.
Last week I made a choice to not grade these papers when I had a bunch of free time because I wanted to take a break. They're still sitting on my floor.
I chose to stop going to bed at 9:30 every night because I wanted to spend more time with my friends. I went from getting 8 hours of sleep every night to less than 7.

I very purposefully make these little choices every day, and they're not bad choices, but they're certainly not the greatest ones. I can't quite place why. Why is it I'll go to strange, and sometimes expensive lenghts to satisfy a whim, but I can't stay awake an extra ten minutes to write in my prayer journal?

I love God with all my heart. But Satan knows I will put other things before what's best for me sometimes. He knows that I could be in dying, but if somebody needed something from me I would drop everything and try my best to be there. He knows that I don't look at what I need before what I want to do.
I need God and a better, more consistent relationship with him.
I want to play basketball.
I need to eat my daily bread and stay in God's word and learn it more.
I want to read Moby Dick.
I need to be well rested to be a productive soldier for Christ daily.
I want to walk at night in the delicious fall air.

I need these things to survive. I am nothing without my relationship with God. But I let it fill in my free time instead of outlining and defining my free time.

If you want to get really technical, my time isn't even free.
It was bought and paid for on good faith that I will use it and treat it respect.

I've got some reading to go do.
Over and out.

The Jesus I Serve

I was at lunch with my grandma and grandpa Herron last Sunday, and my grandma was talking about her opinion on something. And she made a comment about how people interpret something Jesus did in different ways. She said, "I just don't think Jesus would [do that]. Not my Savior. Not the Jesus I serve."

It took a little while for that to turn around in my head. I let it sit there for a while and wondered if she was right. But then I just set the issue aside and took the words she said: "not the Jesus I serve."
Does that imply that she serves a different Christ than other people?
Does it mean he caters to various stances on certain things?

I am certain that there are many things that Jesus said that scholars and uneducated Christians alike disagree on. They interpret them differently, and take different meanings from them. We have the tendancy to say things like "well, that letter was targeted at this particular group of people, so there had to be a specific emphasis to help them get the point." Or we say, "oh, he didn't really mean that. It's figurative language. His apostles didn't even understand him sometimes!"

So are we changing the gospel to suit our beliefs?
Are we defining God, rather than letting his word define us?
More importantly, does my Grandma have a different savior than I do?

I don't like to disrespect my elders. And I really don't like to call out people on their personal beliefs. But I really think, in this case, that my grandma is wrong. I think that if she is serving a specific Jesus who wouldn't do something based merely on the logic that she doesn't want to think he would have done it, then he's not the Jesus I'm serving.
Would I serve a Jesus who hung out with prostitutes?
Would my savior call his companions Satan if they said the wrong thing?
Would the Jesus I trust pick a follower who he knew was going to betray him to help spread the gospel?
Honestly, I don't really get to make that call.
He died to save me. And it's because of the Jesus I serve that I have a place in Heaven.

My grandma's Jesus should be the same one as mine. He should be the same savior to everyone forever and ever. Because he doesn't change.
So if you find yourself saying things like that: not my Lord; not my Savior
make sure to remember that before he is yours, you are His.
He doesn't change.
And if He changes from person to person, then perhaps it's a version of Jesus that the person created.

Timing is Everything

Raise your hand if you've ever been a victim of bad timing.
Raise your hand if you've ever met somebody just a little bit too late.
Raise your hand if you've ever met somebody just a little bit too soon.
Raise your hand if you've ever just been too late to decide?
How about too quick to decide?
Have you ever lost somebody who you felt like should have lived longer?
Have you ever had somebody overstay his or her welcome?

Why is it that things in life seem to happen at just the wrong times?

I am under the firm belief that timing is everything.
However, it takes much more faith for me to realize that "timing" isn't anything I have control over.
I think that bad timing is another way of saying our timing didn't line up with God's timing.
And I think it's not a good habbit to call God's plan "bad."

I don't think that God has one specific path laid out for each of us. I think he calls us to certain places at certain times, but if we don't listen or go it doesn't mean we messed up his plan. God lets us have choices, and what we need to do is pray for the wisdom to make them.

I have almost moved to Oklahoma like every year since I was a senior in high school. And I'm only just now here. To tell you the truth, I don't really know what that means. I don't know if it means that I finally let go and let God bring me here. Or if it means that I took charge and defied everything that was keeping me in Michigan.
I don't know if it means the people I meet here are all just here when I needed people. Or if I met them just because I moved here.
I have a hard time differentiating.

Some people I was friends with left not too long after I got here.
Did I miss them? Was I too late? Were those relationships lost because of bad timing? If I'd moved down sooner would we just have never met?
I don't know.

I don't understand God's timing, and I wish I did.
I don't understand when he decides to give and then take away.
I don't get his reasoning.
And I don't get why it seems like I'm responsible when I miss out on something with which I think I should have gotten a fair chance.
Why do I always feel like I could have just done something differently?

Jacob waited 7 years on Rachel.
The Israelites waited 40 years on Canaan.
Abraham and Sarah waited 90 years on Isaac.
Noah waited 100 years on the rain.
We're all waiting for the return of Jesus.

Why does time seem to go by much more quickly in chapters and verses?
How do we make the paradigm shift from "bad timing" to "God's timing?"

There's Just Something About That Name

There really hasn't ever been a doubt in my mind about how great Michigan is--except maybe in the middle of any given February when everything is grey. But living in Oklahoma for three months has only confirmed that I could never live there permanently unless I had to.
Don't get me wrong, I am having a great time in Edmond. I'm meeting more people than I ever have, and I'm seeing my family all the time as opposed to just once or twice a year. I'm growing more and more independent, and I've even got a great job. But Oklahoma isn't Michigan.
Michigan has a distinct smell that I can only remember in my dreams when I'm not in it.
And Michigan summers have more green that can only be rivaled by Tulsa--but never anywhere in Oklahoma City short of Mayfair Church of Christ's auditorium.
Only in Michigan can you drive across 5 whole miles of suspension bridge, only to hop on a ferry to ride to an island boasting one of the oldest links golf courses still in operation. On a rainy day. And still have a fabulous time.
Michigan white pine trees line the roads and highways, growing taller than any tree I'll ever see in Oklahoma. Bright birch trees grab your eye, pulling your attention from the road at the flash of bright white teasing your periferal.
In Michigan you can drive for 2 hours across undeveloped land and not be bored.
You can climb 490 feet at a 60 degree incline of soft, deep sand down to Lake Michigan and put your feet in to find that it's a refreshing 78 degrees, only to turn around and grasp and strain your way back up to the top--all while wearing a long sleeved t-shirt and shorts if you please.
You can go on a rowboat to fish for your very first time ever and catch not 1, not 2, but THREE 4 pound large mouth bass and feed your entire family for dinner.
I don't understand why more people my age are in Oklahoma, and not in Michigan.
I love Oklahoma, and I'm very happy with my job, friends and life down there.
But Oklahoma can never be home.
And Oklahoma can never be Michigan.
And Oklahoma will never own me.

I bleed Michigan.
And even if I don't get to live here when I'm married and have kids, I will never ever consider anywhere else my home.

Not a Lot Changes in a Year.

In other news:Here's just some thinking, because sometimes it just has to be done. (Can we get an Amen?) [AMEN!] Thank you, Cecil. I have been thinking about Art lately. Garfunkel, you ask? No. Linkletter? Not particularly. I mean like expression. Museums. Art. Sometimes when you go into a museum there's a display where a yellow chair is hanging out behind a velvet rope pole and there's a popcorn kernel on the floor by the back left leg of the chair. There's a plaque next to it that reads "Lonely Screening" and the name "Hershey P. Flugerniffen" is nicely italicized below it. Now, I'm not going to argue the validity of Mr. Flugerniffen's artwork. What I am curious about, however, is who one would go to to say "this wadded up kleenex with kool-aid on it should go into a museum." I mean, seriously. If I could make some money off of my old shoes stapled to a board, than sign me up! Just tell me where to go! I can paint a blue box on a yellow canvas! I can bend a fork around a wooden spoon! I am an artist, too!
On the same track, what about these books we purchase for our toddlers today? 6 pages long. Text reads: Look at the firetruck; VROOM!; See it race to the fire.; WWEEEEEEEIIIIWWWWW!!!!; Oh no, Billy! Don't get wet!; Thanks Mr. Fireman!
Seriously! I could SO be a children's author. Especially because I'd like my children to grow up illiterate by wasting their 5 year old time on that crap.
Once I did a connect-the-dot that had 450 numbers in it, and also the letters of the alphabet. It turned out to be an owl. Not that's art.

More than Enough

When an evil spirit comes out of a man, it goes through arid places seeking rest and does not find it. Then it says, "I will return to the house I left." When it arrives, it finds the house unoccupied, swept clean and put in order. Then it goes and takes with it seven other spirits more wicked than itself, and they go in and live there.
-Matthew 12: 43-45a

The part of this little anecdote that stands out to me the most is the part where Jesus says that the evil spirit comes back to an empty house. I'd say that's a very bold statement for him to make. Because it assumes that while the evil spirit was inside the body, the person was whole. And by making a vacancy when leaving, the spirit has a place to come home to when it returns.

How often do we recognize sins and try to eliminate them from our lifestyles? You know, break bad habbits. Stop overeating. Kill pornography addictions. Watch foul language. Stop judging people. There's many, I'm sure you know what your vices are. So, when you finally break the habbit--or drive out the demon--what are you using to occupy the now empty space? Are you going to stop overeating by keeping yourself busy? Are you killing pornography by not being on the computer as much? Watching your language by not talking as much? What is your strategy for breaking your habbit? Call me brash, but I doubt it's going to help you put down that 8th beer when you say your memory verse for the day. But yet anyone will say "oh, you have to fill that empty space with God." Let's face it, people--if we even get the space empty in the first place, we fill it with anything we can that will help us forget the original problem. Sometimes not realzing that the new thing might potentially be as dangerous.

Many people argue that while their lives are filled with sin, they don't feel complete. They feel somewhat empty. I'm not going to lie, it's easy to jump right in and say it's because when you're sinning you're seperated from God. And it makes sense. But I don't buy it. And even if you do use more Godly practices to get rid of your sin, I think Jesus was making a point when he said there would be an empty house. I don't think it was a "be careful to not keep your house empty" point, but rather "if something leaves, you're going to have space for it."

That being said, I really do think that it's important to fill holes. Because I think it's important to be complete. And, yes, as cliche as it sounds, I think that the Holy Spirit plays a huge part in helping us to be complete. But I don't think that holes are God-shaped. If they were, they'd be a whole lot easier to fill. We'd know what we needed, and how big to make it. It's easy to fill something to the top, when we know how much we need. But I don't think God works like that. There's no such thing as "just the right amount of God."

Taking sin out of our lives is something that is really important, but whatever we take out is going to leave a hole. And we have to understand that those holes have to be filled, but there's no way of knowing how big they are. They're not God-shaped, and if they were I'd hate to think that the same amount of sin I previously needed is equal to the same amount of God I'm replacing it with. God is bigger. And he is what needs to fill the holes. But since there's no way of knowing how much God to squeeze in there, we just have to strive for nothing less than everything.

No matter how much of whatever I have filling up myself right now, there is still my whole entire life and being that needs to continuously occupied. And for every vacancy I create, I can only either lose weight, or know God more.

On Having a Purpose

There is a vine that is overtaking trees in the south. It's called the Kudzu vine, and in the last ten years it has pretty much been slowly climbing its way over trees all over Tennessee, Georgia and whatever other states are down that way. When I was in high school I learned about it, and how much trouble it was causing. I came home from a trip down south and told my boyfriend about it. He looked at me with a straight face and said, "why is it a problem?"
"Because it's killing the trees," I said.
"But what is the purpose of trees anyway? The plant is still removing carbon dioxide and producing oxygen. Why is it a problem?"
I didn't have an answer. I mean, sure--the vine wasn't as pretty as the trees, but what were they really there for?

Looking back on this now, I'd like to think that there is more to purpose than believing that something else can accomplish it.

What is my purpose? I used to think it was along the lines of teaching. Because I have been given the gift of teaching, it only makes sense that it's my purpose.
But after thinking about it for a while, I could be covered up in sin and still able to teach. I could be dead to God and still teach. Teaching isn't my purpose.

What am I here for that dies when I let sin cover it up?
THAT is my purpose.

What is it? It's Tricky Tricky Tricky.

There are a lot of times that God's will is not terribly clear. Looking back on things, sometimes it's easy to see right and wrong choices. But while living life, it's rarely glaringly obvious what God's will for our lives is.

I will very confidently tell you that winter is my favorite season if you ask me at any random time. Any random time that is not February, I mean. I think God's will is a lot like that.

I understand very clearly and know very surely that God has a plan for my life. And I know that it's not my place to understand its timing, or logic until God chooses to reveal it to me. But when I'm in the situation where I don't know what God's plan is, or when I'm going to know, it's hard to remember that he has one and that whatever it is is best for me.

It's hard to know when something is Satan's distraction, or God's will. At least for me I know I can't always tell. Because I look at opportunity sometimes, and see it as God opening doors all over, but I get so confused and worried about making a wrong choice. But someone said something today that I had to think about for a little while. God doesn't try to trick his followers.
Why would God want to trick his followers? Does confusing us and frustrating us show us his love? People who have alterior motives use tricks. God gave us free will--he doesn't use reverse psychology on us. It's really up to us to decide to follow him. God doesn't try to tease and trick his people. Tricks are for magic, and we all know where that comes from.

God is the Rock. Satan is the shifting sand. No matter how firmly I plant my feet, if they're planted in sand, they're going to shift. So I take this to mean that when I'm following a plan that I think is right--and I'm taking heed to coincidences, good luck, and unexpected detours that seem too good to be true I have to examine the possibility that I could be on a gravel path lined with flowers rather than a narrow road leading me to Heaven.

God isn't out to trick me. He's out to save me. He's out to bring me to him by showing me that he blesses me daily, commands my obedience, and will never leave me. He calls me to trust him, to follow him wherever he leads. If he says "go," then I say "lead on" in full confidence that the path is secure. If I can't hear his call, it's most likely because I'm listening too hard for my own voice.

I can't mess up God's plan. If I could, why would I need a God anyway? But God says that if I seek him, I'm going to find him. If I seek what I want, I'm going to find a beautifully lined path with shifting sand between every brick. Boy might it be lovely now, but in ten years it's going to be in serious need of repair.

When You're Tired of Running.

I don't claim to be an expert on the Psalms.
I am not even going to say I've ready anywhere close to all of them.
But one thing that I do know is that David wrote them to correspond to goings on in his life.

Now, I don't claim to be an expert on David.
And I don't know all of his stories.
But he is someone God gave us as a hero.
And he is someone God gave us as a human.
Which means he is someone God gave us to learn from.

A lot of people sortof skip over the whole Bathsheba thing. I mean, everyone knows it happened but we kindof stick to remembering that David killed Goliath and he's fighting on the Lord's side. David is a shepherd boy, who God hand-picked to be king and later the bloodline of Jesus.

But I'm going to be honest: I have a hard time looking up to David sometimes.

I mean, he does something; writes a song about how it's tearing him up and that he really loves God; and then he does another thing a couple days later. What do we call people like that today? Two-faced? Hipocrites? Insincere?

So here's the question:
Are we too harsh and unforgiving to people now, or are we too easy on David? Are we holding on to peoples' past mistakes, or are we easily wooed with beautiful prose? Does one or two foul moves mar a character forever, or does a relatable story make us feel like God could have picked any of us?

I have a hard time looking up to David, because I have a hard time forgetting when people admire do something wrong. At least I'm consistent. But I think I might be wrong.

David did a lot of dumb things. But he really really loved God.

Remember when David was running from Saul?
He kept doing dumb things and trying to take charge of God's plan, but before God would answer, David would just keep running.
But David really did love God.
And God really did love David.
And he never stopped.

I think Pedro the Lion says it best in the chorus to "Lullaby"

Rest in me, little David, and dry all your tears
you can lay down your armour and have no fear
cause I'm always here when you're tired of running.
I'm all the strength that you need.

I don't need my own strength to run this race.
or make my own decisions.
or to figure out what's best.
God is all the strength that I need.
but he can't be my strength if I'm not letting him.

Praise God he's not only there when we're tired,
and praise God we don't have to be tired before we can let him be our strength.

And She's Off!

Rasheed and I are ready to go!

See you in Oklahoma!

On the Move

Things are starting to pick up. And by pick up I mean pack up.
I have successfully completed my last day at Barnes and Noble, I have started my last load of laundry that needs to be packed before I can load my car, I have 2 more meetings of class and a final to take, a dishwasher to run, a house to clean, and a gas tank to fill.
My brain is as good as gone, but my body is still here.

This is really hard, especially because I'm being a jerk to my friends. Because they are going to miss me and want some quality time with me--and I just am not putting in any effort to give it to them. It's not that I'm rushing to get away from them, or that I've already forgotten--but there's just this certain level of excitement that acts as a premature catalyst to my big exit from Michigan. The byproducts being merely the echo of my goodbye--litterally just the word lacking sentiment.

When Kara went to Australia on her mission trip, and then decided to stay for the extra couple months of summer I didn't understand. I was really happy that her and Todd were building a relationship, but I was skeptical and I was confused. I was skeptical because I didn't think a summer together would even come close to balancing the rest of the year apart. And I was confused because I didn't understand how she could stay knowing she had other committments. She was going to counsel at a camp, and do something else that summer and I felt like she was really blowing her responsibilities off. I didn't understand.
The skepticism soon faded when I realized that marriage wasn't going to keep her and Todd apart for the rest of the year. It wasn't going to be a long distance relationship, it was going to be her closing the distance. Now that Australia is her home, I sure do miss her but I know that it's where she has to be.

So I'm picking up in the middle of April and moving to Oklahoma. And there's so many things I am leaving unfinished or even barely started. And as supportive as people I love are being, I don't think they can really understand. It's hard to understand that once your mind has gone somewhere else, you just can't bring it back until its ready. It's hard to understand that even though I'm leaving so much that I need and love, I can and will live without it. If I really wanted to I could make it work to stay here. But I just don't.

I'm not good with goodbyes. Maybe because I've never really said them. I've always lived my life assuming that I'll see somebody tomorrow. Even if I know I won't. I tend to not prepare for not talking to or seeing people for a couple of days. Because I guess I feel like people are there when they need to be. And if they're not there, then it means I'm okay without them.
I always end up missing people for a while, but sometimes a day and a month without talking just feel the same. And so saying goodbye doesn't mean anything other than "see you later" to me. And as long as there is tomorrow, then that's when I'll see you.

I Got Used to Sweatpants.

There's something to be said for the Comfort Zone.
It's familiar, it's friendly, it's welcoming, it's consistent, and it's--yes--comfortable. I really can't think of any negative things to say about it. It's just a good thing.
But there is just something unsettling about it.
Like sweatpants. They're so great, but you just can't wear them to work. They don't function on that level. You can always go back to them, but when it's time to go somewhere or do something important you have to take them off. And put on the real pants.

I love my life right now, and I love my friends and my family. And I have a lot of them. But I constantly find myself feeling alone. I feel alone because I don't have any peers. People who are in my same stage of life: post graduate, not married, over 18, under 28. I have lots of fun with my friends who are married with families. They're great. But it's a different dynamic when I go home to my parents and siblings, they go home to their children and spouse.
I have some friends I met at work, with whom I have the greatest time. At work. People I do meet who happen to be my age all have this idea of what is "fun" that I don't share.

This is where I realize that I am sort of hovering in some state of limbo. I don't want to be thrown into the real world yet, but I'm already passed the time I had to go meet people and hang out. I am in a place right now where I have loads of love and support, but something is lacking. I am not complete and I am not happy. This is my comfort zone and it's gotten so worn in that there's a hole in the bottom. I'm uncomfortable. Like when the only pants that fit are sweatpants. They feel nice on, but it's awful because they're all I have.

Stepping out of the comfort zone is something that is difficult for me. It's not really because I'm afraid. And it's not because I don't like change. It's because I lack the desire to be free.
Some people can get up one and pack and move to Alaska. Find a job, low income housing, and make do. Others can get on a plane and go backpacking through Europe stopping here and there living on odd jobs and hostels. Some people sign up for The Amazing Race because they love the thrill of travel and new places. I am not any or either of those people.
I don't feel like I'm missing out on anything in life just because I didn't spend a good portion of it "out on my own." Going and seeing who I can meet is something that just doesn't appeal to me.
I had no problems with curfew either at my parents' house, or in the dorms at college.
I don't disobey or rebel for the thrill of it. Typically, if I do end up doing something rebelious--like a prank--my heart churns and aches until I am positive no one took offense or got hurt.
I like things to be in order. I have a hard time looking at the steps until I can see the big picture.

Through all of this conflict between the sweatpants and the introverted nature, I have realized that I have to do something. I have to get out of where I am and just go somewhere. For real. Not just plan it and see if it will work before getting in my car. I have to just pack up my car and get out.

Now, living arrangements and a job transfer are in the working--so it's not entirely spontaneous. But before May 1 I will be living in Oklahoma City.
I picked a place I won't be alone, but will have to make all new friends. I am living with people I know well, and I have family very nearby, but this is my first venture out of my house.
And I am excited.
I am not scared, or even nervous.
I really just can't wait.

I always say I'm going to stop wearing sweatpants so much, but I never do. Maybe I should just not pack them when I move.

Bowing Down to Satan.

A couple weeks ago, at Memorial, Terry Rush preached a sermon that touched on the temptation of Jesus. He made a few interesting points--the one I remembered the most specifically was that we tend to forget that these things Satan tempted him with were, indeed, tempting.
It's not like just because he was Jesus he was immune to the desire to give in. If it wasn't hard, it wouldn't have been temptation. I guess as often as I've heard the story, and even as often as I've talked about it, read about it, and even looked at it through the light of The Grand Inquisitor (of Dostoevsky's The Brothers Karamazov) I've never thought about it as a real issue.

The first temptation--the one for bread--I think is the easiest to understand. It doesn't take much probing thought to realize that Jesus was without food or water. He's obviously hungry. That's something all of us can relate to. While it's not hard to relate to the temptation of being hungry--I mean let's be honest, have you ever tried to stick to a diet when it's church potluck night?--Jesus fires back the truth that God's word provides the body with more than just bread can. While I can't say I'd be able to do the same thing, this temptation doesn't seem terribly extreme. Anorexic people go without food all the time.

Secondly, Satan tells Jesus to call on God to save him. Basically he's getting the chance to show Satan that God has this power. This one is also pretty easy to relate to, I think. We like to prove things to people. It's a temptation that specifically our culture promotes, because happiness is dependent on success, which is a direct result of showing other people what we can do in the face of adversity. Motivation alone comes from us wanting to prove something to someone somewhere. Satan knew this about man--and figured that since Jesus was having kindof a hard time getting his apostles to understand him, pharisees were out to get him--let's face it, a lot of things were getting in the way of people understanding his purpose. Jesus knew that people wouldn't get what he was even here for until he died on the cross. Here was his one chance to show people "look, you fools! I really am the son of God." What better way to say "these aren't just stories, people! THIS IS THE TRUTH!" than throwing yourself off a cliff, only to be hand delivered safely to the ground in radiant (maybe even shining) glory!?
It's not as easy as just saying "Don't test God." This had to have been really appealing to Jesus--or it wouldn't have been a temptation.

So then there's the "bow down to me" one. Where Satan offers Jesus all of the kingdoms of the world. I think it's important to understand that Satan's little kingdom is the whole world. People consider the desires of the flesh worldly. Satan pretty much has free reign. So there's this chance for Jesus to have it all. This also is along the lines of man dropping everything and turning to God. Now, if you look into it, all of man turning to God sortof eliminates the free will that God gave to man. Which God has the power to do anyway. So I'm just not going to talk about that part. This is an issue of making this temptation relatable. If you told me I could have whatever I want if I bowed down to Satan, I'm pretty sure I wouldn't do it. The appeal of bowing to Satan isn't there for me. And I can't imagine (or at least have a very hard time imagining) Jesus really having to weigh on his hands "bow to Satan.....not rule world.....bow to Satan......not rule world." Bowing to Satan somehow had to be so appealing that it dare be called a temptation. I personally can't relate to being offered something like all of mankind.

So I started thinking, What is MY today's equivalent of bowing to Satan?
I mean, I guess I'd have to thinking about what bowing to Satan would mean. Would it mean flat-out starting to worship him? Or would it mean turning my attention to something that isn't bowing to God? I think it's the latter.
So, what are things I do that take my attention and praise from God?
And how much (or little) would it take to get me to turn my attention to them?
It had to be as huge as all of the kindgoms of the earth for it to tempt Jesus. What would I do it for?

look at all the places I've been!

I still have 28 more states to go, though!

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Lifelong Role Model

I always used to love it when people I didn't know would come up to me and ask me if I was related to Kimberly Herron. They all said I looked just like her. Not that I didn't like being told I looked like my mom--but for some reason it's more exciting when it's not your parents who you look like. Everyone expects children to look like their parents. But to look like my aunt was awesome!
I think it was implanted in my mind when I was younger that I was going to do my best to try to be like my aunt Kim. Almost like living up to who I was born to resemble. It's always exciting to find out the things we have in common. When I started playing the violin, the one I played on was one she used when she was younger. And one of the sweaters I wore a lot when I was younger went through all my aunts, but it started out as Kim's. And I remember trying to wear it when we'd do things on holidays, secretly wondering if she thought to herself "hey! that was my sweater!" I recently saw a picture of her and my uncle David, and she's wearing a dress that's the same pattern my prom dress was made from! That was super exciting!
When she died it didn't necessarily make my purpose seem more clear, but it made me want to make sure I didn't waste time working toward what I who and what I want to be. I don't like biology, so I'm not planning on being a doctor of genetics. But I do want to be a college professor. My science of choice is physics. Kim was a very talented musician, and she inspires me to use that gift to bring glory to God. The very first song I ever wrote was about a friend of mine who not only wasn't a Christian, but he pretty much didn't ever want to be one. And when I played it with Jenni at a benefit dinner at church, one of the ladies told me it reminded her of a Twila Paris song called "Would You Believe." She let me borrow the tape and I listened to it a couple times, and never thought about it again. But then, at aunt Kim's funeral, they played an arrangement of it that she had written for her singing group and she was singing it. It was kinda cool. And it made me think harder about what it means to live your life as an example, instead of just praying that people would get to know Jesus.
Thinking about my aunt makes me constantly want to be a better person.

I think having people to look up to helps us define who we are.
And I think it's a really good thing when the people we look up to are already well defined.

Savvy Enterprising at its Finest

For a while now--since November 28, 2005 to be exact--there has been this idea hovering in the back of my mind to bring back the megaphone. My business partner and I have been strategizing day and night, pouring over product ideas, sales pitches, product drafts, costs, anticipated sales, spokespeople, target audiences, packaging, advertising, and jingles for our almost-patented megaphone; and also how to make healthy salads taste better.
It just hit me today that megaphone sales are probably at their alltime lowest right now with the rising sales of mp3 players and Chrysler automobiles. So this is probably the best time to act.
Without going into too much product detail--because we haven't patented anything yet--I think our strategy will be to target middle-aged women. We'll do this by putting the Oprah's Book Club seal on the packaging so everyone will buy them. Hopefully by word of mouth, we'll have some great initial sales. And then when Oprah finds out we used her name, we can explain on Larry King Live that we didn't intend to be false. And then when she calls the show, we'll explain that it was just a marketing plan and offer to send her a free one. (We could probably afford one revenue-less sale.) Once she sees how great it is, she'll want to endorse them for real. We will, of course, tell her it's not necessary because her name is already on them and we wouldn't want her to spread herself too thin. But by this time, sales will have already skyrocketed. Especially among the liberal college and middle-aged consumers. Even if it's not terribly good initial publicity, curiosity creates customers.

Oh man, I gotta call Eric and tell him the plan!

The Story that is My Life

I have been searching high and low for my backpack for probably the last hour. It has some homework in it that I took to winterfest and didn't do. I looked downstairs, and I looked in my room. I looked in the bathrooms, and in the other rooms and I couldn't find it.

Before I go on, I should inform the reader of the state of my bedroom. It is a disaster in four walls. There are clothes, guitars, Mr-8's, calendars, amplifiers (okay, so maybe just one--but it's so awesome I like to pretend it's numerous), suitcases and Listerine Pocket Strips all strewn about the floor. Very messy, because I had spent 9 days away, and then came back home for a turnaround weekend in Tennessee. Laundry hasn't been done, and unpacking hasn't even began short of rummaging through the suitcase from Gatlinburg for clean clothes to wear to the movies tonight.

So I am looking desperately for my backpack. I know I put it into the trunk when we drove back from Plymouth. So I asked my mom and brother if they were my backpack where they might be. Neither knew.
I went to the bathroom, and Drew was nice enough to go outside and check the trunk of the car. He came back up and I asked if he'd had any luck and he didn't respond. He started helping me look downstairs and all around to see if we could find my backpack.

I came back into my room, and sat down on the floor and started scanning through the disaster. I asked him, "am I crazy? Is my room really that messy that I can't even find my own back pack?" and I start scanning the floor and looking behind things. Drew is standing in front of me and he begins to snicker. He points behind me and right next to the door, behind my unpacked suitcase is my backpack.

I immediately start laughing--because it's really quite funny. And then I beg him not to tell my mom that it was right be the door the entire time. Because I'll surely get a crack about how I need to clean my room (which I'm well aware of, but just haven't done yet). Drew leaves the room, and it dawns on me that he's not going back to his room, but to tell my mom about the backpack. So I take of running down the hall yelling "la la la la la la la" so she can't hear Drew. But I'm laughing too hard, he tells her between giggles.

They both take their fair share of cracks at me. And then, (I can't really remember how) it's revealed that Drew had brought my bag in from the trunk and put it by my door while I was in the bathroom! So not only did they both know about it, but they had both succeeded in heinously embarrassing me! I just laid on the floor, laughing, relieved that my messy room hadn't actually swallowed a 20 pound backpack.

Oh man, I got Punk'd.

Thinking about Aunt Kim.

I've got a lot on my mind right now. But basically it boils down to one thing:
the more you love somebody, the more difficult it is to say goodbye.
but the more you have to be willing to.


blessed be your name is what i call out to you
while they just don't understand
and they never heard you say

you called me, I saved you,
you walked in my light.
you led them to Jesus
you lived the good life.
My grace is sufficient for you.

i know you had a plan,
but giving up or giving in were never part of it
and you'll say to me again

you called me, I saved you,
you walked in my light.
you led them to Jesus
you lived the good life.
My grace is sufficient for you.

You could say I lost the battle.
You could say I lost the battle.
You could say I lost the battle.

for as long as i will live, i will testify to love
you give and take away
Lord, blessed be your name.

i called you, you saved me
i walked in your light
i led them to Jesus
i lived the good life.
but your grace is sufficient for me.

I've got 2 things on my mind

First thing:
"no one ever made it a rule that you have to be more than best friends to be soul mates"

I read that on a caption of a photo of a friend of mine with one of her best friends. He is a boy. Now, there's the eternal question of the legitimacy of a truly "platonic" relationship. It's been said that there is never any point in any guy-girl relationship where either one or the other (or both) hasn't thought about the relationship being more than "just friends." That's nothing new. And I'm not going to say it's either true or untrue, because I don't really know for sure.
I do know that it is possible to actually be in a boy-girl relationship and be "just friends" and stay that way. Whether or not there are "feelings" there, nobody is forced to act on them. And friendship is real and it is possible to have no alterior motives.

Now, what I'm really not sure about is if I think "soul mates" exist. Do I think there is a perfect right person who can just be a person for me, to understand me and be there for me and tell me what's what whether I want to hear it or not? Maybe. Am I that perfect right person for somebody else? Quite possibly.(One thing that confuses me about soul mates: are they mutually exclusive? Or could my soul mate have a soul mate who isn't me? Not really important, I guess)

Where that caption caught my attention was the notion that if that perfect right person happens to be a boy, it doesn't mean that we're supposed to be (or ever get) married.
But on the other hand, what does it say if I have a perfect right person boy and I'm married to someone who isn't him? Why would anyone marry someone who isn't his or her soul mate?
I don't know the answer to the question, but the only way I can think to defend it is that if my perfect right person was female, does that mean that I need to marry her? No. It just means that my perfect right person to understand me is a girl.

I am pretty sure that it's possible to have a perfect right person ("soul mate" or not) who is of the opposite gender who is absolutely and truely nothing more or less than a best friend. But I think the biggest problem with this is the fact that it never looks strictly platonic through the eyes of other people. I don't think that's fair.

Second thing:
Sometimes I want to share with people that God loves them. Because there are a lot of people who think that there isn't a reason to like themselves. But there has to be. Because God created them, and loves them, and saves them, and rejoices over them with singing, and listens to them. And died for them, so they could be safe forever and ever. Because it is such good news. And if there is no other reason to feel worthy of anything, knowing about God's love could be enough to make somebody want to experience it. And learn about him and Jesus and his word.
But I find myself not saying any of those things, because I don't want to offend anybody. What if somebody tried to tell me all of that about Flopid, God of 7-eleven slurpees?
I know that God is truth, and that Flopid is nothing more than a false idol. But to people who follow and worship false gods, they really think it is the truth. How offended would you be if somebody blasphemed your truth?
Part of me knows it's obsurd to ever think that sharing God and Jesus with people should be offensive. And that it's only letting Satan get a little more ground every time I give in and keep my mouth shut. But how do I find the compromise between doing what's right, and offending someone else?

If someone tried to tell me all of the great things about this 7-eleven god, and read me verses from the slurpee bible to back it up and spent all this time telling me that my soul isn't safe unless I understand and experience this love--even if it was in a non-confrontational way--I would be sortof offended. Or else I would think this person was brainwashed and crazy.
How does this situation differ from someone unfamiliar with God being told all of this stuff?

Why are people offended by God?
And should I be concerned about not offending people at the risk of losing an opportunity for planting a seed?
How many opportunities have I thrown away to the devil?

An (un)interesting turn of events:

I never really realized that Forrest Gump was such a good movie.
I don't remember ever really liking it before.
But I think I really like it.


I wonder how much time I waste that I could be doing something great instead?
Maybe instead of listening to music when I run, I should think.
And instead of playing other people's songs on the guitar I should play more of my own.
And maybe instead of watching movies and tv all day I should be trying to make things happen.
I guess I should keep my promises.
I guess I could do something for other people.
I have a lot of skills that I've learned that I could use to help people.

I struggle a lot with thinking I need to be something great.
And maybe what I should work more at is understanding that God made me great.
And that the great things that he put in me are what I should be praying to find, instead of trying to create great things inside myself.

It's easy to know something.
But it's a whole different story to understand it.
God is a lot like that.
And all of the things I've learned about him.
I've heard a whole lot of different ways of saying the same inspirational things.
But maybe I should start listening to them.

Maybe I should just start listening.

Tales From the Kari

Alright, so if I'm good at anything in the world it's having a tricky name. What can I say, it's my nature to be tricky. What is my name, you ask? It's Tricky, Tricky, Tricky.
Oddly enough, I new somebody who's name was actually Tricky. Well, two people I guess.

Anyway.
So, it's not really hard to say my name. It rhymes with "naughty" and "gaudy" and "haughty." Those are all easy words to say. Depending on how you pronounce your "au" sound, my name can be rhymed with "potty," "hottie," and "dotty." It gives it a bit of a Jersey flavor.

What really throws people off is that there is an R in my name.
Kari.

This is a typical introduction.
For the purposes of the scenario, I will spell things phonetically:
Tina: Hi, I'm Tina. What's your name?
Kari: Kaudi. Nice to meet you.
Tina: Claudia? That's pretty it's not--
Kari: No, no. Kaudi.
Tina: Oh! I'm sorry. Claudie?
Kari: No, nope. Kaudi.
Tina: Kaudi? Huh. I've never heard that name before. How do you spell it?
Kari: K-A-R-I
Tina: [puzzled look, followed by nod of understanding] Oh! you mean Car-ee?
(think like racecar)
Kari: Nope. No, no. Kaudi.
Tina: Now wait...where does that? How do you?
Kari: It's Norwegian. You roll the R.
Tina: huh. That's weird. [walks away]

Now, Tina is probably your average person. Those people assume that I must have said my name incorrectly and as soon as I've spelled it they're eager to point out my mistake to me. "Oh, you must have meant...." No, no, nope. Tina, I think I would know my own name.

Every once in a while I get a person like the preacher at a church in Oklahoma. I think is name was Jimmy-Ray. A very cheerful middle-aged man with braces and glasses who, thinking back on it now, could be Kip Dynamite's southern cousin.

Jimmy-Ray: And what's your name?
Kari: Kaudi.
Jimmy-Ray: How do you spell that?
Kari: K-A-R-I
Jimmy-Ray: Oh! Just like it sounds!

Now, I will honestly say I have NEVER heard that come out of someone's mouth when I've spelled my name for him or her. I just smiled and nodded.

There was once a woman named Susan who, after the Tina scenario runthrough, decided to inform me that life must be awful with a name like mine. She very curiously asked me why I didn't change my name as soon as I could. I politely, but smugly, told her that it was probably for the same reason her name was still Susan.

I especially enjoy it when someone says: "Man, I'll bet EVERYbody calls you Carrie."
I haven't really found a clever way to respond to that one. But I just reply with, "well, people I know don't. And people I meet just do it the once."

I've had someone ask me if she could just call me Carrie because she didn't know how to roll her R's. NO! You most certainly can not. Can I call you Shirley because I think you look like one? Of course not! I will call you by your name. Whatever method it takes me to pronounce it.

Think if you were like a hobbit. And you were saying like "Harry Potter"
It would come out like "Haddy Potta"
Now say "Kari" in that same voice.
Rolling R's isn't much different than just turning the R into a D.


My name and I have been on many adventures. I hope to have many more to share with my children.

More Than A Habit

It always seems that I am the most troubled when I feel far away from God.
And it's not even that he is distant from me. It's that I have put other things between us.
Which I tend to do quite frequently.
And even when I realize I do it, I can't seem to manage to fix it.

And maybe that's the problem?
It's not my job to really "fix" anything.
Right?

So the thing that's getting in the way is myself.

I really struggle with the aspect of "making God time a habit."

While it's logical that if I do something for a certain number of days, it becomes a habit, and I'll feel sortof incomplete without it. Like praying, or reading my Bible. And that's ultimately what I want. I want to feel hungry when I haven't been filling myself with the Bread of Life. And I want to feel restless unless I've prayed to God before I go to sleep.
But I don't want it to be a habit.
I want it to be part of me.
I want to want it so much that I can't live without it.
And I hate that the "trick" to getting it like that is making it a habit.
I don't think that's fair.

I feel like I'm so separated from myself right now.
I can't control my surroundings
I can't fix my situations
I can't even keep my stomach from hurting.
And I know it's because I'm trying to.
I'm trying to do all of these things, because they're keeping me on edge, and I want to fix them so I won't be so rocky inside.

And in reality, I'm not separated from myself at all.
I'm so much a part of myself I'm not letting my life be ruled by its king.
I'm trying to take control, and I'm being reminded that there is a reason that I am NOT in charge.

Tis so sweet to trust in Jesus
just to take him at his words
just to rest upon his promise
...

I know it
Now to mean it...

Where taking advice and living life intersect--and likewise diverge:

It always seems that whatever ideas I have in my head, my parents have other ones.
Whatever I think is a good idea isn't quite the wisest one to them. And where I struggle is that I can understand that my parents are more wise and experienced than I am. And therefore, their advice is probably really valid. But, how do I become wise by just listening? Isn't there some sort of do missing there? I mean, I could listen and do what they say--but what is wisdom if its not gained from experience. I only have the wisdom of the "easiest way to success" rather than "my very own" one.
I am probably the lest independant 22 year old I know. And I think it's because I've been taking advice all my life, rather than figuring things out for myself.
Right now I'm taking physics classes at Wayne State. My parents don't really think it's a great idea, but they're humoring me. I planned it so I could sub during the days, and get a part-time job in the evenings to earn money. I'm working on getting into districts as a sub--believe me, it's harder than it should be. My goal is to get another evening job so that I can make enough money to move out of my house. I mentioned this to my dad, and he immediately struck it down. "Moving out is not what you need to be focusing on while you're still in school." Which holds a valid point. However, I know myself. I am like a lamprey. A parasite, if you will. When given the means to survive off of something else I have no motivation or drive to do anything above and beyond exist. However, if a parasite wanted to live without a host it would most likely die. Survival of the fittest. When put in a situation where it is do or die, I thrive and I flourish. My sense of competition only arises when I'm in danger of failing. Otherwise I have no drive to pull ahead. It's how I've always been. At school, in sports, board games. . .etc.
What my dad doesn't understand is that as long as I am living with them in their house, I am never ever going to be independent. Because there is always someone there to pick up the slack. If there's no one there to unload the dishwasher for me if I put it off long enough, then I will do it right away. Because I have no other choice. If I have to pay a bill or lose any credit I might have, I will do it right away. Because I have no other choice. If I'm at home, somebody else picks it up and "puts it on my desk where I should see it." And I never do. I can't fall on my butt if I've got a fluffy pillow glued to it.
My dad doesn't understand this, because while I'm exactly like him in most ways, this way I am not.
My dad doesn't understand why I don't want to go back to the hospital and just work two 12-hour shifts making $12/hour instead of trying to find a night job a few nights a week making much less. He doesn't think that working extra days at less compares to working less days at more. Which he's right. But I don't think that extra money is worth having a job I don't enjoy as much as I could another one. He thinks that money does all the talking all the time, and I just don't agree. Probably because I've never had the chance to realize that I have to make what I live from. And as long as I'm living at home, I'll never 100% live off my own keep. Therefore, money doesn't talk as loudly to me as liking my job.
My dad said that when you're working for something, it doesn't matter if you like what you're doing or not--you do what it takes to get there. And this is another characteristic that I do not possess. Even when driving somewhere, I'm okay with taking back roads and other scenic routes. Because if I get to my destination and it's not what I thought it was, at least I have lots of places I saw on the way that might be better. I don't like shooting for a target, hitting it, and then thinking "okay, what now?" I'd rather shoot, and maybe hit something else on the way.
I respect my parents greatly. And they are both wise, and have great jobs and are in great situations. However, I have a feeling that if I let my decisions be their decisions then my life will not be my life. And I won't be able to teach my children anything but my way--which wasn't my way to begin with.
Freedom might be a gift. But independence doesn't come without sacrifice.

This is one of the neatest things I've ever seen.

I still can't wrap my mind around it.

http://imaami.blogspot.com/

on fitting in.

Family pictures aren't a good indication of how a family is.
Especially when you're not allowed to be yourself while taking them.
And if you argue it, you're clearly selfish and unreasonable
because you're not a family if you're not wearing a nice sweater
and you can't wear clothes people always see you in
because families color coordinate.

Sometimes I feel like I don't belong in my family.
I'm not serious enough
my clothes aren't nice enough
my hair's the wrong color
my music is too loud
my movies are too boring
my smile is too smirky
my eyes are too squinty
my goals aren't good enough
I'm not thin enough
Why can't I just eat meat
I can't stand our dog
I'm not social enough
I don't want to be popular
I don't date enough
my heels aren't high enough
I hate eating out and shopping

What's the point of being a Herron girl if I'm the one everyone forgets about?
What's the point of a family picture if I have to wear other people's clothes?

On Prayer. And Husbands.

Tonight Drew and I were driving back from coffee and said his dad asked him if he prayed for his future wife.

Now, I've heard many people talk about how they pray for good Christian spouses for their children. And how people pray for their future mate every day. But quite honestly the thought never actually occurred to me. It never occured to me to be praying for a man I don't know yet. Or who hasn't actually entered that role in my life.

I pretty much avoid the possibility that people I know could be my future husband. Or that somebody I meet one of these days could be him. But I guess just beause I don't want to be married or dating right now isn't a reason to not pray for any of them.

So I decided that maybe that's something I should start doing. Because I think I'd hope that he's praying for me.