Growing Up Stole My Christmas

Here is my disturbing realization:

Christmas Day is just a day.
Christmas is the celebration of Christmas.

This year, I will be waking up on Christmas morning alone in my house. Probably without a tree. Or lights. Or presents. Or stockings. Because it's just me here. And it's making me realize that December 25th doesn't mean anything.

The day that's going to count for me is January 1st or 2nd when I get to be in Tulsa with my sisters, brother, and parents.

This Didn't End Up Where I Expected. . .

I don't respond well to displays of disobedience.
I don't think it's funny to cause mischeif, or to make big messes for the sake of "having a little fun."
Food fights, toilet-papering, and other "harmless" acts of vandalism don't amuse me.

I always hated The Cat in the Hat for this very reason. Even when I was a little kid in kindergarten or first grade I remember not liking this book.
I don't understand what sort of lesson can be learned when a grown-up (in my mind, the Cat in the Hat was a grow-up) shows up and tells two little kids to disobey their mother. And not to just disobey her--he practically destroys their house. And for some reason, it's all okay in the end just because they cleaned it up and she never found out?
That never made any sense to me.

I also never liked the book Where the Wild Things Are. It's often a childhood favorite of many. People tell me they love it because it's so imaginative. When I was little, I hated even looking at the pictures because I thought they were so ugly. But what I really didn't like was that the little kid was so mean to his mom. And then he went to this ugly place and was mean to these monsters. And then he gets to come back home and have his dinner waiting for him.

Funny, now that I've shortened the plot (if you could call it that) to that short few sentences; it reminds me of all the same reasons I really struggle with seeing King David as a hero. . .

I don't like it when people don't get in trouble for their actions.
And for their disrespect.
And when they leave messes that other people have to take care of.
I don't like it when this behaviour is rewarded.
And I don't like it when characters like the Cat in the Hat and mean Max (isn't that his name?) are considered the "hero."

I think the heroes should be the ones who are bigger than me and can forgive the little punks who break the rules. . .




The One who is bigger than me and has forgiven all the little punks who break the rules. ..

Full Of It

I'm feeling empty.
Well, actually, I'm feeling full.
Just full of crap.
And therefore, empty of anything of value.
And here's what I've realized:
When you give away pieces of yourself, you have to accept the possibility that you will just end up empty. And that it probably isn't going to change.

The only thing you can do is make sure that you're being filled with things that truly satisfy you.
And I can list the things I've been trying to use to fill myself that are not working.
And I can list the ways I've been seeking reciprocation that have not been working.
And what happens is that I give more
and more
and more
and hope that I'll get something back in return
And I just end up disappointed
and even more empty

I try to come up with new ways to give
just craving some recognition
and effort in return
give second chances
give full attention
give time I don't have

and wind up waiting

I prayed for this.
I prayed for compassion.
And the ability to feel again.
To be able to share myself with other people.
And it's all good and right.
It's good to give these pieces of myself.

But I can't seek them in return.
Something else needs to fill up the emptiness that gets left behind
so that I can continue to give more.

Fill me up, Bread of Heaven, fill me
Enlighten me, Bright and Morning Star
Build me up, Master Builder, build me
Empower me, Mighty Great I AM
Heal me up, Great Physician, heal me
Inhabit me, Gentle Comforter
Use me up, Holy Master, use me
Empower me, Mighty Great I AM

In Jesus' Name,
amen

About Me:

Every once in a while I get a little pang of conviction. And I get reminded of how selfish I can be. Not necessarily selfish, but self-centered. And I don't meant that in a snotty way. I mean it in the "centered on self" way.

I try to blame it on just not paying attention. But, like they say, ignorance is no excuse for the law. Not too long ago, I was writing my boyfriend an e-mail and I was in a rather moody state. It doesn't happen very often, but I started thinking of all of the ways I could be a better person. A better friend. A better roommate. A better teacher. A better neighbor. A better runner. And really, what it boiled down to is that in order to make myself better I had to own less of myself.

I have this habit to think about people I love; and then not do anything to share with them that I'm thinking about them. Or tell people I'm going to pray about something (with every intention to do so) and then not do it. To be a better friend I have to STOP what I'm doing and act on my thoughts.

I have a really great roommate. And it's crazy-weird how well we get along because we are really quite different. But lately I've been bombing in the communication category; and then instead of trying to fix it I worry about making her mad at me. To be a better roommate I have to remember that I am not the only one who lives in my house.

I love teaching. And I feel like I am good at it. But I don't like to be told how to be better at it. And I don't like to reflect on my teaching. But after some serious (and long overdue) reflection, I realized that in order to be a GREAT teacher I must change what I believe. I must take that extra time and prepare. I must extend my workday until I'm completely ready for the next one. Because it doesn't do anyone any favors to know *what* I'm doing; but not *how* I'm doing it. To be a better teacher I must donate my time and my organizational skills to my students. I must stretch my patience to its full elasticity; rather than just until it's still comfortably bouncy.

I have the greatest neighbors. On all sides. However, I have been taking my sweet time tearing down and (eventually) putting up a new fence. And while they say they don't mind; I can be a much better neighbor by actually following through and getting this fence done. I have time in my day. To be a better neighbor by following through, and sacrificing my alone time a little bit until the job gets done.

I love running. I run because I tend to not like to try at most things. But running is hard. It makes me tired. It makes me persevere. It forces me to take regular showers. It makes feel feel like I've accomplished something that a lot of other people just can't do. But the problem is that I don't push myself. I run at a comfortable pace, and I run for a comfortable distance. I don't try to get better, I just stay where I am. And the reason I started running in the first place was to try to make myself better. So now, to be a better runner, that means I actually have to push. I have to be consistent. I have to work my core. I have to be uncomfortable.

And I think that running makes this an entire metaphor for my life.
It's true. I did start running because I felt like I didn't know what it feels like to try. Or to hurt. Or to be so tired I couldn't move. Because I don't put that much effort into anything. Relationships. Work. School. Fence-building. Anything. And when my outlet that is supposed to make me feel becomes "just another thing to try to make time for" I know I have to let go. I have to let go of myself and get up and push harder. I have to become uncomfortable. I have to push beyond my means. I have to sacrifice my time.

On Facebook there's a part in the profile where it says "About Me:"
I have a friend who pricked my heart when she put it perfectly in two words:

It's Not.

She's Just Not That Into You

Ashley and I rented "He's Just Not That Into You" and watched it tonight. Despite my inability to recall the title when I told people what movie we were watching for our "roommate date," I did really want to see it. I was secretly hoping that there was a character in it with whom I would relate. . .and then I could watch it from outside myself and observe what my future might hold.

Despite my award-winning personality (middle school honor roll), my dashing good looks (thanks dad), and my charming giggle (owe it to you, grandma Merilyn) I think it's fair to say I've not had the best luck with relationships.
Now, I will take complete blame here--because I pull what I like to call "an Elaine" and randomly start finding things that weird me out about boys on whom I once had a crush. Be it a sudden realization of very effeminate flailing while playing the drums in a band that played music that made me want to beat my head against a wall. Or walking with such superb posture and grace that Audrey Hepburn would be put to shame. Or the inability to form a sentence lasting less than two minutes (74% comprised of the word "ummmmmm"). I immediately started developing a reputation (perhaps in my own mind) for being cold-hearted. And I started finding things I did NOT want.

I am a pretty strong person. I think I can thank a former boyfriend for that one. Because I got used to having my feelings not matter that much. And I think that's okay. Because it's almost gotten to the point where it's uncomfortable to feel them without proper planning. I've been praying about it, though. It's probably not a good idea to be so inept at recognizing feelings that I laugh when I tell stories about the awkward kid who tried to ask me out. But it was so funny. But that's no excuse. I need some compassion.

So watching the movie. . .there aren't any of the girls' situations that really match mine. And then I realized the awful truth: I related the most with Justin Long's character. I was the boy. I was not just the boy....but I was the insensitive, jerk-faced, hollow boy.

That was a little bit of a slap. Especially when the psycho emotional girl who liked him told him off. She said, "I'd rather be like this than like you and alone." Or something to that affect.

And I do that.

I attract the really sensitive ones; get really annoyed with their sensitivity; and then toss them aside and label them as women. But if I'm that guy in the movie, I'm living up to my role.

Now, in the movie, he says something cheesy to her like "you're my exception" and they end up together and happy. Fine and well. I guess I could buy that. But here's my problem: I'm not a boy. I don't want to be the boy in the relationship.
And I definitely don't want to be the boy in the relationship if my counterpart is a boy who is actually a super-paranoid over-sensitive girl (metaphorically speaking, of course).

So while I'll admit that I'm terribly callous, and could use a good dose of feeling (hence prayers for compassion--which I am honestly not sure what I'm getting myself into); have I just really just forgotten what it's like to have emotions and have them be accepted? Am I just living in a constant state of defense mechanism, hoping that if I hurt him first it won't hurt me as much?

My mom says that I only have crushes on famous people because it means I don't have to commit to anything.
And she tells me that I'm "too picky."
And I believe it's okay to be picky.
But maybe I'm not as sure of myself as I always thought I was.
Because if the only character with whom I can relate is the jerk, then maybe I ought to re-examine my intrapersonal relationships. Because I don't think I want to be that jerk.

As for the movie--it's not really that good. You're not missing that much.

The Chasing Song; Part 2

It's always a bad sign when I feel like I have no valuable thoughts trickling around in my head. Typically, as the pattern goes, it means that I've made myself much too busy with myself. . .

I've given myself a pretty busy schedule this summer--which I do not mind at all. I have this horrible habit of being completely content plyaing free cell for an hour at a time.
Or plunking out my favorite Smashing Pumpkins songs on the piano.
Tuning the guitar and trying to perfect "Mexico" by Jump, Little Children because when I sing it it makes me feel like there's someone somewhere I could influence into not being far away from me.
And we can't forget Facebook.

I am just an overall happy person. I don't need bells and whistles to keep my attention, or to keep me satisfied. But the more complacent I get in my routine (and believe you me, I THRIVE on routine), the easier it become to just turn on auto pilot. I stop looking for ways to deliberately make my steps be worship and my thoughts be praise. And I stop actively seeking ways to seek God.

I was driving home from Tulsa the other night, and to my left there was a giant billowy cloud in the southern sky that was constantly lighting up with lightning. There wasn't any thunder, rain, or wind. Just flashes of electricity. In that 90 minute drive, there was not more than 3 seconds that did not contain a flash of light. And I turned off the radio and really tried to consciously pray and listen to God. And I couldn't hear him. I couldn't turn down the volume of the plan for the next day. I was hungry. I was tired. I was thinking about all the boys I have crushes on. I was mad because I couldn't watch the lightening and drive at the same time because I'd have to turn my head to the left. And I couldn't shift my focus off myself.

I got home and I lay in bed, trying to just be still. And then I feel asleep and dreamed about a Chinese family. I'm pretty sure that wasn't some divine message for me to decipher.

I'm not really sure where this leaves me.
But I'm thinking it might be time for another trip through the Psalms. . .I need to get in touch with my alter-ego, David. And try to remember what it takes to be a girl after God's own heart.

The Best of Pancakes and Tea

I've been feeling less than inspired lately. And when I feel uninspired, I always go back and re-read old articles in this blog. Sometimes I can't believe how smart I used to be. And occasionally I feel like I've definitely done some serious backsliding in my relationship with God. I feel like I've been calling more and more on myself, and less and less on him.

So, sometimes it helps me to remind myself of all of the wise thoughts I've had in the past. I figured I'd to back and find "the best of" in the last 4 or so years of this blog. Some are thoughtful. Some clever. Some just silly. But these are some of my favorites. Maybe you will enjoy them.

The Procrastination Station
The one that started it all.

I Got Used to Sweatpants
The one about sweatpants.

The Jesus I Serve
The one where I don't get to define Jesus.

This Stupid, Stupid Wind
The one where I have a bad day.

I Have Hidden Your Word in My Heart, And I Misplaced it
The one where I begrudgingly relate to David.

Love Letters
The one that's a total metaphor about God's word.

Never, Ever, Ever Give Up
The one where I accomplished my [then] life's goal.

My Hero
The one about heroes.

New Years Resolutions
The one about not making excuses.

Mr. Orkin: Man of My Dreams
The one about my future husband.

Of a Rather Pressing Note
The one where I tell Scott Toilet Tissue what is what.

When I Start to Miss Michigan
The one where I realize I can be happy in Oklahoma as long as I'm trusting God.

A Serious Addiction
The one where I confess my undying love for Rocky Balboa

Living in the Past

I have a really good memory.

I have a really good memory when it comes to things that happened a long time ago, that is. Memories, for me, are most often triggered by smells. After familiar smells come memories of touch. If something feels familiar it will most likely trigger a memory. The third trigger is taste--although I have a hard time specifically placing familiar tastes to specific foods or items. I place the taste with the event to which it belongs. The last two senses (sight and sound) least often trigger memories, but neither dominates the other.

I have a lot of really really good memories. And I tend to just bask in them quite often because they make me feel good. I don't tend to express emotion very often (unless I'm watching The Biggest Loser....go figure!), and aside from perpetual cheerfulness the only other side people really get to see me express is what I would call "flustered." Pretty much I'm either always excited, or occasionally flustered. With certain exceptions I'm rarely sad, angry, moody, etc.

I think the reason I tend to live so much in my memories is because when I'm remembering them, they tend to make me feel. They tend to make me feel when real life just doesn't.

This morning I was out pulling weeds in my side yard. I was wearing shorts and a t-shirt, even though it was only about 65 degrees. It was cloudy, thunder was faintly rumbling in the distance, and a little sprinkle would hit me every now and again. And it all seemed very familiar. I could hear the drops trickling through the leaves in the trees, and a bird squawking about something or other. Something about this seemed very familiar. It reminded me of when my family would go camping every summer in Indiana.

We'd wake up in the morning, and it would be cool, crisp, and a little damp from the morning's dew. A bird or two would be chatting, but other than that it was pretty quiet. It was cool enough that it wouldn't be crazy to wear pants until it warmed up; but since it was summer, we usually just wore shorts. Our cousins were just a campsite or two over, and we'd join up at grandma's campsite for breakfast. We'd go back to our campsite and grab our slightly damp swimsuits off the clothesline and put them on because, surely, within the next few hours we'd be headed for the lake to go swimming and make sandcastles. Then, in a little while, maybe we'd hop on our bikes and ride over to the one random set of cousins who somehow managed to get a site all the way on the other side of the park (it seemed to be a different set every year). Those days we just played. We were outside, rain or shine, together, and I never remember being bored.

Days like this don't happen very often in Oklahoma. And I am so grateful when they do. A cloudy, cool, day spattered with raindrops and thunder can be good for everybody once in a while.

I've always liked the rain. And I especially like it in Oklahoma because (this week aside) it doesn't come terribly often. But when it comes it reminds me that God does provide. And he knows what this land needs. And he knows what I need. And, even when it seems bothersome or doesn't make sense, his timing is everything.

Love Ya Like A Sister

For those of you who know me well, you will know that I have a twin. Her name is Jennifer and she lives in Montana. We're not identical, and we actually didn't meet until I was 23 and she was 24. And we met in; of all places; Edmond, Oklahoma.

We met, and almost instantly bonded. We migrated toward each other like some miraculous unknown force of gravity and after much comtemplation and examination we figured that we were clearly just twins separated at birth. Jennifer and I would go on adventures together, and took much delight in dressing alike. Friday nights were Twin IHOP Bible Study Nights, and we'd dress alike, go to IHOP and stay there for hours talking and doing our Bible Studies. We had a monthly tradition of getting matching pedicures that would help us represent and celebrate whatever holiday or occasion that happened that month. Jennifer and I both enjoyed running, and would frequently run around our neighborhood together. We would talk about how one day when were were grown up we would be neighbors and best friends and have dueling inflatable lawn decorations. Our husbands would most likely also be twins--just like us--so we could all be a happy twin family.
We started gettin really serious about planning our future when we discovered that we had a tremendous amount of musical talent between the two of us and immediately began recordning our upcoming Valentine's Day release, "Greatest Love Songs of All Time." We had a great piano/clarinet/vocal arrnagement of A Whole New World in the works. And plans for Total Eclispse of the Heart, Bicycle Built for Two, and other romantic classics like America the Beautiful and The Star Spangled Banner. As you can see, Jennifer and I have a very special relationship. It rivals that of Mary-Kate and Ashley, Zack and Screech, Will and Grace, or even Cheech and Chong (minus any drug reference, of course). I always assumed we were one of a kind. No other twins out there like us; until I came across this lovely pair:

I'm pretty sure that they are our British, and boy counterparts. And one day if we ever meet them, I'm sure we will be best friends immediately and forever.

In related news: Jennifer and I will most likely turn our efforts to video-recording, in addition to our audio releases. Because I think we will make people feel better about themselves. Because laughter is the best medecine--and Jennifer and I are most certainly the BEST!

We Will Never Forget

Last weekend I went downtown with my friend, Chelsea.

I took her to the OKC Memorial, and we walked around.

It always takes my breath away. Every time I see it. Even though it didn't ever impact me personally.

It happened ten years before I even moved here.

I remember coming down here to visit my cousins and my aunt taking us downtown to show us all the buildings that had fallen. I will never forget seeing all that rubble, even though I can't say it really moved me.

So this time, when Chelsea and I went to the Memorial, we were looking at the tiles that kids from the US had sent to Oklahoma to show their support.

As a student, probably in the 5th grade, I do not remember doing anything for Oklahoma.

I don't really even remember us even talking about it that much.

But looking at these drawings, I remembered that Oklahoma is called the Heartland.

And I remembered that we live in a country where unity matters.

I was reminded that if any one part of the body is hurting, other parts need to compensate to help it heal.

And I realized that I have such unnecessary spite for Oklahoma. Just because it doesn't have trees. And it doesn't grow apples. And it has cowboys. And that's not any way to treat any part of this country in which I am so lucky to live. Not even Texas.

I'm sorry, Oklahoma.

I'm sorry that you had to be hurt so badly.

But I love that a stupid bomb couldn't kill you.

And I love that even when I wasn't helping, people from everywhere were helping you heal.

I'll be running for you in April.

26.2 miles is the least I can do.

Sometimes God Decides to Yell

Before I found a teaching job, I worked at a hospital. I've never had any real desire to go into medicine, or work in the medical field, but when a good friend from church asked me if I'd ever considered being a Nurse Assistant I shrugged my shoulders and said I'd think about it. She explained that the job didn't require any training that I wouldn't receive on site. I would also receive medical benefits through the hospital (now I was interested), and it paid $12.50 an hour (definitely interested!).
I went in for an interview and a couple weeks later started training from 7-3:30, Monday through Friday for two weeks. I learned first aid; CPR/AED; how to change bedding, diapers, and bedpans; universal precautions; air and bloodborne pathogens; taking vitals and everything in between. It was pretty boring. After two weeks of classes, I got to go up to the med/surge floor and shadow another nurse assistant.
I got put on the day shift, which meant I worked from 7am to 7:30 pm 3 days a week and every other weekend. After I was ready to be out from under the wing of my mentor, I for some reason got switched to work every weekend. It worked out that way because in order to have enough hours to still be full-time, I had to put in both weekends and one mid-week day. I got pretty upset because working the day shift every weekend meant I had to miss church.

Enter God, one Sunday morning when my attitude started to get the better of me.
Fact 1: None of these patients get to be at church either.

The typical morning routine was to check everyone's vital signs and record them. Then, after vitals was breakfast. Depending on the mobility of the patients, my role varied. For some, I would just wish them a good breakfast and make sure they had everything they needed. Others needed their food cut up for them. And then there were the patients who could not feed themselves. These patients I sat down next to and patiently spooned food into their mouths as they indicated they were ready for another bite.
Fact 2: Serving breakfast sometimes literally constitutes as serving.

After breakfast, it was time to make sure everyone was cleaned up and the bed sheets got changed. Again, depending on the mobility of the patients, my roles were very different. Some patients went to take their own showers, and I changed their beds in a couple minutes. Other patients got wheeled to the large shower down the hall and tried not to shiver as I soaped them up and hosed them down. Their beds got changed, also pretty easily, and they were assisted back into a clean bed. But then there were the patients who could not move at all. They still needed to be bathed. This is where I would fill a small tub with warm sudsy water, close the curtains, and try to gently--yet thoroughly--clean their bodies and dry, cover, and dress them before they have a chance to get too cold. While bathing, the sheets have to be changed while the patient is still in the bed, so a lot of carefully timed rolling and turning is involved.
Fact 3: Taking care of someone in their most vulnerable state makes you realize no one has to see you in yours.

After baths, the day goes by pretty quickly. There's no routine to it, if someone needs something the call light will go on and a nurse or assistant will go answer the call. I learned really quickly that many of the people with whom I worked did not want to be there. I learned really quickly that some people will ignore a blinking call light, hoping the next person will pick it up.
Fact 4: These patients don't want to be there either.

Once all of these facts were falling into place, I realized that even though I wasn't able to serve God at church I needed to be serving. I needed to be a servant to the patients under my care. And literally from that moment on, I loved my job. I worked hard to make sure that I was always pleasant, patient, and kind when a call light went off. If I could do nothing else to help these people get better, I could serve them genuinely, wholly, and willingly. Whether it was the patient with C-Diff who needed a diaper and complete sheet change every fifteen minutes, or the patient who needed to be turned every two hours so he would not develop bedsores. The patients who couldn't eat or drink, but who desperately needed oral care; or the patients who just needed somebody to yell at. Patients who had run off every other NA working, or who were so senile they played in their poop before rubbing it all over the bed, and then calling for help. I genuinely enjoyed caring for them, and often was surprised at how quickly my days passed. I knew that when God called me to serve joyfully that if I actually asked to be made into his servant that the result of my willing service would be joy.

I loved that job. I loved it in spite of the poop, the puke, the puss, the impertinence, and the occasional painfulness. Sometimes as a teacher, I forget that it's not about me. It's not about what I want my kids to get out of it. It's about serving them and providing them with the skills they will need to make it outside of my classroom.
Servanthood isn't about what I can do. It's about what I will do. It's about what I am doing.

This morning at church, Mark preached about being a servant. We sang some songs that (if you paid attention) were little prayers asking God to make us servants like him. Those are some pretty hefty shoes to fill. But if you ask God to make you a servant like him, sit back and listen for his instruction. Don't assume you must be a slave to anyone in order to serve him. God will yell it if he has to.
Fact 5: Serving with a joyful heart takes the drive out of the slave driver.

Being "It" Made Me Realize I Miss My Favorite Restaurants.

I got tagged a week or so back my my hilarious friend, Naomi. Clearly, this calls for my response. :)

4 Things I did yesterday:
1. Wore jeans to work
2. Went to cheer on the Pistons, even though they forgot to show up to play actual basketball
3. Cut cheese. And ate it
4. Filled up my car for significantly less than $20.

4 Things on my Wish List:
1. I will one day return to Michigan to live.
2. To run at least one marathon a year until I'm 40
3. To one day get married and have like 4 kids.
4. That pancakes will never stop being my favorite food.

4 Restaurants I like (sadly, none of which I've found in Oklahoma):
1. Buca di Beppo
2. Buddy's Pizza
3. Anything with Medeterranian Cuisine
4. East Side Mario's

4 TV shows I like:
1. Gossip Girl
2. Law and Order: SVU
3. Malcolm in the Middle
4. Psych

I've decided to not tag anyone. Not that I don't care about and what you think. But moreso because a lot of my tag-ee's have already been tagged, or have dissed my tags in the past. Or (niki) don't post anything but professional photograpny on their sites. . .

Oh, and Jennifer--I'll get to that award thing you gave me. . .all in due time.

The Time I Rode the Short Bus Home

I am not one who embarrasses very easily. In fact, I tend to revel in awkward situations. Therefore, be excited: this is my most embarrassing moment to date.

I was in 3rd grade. I rode the bus every day both to and from school, and never minded it. The bus dropped me off at the end of our road, and I'd walk from the bus stop home. It was probably about a ten minute walk, rain or shine. One time I got bit by a dog. It was no big deal. Bus stops are just a part of life.

I remember feeling a tiny twinge of jealousy because the bus driver was a really nice lady and a lot of the kids she would drop off directly at their houses. If she was going to drive by the house anyway, she said she might as well. I was always the last stop, and I was the only one who couln't be dropped off at my house because my street was a dead end. There's no way a bus could get out.

Then, ond day, our bus was broken down. We waited for a little while, and finally our bus driver pulled up. She pulled up, alright. Pulled up in a short bus. I was mortified, but I figured I would suck it up and rirde the short bus if all my other friends had to ride it too. But keep in mind, those windows aren't tinted! What would people think!?

So our bus driver goes through the route, and as per usual I am the last one on the bus. My stop is nearing and I start to gather my things to walk off this nightmare the second she pulls up to the end of my street. We start getting closer, and I notice that she has passed the normal place that she typically turns on her flashers. In fact, we're practically right up on my stop and she's still driving.
No, wait.
She's not still driving....
she's turning.
She's turning right.
She's TURNING DOWN MY STREET!

Sinking lower and lower down into my seat, hoping that I will wake up any second, the bus turns into my driveway. She (seriously) turns on her flashers and opens the door. She smiles at me as I step off the bus and I run into my house.

And you people wonder why I'm so quirky. . . .

Oprah Told Me To Do It.

I don't typically listen to things Oprah says--let alone things she tells me to do. I think overall she's just a tiny bit kooky for my taste. However, yesterday, Oprah told me to do something.

Oprah told me to ask myself a bunch of questions. I don't remember what any of them were except for one: What are you hungry for?

Don't ask me why I suddenly decided that I should listen to Oprah; but before I went to bed last night, I sat down with a pen and notebook and seriously asked myself the question, "What are you hungry for, Kari?"
I started listing things, before each one saying: I'm hungry for. . . or I'm hungry to. . . and by the time I was done I had a list of over 20 things. If I was going to try to be honest and introspective with myself, I figured I would really write it. No matter how trivial.

Oprah didn't tell me what to do next. So I lie there in my bed and looked at my list. It occured to me that only 2 things on my entire list were things in the realm of my control.
2.
Out of 20.

So here's what I took away from it: I am a very hungry person.
But I can physically and mentally only satisfy 10% of my hunger. That leaves me (mathematically) hungry 90% of the time.

I'm thinking that Oprah wanted people to find the source of their hunger so they could conquer it. When you seek what you are truly hungry for, you will not want to fill it with food.
So here's where you step in and say, "Ah, but Kari! That's what's so great! God's word is your daily bread! Your hunger and thirst for righteousness will fill you up!"
Yeah, I already thought of that. That's 5% of my 10. I can't be full on God's word if it's not the only thing I'm hungry for. I've still got 18 other hungers that I can't satiate. Therefore, either I'm always going to fill the need to fill up, or I'm always going to feel empty.

So, literally or figuratively, this is my wisdom:
Next time I'm reaching for food (out of boredom) I need to try to remember what I'm hungry for. Is eating this going to fill me with God's word? Is it going to make me a stronger runner? Is it going to keep my brother healthy? Is it going to give me Michigan? Is it going to de-clutter my parent's house?

I can fill my stomach only so full. But because I listened to Oprah I now have a much better understanding of why I'm not often satisfied. It's because I'm still hungry. And I have to accept that while it's okay to be hungry for things I can't change, no amount of healthy or unhealthy fuel will fill that void. I have to call on outside help.

And I don't mean Oprah.

A Serious Addiction

Everyone has a vice. Some are serious, others may be considered trivial. Some require counseling, others just some good old-fashioned will-power.
My current vice is an addiction. It's one that has only spawned as of very recently; but I can't seem to shake the urge. The urge to watch all of the Rocky movies.

Go ahead, get your giggles out. I am addicted to Rocky.

I can honestly say I never (ever) had any desire to watch the Rocky movies, but something inside me was pricked earlier this summer. A good friend stared at me in disbelief when I told him I'd never seen any of the movies and he announced that we would have a Rocky-Thon when I came back to Michigan over Christmas break. I agreed--mostly because with this particular friend there is always much fun had, no matter what we are doing.
Building up from this summer until this December was the anticipation of watching the Rocky movies; and inexplicably the excitement was mounting. I wanted to see them.

Fast forward to Christmas Eve. I hadn't heard from my friend about our Rocky-Thon, and the movies happened to be on television that night in marathon form. Apparently, that was the best way to watch them. I had missed Rocky I, but I tuned in just in time for the beginning of Rocky II. The movie began, and I had been getting so much greif from my brother and brother in-law about how stupid the movies were I wasn't expecting that much.
However, the movie started, and I was loving it. Not just liking it. Not just okay. I was thoroughly enjoying every single second of it. I was laughing, I was on the edge of my seat, I was in total awe.

I ended up falling asleep shortly into the 3rd movie--but not from boredom. Simply because it was 2 o'clock in the morning, and I was getting very tired of having to turn the volume up during the movie and down during the commercials. That Friday night around 8:30 I called my friend and asked if we could still do the Rocky-Thon even though I was leaving Sunday morning, and Saturday was his birthday. He walked into the front door of my house ten minutes later; and thus began one of the most memorable nights of my life. The beginning of my new-found addiction.

Here's what I love about Rocky:

First, and most obviously, I love the entire basis of his career and fame. I love that even though he didn't win the initial fight with Apollo, what made him a hero was that he kept getting up. He did the impossible, and out-lasted any former opponent. There is something really powerful about that to me. The fact that even though you lose the battle, the war isn't lost. Rocky did something that no other professional fighter had done; and it was enough to make an impact.

Secondly, I love the character of Rocky. I loved that he was just a good guy. He wasn't a jerk, or a punk. He respected people, tried to set an example, and did his best to be his best. He wasn't too bright, but he never got cocky (save his initial TKO in Rocky III). I was honestly very surprised by the humility Rocky maintained throughout the series. I loved his initial innocence with Adrian and trying to woo her. He would just tell her jokes, and try to walk her home. I loved the gentleness she brought out in him, and the development of their entire relationship. I loved how hard he worked when they ran out of money. And I love how nothing was below him, even though he had won fame.

Next, I love the relationship between Adrian and Rocky. I liked her blunt honesty with him, and her ability to be a rock for him while being so understated. When he asked her if she needed help she said, "yes." When he asked her if he looked dumb, she told him. I enjoyed watching Adrian come out of her shell and grow into a strong woman who stood by her husband. I like how she provided strength for him, and he helped her realize her own strength.

Finally, I really really was impressed by the writing. I love that there was so much wit and punch (especially in the first two) to the dialogue. I love that Sylvester Stallone was clever enough to write so well that he could make things come out of Rocky's mouth be so completely innocent and idiotic; but yet so terribly witty and hilarious. I love the part in Rocky II where he says, "you like having a good time, don't you? Then you need a good watch." I love the wordplay there. I laughed every time Rocky told somebody he was proud of him. Or, "good job!" But Stallone was able to keep us believing that he innocently was just saying something casual.

Being such a classic movie, I never realized how many allusions TV shows and movies make to the Rocky series. I have been catching little things here and there on TV all week. I have been constantly reminded of Rocky ever since, and have wanted to watch them again. And I don't want to pick--I want to watch them all (even though Rocky II is easily my favorite). I've decided that I'm going to save up my tutoring money that I make so I can buy them. I will do my best to not spend every waking moment watching Rocky--but I feel like I need to make up for my 25 years of life never having watched them at all. :)

Here's to heroes.
Here's to putting hope in the good guy.
Here's to inspiration.
And here's to not fighting an addiction.

May there be many more viewings of Rocky to come!