something like that

Here We Are, 9 Months Later....

2011-03-30T08:43:00.002-04:00

No, we are not pregnant.

As you may or may not remember, joseph and I got married 9 months ago. And the 3 or 4 days following our wedding were quite eventful. Probably what I would consider the most eventful honeymoon any new couple could have ever asked (or NOT asked) for. And most of those events were like a Ben Stiller movie gone wrong.

Lucky for Team Brevetti, we have a sense of humor. And lucky for us, we've had a pretty uneventful first 9 months of marriage.

So, of course, when the weather starts to get nutty the world must have realized it was off balance. And when the world is off balance, it means that it needs to be shaken back on track. And this is where the events of 9-month-marriage-anniversary-honeymoon-trainwreck begin.

The weather has been uncharacteristically cold these past 5 or so days for an Oklahoma March. On Saturday, we received some cold air from the North that has put our mid-March temperatures of 75-80 degrees down into the high 40's and low 50's. Yes, I realize that this would be typical of Michigan March (so take note, northerners: I am not complaining, merely setting up my story), joseph and I thought this might be a good time to try out our firewood supply.

Saturday evening, our good friend, Eric, brought us some firewood. I was oug grocery shopping, and joseph and Eric took it upon themselves to start a nice fire. It was cozy and comfortable. Joseph and I slept out in the living room together on the couch and enjoyed it. The wood burned itself completely up during the night, and Sunday morning the ashes were waiting for us.

After church, I started another fire and it burned through the afternoon while joseph and Mark had a FIFA date. We were getting pretty used to this comfortable and peaceful way of heating our house just enough to not need the heater, but not too warm that we're burning up. Sunday night, joseph had to drive into work to incubate some bacteria for Monday's experiments. I was nervous about leaving the hosue with the fire not completely dead, so I volunteered to stay behind. We knew we'd be gone only a short while, so we called our next door neighbor (Daniel) to let him know we were leaving and that there was still a little fire burning in the fireplace. I asked him to please call the fire department if the house caught fire, and then to call us. He said not to worry and that he'd stop it with his body and the fire department would not be necessary. Joseph and I laughed about it and drove downtown.

We were gone a lot longer than anticipated, as we stopped by Eric's house and filled the backseat of Rasheed with firewood. And stayed to chat for a little while. When we got home, we found the fire almost out and the house as we had left it.

Joseph put another log on it and re-lit the gas and we pulled a big blanket out onto the floor and fell asleep in the living room again. Monday morning, the fire had gone out, wood was completely burned up, and only ashes were left. Joseph and I went to work as normal.

I had to stay late at school Monday, and it was so nice when I got home to find that joseph had another fire going in the fireplace. We were getting spoiled! He had it roaring particularly well, so we decided (yet again) to sleep on the couch together that night.

Tuesday morning, when I woke up, the fire was out. However, all of the logs were not burned up like on previous mornings. For whatever reason, the fire had gone out before it had used up all its fuel. Before I left for school, I looked at the fireplace and took note of the situation. I blew on the ashes and wood to see if anything was still going. It seemed alright.

I was at school when joseph sent me a text saying that he closed the flu and went to work. This made me a little bit nervous, so I left school during first hour to open the flu. I didn't want our house burning down! Especially with our sweet puppies in their crates! I rushed home, opened the flu, and examined the logs. They were not burning or smoking, but I figured that just in case I should dump water on everything. I took a large glass and dumped 3 or 4 glassfulls of water on the logs and the ashes. They sizzled, and I blew on everything to see if there were any embers still lit. All clear! I rushed back to school.

Tuesday night, we decided not to light a fire. Our house was starting to smell a little bit like smoke, and we wanted to sleep in the bedroom that night. The flu was closed from when I got home from school that day and turned the heat in the house back on. We both noted that the house was stinking a little bit like smoke and I promised I would clean it Wednesday when I got home.

Sleeping in our bed felt nice for the first time in several nights. I woke up around 4AM and noticed that even in our bedroom it smelled like campfire. I was a little annoyed, but figured it was probably my hair and my pillow (which had been out in the living room for the past several days) and went back to sleep.

I'll bet you're wondering when this story gets interesting, huh?
Well, it's about to.

5AM joseph and I are both woken up by the blaring sound of all of the smoke detectors in our house. He and I run out of the bedroom into the kitchen to find that it's full of a vague cloud of smoke. The living room is worse. I grab a towel and head to the hallway to start waving it around to clear the air and I look over to the fireplace to find a significatly well-roaring fire. I quickly pulled my sleeve over my hand and reached up into the fireplace to open the flu. I ran around opening windows and turning on fans and joseph and I were waving kitchen towels furiously trying to get the beeping to stop.
Our fireplace had started itself!

Obviously, the thoughts of "thank goodness we were home!" and "it's a good thing our smoke detectors work" and "we are very lucky it stayed in the fireplace!" were running through my head. But they were equally mixed with "this is probably the most hilarious thing I've ever done at 5 in the morning!" and "this would happen to us!" shooting through my mind as I couldn't help but laugh out loud at the entire situation.

Joseph and I may not like to go out. And we may be somewhat boring in ourlist of extracurricular activities. But I will tell you one thing: Life with Team Brevetti is NEVER boring!

Team Brevetti

2010-07-17T01:55:00.001-04:00

I'm not sure where it all started; but joseph and I aren't just husband and wife. We are Team Brevetti. I think that's supposed to mean that neither of us really can accomplish anything without the other. It was particularly obvious when the addition of Team Huckerby and Cragen joined our family in late December. They lived with me in the house (joseph lived at his parents' house), and without joseph's help I could accomplish nothing with them.

We started referring to ourselves as Team Brevetti in soccer. Joseph would pass me the ball, and I would get confused and kick it anywhere but at the goal. I'm pretty sure there was never any team like it.

Joseph and I would talk about how we go together; we're a pair--we are a team. You don't get one of us--you get both. Whether or not you want both, we're a set. And we will be a set forever.

Joseph bought us a wedding present while I was up in Michigan. Of course, I'm not good at waiting on secrets--and joseph isn't very good at keeping them. I asked him if he'd tell me what it was, and he did. He got us a tandem bicycle. It is really difficult to put into words how tickled I was by the thought of us owning our very own tandem bike! I imagined in my head taking rides through the neighborhood, just like the team that we were.

It was thoughtful.
It was romantic.
It was hilarious.
And I loved everything about it!

You may or may not know about me that I am a control freak. Not really uptight, but I like to know my ducks are in a row--so to speak. I like to be in charge, and make lists, and delegate tasks. And joseph doesn't seem to mind a lot of the time, because maybe he sees it as stability? Maybe he knows what to expect? Maybe it's because he'd rather me make a decision than him have to. Perhaps it's a combination of all of the above. Whatever the reason, we get teased sometimes that I'm the pants. And while we both know that I just happen to be more organized; it's fun to laugh it off. I know I'm a little much at times. And he knows he's a boy at times. And we both know that in the contradictions of our personalities lie the compliments; and thus our teamwork is at its best.

At it's baby-stages best.

On the tandem bicycle, however, I am humbled.
And on the tandem bicycle I realize the places in our relationship on which I need humbling.

I can ride a bike.
I can turn corners.
I can stop.
I can go.
I can (on special occasions) ride with one or (one time) no hands on the handlebars.
It's not that hard.
When the bike starts to wobble, I hold the handlebars and straighten the wheel. Once the bike is straight again, I've gained my balance.
I do not change the posture of my body; I change the posture of the bike.
The bike is what is moving me forward; therefore if it is not straight, I do not go straight.

Apparently, this is not how the average person rides a bike.
The average person rides a bike like it is an extension of his body.
If the bike starts to wobble, he leans to balance the bike.
To turn a corner, he doesn't need to turn the wheel; but only lean his body in the direction he wants to go.
The bike and the person are moving forward together, and therefore must work as one unit to produce the desired result.

I believe that parallells can be drawn between my bike-riding style; and the average person's bike-riding style. But, really if both the bike and the rider are getting there, who cares how?

On the tandem bicycle, I realize the importance of teamwork.

I can't ride on the front of the bicycle.
I can't ride on the front because of how I control a bike. A bicycle carrying two people doesn't turn a corner with just a shift of the front tire. It turns and wobbles out of control.
If the bicycle starts to tip or wobble, I try to correct it with the wheel; which doesn't work. Especially when joseph is behind me, leaning to counteract the wobble. I feel the lean and interpret it as a loss of balance--when really it is what is needed to regain the balance.

So usually joseph rides in the front.
When joseph rides in the front, however, I don't get to coast and pedal when I normally would. And when I think we're going to top, it doesn't do either of us much good when I jerk the handle bars and turn his seat to the side.
I'm sure he gets annoyed as I squeal at him to slow down when we're going too fast; or gasp as he leans into a turn I wasn't expecting.
When we hit a bump and sort of skid and I say, "why did you do that?!" like it was his fault.

Riding on the back of the tandem bicycle makes me realize that I have to trust joseph to be in control. And that when he's driving, the only way I can help us get to where we need to go is to be on his team.
I have to work with him; and lean with him.
I have to not only be one with my team mate; but also with the vehicle that's taking us to our destination.

It's a lot of control that I like to have that I just don't get to have.
But we'll never get there if I don't let go of the way I've always done things.
We'll never get there if I can't trust my teammate to never steer us wrong.

One of these days we'll get good at riding our bicycle.
One of these days I might even be humble and mold-able enough to be in the front.
One of these days we won't wobble
And we'll always get there together.

For Better, and for Less Better

2010-07-05T16:28:00.003-04:00

I am certain that getting married has immediately made mine and joseph's lives instantly more interesting. I have never had a more eventful week full of things that didn't go quite right than this past week.

So, I can say with confidence, that being married is VERY exciting!

Here's the lowdown:

Three hours before our wedding, Livonia was hit with a massive storm that sent tornado sirens whirling. It was pretty exciting, considering not everyone gets tornadoes on his or her wedding day!

The night of the wedding, joseph and I checked into the Embassy Suites in Livonia to stay the night. We no sooner get into our room and I walk back toward the bathroom and the fire alarm starts going off. Still dressed in our wedding attire, we rush to open the door....and no one is outside their rooms. I call the front desk and they send the building engineer up to check it out; and he declares it a-OK. But not before telling us a 4-minute joke.
So later on--maybe about an hour or so--joseph and I are watching soccer (on a TV whose volume would not go below 22) and the fire alarm goes off again. joseph goes to check out the door, just in case it's real this time. It's not. So I called the front desk. They graciously gave us a new room.

Sooooo, still giggling about our unfortunate happenstance, we head back to my parents' house to pack up for our drive up north. We had intended on staying in a Holiday Inn in Petoskey for a night; and then some friends from church so generously let us stay in their cottage in Boyne City for a few nights! The drive up north went well and uneventful. We checked in to our Holiday Inn suite.

...and then we got the text....

Our friend, Katie, had been puppy-sitting our puppies and she'd been texting us pictures of our little guys just to say 'hi.' joseph had told her that we liked the updates, so we get an update that says something like ..."uh, where's your vacuum?" and it had a picture of the back office room that the puppies decided that they wanted to eat. Whoops! It was equally horrible and hilarious at the same time (note: MUCH less hilarious in person....SORRY Katie!).

Our stay at the hotel was a little less exciting than the fire-alarm stay at our first one. Especially since their "complimentary limo service" wasn't up and running that particular night. We ate at Wendy's.

So we get up to drive over to Boyne City to stay in the cottage. We're pretty excited because it's on a lake. And there's kayaks--neither of us had ever kayaked before, so it was appealing. There was a lot of wind off the lake, so our first day in town we were pretty cold walking around trying to find a bar that was playing the soccer game. We spend the rest of that day watching Transformers 2 (it took the rest of the day because it was so inappropriately long) and we're in the middle of Avatar: The Last Airbender Book 2: Earth so we watched several of those.

We knew we were going to Mackinac on Thursday, so we'd planned on kayaking Wednesday. It was about 65 degrees when we woke up; and headed to a high of 73. I didn't quite realize how dead-set on kayaking joseph was until he had his swim trunks on. I put on my suit and we headed down into the windy morning to grab our ships and walk down to the water. joseph was in the blue plastic kayak that you sit down inside; and I was in a green one that sits up above the water and is more of a foam material.
The water was much less cold than I'd expected; and while the waves were high, we were both having a lot of fun. We let the waves a current carry us for a while; and then we decided we'd better start paddling back. It was pretty tough going against the waves, but manageable. I'd finally gotten in the grove of things, and I yell back over my shoulder to joseph that I don't think it will be as hard as I thought. ....and he's not there. I do a double-take and see that he's tipped his kayak and is furiously struggling to drain it and trying to get back in. There's no way for it to drain, so it's sinking lower and lower in the lake and joseph is spitting through the waves that keep crashing in his face. I paddle over and ask him what I can do. He gives me his paddle. I start panicking and brainstorming possible solutions and ask him if he wants to paddle my kayak in and come back to help me. He doesn't answer; and I can see he's getting more and more frustrated and angry. I am getting more and more afraid, so I look around and see that we are about two or three hundred meters from some of the shore and I just start paddling as fast as I can. I realized that it wouldn't be of any help if we had two kayaks and couldn't get back in either.
I got up to the shore and pulled the boat and the oars up on the rocks to set so they wouldn't wash away. I jumped back in the water and started swimming out to jospeh. I hadn't realized how bad the waves were until I was swimming against them without the kayak. I finally get out to him and I took his kayak to give him a break so he could float/swim back into shore. I pulled the kayak in and we both (tired as anything else) cut our feet trying to get it out of the water onto the rocks on the shore.
So we're giggling a little bit about how we're glad we didn't drown on our honeymoon. And now we have a half mile to walk two kayaks and paddles back to the cottage. Let's just say that this part of being married was SO exciting, we both slept for the rest of the day.

Thursday, we woke up and packed up all of our things to leave the cottage and head out to Mackinac Island. I won't go into much detail here, but let's just say we didn't explore much because one of us got really sick. Sort of a bummer, but we got fudge and salt-water taffy so that's really all you need.

We stayed Thursday night at a hotel in Flint, MI because we have been waiting for the movie The Last Airbender to come out for EVER. So we wanted to see it! I'm not going to go into too much detail there, but if you know Flint; understand the truth in certain stereotypes; and put the two together....it made for another adventure!

Friday and Saturday we stayed at my parents' house. Pretty boring--I hardly expect the rest of the years of our marriage to compare with these "normal" days and nights.

Especially when our drive on Sunday happened!

So we are barely on the road--we're on I-69 heading out of Michigan and into Indiana. We're about 7 miles north of the Indiana border and Rasheed starts to feel like I'm driving over rumble strips--but I'm not. So we pull over to the side of the highway, and sure enough, we've got a hole in the side wall of our back driver's side tire. I called my insurance people and they call a towing company that will put us in contact with the closest available tow-truck (did I mention that it's July 4th?). So we get the call that someone is coming to get us; and that we have about an hour.
joseph and I, being so adventurously married, pull out a blanket and UNO and Phase-10 from the car and have ourselves a little road-side card-playing date. Joseph beat me in UNO, and in an amazing tenth phase comeback goes out before me on the last hand and beat me at Phase-10 also.

The tow truck shows up, and the guy hooks up Rasheed and we start driving back into town (we called a Wal-Mart Tire Center and they had what we needed). We start talking and he asks us what brought us from Oklahoma to Michigan. We told him that it was our wedding. He congratulated us; and told us that he actually wasn't from Michigan, but lived in LaGrange, Indiana (just over the Indiana border--where my mom is from). But his landlord was from Oklahoma and would call in March or April and talk about how it was golfing weather in Oklahoma. I'm listening (you know....small talk is something you just have to do when riding in the front middle of a truck with a stranger), and I say, "that's so funny! My grandparents live in Oklahoma and rent a house out in LaGrange!" To which he looks at me and says, "what's their name?"
Let's just say I called my grandpa later to let him know that Joe Pardo says hi, and that he and his wife are back together and doing great!

How funny! It pretty much made my whole entire day!

After about a 3 hour delay (all total), joseph and I get back on the road. We stop to eat just outside Indianapolis for dinner, and then by the time we're back driving through the city it's just getting dark. Making our exciting marriage even MORE exciting, we had a 360 view of choice fireworks going off in ALL directions! There were the official ones going off in the downtown; there were some up the river; lots coming from back and front yards; it was the greatest thing!

So we're back home in Oklahoma now; and unpacked and rested from our trip. It's good to be home. It's great to be married. And I am excited to see the rest of our marriage live up to the excitement of the first week!

The Emperor's Clothes

2010-06-17T20:05:00.002-04:00

There's a lot of things I think people do, say, or like because they feel like they're "supposed" to.

Green tea. It is undeniable that green tea tastes a little bit like grass and dirt. And also that it looks like pee. Sometimes, there's a variety of green tea that has a flavor (from a fruit or another flower), or even some added sugar. But I'm talking about green tea all by itself, prepared in just boiling water.
It tastes like grass and dirt.
But yet an alarming number of people claim to "love it." Or that it's "so refreshing." Last I checked, hot grass in a cup is not refreshing.
I think that everyone secretly believes those commercials and ads that say things about green tea raising your metabolism and making people skinny. And therefore, they convince themselves that they like it so they don't have to admit that they're secretly hoping it makes them skinny.

The Coen Brothers. There's no denying that they've made some entertaining movies. They've done some great work. Be it quick and witty dialogue; creative and engaging cinematography. I happen to enjoy 3 and a half of their movies very much. And one of them decently well. I'm not sure I see the "genius" of their work. I just enjoy the quirkiness and story of these particular movies. But then they come out with A Serious Man and reviews come out about it that it's their "best work yet." Or "the masterpiece they've finally hit." Or "deep and meaningful."
Okay....I can't say that I've seen the entire movie. Because I was so bored of it I turned it off. But it quite literally had nothing happen for the entire movie. There wasn't any character development. There was no plot. No conflict or resolution. No climax. No theme. Not even really a continuous story. It's not even like they were following a character through any particular event or situation. Nothing happened.
But people in droves were running to talk about how much of a masterpiece this movie was.

Modern Art. A red rectangle on a black velvet canvas. Spikes of glass hanging from the ceiling with a creative title like "Tears of God." An old shoe nailed to a wall covered in torn and mosaic-ally tiled cereal boxes. People pay hundreds of dollars to go see this stuff in a museum and stand around and talk about existentialism and the meaning of life and how well it's conveyed in the painted belly of a pregnant woman standing in the living art display in the far left corner. Pictures that could have been taken out of a kindergartner's backpack and put in the hands of the right person could make millions of dollars because someone important said it meant something real.

I feel like people want to be seen as smart. Intellectual. And things like the Coen Brothers and Modern Art are supposed to be "smart." And I think that people are afraid of "not getting it." They don't like to walk away from a movie by people who typically challenge us thinking "what?" They walk away afraid that "maybe I just didn't get it." Like in English class when the teacher manages to find a reoccurring theme that you never saw coming.
"How could I have possibly missed that!?" And I think that the Coen Brothers are smart enough to realize this. So they make a movie that means absolutely nothing. No themes. No story. No plot. And put it out and people have no choice but to walk away from it outwardly saying, "oh....It was so deep and complex....I can hardly explain it. The only thing to say is that it's brilliant!" While inwardly all they can say is, "...wait.....what?????"
Modern art. Nobody gets it. But nobody wants to admit that it makes no sense. Because they don't want to be the person who "just isn't deep enough."

Movies and paintings don't really matter in the grand scheme of things. They're meant for entertainment. But if you think about how afraid people are of not being able to see the magical clothes; it makes me worry what happens when somebody important relies on the praises of how great they are.

Nobody wants to be the one to tell the emperor he's naked. Even if he already knows.

Growing Up Stole My Christmas

2009-12-03T01:34:00.002-05:00

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. . .

2009-11-20T10:15:00.003-05:00

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

2009-11-10T21:23:00.002-05:00

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:

2009-09-07T10:27:00.003-04:00

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

2009-06-30T22:43:00.004-04:00

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

2009-06-14T23:53:00.004-04:00

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

2009-05-31T16:41:00.002-04:00

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

2009-05-09T11:12:00.002-04:00

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

2009-04-03T14:11:00.011-04:00

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

2009-02-27T00:10:00.003-05:00

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

2009-01-18T19:37:00.002-05:00

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.

2009-01-17T14:15:00.004-05:00

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

2009-01-15T16:06:00.002-05:00

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.

2009-01-06T07:52:00.004-05:00

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

2009-01-01T19:42:00.004-05:00

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!

A Journey: True Story

2008-12-29T11:44:00.002-05:00

I have two sisters. Niki is one year older than I am. Kali is a little under 2 years younger than I am. As much as I love and respect Niki, I don't have much of a story to tell about the two of us. We pretty much got along well our whole lives. This story is about my journey with Kali.

I don't remember too much specifically about our childhood relationships except for the fact that Niki and I used to fight over who got to play with her. It must have been when she was little and cute or something. . .

Our story starts more when I was in 9th grade. 1998, to be precise. This was when I made the decision that I didn't really like Kali. I didn't like her because that entire school year she tried to copy the things I wore, and the unique style I tried really hard to create. Looking back, I'm sad that I thought I was creating any sort of style, but either way; it was mine.
I remember trying to say mean things to her that would make her feel bad, just because I didn't like her. I told her that her belly looked like bread dough. I made fun of her teeth. I teased her about her stinky feet. I was not nice.

Two years later, Kali was in 9th grade, which meant she was now in the youth group. One specific incident I remember happened in the summer after 10th grade when our youth group went to Uplift at Harding University. I had done a pretty good job of avoiding Kali the entire trip, but there was one night we all stood in a circle and had a prayer and I got stuck next to Kali. I had to hold her hand, and my entire body started cringing with hatred. I started crying and after the prayer I went over and talked to Mark. I told him that I was crying because I couldn't stand the thought of standing by her and holding her hand.
I was sick of her trying to be like me (which I considered copying me), and I didn't believe her when she said anything spiritually relevent. I didn't want to know about her personal life, and I didn't want to think she had the capacity to think deeply about things that were relevent to me.

Off and on, the next two years, Kali had some really fun friends. I think I stopped hating her, and more started tolerating her. I occasionally would still say mean things, but I didn't cringe when we sat near each other. I think high school was good for Kali, because when she made her friends they gave her new people to emulate, taking less pressure off me. I was dating a boy, and she really liked him. She and he would help me make school projects; and he and I would help her make hers (mostly in movie form).

When Niki went away to college, I was a senior in high school and Kali was a sophmore. Everything in her life started getting dramatic. She started getting her own opinions and deciding that mom wasn't fair about ANYTHING. I remember on two occasions Kali storming out of the house and sitting out on the driveway or in the treehouse. It was well after dark, and my mom looked at me and said, "go talk to her."
I went outside to talk to Kali, not knowing what I was going to say. I didn't even like her. I thought she was being ridiculous and childish. But I sat out there for probably an hour on each occasion and just tried to convey that I understood because "I've been there before."

I consider that a turning point in our relationship. Whether it had to do with actual "bonding" or just me growing up, from that point on Kali and I became pretty good friends. I looked up to her and her amazing hair. Her style sense far surpassed mine pretty quickly, and I started copying her. And she didn't mind. I got along with her boyfriends, and the three of us always had lots of fun.

Kali moved down to Oklahoma and pretty much became the most popular person on the planet. And I was so proud of her. I liked it when people knew me as "Kali's sister." I was grateful for her sense of style, and gained a whole new appreciation for her sense of humor and her wittiness. We shared many inside jokes, and generated many dances and renditions of everybody's favorite songs to perform for family gatherings. I look back on our journey (or rather my journey) and am a little sad to remember how much I truly hated her.

I am pretty sure that people prayed for our sister-ship, and I am pretty sure that God had lessons to teach us both through each other. I'm not sure what, if anything, I taught her. But I learned a lot about being a big sister from Kali. And I learned a lot about myself.

Now Kali and I are pretty much as close as we could get. We share clothes, laughs, jokes, and respect. I know I probably travelled a whole lot farther than Kali, but the journey we took to get us to where we are now is something that I consider one of the most important ones I've ever taken.

Kicking Winter's Butt with My New Armour.

2008-12-15T22:30:00.004-05:00

I am a runner.

Yes, I am one of those fools who enjoys running while not being chased, or trying to get to a 7-eleven, giant cookie, or Black Friday sale. I like to run with no end in mind.

Runners World put out a list recently of what makes a "runner" as opposed to a "jogger."
Their list included things like:
A runner doesn't buy the shoes that look cool. He/she buys the shoes that fit.
A runner doesn't buy "outfits" or other matching nonsense. He/she wears what works.
A runner views running as a sport, rather than an activity.
A runner doesn't train when it's convenient. He/she trains when it's necessary--and often inconvenient.
While I'll openly admit that a vast majority of my "runs" are actually at more of a "jog," I still proudly consider myself a runner. I set goals, and I work hard to achieve them. And if I don't, I try again.

That being said, I have a couple general rules for running.
I don't really spend money on running gear. Except for my shoes, I mean. That's about a hundred bucks every 4 to 5 months. But as far as clothing goes, if it doesn't ride up or rub it's pretty much good. I currently alternate between 3 pairs of running shorts, 2 of which I've had since before I moved down to Oklahoma. I wear them any day that's above 40 degrees. If there's no wind, I'll even wear them as low as 35.
As far as shirts go, in the summer I wear tank tops. The fall I wear t-shirts, and as it gets cooler I'll wear a long-sleeved t-shirt. If it's below 45, I'll typically put a t-shirt underneath a long-sleeved t-shirt and I'm pretty good to go.
Another rule I hold to pretty strictly is that if it's below 50, I wear a headband to cover my ears.

This generally works pretty well, because winters don't typically get too cold in Oklahoma. There is an occasional cold day where I'll need to wear running pants and a pullover fleece . But as much as I can, I avoid running in pants. I hate it, because they weigh me down so much it nearly makes running a chore. But I stay warm, and I thump through it.

Soooooo, this brings me to the original purpose of this post:
I was at a sports store tonight, and I was going to look for running tights. Because it was like 20 degrees outside today, I still had to run tonight, and I figured since I'll be going home to Michigan in a week and will need to run there it would do me good to find something I could make work.
My thinking was (honest to goodness) that if I got some good, winter running tights, I could put them under my shorts and still run just like normal. It wouldn't weigh me down, and training for the marathon this winter would be so much easier if I didn't have to dread those thumpy runs.

I looked and looked, and couldn't find any winter running tights, but I came across an area of Under Armour Cold Gear. Under Armour is pretty quality. I own a long-sleeved shirt by them, and I like it pretty well. It's just really expensive. And their policy (or something) is to never offer it at marked down prices. I found a pair of Cold Gear pants, my size. 50 bucks (UGH). But I figured, "what the heck? It's only money." The worst that could happen, in my mind, is that they're the same as my other pants. In 5 years I'll probably still be wearing them, so it's not really unreasonable. Then I grabbed a Cold Gear hoodie (in white, because I typically have to run at night). Another 50 bucks. This is getting pretty ridiculous--but I honestly couldn't stop. I thought about it, and when it's cold outside the part of me that gets the coldest is always my thighs. So I went to the (not Under Armour) section and found a pair of those tight pants like they wear on The Biggest Loser that go just below the knee. I figured I could wear those under my pants. Those were like 12 bucks--clearly because they were an off-brand. And then I grabbed one more Cold Gear fleece (yeah, 60 bucks--don't judge me).

I'm not gonna lie, I'm feeling a little silly to have spent SO MUCH MONEY on running clothes when I have lined windpants, and fleece hoodies at home. I felt like there pretty much wasn't any excuse to spend that much money on like 4 items. But I did it anyway, and I came home to suit up.

I put on my new tight-pants. Then my new Cold Gear pants. I already had on tall socks, so I just kept those pulled up. I wore one of those sports bras that is a tank-top (for an extra layer), then I put my long-sleeved Under Armour shirt on, a regular t-shirt over that, and then my new white hoodie. I slid a neck gator around my neck, and pulled my hat down over my ears. I put on some gloves and I stepped outside--ready to face this 17 degree night for three nice easy miles.

I started running, and something dawned on me after about 20 steps: I felt like I was running in shorts and a t-shirt. Not because I was cold, but because I had full range of motion, and nothing was weighing me down. I kept going, and started to pick up my pace. My cheeks were a little cold, but no other part of me was. I was running strong, running hard, and not feeling any sort of pain, sluggishness, extra weight, or anything that layering and cold weather typically cause.

I almost didn't want my run to end. I was reminded of how much I love winter, and the crisp cool air. I was reminded of how much I love running. I was reminded of how strong I am. And how I choose to run, and I do it because I want to be good at it.
I could have waited until the cold front moved out.
But I'd rather put on my new armour and go out and kick it in the butt.

It's Beginning to Look a Lot Like Christmas!

2008-12-04T22:26:00.003-05:00

I was tagged by Jennifer!

1. Egg Nog or Hot Chocolate? Neither! Christmas CUSTARD!!! (extra chunky!)

2. Does Santa wrap presents or just sit them under the tree? I have two things to say about this one: 1) Santa who? We only have presents from Elmer Elf, Blitzen, and the Tooth Fairy under our tree; and 2) of course they're wrapped! conveniently color-coded so each kid has presents in only one type of paper (for easier sorting!)

3. Colored lights on tree/house or white? both! all of the above! and blow up decorations! and blinking lights! and a nativity scene is a MUST! I also like it when the entire lawn is enclosed in like a fence of lights!

4. Do you hang mistletoe? no. that's a parasite, you know. kills things.

5. When do you put your decorations up? whenever I can. I think a better question would be "when do you take your decorations down?" to which I answer, "three years later when I move out of the house."

6. What is your favorite holiday dish (excluding dessert)? Grandma Merilynn's stuffing!

7. Favorite holiday memory as a child: Picking out our Christmas Tree!

8. When and how did you learn the truth about Santa? Truth? What do you mean? He's very very busy--which is why we don't get presents from him at our house. We get them from the elves and reindeer instead. And also the Tooth Fairy and the Easter Bunny. And I am absolutely not kidding.

9. Do you open a gift on Christmas Eve? yes. We always go to Aunt Kay's house, and all of the family draws someone's name, and we get 1 gift each.

10. How do you decorate your Christmas Tree? when we were little, my mom would sit in a chair with the box of ornaments and us kids would line up and she'd hand us each one and we'd go hang it up and then line up again for the next one. Now Kali does it (because she's pretty much a professional tree decorator)

11. Snow! Love it or Dread it? LOVE LOVE LOVE LOVE LOVE (and miss) it!

12. Can you ice skate? Duh! We used to build a rink in the back yard every year, and Niki and I would practice the Pem-Chinko (from the Cutting Edge). We got really good. I can also spin for like 15 seconds without stopping.

13. Do you remember your favorite gift? One year I wanted a globe more than anything, and I got it. That was so sweet!

14. What is the most important thing about the Holidays for you? getting presents, of course. Juuuuuust kidding! Being with my family!

15. What is your favorite Holiday Dessert? PIE!

16. What is your favorite holiday tradition? Never actually having Christmas on Christmas.

17. What tops your tree? A golden Afro

18. Which do you prefer giving or receiving? honestly? If I've found something that I KNOW somebody is going to LOVE, then giving. But honestly, who doesn't like to receive?

19. What is your favorite Christmas Song? Frosty the Snowman. Then It's Beginning to Look a Lot Like Christmas!

20. Candy Canes! Yuck or Yum? I've had better.

21. What do you want for Christmas? A tall upright piano

22. Do you attend an annual Christmas Party? every event with my family is a party--so yes.

23. Do you dress up on Christmas or wear PJs? It depends on what day, and what time of day we celebrate. One time, we opened presents on Christmas at 11:30 PM because I had to work the afternoon shift at the hospital, so I wore my scrubs.

24. Do you own a Santa hat? No

25. Who do you normally spend Christmas with? My FAMILY!

**Now, I am to tag some others who will answer the questions and pass the tag along !!

Emily

Lindsay

Naomi

Danny

The Offer of a Lifetime!

2008-10-31T12:10:00.004-04:00

Friends, family, stalkers, and strangers alike: I have an announcement to make!
I have decided to start my own business. Using my own enterprise and capitalizing off of a skill which I proudly possess, I have decided to share with you my endeavors so you may benefit from it also!

I have decided to become a professional book labeler.
Here's my pitch:

Are you an avid reader?
A college student?
A teacher who loans out books to students?
An overly possessive person who is afraid to share?
Or do you just have a lot of books?

If you answered, "YES!" to any of these questions, then today is your lucky day!
I am offering my services to use a permanent marker and write your name on the edge of your books! That's right, you heard me! You can solve all of your personal property problems by simply having your name on the top, side, or bottom edge of the outside of your books!
No more wondering if that book is yours!
No more feelings of poverty, or like you don't have any possessions.
With your name proudly displayed on your books, everyone will know to whom they belong!

For $0.10 a book, I can solve all of your nameless book related problems!
For this simple skinny, shiny silver coin, you get the following:

Your name, in large capital letters, uniformly displayed on the edge of your books.
If you choose to label numerous books, each will be consistent with the next.
Your name will be spelled correctly.
You can choose what color you would like from a vast supply of Sharpie (TM) markers.

And now, for a limited time, if you contact me through this advertisement your price is only $0.05!!!! That's a steal, folks!

And here are just a couple of reasons why you want to hire me to label your books:

You'll have more time to spend with your friends and family.
You don't have to worry about tricky curved letters looking all funny and lopsided (remember, I am an expert).
You won't have so suffer debilitating hand cramps from hours of book-labeling.
You're supporting capitalism, and our economy.

If you are interested, contact me through this ad and I would love to talk with you more personally about our new partnership!

Bringing in the Tithe

2008-10-27T00:42:00.004-04:00

These past few weeks at church, our preacher has been talking about tithing.

What's funny about tithing is that for some reason I never thought it applied to me. I was always taught to give to God, but the 10% thing wasn't mandatory. I was always under the impression that when you give to God, you give what you can. And stories like the one about the lady bringing her two copper coins in, while the rich guy brought his handfulls of money sort of fell in line with what I always thought. I don't have much, so God must understand when I give to him when I am able to.

That's how I thought things worked until a couple years ago. Now mind you, I still never believed tithing really ever applied. However, I came to the realization that when I trusted in God to provide for me, it was foolish to not give to him out of my blessings. And when I gave back to him, he seemed to continue to provide. It was a pretty sweet deal. It was nice to see a connection between suddenly having enough money to give because I had given trusting that I would be provided for.

This lesson got even a little deeper last year when I encountered God's providence on more than one occasion as a direct result of praying for it. You can read a little more about it here: http://pancakesandtea.blogspot.com/2007/07/short-and-sweet.html

But still, in my church background, the tithe wasn't ever talked about.

These lessons Mark has been preaching about tithing have been SO good! I have been eating them up! I was lucky enough to already have come to the conclusion through my personal blessings and experiences that giving my money to God shouldn't really be optional. And when I hold back, I limit my own ability to be blessed. But now that I realize and understand that God expects my tithe, it sheds a whole new light onto my giving. Now that I relate my money actually belonging to God to scripture (Malachi 3:8-12), it makes much more sense to me. And it makes me excited to know that God wants to bless me and provide for me.

I think what I take away from all of this new information on tithing is the way I will look at my giving. Instead of just gratefully accepting these random monetary blessings as God's way of providing for me, or answering my prayers; I also need to consider tithing these gifts too. They, also, came from God--just like my paycheck--and therefore belong to him.

I can't wait for next Sunday when our church collectively brings in the tithe. I can't wait to see how much God is waiting to bless us, and what he will do with Quail in his kindgom.

If you are interested in listening to the sermon series online, go to:
http://quailchurch.com/cgi-bin/MediaList.cgi?section=&cat=In%20God%20We%20Trust

A Day with my Favorite Aunt Kari

2008-10-18T00:25:00.003-04:00

For this entry, I am inviting my very first guest blogger: Tyler Cash Erwin.

He calls this entry, "A Day With My Favorite Aunt Kari."

Aunt Kari is so great! She came to my house to play with me for TWO whole days! We had so much fun!

Aunt Kari came into my room because she heard me singing to her. I try to sing as loud as I can in the mornings, just because I know how much she loves music.

Then she got me out of my bed and we went into the family room to play! She's so silly, though, because she always has to drink her coffee. She won't share it either. She's probably afraid that I'll drink it all--but really I just want to dump it all over the place!

After we played for a little bit, she picked out some clothes for me to wear. I am pretty sure she chose this outfit because she knows how picky my mom is when my clothes don't match. This is my big brother Kody. He was visiting Aunt Kari for the last 3 weeks, but he's home now! He mostly thinks he's too cool for me, but sometimes I can get him to listen and then we can play like good brothers.

Aunt Kari is the BEST AUNT EVER! She sings to me all the time. She sings so many songs it's hard to keep up with them all! But there is one that she sings that I always love! She sings "You Are So Beautiful" and it's my favorite song! Every time she sings it to me, I stop what I'm doing and listen. I don't want to miss a single second!

She had to go home tonight, but Grandma Paula and Handsome Grandpa Jeff are coming to Oklahoma in 3 weeks, and they're going to take me down to Edmond to stay at Aunt Kari's house! I'm so excited! I love Aunt Kari's house!

Okay, I'd better go now. Maybe she'll let me blog again sometime!

Love T-Ca$h

Alphabetizing my Life.

2008-10-06T00:18:00.010-04:00

I got this idea from my BFF Jennifer. I'm going to use the alphabet to tell you a little bit about myself. :)

A is for Apple Way. It was where I met my BFF Jennifer, and lived my first 2 years in Oklahoma.

B is for Batman. Batman has always been my favorite super hero. Jennifer and I were Batman and Robin for Halloween last year, and it is by far the best Halloween costume I've ever had (or been a part of).

C is for Caramel Apple. This is pretty much my very favorite treat. I love to eat caramel apples, while I'm driving, when I'm walking, when I go to the park. I love it when people assume I came from a fair.

D is for Dean Jones. If I was born like 70 years ago, and the current year 1967, I'm pretty sure I would be on my way to Hollywood to make sure he knew that we should be married immediately.

E is for Everybody Loves Raymond. I have all 9 seasons of this show and have watched them embarrassingly more than once. I have a small crush on Raymond Barone, and hope one day my future husband is as awesome as Ray.

F is for Fiber. I drink Metamucil 3 times daily to keep my colon healthy and in line. And apparently my cholesterol is amazing.

G is for Great Dane. My favorite dog in the whole entire world is the Great Dane. I have wanted one ever since I was in 3rd grade. I plan on getting my very own Dane next summer. His name will be Chauncey.

H is for Hula Hoop. I once hula-hooped for 56 straight minutes. It was pretty impressive. Mostly that I didn't get bored and leave.

I is for IHOP. I LOVE pancakes. Although I prefer home-made pancakes to IHOP ones, in my mind any place that is dedicated to making the world a better place by serving platters of perfect pancakes should rank a place in the alphabetization of my life. Hence, I for IHOP.

J is for Jennifer! Jennifer is my BFF, and she lives in Montana. We have gone on the best adventures, and we are actually twins. We dress alike sometimes, because we're fraternal twins--and we don't want to confuse people. You know, cause it's confusing when identical twins dress alike. We figure it's equally confusing when fraternal twins don't.

K is for Killers. They're one of my favorite bands. I think they're great. They remind me of Bruce Springsteen, and all of the reasons why I should like him. Except I can understand them. And there's no saxophone (no lie, that's not my favorite instrument)

L is for Law and Order: SVU. This is my favorite show, and I plan on incorporating the names Elliot and Olivia into my children's names when I have them. I hope my husband doesn't mind. Or realize where the names came from. . .

M is for Michigan. Michigan is my favorite state. It is the high-five of the United States of America, and I'm lucky enough to be from there. I love everything about Michigan, except for Jennifer Granholm.

N is for Nephew. Because I have one. He is handsome, and so funny. And his little ears stick out and it's so cute. He smiles when he sees me, and when I sing "You Are So Beautiful" to him, he always looks at me and smiles. He also lookes just like I looked when I was his age. So I'm pretty sure we're going to be pretty close. I'm already his favorite Aunt Kari.

O is for Olives. There are not many foods in this world that I do not like, but olives are definitely one of them. I can not stand olives. And since I'm well aware that tastes change, every year or so I try them again. I have hated olives every single year since I was 6. I wonder what 2009 will hold?

P is for Piano. I want a piano so bad. When I was in 2nd grade, there was a piano in my classroom and some friends taught me how to know which note on the page went with which key on the piano, and from there I became a piano-aholic. My parents got a piano when I was in third grade, and we got to take lessons from a lady from church I took lessons for 3 years, and got good enough that I could sight read pretty much anything. I have been known for sitting down and just playing the piano for over an hour at a time just because it was on the way to wherever I was walking.

Q is for Quicken. I use Quicken to keep track of all of my finances. I'm quite the little budget nerd. I save all my receipts, and make sure I'm not spending anything unnecessarily. I also use it to try to plan ahead and see a forecast of my savings, so I can dream about when Chauncey becomes part of my family.

R is for Rasheed Wallace. Rasheed Wallace is my favorite Piston. I think he is hilarious, entertaining, and also very good at basketball. I admire him so much, my car is named Rasheed, in his honor.

S is for Star Spangled Banner. Not only do I love my country, but I love patriotic holidays, events, songs, and rocket pops. Jennifer and I had plans to make an album of all patriotic songs. This idea came to fruition when we were driving in her car, Henrietta, to buy patriotic decor for President's Day and her radio was absent. We spent the entire drive singing songs like "Home on the Range," "The Star Spangled Banner," "You're a Grand Old Flag," and "America the Beautiful!"

T is for Torgo's Knees. Torgo is a character from "Manos: Hands of Fate." One of the best worst movies of all time. Torgo is a character who was a monster, but his monstrosity was his rather inappropriate and inexplicably large knees. When my friend Eric and I started recording music, our dreams of grandeur led to our very own band, Torgo's Knees. We got pretty famous, on Myspace. There are like 3 people who know about us, and occasionally listen to our music. We rock.

U is for Umbrellas. I think umbrellas are completely unnecessary. I love rain, and getting wet. Walking, running, and golfing in rain are 3 of my favorite things to do. Being outside in the rain makes me feel real, and part of something. It makes me feel strong. It reminds me of God's power, and providence. Rain, to me, means life. Water quenches our thirst, and I like knowing that when I am soaking up rain my needs are being met.

V is for Violin. I can kind of play the violin. I am very good at sightreading, but only mediocre at making the sound that comes out not scratchy. I try my best, but am always nervous when people can hear me because I honestly am well aware of how painful it can be.

W is for Winter. Winter is my favorite season. I love snow, I love grey skies and slush covered streets I love scraping snow off my car in the morning, and the feel of the crisp air on my cheeks when I walk outside on a winter night. I like wearing mittens, scarves, hats, sweatshirts, and boots. And I love Christmas lights, trees, songs, and decorations. Everything about winter makes it my favorite 5 months of the year (in Michigan, at least. In Oklahoma, there's only like 1.5 months of it).

X is for Xylophone. When I was in elementary school, our music teacher would have us bring a poem to class and we'd get to be in groups to put it to music. Each group got to have one of the large xylophone or metaliphones. I always got to play the xylophone because I was really good at plunking out songs on it by ear. I'd like to think that if I'd pursued that percussive passion I would have been able to play the xylophone like a piano. I LOVE it when people can do that!

Y is for Yoda. Although R2D2 is the Star Wars character I sleep with, Yoda is who I lay my head down on. That's right--you read that correctly. I lay my head down on Yoda at night, as I have a pillow that has a GIANT picture of his face on it. On the other side is Obi Wan Kanobi, howver I get way too creeped out at the thought of waking up and looking at a bearded man on my pillow. So I always sleep on Yoda.

Z is for Zoo. I LOVE going to the zoo. I think it's so exciting to be able to see bears, and lions, and otters and penguins all playing and having fun. I will go to a zoo any time of year, and would probably borrow a kid for a day or something just to have an excuse to go.

Now you know my ABC's. Tell me what you think of me! :)

See You at the Pole

2008-09-24T22:31:00.003-04:00

This morning, I was walking into the school building at around 7:20 and I noticed 3 girls standing by the flagpole. Usually, this is not the practice, as the kids are supposed to go into the gym in the morning until 7:50 when they're allowed to go to class.
I asked a fellow teacher as we walked into the building, "Do you know if today is See You at the Pole day?" He replied, "I don't think so. They might just be hanging out."
I always remembered going to SYATP when I was in school, but I never actually took notice of when it was. There were always signs or posters around school and town to remind me. I hadn't seen any, nor heard anything so I didn't think anything of it.
I got to my classroom, and turned on my computer. I Googled See You at the Pole and sure enough, today was the day. I quickly grabbed my keys and headed out to the flag pole.

I'm not sure what I expected to happen. I've never been in the role of a teacher standing out there--just always the student. I wasn't sure if any other teachers would be out there, but I wanted to go. I wanted to go because I want the kids at my school to know that I am a Christian, and that I am okay with anyone knowing that.

By the time I got out there, the group of kids had grown a little. There were now about ten or twelve and they'd started taking prayer requests. One of the little boys offered to lead a prayer. When he was finished, a few of the circle left to go inside. The rest of us just sort of stood there. Not really knowing what was next. It was okay, though, because God knew.
One of the secretaries walked by and stopped. She asked if she could stand and pray with us before she went in to work. She led a prayer, and during her prayer, more kids joined the circle.

Some of the kids had started asking for specific things to pray for, and I suggested that someone start the prayer and then anyone who wanted to add to it just speak up. The same little boy started a new prayer. Short pause, another kid speaks up. Followed by another, and another, more and more kids are joining the group at the flagpole. More and more kids are speaking up and praying.
These 6th, 7th, and 8th graders were praying for their school, their friends, their teachers, the presidential election, the soldiers in iraq, all of our churches, other kids around the country praying at the flag pole...These kids were praying for the kids who were walking by. The ones who didn't know why we were standing there--praying that they might ask questions. They were praying for the ones who knew why we were standing there and continued to keep walking. They were praying for opportunities to share their faith with each other. They were praying that others could see God in them.
I have never felt so blessed than this morning, having around 70 or so kids praying for each other. Praying for me as their teacher. Praying. It was so incredible.

I'm not one for publicly praying--it's just not something I've ever really felt comfortable doing. However, I spoke up to end the prayer. I prayed that everyone around the pole this morning would look around and see who their sisters and brothers in Christ are. I prayed that we would be able to show our love for Christ in how we act daily, and that we could encourage and be there for one another as this family of believers at Cheyenne.

We ended the prayer and the kids went into the gym.
I headed into the building through the front doors.
It was 7:50.
Time to start the day.

Something Beautiful

2008-09-14T15:07:00.007-04:00

I have always loved hands.

And I am eagerly awating the day when I can have the beautiful hands that old ladies have.

There is something so comforting and so beautiful about the hands of an old woman.

I could look at them all day.

And judging on the number of pictures I found when I hit up google looking for something to illustrate this little entry, I am not the only person who feels this way.

When I Start to Miss Michigan. . .

2008-08-21T22:13:00.002-04:00

I have to remind myself why I am in Oklahoma.
And how hard it was to get here.

I'd wanted to be in Oklahoma since I was little. I wanted to go to OC so I could grow up and be just like my aunt Kim. I had decided on Oklahoma Christian right up until May of my senior year when I stayed home in Michigan (for a boy, no less) and went to Rochester.

Every year, since my freshman year at Rochester, I looked and looked for how to transfer. And every year, I got talked out of it. Something came up as a better reason, or a better opportunity to stay home.

I was packed and ready to move to Oklahoma in 2005, but I got sick. Then I got a job offer in Detroit. I stayed. Again.

Here's what I'm getting at, though.
Something about Oklahoma has been calling me. Every year. Since I was little.
But every year, when I've tried, it's never been the right time.

Enter spring break 2006.
My parents were in Oklahoma for Spring Sing, and I had talked about moving with them. We'd all agreed that it would be good to do sometime soon. Maybe that fall. Maybe the next summer. No definite plans. . .just knowing it would happen.
But while my parents were gone, I packed up my car.
I packed up my car, made plans with Eric and Becca Sharp to live with them until I could save up money and find some place else to live. And I left.

I still believe that I would be in Michigan right now if I had not left while my parents were gone. And I know I complain about missing Michigan all the time. But the truth is, if I was still in Michigan, my heart would still be pulling me toward Oklahoma.
I had to leave. I had to go be on my own for a little while. And I had to do it on my own.

I met my parents for the night on my way down, while they were on their way up. We said our goodbyes, and my dad did the, "are you sure?" speech. And we parted ways in the morning. Scared to death, but excited as I've ever been, I drove the 9 hours past the point of no return to Edmond, Oklahoma.

So when I start to miss Michigan, I just have to remember that I am here for a reason.
Sometimes you just have to pick up and go.
Don't look back.
Cry about missing Michigan.
And trust that I will end up where God wants me to be.

Busted! (What Else is New?)

2008-07-31T01:31:00.003-04:00

Funny how I wrote this post so long ago.
About an actual love letter I received.
And funny how I read it now, and it convicts me.
Because God gave us his written word so we could understand him.
All we have to do is read it.
Read, and read, and read.

http://pancakesandtea.blogspot.com/2007/05/love-letters.html

Saving Our Environment--One Cookie at at Time

2008-07-22T22:29:00.002-04:00

Now, I'm not one to get political (at least not typically in blog-form). . .but there is something that has been on my mind. My dad and I were opening up a delicious box of Kashi cookies, and were both dumbfounded at the ridiculous amount of packaging for a less-than-desirable 8 cookies.

Seriously. . .a two-ditch tray holding a total of only 8 cookies? First of all--name one person who can make 8 delicious cookies last long enough to justify throwing away a box, plastic tray, and a foil wrapper? [Well, to be fair in Michigan, we get to recycle those things, so Michiganders insert "recycling" in the place of "throwing away"] Secondly, do they think the effort required will make one want to savor the cookies? Or maybe not eat them as often? Because let me tell you--all that work to get to them makes you want to take more than one so you don't have to go through it all over again.

But I digress--this article isn't about obesity.

It's about lame amounts of packaging.

Aren't we supposed to be saving our earth or something?

You know, every little bit helps?

We stop driving trucks.

We spend thousands of extra dollars on products made from things that actually use more natural resources than they save.

And even more on cars that do the same thing.

We reduce.

Reuse.

Recycle.

We plant trees.

But how do we package cookies? Like they're going to taste less delicious if they're bent or broken.

Let's take--for example--my very favorite Girl Scout Cookie: The Samoa. Delicious chunks of coconut, caramel, and cookie all dipped in chocolate. Placed delicately in 3 rows of five in a plastic tray, sealed in plastic, and then put in a box.

Here's my proposal. My contribution to saving the earth. One delicious bite at a time.

Keep the box (I mean, that's a trademark), but lose the tray. Fill that clear plastic bag with just delicious and savory Samoas, seal it, and sell it. I promise you, not one person will complain about there being more than 15 in that bag. "But they'll stick together!" the scoffers cry. Again, I can assure you, the world will be a happier place when those hands reach into that bag and pull out not one, but TWO (or if you're lucky: three!) crunchy confections of chocolately caramel coconut.

Think about it, Girl Scouts of America.

Help make the world a better place.

Father's Day (and Belated Mother's Day)

2008-06-15T15:49:00.009-04:00

I think this is going to be more of a Parent's Day post--because I didn't make a Mother's Day one.

So here it is: an ode to my parents!

I pretty much had the greatest childhood ever. As long as I can remember back, days would start with Niki and I waking up and going to the brown couch in the living room to see what mom had laid out for us to wear. Niki would usually get there first, and trade our outfits. I never noticed, or minded. Then, we'd get in the car and dad would take us to Ms. Gladys' (the babysitter's) house. We'd always stop by The Looney Baker and drive through the drive-thru. If Sue was working, my dad would just have to say "It's Jeff and the girls" and Sue would be ready with my dad's medium coffee--little cream and 2 sugars; my glazed doughnut, and niki's apple doughnut.

My mom doesn't like this story, but it's one of my favorite memories. I think it shows how my parents really encouraged us to be independent, and most importantly: not complain!

My very first day of kindergarten, my mom packed my lunch in my red Duck Tales lunch box and when it was time to eat it I bit into a peanut butter and jelly sandwich that was a little over-jellied. That afternoon when I came home from school, I told my mom that she put too much jelly on my sandwich. I don't remember much of the dialogue that followed (I mean, sheesh! I was only 5!) but I do remember that from the 2nd day of kindergarten until I graduated high school, I (along with all my siblings) made my own lunch.

I will say, I'm super-glad that I wasn't one of those middle schoolers whose mom packed her lunch every day.

My dad really likes airplanes, I guess. I only recently pieced this together when he made a comment one time about how planes are so heavy and made of metal, but they still can fly so high. When we were little, my dad used to pile us kids in the van and we'd drive down to the airport. He'd park outside the fence, and the planes would take off and land right over our heads. It was always so cool, because they were so loud and so big!

My mom is the master of french braids. And when I say master, I mean MASTER! With three very fine-haired little girls, you have to be a master! My mom would braid our hair in anywhere from 8 to 10 french braids at night time, and we'd sleep on the braids so when we woke up in the morning, our hair would be all crimpy. [Note: in hindsight, this probably wasn't the best decision we could have ever made in our lives. . .but at the time it was AWESOME!]

Both of my parents raised us with a healthy appreciation (well. . .at least exposure) of working hard. We'd be out in the yard every fall, raking tarpload after tarpload of leaves out to the road. We always had to help dad stain whatever project he was building (decks, swingset, shed, etc.). My mom made sure that each weekend each of us kids had a main room, bathroom, and our own bedroom to clean, dust, and vacuum. We learned to appreciate how nice a clean house was, and that sometimes things that suck (like cleaning) are necessary.

My mom's family would have a campout every year. From early age, I loved being outside and covered in bug spray and sunblock, swimming in dirty lake water, eating campfire food and washing the dishes in fire-heated water.

I'm glad my parents made us ride the bus--even though the bus stop was 1/4 mile away. I'm glad they let us play with our neighbors outside, going on walks, riding our bikes all over town, hiking through the woods, and other things that some parents cringe away from fearing their children will get hurt or stolen. I know my parents never wanted us to get stolen or anything, but they still gave us that autonomy.

We got into trouble, and had curfews, and had phone and internet time limits. We had bedtimes, weren't allowed to watch rated R movies, couldn't take 2 snacks in our lunches, got in trouble for not minding, and all those things that parents get lots of greif for.

I love that by first grade I knew how to look things up in the encyclopedia. And by 2nd grade I did my own hair every day. And by 3rd grade, I could use the stove, oven, and my mom would let us bake cookies or pancakes or mac and cheese if we wanted to. I love that my dad would let me wear his t-shirts and tube socks to bed. And that he taught me how to play hard and smart at sports. And I love that my mom was able to crank out 3 dresses in one night for us girls to wear for any given holiday. And she always seemed to make even the ugliest fabric look awesome in dress form. I can't explain it.

I pretty much had the most perfect childhood ever. Because I had the best parents.

Happy Father's day, dad!

And Happy Belated Mother's day, mom!

You're the BEST!

Here Comes the Bride!

2008-06-11T22:02:00.008-04:00

As a girl, I--like most girls--am planning my future wedding.

I mean, that's how it works, really. The girl plans out all of the details, and the future groom (whoever he may be) is just the final piece of the puzzle.

I just wanted to share my ideas with my few close friends and blog-readers.

Here's the plan: Christmas Wedding!

I'm really excited about it, because winter is my favorite season in the whole year. However, Christmas is not my favorite holiday.

To anyone else, this would create a dilema, but to me, it won't. My wedding will incorporate both winter, AND my favorite holiday.

Here are the bridesmaids' dresses:

And the Groom's Men, appropriately will wear: Those hats are super dumb, though. And VERY. . .over the top. So the boys (groom included) will wear these:

Speaking of the boys, here is my handsome groom's tuxedo!

And finally, the part you've all been eagerly waiting for: MY DRESS!!!!!

Every Rose Has its Thorn

2008-06-08T09:54:00.003-04:00

There is a saying that goes something like, "well if that isn't a thorn in my side. . ."
And from the context in which it (and similar phrases) are used, you can tell it's talking about something that probably sucks. You know, because thorns hurt. And if one is in your side, that would probably hurt really badly.

I guess what I was thinking about earlier this weekend was why a random thorn would be in someone's side. Wouldn't it be more powerful or descriptive to talk about like, say, a shovel in one's side? Or a knife? Pitchfork? Or are we assuming that the thorn is people-sized?

The obvious question: what comes to mind when you hear this phrase?
I don't know about you, but I immediately think of a rose.

Sooooooo

Think about roses, then. They've got thorns. All over them. Lots of people cut the thorns off. It's like the thorn is the enemy. Thorns hurt. We don't want one in our side. They're sharp, pointy--almost considered the downside of a bouquet of roses.

But why?

The rose doesn't feel the thorn.
In fact, the thorn protects the rose. It doesn't hurt it--not in the least. Without the thorn, maybe roses would all be eaten or something.

Why do we so often think of the thorn the antagonist and the rose the protagonist, rather than seeing them as a team?
Without the thorn, the rose would be weak.
And without the rose, a thorn is just a bother.

Alright now, here it comes:

Think about the thorns in your side.
The things that annoy you,
the people who drive you NUTS.

If they're not part of your team,
you're probably not the rose.

Math in the "Real World"

2008-05-05T19:34:00.003-04:00

Here's some math for you:

Bruno is trying to put tile on his floor. He has a $250 budget, and his room is 10x12 feet. At the store, there are tiles that are 8x8 inches and the tiles are $0.75 each. How many tiles will he need? Does he have enough money to tile his floor?

This is a very typical math problem that nearly any 7th grader will be able to work out. I should know, I teach them day after day the process by which to calculate it.

So here's one way to do it:

First of all, we're dealing with square feet and square inches. We've got to either turn everything into square inches, or square feet.
For the sake of simplicity, I choose inches. Therefore, I have a room that is 120x144 inches (or 17,280 square inches. I've got to figure out how many times an 8x8 tile will fit into that space. That's easy--we divide 17,280 square inches by 64 square inches (the size of the tile) to find out how many tiles it will take to fill the room. A little division problem will tell you that you need 270 tiles. (You can check this by multiplying 270 tiles by 8x8 and coming up with your original room area).
So the answer to the first part of the question is that it will take 270 tiles to cover the floor.
But, the tiles are $0.75 each. Is $250 enough money? Let's multiply .75 by 270 (dollars by number of tiles) to get our total price.
And the grand total?
$202.50
Do you have enough money? Yes!

Okay, so these types of problems are VERY typical in a math class. I'm sure you've all done them. These are the problems we throw into homework assignments and tests and tell students, "This is where you'll see math in every day life!" And we draw pictures, do examples, use unit tiles and desktops to help kids understand how real-world the concept of area is.
I have no arguments against this. It all seems very logical, and simple. It reinforces multiplication concepts, problem solving, and most importantly: working with decimals.

Well. . .today I went to a tile store.

I went to a tile store because I want to tile my room. And I went into a tile store knowing about how much money I wanted to spend, and had a rough idea of how big my room was. I found a tile I liked, it was 20x20 inches and I wanted to know how much it would cost me to buy a tile. This way I, much like Bruno, could calculate how many tiles could fit into my room and if I would have enough money to get the job done.
Seems logical, right?

Wrong.

So, when I get there and ask how much a tile was, I was met with a baffled expression and a price per square foot. That wasn't what I asked! I wanted to know the price of the tile (which clearly was not 144 square inches). That's the only way I can solve this problem! There was nothing in my math probem that told me to convert to square feet and then calculate the price!
I was assured that my way was not the logical way to approach the problem--nor was it how tile is sold in the real world.
WHAT!? They don't sell tile by the TILE!?

So here's what's on my mind.

Why do we tell kids that they will use these things in real life without actually checking how real life uses math? Are my future math students going to one day walk into a tile shop and feel like fools?
This is the same conundrum that I ran into while I was in college. I was so tired of being taught how to teach. . .I just wanted to go out and teach. Because I am pretty sure that college couldn't teach me how to be a teacher.

So, teaching kids all these "real world" ways to use math. . .are we actually preparing them for using math in the real world?

Parents of the Year

2008-04-15T23:23:00.002-04:00

As I venture down this new path in my life: adulthood, I find I am daily pondering things that would have never previously crossed my mind.
Things like. . .
"What should I make for dinner? . . .Can't be anything that requires measuring, a mixer, baking, a sharp knife, or peeling. At least not for another couple paychecks. . ."
or
"I sure hope this toilet doesn't clog. . .I don't really want to go buy a plunger right now."
and the occasional
"I made these front door keys, darn it! I'm going to use them, even if I like parking in the garage."

But lately, the dream in my little grown-up head is to become a member of the club. The most exclusive club out there. . .the club that requires a small fee for you to enter the clubhouse and revel in the glory that is Sam. Yes, that's right. I'm talking about Sam's Club.
As I think of all of the glorious and unnecessary frozen pizza treats, containers of pretzels and animal crackers that would satisfy Paul Bunyan, and of course the CARTONS of gum I get more and more excited for the time (around July) when I will actually start making more than I am spending (ie. braces are paid for!) so I, too, can join the club!

I have wonderful memories of shopping at Sam's Club with my parents.
And this brings me to my story:

As long as I can remember, my dad's work has hosted a golf outing every year. At this outing, his work provides goodie bags with tees, hats, towels, balls, and best of all: goodie bags of CANDY!
Well, it was always my dad's job to assemble the goodie bags--which thinking back on it now I am pretty sure that was because he had 4 sets of little hands working diligently to bag all of the candy (knowing very well that leftovers were the paycheck).
In order to get these bags ready to be assembled, the Herron family would pile into the van and drive to Sam's club and pick out no less than ten different types of candy to fill the baggies. And I'm talking enough for anywhere from 70 to 150 baggies.

So picture this:
You're standing in the check-out line at Sams, and a family of 6 (a mom, dad, and 3 little porkers, and then skinny Niki) pulls into line with a shopping cart filled with nothing but candy. Hundreds and hundreds of pieces of candy. All shapes, all flavors, and the smiling faces of 4 kids.

That, my friends, is the picture of the Parents of the Year.
:)

Spring Break, Two-Thousand-Great!

2008-03-20T23:19:00.008-04:00

Well, as I said in my last post, Jennifer and I were going to salvage our Northern-less spring break with giggling, packing, cleaning gyms, and going camping!
And as I also said in my last post, there will be pictures.

Here are are some of them from our camping trip. This is as close as I thought I would ever get to a buffalo! And in the safety of a car, it is pretty exciting!

That was before we had to ride our bikes past these big guys! It was WAY more scary!

Here is our tent that turned out a little bit special because it was broken and missing pieces when we went to put it up.

The fact that Oklahoma actually has a little bit of terrain has moved it a little up the scale from the armpit to being a pretty solid "OK."

Pre-Christmas Letter

2008-03-16T17:05:00.004-04:00

Hello, friends, family, random readers, and anonymous stalkers alike!
After a creative dry-spell (or really just lack of Internet connection conveniently coinciding with a lack of clever things to say), I have returned.

Now, that being said--I don't actually have anything specific to say.
Oh well. I guess this is just the general update. :)

I have signed the papers for my very first house. Kali, Jennifer and I get to move in VERY shortly. So shortly, in fact, that I can't even handle that it's not immediately! Don't worry, there will be plenty of pictures!
Now, to clear up something right here: buying a house does NOT mean I have set Oklahoma up as my permanent residence. It simply means I'm tired of messiness; tired of paying rent that doesn't have any return; and also that my food will not mysteriously be opened for me, or consumed by someone other than me.
Buying a house means that I won't feel like a post college student who doesn't actually have a home. It means that I don't have to feel like I'm living out of my bedroom. It means I can have a lawn to be proud of. And neighbors who don't grow their own weed.

I'm also growing my hair out (again). This time I'm keeping it my normal color. That will be an adventure. A really loooong, drawn out adventure that requires dedication, focus, and self-control.

Yesterday, Kali and I were driving and we came to an important conclusion.
It is better to be the girl who poops her pants, than to be the friend of the girl who poops her pants. Let me explain:
If you are the girl who poops her pants, you still have a friend. You just have poop in your pants. But you still have a friend.
If you are the friend of the girl who poops her pants, that means you are so pathetic, the only friend you have is a pants pooper.

What else can I update on?

This week is spring break. A slightly disappointing spring break, because Jennifer and I have been planning to go to Toronto for over a year now. However, last minute (literally, like last week) we both decided that it would be best right now if we saved the money and stayed home. As sad as I am that I won't be able to make a Michigan stop-through, I think it will still be a fun break.
Here's our plan:
Sunday: earn $100 by cleaning a gym
Monday: sand/strip table and chairs
Tuesday-Saturday: pack, re-finish table and chairs, overnight camping/hiking trip, sleep, giggle, possibly go on some sort of adventure (we have no actual set "plans" other than that we are FOR SURE going camping. No idea which days yet, though).
Sunday: earn another $100 by cleaning gym again :)

It's pretty much going to be amazing. Spring break has the potential to be totally boss.

I guess that's all I really have to update you all on. Maybe there will be a photo chronicling of the break? Who knows? Stay tuned. I promise it won't be another 2 months until you hear from me again!

Of a Rather Pressing Note.

2008-01-22T19:58:00.000-05:00

I want to spend a little bit of time talking about toilet paper.
The reason I'm going to talk about toilet paper is that I went to use some toilet paper to blow my nose today, and I might as well have reached for a plastic bag. Or maybe some sandpaper? Or perhaps a non-absorbent bag made out of sandpaper?

I'm going to name-call here and pick on Scott toilet tissue.
Yes, Scott--you need to just give it a rest and stop trying to make bathroom products. First of all, your one-ply excuse for toilet paper is not only insulting, but in extreme cases--painful.
"But you get so many sheets!" loyal (underpaid) customers will implore. "It's more sheets than any other toilet paper!"

Well, I ask you, my friends: Does a couple extra dimes saved make it easier to sit down, then lay down, and fall asleep at night?

Anybody who has been schooled in the proper use of toilet paper by either me, my dad, or my dad's dad, will know that there is nothing you can wipe with 10 sheets of toilet paper that you can't wipe with 4 (neatly folded) squares. If it takes you more than 4, you clearly need to do a double wipe--which you would have to do with your un-economical 10 anyway.
This is, of course, assuming that you have good, absorbant two-ply tissue.

If your toilet paper is only one ply--the absorbancy of the 4 sheets is drastically reduced. This means to get the equivalent quality of the wipe, you'd need 8 sheets. And that's for those who are schooled in proper paper usage. The average person will use 10 (which now is 20); and the crazy people who "wrap" the toilet paper around their hands, will use twice as much as the crazy amount of 20-30 sheets per wipe.
Not to mention, this wipe will not even be comparably as soft as a normal toilet paper wipe. So you're using twice as many sheets (of your "so many more sheets") and you're punishing your poor butt trying to wipe it clean!

Weigh the options, my friends. Spend 25 more cents for a happy hiney and a longer-lasting roll? Or go the cheap route for 200 extra sheets of one-ply plastic baggie?

You be the judge.

On Death and Birth

2008-01-10T00:16:00.001-05:00

Hello all. All 4 of you?

Since I have last written, much has happened. Mixed emotions due to two events on completely opposite ends of the spectrum have led me to, once again, opt for dancing over mourning. I don't mind it so much--but I sure do wish there was a balance.

Sunday December 23rd, KC Randolph died at about 5am. Many of the teachers at school talked about how it was almost a blessing that everything really happened in under a week--because she never had time to stop being KC. She didn't have time to really sit around and go through the "why me's?" or "what will happen next's?" of cancer. Right now, everyone is praying hard that her husband steps up to the role that he hadn't quite found his fit with prior to her death. Her 9 year old son is alright, from what I understand--not really understanding the magnitude of mommy being gone forever.

It is sad sometimes when God decides to work like this, but sometimes it just seems so easy to get over.

Maybe it's easy for me to get over, because while KC was dying and my school and fellow teachers were mourning, visiting, and attending her memorial service; I was in Tulsa with my family celebrating Christmas and new life. We had family Christmas December 22nd, shared a lot of laugheter and fun times. It snowed! And then the following Wednesday morning, Niki went into Labor and Baby Tyler Cash Erwin blessed us all with his perfect and beautiful presence. There simply couldn't have been a better way to celebrate Christmas!

I'm glad that God has things planned out already.

And part of me hates that I don't know what his plan is.

But a bigger part of me loves knowing that whatever plans I could have possibly made--to fix things, or control things, or to make everybody happy--God's perfect plan is a million times better and infinitely more perfect than I could ever dream.

Christmas Miracles?

2007-12-21T18:35:00.000-05:00

There's something about this perticular holiday season that isn't sitting quite right with me. It's come too quickly. It's been 50 and 60 degree weather. I can't seem to focus on anything. It's just been a little off.

Two days ago, we found out that one of the teachers at our school was diagnosed with lung cancer, and that she would be in the hospital for treatment over the holiday. She had been sick with pneumonia since before thanksgiving, and just wasn't getting better. When we heard the news, there was sortof an inaudible gasp, and lots of "that just plain sucks."
I left that faculty meeting, feeling nothing any different than I've felt that entire day but, "man. What crummy news."

The very next day, we find out that her cancer is very terminal and not only have they moved her to the hospice wing of the hospital, but they don't anticipate her making it past the holiday. And again, for the past three days I am made of tin. I feel nothing. I'm sad, sure, but nothing really interferes with my daily thoughts or (lack of) emotions. I just have no reaction.

I wasn't too worried about this--I don't really react to things emotionally very often or well. I was more wondering *when* it would hit me. And if it would be too late when it did.

I came home from school today, and I called my mom to see if she and dad were in Tulsa yet. They're coming down this Christmas so we can all be together when Niki and Matt have their baby. My mom says that she and dad haven't been having the best day. Apparently when they woke up this morning and went to the hotel parking lot to thier car, someone had smashed out a window and taken everything out of it. My dad's golf clubs. My mom's medicines. All of the christmas presents they were bringing down. It's all gone.

My first reaction to this is total and complete anger. My parents are two of the kindest and most generous people I know (especially at Christmas) and somebody stole it all away from them while they were sleeping. My second reaction was sadness, because I know my parents, and they are going to try to fix it when they don't need to.
But my reactions were borderlining hysterics (for my empty tin chest, that is), and it really bugged me that I was reacting so much to "stuff" that can be replaced. I already know that it's all just "stuff."

So now, of course, I'm a horrible person for crying about vandalism and theft and not even batting an eye at cancer. But I think that my reaction to the break-in was the culmination of everything else finally spilling out. I'm learning more about myself every day, and I think as far as my emotions go I can only give all or nothing. And unless I have something (or several somethings) that pushes me to the point of overflowing, there's no sign of life.

All that being said,Miracles are miracles--whether they happen at Christmas or not. And I really don't think God times them to make our holidays happier. So pray for KC Randolph, her 9 year old boy, and the rest of her family. And praise God that you get to be with yours.

Mr. Orkin--the Man of My Dreams

2007-12-12T20:14:00.000-05:00

One of my students today in classed asked me about my "special someone."
I told him that my only "special someones" were my family and my students. He promptly responded to this with a confident, "Ms. Herron, we need to find you a good man. Kyle, John, and I will get right on that."

My students have always been particularly curious about my personal life--information of which I never divulge to them. Last year I had a giant ORKIN poster on the front wall and the kids asked me where I got it. I replied that I got it from the Orkin Man, and one of the kids asked, "you know the Orkin man!?" Before I could even answer, another student says, "yeah! he's her boyfriend!"
Of course, I couldn't resist. "Yes, actually we've been dating for quite some time. He's the real reason I moved down to Oklahoma." Most of the kids definitely knew I was joking. And the ones who didn't, I assured I was serious, queuing the former to interject that we were getting pretty serious and actually probably would be getting married soon. And I just stood back and enjoyed this life outside of school that my students had created for me. Eventually, one student asks if he can call me Mrs. O. I just laughed, and so it began. Kids I didn't even have in my classroom would see me in the hall and say, "hey Ms. O!"

It's a lot of fun to let my kids be the authors of my imaginary life. They come up with the funniest things.
I tell that story because today the kids asked about Mr. Orkin. They asked me in the hall if Mr. O and I were still dating, and if they could come to the wedding. I told them absolutely! I said, "when I get married, you are all invited! It will be in Michigan--but you'll all be driving by then, so you can just carpool up!"
"Ms. Herron!" Came the reply, "that's so long from now! Why can't you just get married next year? You should tell Mr. O to work on that, and he'll get you a ring next year and then you two can get married."
Well, Mr. O--wherever you are--you get on that. My kids are waiting!

If You're Happy and You Know it :)

2007-12-11T00:31:00.000-05:00

when the moon lights my path; laying in bed and watchin tv with my mom; jennifer's laugh; when drew times his farts; getting monthly decorative pedicures; running in 50 degree weather; the color red; great danes; classical guitars; fishing; giving high fives; gullible students; vanilla ice cream; holding hands; learning all the words to my favorite songs; going on really long drives; Michigan; birdie putts; Michelle's incredible analogies; my childhood; my sister is having a baby; my dad's saggy pants; camping; dressing like twins; swimming in lakes; seeing the stars; the antennae farm in OKC; whistling; fart noises; finding out ways man reflects the image of God; giving back scratches; Rasheed Wallace; making the first footprints in freshly fallen snow; scraping ice off my windshield; walking, running, or golfing in pouring rain; blowing dandelions around; Frogner Park in Oslo; thunderstorms or any other type of severe weather; logic puzzles; giving the perfect gift; being hugged-down; kisses from little kids; christmas lights; really really large American flags blowing in the wind; flip flop tan lines; roller coasters; knowing i am loved; cornbread with butter; planning my future with my best friend (even if we know it's just pretend)

In-Laws vs. Out-Laws: The results

2007-11-27T21:27:00.000-05:00

It was a close match, full of trash talk and amazing birdie (and eagle) putts.

Team In-Law finished about 45 minutes before team Out-Law.

But, they must not have taken their time.

Grandpa Norm sank the birdie put on 18, leaving team Out-Law with a final score of 10 under.

Team In-Law stood around the green, watching in anticipation as the put fell straight into the cup with a solid click.

"Where did that put you?" Stevie asked me.

"Ten under," I replied.

"NOOOOOOOOOO!" came the wails from team In-Law. They had missed the exact same birdie putt only 45 minutes before leaving them with a score of 9 under.

Numbers are numbers.

And almost only counts in horseshoes and hand grenades.

But in Herron Family Golf, team Out-Law carries on the founding tradition of kicking the In-Law's butts.

Stay tuned for next year! :)

team In-Laws

team Out-Laws :-D

Sometimes You Can't Break Tradition. No Matter What the Weather.

2007-11-23T11:21:00.000-05:00

Sometimes tradition completely overrules common sense. And sometimes it totally should.
Case and point:

Today is my family's annual Thanksgiving tradition:
The In-Laws versus the Out-Laws in the Herron Family Post Thanksgiving Golf Scramble.
The Out-Laws are anyone who bears the last name "Herron."
My Grandpa, me, Drew, the "real" Uncle Steve, and my dad.
The In-Laws are the ones who are blessed enough to be part of the Herron family, but not actually Herrons.
Uncle Gene, Charlie, the "fake" Uncle Steve, Stevie and Chance.

This is a huge competition every year, and the Out-Laws are undefeated. This year looks like it's going to be tough, though, because we've got Stevie (Suzio) from Livonia joining the In-Law team and he's got quite a little game there. Gene is fresh off a practice round at Southern Hills (you know, where Tiger Woods won the PGA here in Tulsa.) and there's not proof yet that his "secret" personal trainer wasn't a certain "Ill-Phay Ickelson-May." Charlie might not have much of a golf game, but he's got a gun and badge, and a perfect Mickey Mouse impression that is enough to throw anyone off kilter.
The In-Laws also have the weather in their favor--because Jeff Herron is definitely not a cold-weather man. And today the temperature rings true at a whopping 38 degrees.

It's going to be a tough match, but my grandpa bought a trophy, so we're sure this will amp the drive to succeed.

Happy Thanksgiving!

Time for Some Witty Banter

2007-11-17T12:27:00.000-05:00

Some days I am just so taken by the versatility of Cream Cheese.

I mean, first of all, it is kindof like spoiled milk. It's sour, and smells a little off. Is it cheese? Is it pudding? Is it a spread? Is it something you eat with a fork? Can you slice it?
It comes in a tub--or a block. That's the first clue you have something beyond our realm of comprehension!

I've had cream cheese on a bagel.
I've had cream cheese in a taco dip.
I've had cream cheese in a fruit dip.
When will it end!?

Not anytime soon, I can assure you. Because this very coming holiday where we celebrate the birth of our relationship with corn (and Native America--we've had our ups and downs), I am going to be concocting my very favorite cream cheese application of all time: pumpkin dip.

Chew on that, my friends. Tacos, to fruit, to pumpkins spread out on a little graham cracker (preferably gingerbread flavored).

Cream Cheese: the new hero of culinary art.
I see an Iron Chef coming!

There's a Hole in the Bucket

2007-11-11T14:00:00.000-05:00

They always leave.
They always leave and it's happened so many times it almost stopped hurting.
There is so much risk and responsibility in building relationships. And I used to be much more at ease with just sitting and listening. I would know my friends inside and out, amd they would know me.
And then high school ended and we all split up.
Correction:
And then high school ended and they all stayed friends and I went to a different college.
I pushed and pushed to keep those bonds but I grew apart from them and it took a really long time to be okay with that.
I made a few very close friends in college. Friends that you start talking, and 5 hours later you realize it's time for curfew. Who could come home with me for a weekend on a whim. Slowly, one by one, they all disappeared too. First Jenni. Than Caleb. Than Tim, and Jason, and Kara.
The unrealistic thing about college is that growing up creates different paths. And different paths create distance. And distance creates so many independent memories that you can't share and the only way to make it not hurt is to just harden.
I hardened somewhere between Tim and Jason. I got so sick of knowing people and then having them leave. I got so tired of sharing, then then to lose a friend to Ohio. Or to a wife. Or to Australia.
For a while it's still okay. There's phones. And e-mails. And the occasional special occasion. But anyone who tries to tell you that everything stays the same is blowing sunshine up your shorts.
After college, it took me a long time before I would take anything beyond the acquaintance level. I had two very very close friends back home in Livonia with whom I was able to share and in return listen and know.
And then I left. By the time I left I was already pretty calloused. And I stayed hard for a long time here in Oklahoma.
And slowly but surely I formed some thick relationships. Only to lose one to Texas. One to Kansas. And one to Ohio. Lost one to a girl, and devastatingly, one to the heartbreaking truth that she just can't stay here anymore.
And things will never be the same again.
Who wants me next? To take with you when you leave?

Clocking in on Wednesdays

2007-10-31T20:06:00.001-04:00

It is Halloween.
It is Wednesday.
Where is everyone in Oklahoma? At church.
Since when does going to church on a Wednesday become something that is completely un-miss able? When your options are trick-or-treat, or go to church--that's when.
Apparently it is not okay to miss church on Wednesday night for this tradition once a year. And I'm not okay with that.
I'm not okay with being measured to the plumbline of picking Halloween over God. I'm not okay with the fact that if I chose to stay home and hand out candy to the pagans (gasp!) I'm judged by it.
I'm not okay with the expectation of showing up to church on Wednesday nights for appearances sake. So people don't think I'm "falling away" or something dreadful because I chose to dress up like Batman and enjoy myself. On a Wednesday. Not at church.
I remember many occasions in my youth where the announcement would be made that church would be on Thursday this week instead of Wednesday. Sometimes because of things like Halloween.
Welcome to the Bible belt, Kari.
Nobody is any holier here, but they sure do pretend to be.

New Year's Resolutions

2007-10-25T23:12:00.001-04:00

Why is it that whenever we want to change something in our lives, we wait until the new year?
Or next week?
Or even "tomorrow morning"?
What is it in our nature that makes us feel like a new day brings a new chance? Is it just because they both have the word "new"?

I do this a lot. I do something (or don't do something) I wish I hadn't (or should have) done, and I say "it's okay. . .tomorrow is a new day." I'll do it tomorrow, and I won't mess it up next time.
It's always next time.
Next time it will be better.

And tonight, I was contemplating what I am going to do tomorrow (that I should have done today), and I realized that just because the sun is down, it doesn't mean I have to wait until it has to come back up. Why not NOW?
Anything I can't stop to do NOW, I'm pretty sure isn't important enough to wake up early to do tomorrow.

What am I waiting for? How much more fresh would a start be 8 hours premature!? Who needs a new day for a new resolution? Who needs a new YEAR? Do it NOW. Don't wait. Because the longer you wait, the longer the enemy has to delay your further. And we all know, if you didn't do it today; you're not going to do it tomorrow. Or next week.

I wonder how many times God told his people to not delay. . .and how many times it landed them in trouble when they didn't listen. . .

My Hero

2007-10-18T22:26:00.001-04:00

I think I have a somewhat unhealthy preoccupation with heroes. I think about them all the time. Every story I've ever written has something to do with a hero--and I don't just mean a protagonist. I mean an actual hero. A character who saves the day.

I started writing a novel my senior year in high school. It was going to be amazing, but I never finished it. There were two main characters: Blue, and Rocket. Blue was a girl who was graduating high school and very ordinary. Everything about her was ordinary, and she did nothing special. She didn't like her family. Her sister was deaf, so she couldn't really understand her. Her house was un-homey, and her life was ordinary. Her best friend was herself, and always felt like something was missing. Someone was missing. And every day she would wait, because something earth shattering was going to happen.
Rocket, on the other hand, was the complete opposite of Blue. He was a hero. He flew around on eagles and watched the world from above and fixed things. He flew in and out of peoples' lives and solved their problems. He was fast-paced, and kind hearted. He gave all of himself to everyone he met and their lives were never the same when he left. Rocket was born a hero, and didn't know how to be anything else.
In my story, it is very obvious that Blue needs Rocket to fix her brokenness. And they almost cross paths like every other page. But they never do. Rocket is the only person who could help Blue, and he can't seem to get to her. She knows there's a hero out there, and she waits for him every day. . .but he never comes.
In the book, we see a lot of Rocket's heroism; and we see a lot of Blue's emptiness. But how it comes to be is that Blue isn't even real. She is an ongoing dream that Rocket has created, and her brokenness represents the parts of himself that he can't fix--even though it's his daily job to fix lives. He can't get to her because she is part of himself. He can't fix her because heroes aren't about self, they are self-sacrificing. Should Rocket ever turn his attention from the world and to himself, to heal his wounds, he would stop being a hero.

Heroes are heroes for two reasons: they are born, or they are made.
If a man is born to be a hero, it is his duty to save. It's his sole purpose for being, and he saves whether he particularly wants to or not. He does it out of obligation. He does it because it's his job. These heroes include Superman, firemen, arguably even Mario.
If a man is made to be a hero, it is other men who have lifted him up to be such. He is a hero because he loves, and makes those around him feel safe. These heroes include dads, martyrs, and like cancer victims.

I am more fascinated by the first type of hero--the one who can't escape his fate. The type of hero who probably does like the intrinsic benefits of saving, but must save anyway. No, but will save anyway, even if the save is not merrited. Even if all common sense and consequence says to let the victims suffer. The real heroes drink the bitter cup, climb up into the tree, and save the world.

Twilight Zone. . .

2007-10-12T18:31:00.000-04:00

The strangest thing just happened:

I was on Pistons.com looking at the new roster, and the new number 3 is named Rodney Stuckey. Meanwhile, I am watching Lifetime, and the TV show I was watching had just ended, and a movie has just begun. Jason Alexander is schmoozing some rich people and introduces himself as Philip Stuckey. I don't recognize the movie, so I watch for another minute--because the name Stuckey sounded very familiar --but I realize that it's because I was just reading about Rodney Stuckey 2 seconds prior.

And the movie is Pretty Woman, I realized about 2 seconds later when I saw all the shoulder pads on the women. . .and confirmed 2 more seconds later when I saw Richard Gere.

What are the odds of encountering the name Stuckey twice in the course of 30 seconds?
I'd like some mathematical computation on that sucker. . .

Like Sands Through the Hourglass. . .

2007-08-25T00:13:00.000-04:00

Okay, embarrassingly enough, I am writing this article based on some thoughts spurred by today's episode of Days of Our Lives.

There is a storyline involving two characters. One is a genius-smart guy who entered the show as a huge nerd. The other is a smart, confident, and recovering rebel of a girl. As you may have guessed: he is in love with her, and she thinks he's a big dork. Their relationship has progressed over the past year or so, and he has stayed dedicated to her and has been able to eventually change her mind about him. The two have been dating for a while. He is incredibly addicted to her, and has compromised his morals on more than one occasion "out of love" for her. She is dedicated to him, but he always is afraid of losing her so he tries very hard to keep her.
Well, today, they got in a big fight and I guess they're broken up. She leaves, and he stays behind. And another character comes up to him and says "It's none of my business. . .but if you really love her, go after her. And fight to keep her."

And this is where the soap opera ends, and my thoughts begin.

I think that it's pretty safe to say that there is a common theme in the media that says as long as you're in love, if you persevere you'll get the girl. And this theme is based on the idea that girls want to be pursued. Girls like to be wooed, and swept off their feet.
Typically, in a movie, if the guy follows the girl after she's just dumped him they will get back together. If he shows her he's not going to let her go--that he won't give up on her (read: won't let the other guy have her)--than she will see this act of chivalry and come running with open arms.

But I watch movies like "You've Got Mail" and I think to myself, "if any guy ever followed me with such persistence, I would most definitely be freaked out."
I think it's important to note the difference between a girl wanting to be pursued, and a girl being pursued by a boy she wants pursuing her. If you are a boy, and you think that persistence will win you the girl, you have been watching too many movies. Because if you pursue a girl who does not want you, she will think you're creepy. I think that girls are very specific in whom they will allow to come after them. However, if you don't pursue a girl because you are afraid she'll think you're creepy, but really you're the guy she wants to be chased by, you won't win her either because she'll be too mad at you for not wanting her.

Confusing? Yes.

So here's what I think:

I think that girls aren't really in it for the pursuit. Because any girl will tell you that when she's not into a guy and he won't leave her alone, she wonders why the losers flock to her. I think that rather than being pursued, girls just want to be remembered.
They don't really want to be chased after, they want to be on your mind.
As a girl, I'd much rather know that you saw something that reminded me of you, than that you miss me so much you wish I was right there with you.
I'd rather hear "I miss you" than "When can I see you again?"
Girls don't want to be forgotten.
Even when the loser stops pursuing a girl, she'll wonder why he moved on so quickly. Did he forget about her for someone else? She doesn't want the pursuit, she wants to occupy the boy's mind.

So what to glean from all this?
Girls are confusing.
And don't forget about us--we want to be important: not desired.

Never Ever Ever Give Up

2007-08-08T18:16:00.000-04:00

Since I was in high school I had dedicated my summers to learning a new skill. When I was a junior, the skill I wanted to learn was jumping in the air and clicking my heels. After I mastered that, I moved on to something I'd always wanted to do: ride my bike without using my hands.

I spent several summers following my senior year in high school working my hardest to accomplish this feat. I am not terribly good at balancing, and the best I could ever do was get about 3 pedal pushes in before I either hit something or fell over.

About 3 years after I had been working on my balancing act, I went to Huron County to stay the weekend with my friend, David, and his family. He and I went out one day and rode his parents' bikes around the town. We were out on the country roads, and his mother's bike was incredibly balanced. I slowly lifted my hands off the handle bars, and successfully rode for probably about a quarter mile! It was probably one of the greatest days of my life. I had accomplished my goal! I could not wait to go home and try it again on my own bike.

Until I got home and tried it on my own bike, and could not do it anymore! Devastated and defeated, I continued pouring my summers out trying to learn to ride my bike without holding onto my handlebars.
Sadly, this lasted another 4 years. 4 years taking us to last night. August 7, 2007. At Lake Hefner, Oklahoma City, Oklahoma.

I had taken my bike out to lake to ride around it. I rode around it once, and coming up to the last 3 miles of my second lap, I started to get tired. I sat back up on my seat, and cautiously lifted my hands from the bars. I pedaled, and pedaled, and was still up! I was riding my bike without using my hands! I started to relax, and the path started to curve slightly. I shifted my weight and successfully took the curve. I started laughing, and clapping my hands. I looked at the miles markers as I rode past: .5 miles! I could not stop giggling, I was so excited! I yelled (embarassingly loudly), "I'm the greatest person in the world!" as I rode past the stake marking my 1 mile accomplishment.
I lowered my hands to the bars so I could stop to cross a driveway. And just to make sure I wasn't dreaming, I lifted them of again. I rode in front of the lighthouse. I rode around the curve, in front of the restaraunt. I rode past people jogging, rollerblading, walking their dogs, laughing and cheering the entire time. I am pretty sure I am officially a no-hander-bike-rider! Just like I've always dreamed!

It only took me 7 summers of trying. And I finally got it! Perseverance pays off, my friends. Now my next goal? I've sortof always wanted how to learn how to do the worm. I've got 2 weeks of this summer to get started! And I'll keep you updated! :-D

Hopefully this time it won't take me 7 years!

Short and Sweet.

2007-07-31T11:05:00.001-04:00

God definitely decided to give me a little lesson today.
You know how when you're little, in Sunday school you learn about praying to God and that he always answers your prayers? Even if he doesn't answer it how you want him to?
So true. So so very true.
Last August, I was down to my last bit of money--I had nothing left. And I prayed really hard for just something like $200. I can't remember exactly why, but that was the amount I needed. I was at school, and my principal asked me if I'd started shopping for my classroom yet and I told her that I couldn't do anything because I didn't have any money until our first paycheck. She informed me that the PTO would reimburse me for some of my classroom spendings if I turned in receipts, which would be nice if I even had the money in the first place. So nodded and walked off. About five minutes later she came back with a check for $200 in her hand. She said the PTO gave me the money up front after she explained my situation, and I would be fine as long as I turned in the receipts as to how I spent it.
That prayer was answered very quickly (ie. the day after I prayed it), and very specifically.
It's funny how we forget how powerful, and merciful God can be.

About 4 months ago, I was having surgery on my jaw. And there was an unexpected $900 payment I had to make. And I didn't have the money. I prayed and prayed for it, but I ended up having to use my credit card to cover it. No big deal, but I'm not gonna lie--I was a little disappointed.
Fast forward 4 months.
I come back from being away for over a month and start going through my mail. I've got lots of junk mail, a couple bills, some magazines, and then there is a letter from my insurance company. I open it up and read that my account has been audited and I have overpaid and they are sending me a refund check. A refund check for $600!
So now, $600 less poor, I look back and realize that praying for something to happen is never all in vain. But I have to know it isn't always going to be the next day. It's not like I need the money, even now. But I think what I need is a reminder that my timeline and God's timeline don't always line up. Heck, they're probably not even parallel. I'll bet they're skew (pull out that 6th grade math book, quick!)
Even though I thought I needed the money then, I have managed to be okay. God has provided the entire time.
And now he's reminding me that he listens.
And that his timing is the one that matters.

Kari's Trip to the Dentist

2007-06-19T19:20:00.001-04:00

I was prompted to write this entry after sharing this story. So here is my entry. I will call it "Kari's Trip to the Dentist."

I am 23 years old. I am pretty fun, I love to laugh, I don't like to be touched, and I have a huge crush on Bruce Willis. Don't worry--I'm not writing a personal add. If I was, I wouldn't intimidate future hopefuls with the fact that they will never (ever, in a million years) be as handsome, hilarious, witty, and balding as my man Bruce. It's okay, it happens. This is why it's not a personal ad.
So anyway, that little personal information about myself leads up to this fact: I am not ticklish. I pretty much have never been. In fact--most of the time, if people try to tickle me I end up with bruises because for some reason there is this idea that if I don't laugh they the perpetrator is obviously not squeezing or pressing hard enough. [FYI: that is a total rumor. If you ever find your tickling skills brought into question, don't press harder. That in fact is probably the exact reason you are a horrible tickler: you are hurting instead of tickling] So anyway, I am not ticklish. Not on my feet, not on my back, my "love handles" (as I so UNaffectionately call them), my legs or my neck. Not in my armpits, not on my belly. I'm just not ticklish.
Except. . .
on my lips.
What!? Your lips? How is that possible? What do you mean?
I mean that I can not hum for prolonged periods of time.
I can not play any sort of reeded or blowy instrument.
I can't do that amazing elephant sound with my lips.
I can't play kazoos
because my lips tickle way too badly I can't bear it.

So that being said, I went to the densist today. I LOVE going to the densist--oral hygine is pretty much my favorite type of cleanliness. I will probably judge you based on the cleanliness of your mouth, in fact--so watch that. Okay, I haven't actually done that to anyone before, but there's always the chance.
Anyway, so the dentist went well. I got my teeth brushed and cleaned, and then out came the floss. The hygenist was threading the floss through my braces, and it was brushing up against my lip and I sat calmly in the chair.
Each pass of the floss over my lip, the tickle is welling up inside of me and my eyes start to water. I grab the arms of the chair, keep my mouth open, and she continues to floss. Finally, I couldn't take it anymore. I had to take a break. My lips were so out of control with tingley ticklishness I could not stand it. I told her I needed a second to collect myself.
I wiggled my nose, and turned my lips in so I could use my braces to scratch them. It was a little embarassing. But once I calmed down, I assumed the position and she continued flossing.
For someone who loves to laugh as much as I do, the unbearable feeling of my lips being tickled is something that is not funny to me. Unless it causes awkwardness, and an ability for me to share it with others.
I hope my humiliation and uncomfortableness was able to bring a smile to your normal and UNticklish lips. :)

Happy flossing!

On Having, Giving, and Showing Respect

2007-06-14T23:24:00.000-04:00

We have all been told that we are to show respect.
To our parents, our teachers, authority, among other things.
And we are told to give our respect to speakers, our leaders. . .
In fact, one might say that a good life motto might be to always be respectful.
It seems like a reasonable endeavor: to be full of respect, that we might give it when necessary and show it with our actions.
But what about just having respect?
If we are to be full of respect, where does it come from? Is it just there? Do we already possess it? If we give it, does it come from the overflow of have?
Think hard about the people you know. Is there anyone in there you just don't respect? Anyone who makes you roll your eyes when you think about him? I've got one or two. People who I just have no admiration for on any level. I have no respect for them and I don't know where to get it.
This is confusing to me because I give respect even when I don't have it, and I show it even when it's not there. So where does it come from, and how do I get it? Is faking having respect as good as showing respect? Or is it not really "real" respect?
I've got plenty of respect for many people--surely it carries over, right?
Am I required to have respect for everyone, or just to be respectful of everyone?
Maybe I should just stay away from those who I don't respect.
That's respectable, right?

Some Things in Life Don't Come Naturally

2007-06-03T14:03:00.001-04:00

David Hazard taught me to brush the roof of my mouth when I brush my teeth
Kyle Martin taught me how to pretend my car is a stick, when indeed it is automatic
Eric Sharp taught me that chickens don't have lips and worms are asexual
Andy Mascaro taught me proper concert stance
Jennifer Lair taught me how to slide on icy surfaces without falling
Beth Manoogian taught me how to do a cherry-drop off of the monkey bars
Julia Siciliano taught me how to sing in key
Mike Lefler taught me how to do a front flip on a trampoline
My dad taught me to appreciate coconut
Justin and Erin Cornell taught me to appreciate (and play) soccer
Meschelle Wagner taught me how to put a gentle leader on a dog
Gordon Shetler taught me the art of mixing the perfect slurpee
Kara Nulty taught me to be more outgoing
Kara Tipton taught me that kissing is solely for the purpose of looking for an extra taste of food
Kali Herron taught me how to make my hair big
Drew Herron taught me how to use a straw to make fart sounds come from my armpit
Grandma Merilynn taught me how to make thanksgiving stuffing
Stephen Kellat taught me how to be a better listener
Niki Herron taught me how to stay cool and collected when something goes terribly wrong
My mom taught me to always rinse dishes before putting them in the dishwasher
Kelly Mouchet taught me how to play piano based on what note was which key
Claire Sparkman taught me how to sew
Grandma Ellen taught me how to crochet
Nicole Kasper taught me how to swim
Lindsay Gould taught me I could run, even when I'm tired, and still be okay
Ms. Buda taught me that math can make sense, and that doing your homework is important
Mark Phelps taught me that it's okay to fight with God
Rosemary Mittlestat taught me the importance of bringing joy to others
Laurie MacKenzie taught me how to raise the pitch of my voice when I get really excited

Among other very important life lessons, these people and the lessons I have learned from them have played an important role in my growth and development.

Love Letters

2007-05-08T17:40:00.000-04:00

There's something about a letter that lights my heart on fire. Letters melt me, and I save them and read them over and over and over again. Even in the e-mail form, I will randomly open up the file and just read it. Very often more than 5 times. There is something about a written word specifically for ME that I can not seperate myself from. Be it 5 words, be it 2 pages, I can not get enough of letters.
Ever since I was young I would always check the mail--hoping for something in there with my name on it.
I have, with the advances of technology, become a compulsive e-mail checker. I check my email probably over a hundred times a day. Each time just hoping that somebody has written me something. Whether it's Kara with a "Hey! I miss you!" or my mom with a 3 paragraph e-mail written with every grammatical and spelling error known to man just to freak me out. A note to say good morning, or have a great day. I save them all, and read them all day long.

I know many people who don't like written communication, because they can't know the inflection or it seems so impersonal. But I think it's just the opposite. I think that in writing lies the real truths of someone's heart. It's one way to know people most deeply, and to build the words in the way they will best convey exactly what those truths are.
If you've ever been moved by the words of a song, you can understand the impact words can have.
If you've ever gotten goosebumps while reading a story, or painted a picture with only words, you can see the power of language.
If you've ever smiled at a letter from a friend because you can just imagine him or her telling you (and probably acting out) the story right before your eyes...

Writing can be impersonal. We're taught in school to make it formal. So break those rules once you graduate, for goodness sake! Write what you think, and when you think it. Share it with people who can use it to know you.
I tell you what, you're probably not going to know me very well by just talking to me.
You're going to know me by reading things I've written.
You're going to know me by the letters I write to you.

I think if somebody is trying to be known, one of the best ways he or she can do it is to communicate it in written form.
The thing that I need to remember is that not everybody can understand everything about a person from letters on a page, though. Not everybody can understand the inflection, or the joy, or the pain, or the love, or the laughter by just reading the words.
Some people need to meet you.
To see you.
To touch you.
And so while you may have shared everything you possibly could have shared, not everybody is going to get it. And so you've got to talk on the phone sometimes. Or meet up somewhere. Sometimes you have to go out of your way to keep up with people, or you're going to lose them for good.
In a perfect world, the written word would be good enough. We could hang on every word, and know every intimate detail from the intimate little letters of everyday life.

But the world is far from perfect, and for some people a book of love letters isn't always enough. But I will keep writing.
And I will cherish words written to and for me.
And I will learn and know you more through your words.

Marathon Sunday

2007-04-30T01:14:00.000-04:00

Last fall, Jennifer and I decided we wanted to train to run the OKC Memorial Marathon. We put our schedule on the fridge and marked off our days as we trained. We made it about 9 weeks before we both just got so busy we couldn't keep up any longer. The holidays came, and Oklahoma saw a lot of snow and training became less and less important.
I never registered for the marathon, because it costs a lot of money. That was probably my first mistake--because it made letting my slacking become less of a big deal.
Jennifer signed up to do the relay with her siblings. I didn't really have anything like that available to me as an option, so I had just put it in the back of my head as something I'd work harder to do next year. I kept casually running in my free time, about 2 or 3 miles. Not really trying, just running without a goal of any kind.
Then I had my jaw surgery. I was on a liquid diet for 2 weeks, followed by soft foods for the following 4. It was after the first week of not being allowed to eat anything I realized that I really wanted to run. I had to wait until I could get some sort of nourishment in me before I could, so when I got the chance I headed out to the track to see if I could make it a couple miles.
I did.
And I was hooked.
I made out a schedule of how I would spend my days training. I set an ultimate 5K time goal, and a plan to work my time down to it. And with the end in mind, I have been able to come back into running stronger than I've been in years.

So this morning was the marathon.
I knew I wasn't running in it, but when I woke up this morning for church, something wasn't right. I didn't want to go (which is really rare for me lately, because I LOVE my church).
I didn't want to go because I felt like there was something else I needed to be doing.
So I put on my sunblock and shoes and drove out to the lake. I took a deep breath and started my watch and I took off.
I knew there wasn't going to be a reward, or a finish line, or a bunch of very convenient drink stations. But there was me, the sunshine, the water, and the 9 mile path ahead. There was motivation to run.
Even though I didn't pay to run for victims of the bombing, I ran for them.
And I ran for Rosemary
and Aunt Kim
and Mr. Porecca
and Katie Kirkpatrick.
I ran because I can, and sometimes I just have to remember what working hard feels like.
To teach me something about pain.
To remind me that if I stop, I can't finish.

I press on toward the goal to win the prize in which God has called me heavenward in Christ, Jesus.
Sure, there wasn't a reward at the end of my run. But the reminder that once I've finished pounding out the steps, wishing it was over; I have rest for my weary legs.

This morning was Marathon Sunday.
You draw the parallels. I know you can find them.

May 3, 2005

2007-04-23T18:55:00.000-04:00

I wasn't really sure who to write this to. But I had to write something. Let something out, because sometimes you just need somebody to talk to. And there's not really anybody sometimes.
And there's this song that we sang senior year. Half-time, I mean. It was

I love you, Lord, and I lift my voice to worship you
O my soul, rejoice!
Take joy, my king, in what you hear.
May it be a sweet sweet sound in your ear.
My prayer, dear Lord, is that I may be a brighter light so they see you in me.
When I grow weak to the Devil's charms, shelter me in the strength of your arms.
I'm coming, God, when your trumpet calls, to live with you where no
tears will fall.
Until that day, keep my eyes on Thee, so with the angels I'll sing eternally.
In Jesus' precious name, Amen!

And I was thinking about Katie. Because she sang it, too. And then I
thought about the words. And how easy it is to sing notes, and
harmonies.
But what I guess I didn't realize is that God heard her.
He heard her say "I'm coming, God, to live with you"
and he called her.

How unprepared can I be? I sang that song for a whole year, and thought I was praying to God the whole time, but I can't imagine myself still singing that prayer if he actually called.
Do you think she knew what she was asking?
Do you think that's why she was such a bright light even when we were all in pain for her? Because she knew that it wasn't just a song?
And she knew that God was going to really actually hold her to the words of her prayer--and she was ready for it?
She's obviously singing with the angels, and there's clearly no tears where she is. But then why is praying that prayer and meaning it so scary to me?
Am I not trusting in God enough?
How can I let go of things I have here so I won't be so scared of saying prayers like that
and actually meaning them?
Saying "just give it to God" is much much easier said than done.
At what point are you actually putting your life into God's hands, in contrast to just letting go of responsibilities and being a chump?
Because I feel like I need to make sure that things I do are for the
glory of God, but how do you justify it?
What's even the difference between justifying actions, and squeezing God into your decisions? I can't stop making decisions about school and jobs just because "if God wants it to happen, it will happen anyway." That's not what he wants, is it?
So when I pray for God to guide me, and for my decisions and actions to be to his Glory--how do I know what to decide?
I don't know about you, but I've never seen any writing on a wall or had prophetic dreams.
I don't know if God wants me to stay here or move away.
I know that God is in charge.
And I know that he will provide.
But there are times when his idea of providing are completely different than mine, and it makes me afraid to even let him.
Everything I'm supposed to do is easier said than done.
So any advice on how to do it anyway?
Especially when the idea of his plan doesn't always seem like it's the greatest?

And that's where I am. And I'm feeling sortof stuck.

Before I started this blog, I wrote an e-mail to Patrick Mead because I had a lot on my mind and I had no one to talk to. Every once in a while I get to thinking about Katie Kirkpatrick. I'm sure anyone who knew her can relate to that. She just doesn't ever leave. The impact she made in 21 short years was deeper than many together can make in an entire string of lifetimes.
I was reminded of this e-mail today, and I wanted to share it. Because sometimes I just don't feel ready to answer God when he calls. And it's a reminder to me that if I ask for it, I'd better be ready for him to answer. Because he surely will.

Oklahoma, OK.

2007-03-31T22:22:00.000-04:00

Well, almost exactly a year ago I had come back home to Michigan from a spring break trip to Tulsa and The Alamo. Before I left I was working at Barnes and Noble and taking physics classes at Wayne State. I had also started subbing in Livonia, and had been frantically applying all over the Metro-Detroit area for open teaching jobs. While I was in Edmond for a short visit, I was hanging out with Becca and Eric Sharp and Becca mentioned that they were looking for summer care for Connor, Autumn and Dillon. She asked if I might be interested. To be honest, I was very interested because I was feeling rather slumpish up in Michigan. She and Eric talked about it and started crunching numbers and she said that she would get back to me.
I had been back home for a couple days and Becca called me and said that they weren't able to pay me what they had hoped to, but I could live with them and eat their food and maybe it might even out some. I said I'd do it, and that became the moment: the point of no return.
I immediately (rather than doing my homework, like a good girl) started researching jobs in Edmond Schools. I made sure all of my applications online were complete.
By April 21st (after I finished acing my physics final--2 weeks early) I had my car packed up, had a date set to meet with my best friend for lunch to say goodbye, and my map. I got in my car and started driving. That was it. I was leaving Michigan. My parents had been in Oklahoma for spring break with my brother. My dad wanted me to wait until they got back before I left. I didn't, and the truth is I wouldn't have left if they'd gotten home first. I would have let myself get talked into staying. So we made plans to meet at a hotel in Effingham, Illinois. Once I left that hotel the next morning, that was it. The first time I was leaving home, first time without my parents, first time out on my own. It was empowering, frightening, exciting, and so new.
Now to make some friends. . .
I kindof put myself out there and met a few people. I'm not terribly outgoing but I had people pretty persistently persuing (woo, look at that alliteration!) relationships with me. I was finding myself surrounded by many peers who I could laugh and hang out with. Oklahoma wasn't so bad after all.
Yeah, that was the honeymoon. About a month later, when I realized I didn't get to watch every Pistons game and that grass in Oklahoma isn't soft or green in the summer, and that I hadn't found a church I liked, and that my parents weren't around, and that I missed my brother--the Oklahoma wasn't holding a candle to Michigan. Everything I saw was not as good as Michigan.
Most readers of this blog have followed my journey from Michigan to Oklahoma, and it's no secret that I hold a grudge against the state of Oklahoma for not being Michigan. I don't need to go into much more detail about that. But as the one year anniversary of my move from the shoulder to the armpit, it's interesting to look back on everything.
A lot has changed. I have changed. My relationships have changed. I've gained some new ones, I've loosened some old ties, I've found a place for myself in a place that I don't really see myself belonging. I have realized that the Herron's are famous in this state. I've realized that I will probably never meet a boy who hasn't already had a crush on at least one of my sisters before even knowing I existed. I have realized that so many things are uncertain, and sometimes I have to force myself into commitments or I won't make them. As much as I want to leave, I know that I can stay here and be happy if I need to. I've got a good support system. I've got Jennifer--and she understands (and lets me sleep on the sofa bed with her even though both of our beds are perfectly empty and inviting). I've got soccer on Saturdays. I've got Becca and Eric any time I need them. I've got Niki and Matt if I feel like I need to get out of this place. I've got my church--where I'm not just a face. I've got the best group of 6th grade kids you could ever imagine (give or take one or two). I'm doing pretty alright. I'm doing pretty great. It's been a year, and I couldn't tell you where it has gone. I'm in Oklahoma. And I'm okay.

It's Not You, It's Me.

2007-03-24T02:31:00.000-04:00

Someone once told me that if he could describe me in two words they would probably be "relentlessly cheerful."
I suppose I could credit this to my childhood hero of Maria from The Sound of Music. Or maybe to my abnormal super power of not being capable of staying angry. Perhaps I eat entirely too much ice cream--which is difficult to be glum while consuming. Whatever the reason may be, people who meet me line up left and right to jump on the bandwagon of affectionately coining me as cheery.
I can honestly say I don't see much of a problem with this. I really honestly am cheery freakishly often. I don't think this stems from an abundant happiness, however, but rather a lack of being able to feel much else. Or at least the inability to recognize the other feelings, and then the defectiveness of owning them once I figure out what they are.
If you have ever read anything in this entire blog, you already know that I am constantly trying to reason through ways to be closer to God. You will also know that I really struggle with reading my Bible. I think I have a better than average understanding of the connection between spending time with God and feeling close to him. There is an obvious link between knowing God and knowing his word. I know this full well--and I am pretty sure I could preach some effective sermons on the topic, assuming the church wasn't struck down for having a woman in the pulpit. I know this stuff. Inside and out.
But today, in a calm empty day of an uneventful Spring break, I sat down and let myself be totally honest. I lit some candles (ambience, if you will), got out my prayer journal (neglected for almost a month now), and I started reading. There were six entries. I had just stopped writing in it because I just decided I didn't want to take that time and sit and think and pray. I just simply didn't want to.
Did I have other things I would have rather been doing? No.
Did I run out of time? No.
I just didn't want to sit and spend time with God.
I went to the store and bought some pens. The pens where the ink is liquid inside, and you can see it swishing around. I love those pens. I am not a doodler--but if I see one of those pens, I will find any excuse I can to find something to write with it. I bought those pens and put them next to my prayer journal.
I went running. I ate some yogurt. I drank a bunch of water. I walked in and out of the room as the journal and pens sat on the table. I did a couple Sudoku puzzles (which I don't even like to do). I played around on a yoga ball. I checked my e-mail a couple hundred times. I lit some candles. I blew them out. I lit them a few more times, and played around in the wax. I sat on the couch and stared at my journal. I watched the pens--waiting to be used. I finally picked my journal up and started to write.
I didn't really have a prayer. I mean, I need $900 by tuesday and I don't know where I'm going to get it from. I am going to have a giant gap in my teeth for two weeks and I'm afraid people are going to laugh at me. I'm in love with a boy who not only lives far away, but is in love with someone else. I miss my family. I want to adopt every shelter dog in the world. And I'm trying desperately to form new relationships at a new church.
But I didn't have a prayer. I didn't even bring any of that up. I forced myself to sit down and just spend time with God. It was very glaringly obvious to me that I had to force myself to sit down and talk to God. Not just force myself--but bribe myself. With wonderful new pens.
I know that spending daily time with God will bring me closer to him. I was in a youth group, I went to youth rallies. Not a new concept. But here is where I started wondering if I can want and crave to come and meet with God just by forcing myself to do it daily. How does that not make it something I resent?
I know full well that the reason I've been feeling incomplete lately is because I haven't been spending time with God. But what I wanted was to stop knowing why, and start doing my part to fix it.
The worst part about the whole entire thing is that I'm so distant from God, and I'm not even squeezing in the sinful desires of the flesh. I'm not even getting a good sinful helping out of it. I'm not skipping God so I can go live it up pagan style; I'm just skipping God.
How do you think God feels about the fact that before I can willingly come to him, I have to force myself to? Does that feel as awful as it sounds? How does God deal with constantly being not loved? Does he ever get lonely? Does he ever feel used? So I'm supposed to pray for God to help me feel closer to him? So I don't have to feel so bad? What's in it for him?
I am pretty sure God wants me to be honest with him. And I'm pretty sure that me being so distressed is probably making him sad. And every alter call at any youth rally will tell you that God just wants to comfort me and hold me and love me--despite all of this. But frankly, I don't really feel comforted. I already know it's going to be okay. And I already know that in a few hours I'll be back to my normal cheerful self. But siting and telling all of this to God, I did not feel any comfort. All I felt was sad.
I was spending time with God, and all I felt was sad. I was perfectly happy running, blowing out my candles, eating my yogurt, having a quiet day. I was my normal cheerful self until I sat down to spend time with God and then all I felt was sadness.
Everything I've ever been taught about God tells me that this is okay. But what am I supposed to do with it? Chalk it up to some quality time spent with God? I'm not gonna lie--if spending time with God is going to make me so sad, why would I keep it up to try to even make it a habit?
Maybe I felt sorry. Maybe I felt guilty. But without resolve I ended my prayer with an apology. Maybe God was going to have to feel unwanted for a little while longer--until I genuinely let him close enough to change me.
Please don't let me hurt you. . .you're God. You're tough. Don't feel bad. Because we'll work this out. We can fix this.
I know it.

Working it Out

2007-03-20T11:01:00.000-04:00

In my family there are 4 children. I was thinking this morning about how well my parents tried to always keep things even and fair between all of us. They did a really good job.
When we were younger, my dad used to tantalize us with the reward of getting to make muffins. Looking back on it now, I realize that it was probably that he wanted muffins and to not have to make them so he would put the spin on it so we would rather die than not be able to make muffins. Anyway, he would take us to Kroger and we'd race to the muffin mix aisle and stare at the endless boxes of JIFFY muffin mix. We would each get to pick a flavor (apple cinnamon was my usual choice) and we'd go back home. This where it got tricky, however. 4 boxes of muffin mix would make a ridiculous amount of muffins--that wasn't responsible. So we'd get to make 2 boxes. It was usually a vote--decided by the two of us who had to sit in the back seats during the trip to the store. But so as not to be exclusive, whoever got to pick the flavor got to crack the egg. The ones who didn't get to crack the eggs got to stir and put the mix in the paper cups. Everybody got to do something, and we all reaped the benefits.
We had a conversion van--2 captain chairs and a back seat bench. With 4 kids, my parents early on devised a rule that you have assigned seats for the month. So calling seats as you leave the church building and racing to get to the van first to claim your throne became just a way to stay in shape--rather than a guarantee to not have to sit in the back. February was the worst month to have the captain chair--because you only got it for 28 days--29 if you were lucky. And long family vacations you wanted to time out just right so you could be in the back when the bed got put down. I realized pretty quickly on those 3 hour rides to grandma's house stuck in the back seat that the only one of my siblings I never got to sit by was the smallest one. This realization usually occured as Kali would lean her head against the window and put her stinky stinky feet across the seat in my direction. Despite the annoyingly fair arrangement of the deal, there was always something to complain about.
Isn't that how it is? I wonder what I'm going to do when I have my own kids. I, personally, am rather attached to the phrase "well, life's not fair. . ." Would I have accepted that when I was younger? Probably not. Maybe it was because my parents worked hard to make life as fair for us as they could. Maybe it's because nobody likes to get the short straw. But there's always a short straw, and somebody has to draw it. Karma? I hardly think so.
How do you get over the fact that you don't deserve everything you get?
Does it really always even out the fact that you get things you don't deserve?

I Have Hidden Your Word in My Heart--and I Misplaced It.

2007-02-25T17:49:00.000-05:00

I like to think that I love God.
I know I love God, but I'm not gonna lie--I struggle with making daily scripture somethin meanigful to encorporate daily into my life. I get bored, or I will read a whole section without actually noticing what it is about. At first, I fell into the trap that I would miraculously find some daily inspiration. But let's be honest--that doesn't happen every single time we crack the Bible and read it. Then I started thinking that if I only could make a habit of reading scripture daily that just that time set aside would help change and mold me to be more like God. So I'd read--just anything--and hope that eventually I would find myself walking closer to God. Next, I picked a Bible study to help me have a focus. I pray, I read, but I don't change. I thought that spending a lot of time with God would help me be more like him. It happens with people, why not with God?
I'm a lot like David. Which--if you know anything about me, you know that I am not a fan of David. Maybe I'm not a fan because I'm a lot like him. I hate how he's supposed to be this role model because God chose him, but he doesn't make very good choices. I hate how even while he's making stupid choices, he's still Psalming it up to God--praising him, asking for his help, and complainig about his enemies. He is a man who, by his choices, you wouldn't be able to tell that he was a follower of God; but in secret he is continually in communication with God.
I am a lot like David.
God chose David, despite all of his running, selfishness, distraction, and inability to see his own fault. So what makes David a man after God's own heart?

I can't help but notice the overwhelming love David had for the "law of the LORD." He wrote entire Psalms about it. Check out Psalm 1, 19, and 119. He loved God's law. There's no denying, David had an undeniable crush on the law of the LORD. I think the thing that sets me apart from David--what makes him a man after God's own heart, and me just a distracted Christian who tries and quits--is this love of law that I seem to lack.

What does loving law say about David? Think about it: why do our parents make rules? Sometimes it's because they know things about life that we don't. They protect us, and they care for us. Could loving God's law possibly mean that David took solace in the fact that God knew how to order life better than he did? If I could somehow learn to love God's law more, perhaps it would help me give up the thoughts that I can have control. If I love God's law more maybe I'll be able to respect his timing, his decisions, and his will more.

I'm going out on a limb and saying that God's law is the Torah. Isn't that what Torah means? So now, I'm not just loving rules--I need to love God's word. I need to delight daily in it. I need to let it make me giddy. Just like David. Dance around playing my little lyre (where can I get me one of them?) and repeat scripture all day long.

Sound a little sarcastic? Probably because I struggle with making scripture interesting. I would LOVE to love to read the Bible. I would love to know God's Law inside and out. Dance around and sing psalms joyfully to God. But how does wanting to love scripture make reading it more interesting? If I'm going to take my daily Bible reading seriously, what has to change?

Someone oh-so-cheesily once said, "We don't read the Bible to master it. We read it to have it master us."

Loving God's law challenges me to believe that God knows more about me than I know about myself. And I know myself pretty well. So by reading the Bible I will not only learn who God is, but I will learn the divinity of his plan. I will learn who I am, and where I fit into his plan.
I can't read the Bible for daily motivation or hoping that the answer to my dilemma will be in the scripture of the day. I can't read the Bible for advice, I have to read it as a call to action.

If scripture tells me God's plan for me, I have to not just hear what he says but put it into practice. God's will for my life is his ultimate plan which is revealed in my actions coming from my hearing of his law. Transitive property anyone? My life is laid out in God's law.

Loving God's law was the center of David's existance. Something about David--despite all of his straying, running, hiding, and falling--was after God's own heart.
I like to think I love God. I like to think, also, that despite all of my running, hiding, falling, and quitting that something about me is after God's own heart. The thing that sets David apart from me is his love of God's law. Now to move past the struggles of reading God's word to master it, and just read it to love it.

I'll let you know.

Home, Home on the Range

2007-02-11T13:31:00.000-05:00

Last night, something in the air made me particularly homesick. We'd had a soccer game earlier that night and I was angry about it and I just wanted to talk to somebody. . .but there wasn't anybody. I think this was the top of the hill, and my little snowball started rolling.
I lay in my bed wondering what actual friends I've made since I've moved down here. I've met people, I've hung out with people, but I'm not sure if I've found someone I can just call anytime and say whatever I need to say.
I moved down here because I needed peers. I needed a change because in Michigan, I had friends but they were all several years older than me, and all married--some with children. I needed people in my same stage of life. Oklahoma (for whatever reason) has them. And two nights ago I was reflecting on what it was about peers that I really needed.
I needed to move down here. God provided me with a job, a house, and the security of a familiar town. But last night I realized that I just wanted to be home.
I want to see my parents every day, and my brother, and my dog. The familiar sight of my street as I'm coming home from wherever I've been just gets me all excited inside. I want grey skies 3/4 of the time, and green grass all the time. And I want a brown February that's too cold for comfort. I want to feel like I'm in a place I can consider my home.
I still feel like I'm living in a dorm room--I've got my TV in here, the bathroom in here, my music in here, I have roommates. I spend most of my time in my room. If I was at home, I'd wander from family room, to living room, to game room. Watching TV's, reading books, sneaking fruit roll-ups from the pantry when mom isn't looking. When I'm at home, there are neighbors coming in and out. I can walk down the street into a neighbor's house and sit down with their dog and watch tv. I don't have that here. And I can't get over it.
I still can't get over the bad attitude I have about nothing about the churches being remotely familiar. Last night--dreading Sunday morning service, I lay in my bed and cried. I was so homesick, I couldn't do anything else.
I woke up this morning on my own. I looked at the clock, and my alarm hadn't gone off. I quickly showered and changed. I was mad that I overslept because I was planning on going to class at church this morning, and I missed it. But I was glad I hadn't missed church altogether. I know that God is going to help me get over this, but it's not going to happen if I just stop going to church altogether. So my roommate and I left and made it in time for service. Then it happened:
The preacher gets up and announces that he's going to introduce today's guest speaker. Today's guest speaker, who was one of his professors at Abeline. Today's guest speaker who was in town for a week teaching a Bible course and headed out of town today. Today's guest speaker who currently teaches Bible classes at Rochester College, up near Detroit Michigan. (My ears perk up.) Today's guest speaker: Dr. David Fleer.
I was so happy I almost started crying. Dr. Fleer had preached at Livonia for about 6 months when I was in high school while our church was looking for a new preacher. Dr. Fleer delivers some of the most entertaining, yet poingnant seromons and lectures I've ever heard. I love Dr. Fleer because you can see the sparkle in his bright blue eyes from the back of a dimly lit auditorium as he's preaching and whatever he says you can't help but hold on to. Finally--for the first time in the 9 months I've lived down here, something was familiar.

God moves in mysterious ways. I'm not so sure he's trying to tell me anything right now about where I am being the right place. But I know I've comitted at least the next 2 years to living down here. And it's going to be hard. But God keeps me remembering that he will take care of me. And that even when I'm down, he will take the time to remind me that he knows. He understands. And he's working, and moving, and will do what it takes to keep me on track. To keep me from giving up. Or shutting down. Or quitting. I like to quit. He listens, and when I'm homesick, he'll send a day that smells like Michigan--just so I can be reminded that it's okay for home to be somewhere else right now. He'll send a message to remind me that even though I'm far from comfort, he came with me.
I've said it before: I will probably never be able to call Oklahoma "home." But at least, now, I know that it can feel like home if I'm open enough to let it.

Living in my Memories

2007-02-03T23:58:00.000-05:00

These are just some things I like to remember.

When we were little, we used to eat Cheerios and Rice Krispies for breakfast. My dad used to let us put a spoonful of sugar in our cereal. My favorite part was drinking the milk afterward and having that grainy sugar left in the bowl. My dad used to tell us that Rice Krispies were the only cereal that talked. We'd get really close to the bowl and listen.

My mom worked from like 4am until dinnertime when we were little. My dad would pick us up from the babysitter's house and we'd go to the park. I can't honestly recall if this was just a one time occasion or if it happened more often. We would play on the swings. A white car pulled up the curb and my dad would say "that car looks really familiar. I wonder who it could be?" We would run over and it was mom! She still had on her uniform and she would come join us. The ice cream truck came--we were never allowed to get ice cream truck ice cream because it was so expensive. But this time we got to. I picked the red white and blue sno-cone. And I dropped it in the sand. My dad got really mad.

Niki and I used to fight over which one of us got to play with Kali. I don't think it ever occured to us that we could all three play at the same time. I always wanted to play church. We'd pull out the saltine crackers and medecine cups of water and try to break off the smallest piece of cracker humanly possible. It seemed like that's what the point of the cracker was--to take the smallest piece possible. I would lead singing. My favorite song was "Oh Jordan's Stormy Banks." I had the whole thing memorized--which was probably good, because I used to think that the top line of the music went with the first two verses and the bottom line went with the last two.

One Christmas, we were all at Uncle Dick and Aunt Fran's house. I was probably in kindergarten, mostly because that's how old I was when my mom made the dress I have on in all the pictures. All the cousins wanted to watch E.T. and I was scared to death of him. I thought he was so scary to look at, I sat in my cousin Geoff's lap and he covered my eyes for every scene with E.T. and I watched all the other ones. Later that evening, we went into the basement and opened presents. My grandma had gotten everybody Lee Press-On nails. Mine were red, and amazing. Niki, and a few other cousins got ones that had a snakeskin pattern on them. I traded half my nails with Niki because I felt bad that she had to get the ugly ones.

I remember the exact moment in my life that I first realized that my name was not spelled as it should be to pronounce. I was in 2nd grade, and for attendance we had these little tags that if we were in school we had to pull them off the hook and put it in the basket. That way the teachers knew who was absent by whose tag was still left hanging. I'd been reading for the past couple years, but I was just starting to get really good at it. I'd started reading Nancy Drew and The Boxcar Children. One day I went to pull my tag down and I realized that it read 'Kari.' That did not spell "Kaudi." It finally occured to me why I had to explain my name to teachers. I was devastated. I went home and begged my mom to let me change the spelling of my name. She informed me (at times like this, I think it's okay for moms to lie) that children can't change their names until they are in 3rd grade.

I had worn my dad down. We were getting a dog. He wanted a Sheltie, and had somehow convinced me that this was the best dog one could possibly own. I was sold and excited. Mom wasn't so much. We went to this old couple's house and there were three puppies. I saw the one I wanted--his name was Brutus. He was $275. That was expensive--even my 8 year old self knew that. We met the daddy dog of the puppies, his name was Skippy. His hair was gray. We went to another house, but those dogs there just weren't the same. Not to mention they were WAY more expensive. So we went back and got little "Brutus." We put him in our recycle bin that we had brought from home and went to some pet store. My mom didn't want a dog. She didn't want the hair, and didn't want to do all the work. She went in to the store--I remember thinking that it was our way of making up to her that we got a dog she didn't want. We were in the van, while she was in the store, trying to think of names for our new puppy. My dad, for some reason, had something against the name "Brutus" and couldn't wait to change the name. His only idea was Alex--for Alex Keaton from Family Ties. My dad secretly looked up to him for being a republican with hippie parents. He's been a Michael J. Fox fan ever since. My dad decided that we should let mom name the dog, to make her feel better about it. She named him Zach. He was the best dog ever.

I had a really good friend my freshman year of college. We had nothing in common. He listened to country music and drove a big red suburban. He took good notes in psychology, however, and I was really dumb in the subject. He somehow convinced me that it was a good idea to go roller blading with him and it soon became a nightly event. We would go almost every night at 10 and we'd get in his truck and drive to the parking lot behind the Rochester Hills public library and roller blade all through the downtown area. It was great fun--my first college friend and we knew almost everything about each other. It was very comforting. When it got too icy to roller blade, we would still go on our nightly adventures. We went to Meijer and bought some vanilla ice cream (the best flavor, clearly) and went underneath this bridge downtown and we sat and ate our ice cream. We shared a pair of mittens and took our shoes off and put our feet in the freezing Clinton River. I haven't had a friend like that since him. Sometimes I don't think I ever will.

I left Michigan, on my own withouth my family, for the first time in April. I had my car packed up with everything I needed that would fit and I was moveing to Oklahoma. I waited until my parents were gone for spring break before I left--because I knew if I waited until they were back I wouldn't have left. We met in Effingham, Illinois as they were driving back up to Michigan. When I left that morning, I was the fursthest from home I'd ever been, with no plans of going back anytime soon. I was driving through Missouri, listening to a CD of my friend Eric's favorite songs that he'd made for me. The song went,
a song for when you go
to keep you company
a song for when you go
far away from me
a song for when you go to California
west of the city lights, across America
a song for when you go out on the interstate
under the power lines
I knew I wasn't going to California, but the truth was that I realized that I was gone. It was the strangest feeling. And I missed my friend. And I knew it wasn't going to be the same anymore. But that feeling of fear, expectation, lonliness, hope, and freedom is one that I will never forget.

I wish I had more pictures of my mom but she always would rather take them.

Everybody Read This NOW

2007-01-25T22:32:00.000-05:00

my wonderful and very smart friend, Kara, wrote this in her Xanga, and it's brilliant.

http://www.xanga.com/sweetlittlegal/565447612/people-judge-me.html

I'm It!

2007-01-24T22:23:00.000-05:00

I never was a very fast runner. Either that, or I just really never had anything to run away from (er. . .from which to run away?). So I have been tagged by my first youth minister (sounds better than "old youth minister") to share 5 things you may not know about me.

1. I was expected to be little Seve Herron (named for Spanish golfer Seve Ballesteros) until I entered the world and to everyone's surprise I was a girl, according to my dad. My dad says I have a swing that people can't take lessons to mimic. I attribute it to my almost namesake.

2. I am so afraid of moths that if I see one flying around the room I will do everything in my power to ensure there is no possible way it could go into my ear short of actually leaving the room. In other words, I shrug my shoulders up, put my hands by my ears, and watch its every move.

3. My dentist has lectured me on more than one occasion about how I brush my teeth too often.

4. One summer I ate nothing but red-white-and-blue pops--some days eating as many as 5. I was very picky about it, too. I would ONLY eat the America's Choice brand (Farmer Jack store brand).

5. I have dedicated a very large portion of my summers in the past (and will continue in the future) to learning how to ride my bike with no hands. I've only succeeded once for a stretch longer than a quarter mile, but the bike was really well balanced and I later learned that it woldn't have tipped if I had two legs on one side of me. So I still am trying to learn, but my average is 4 pedals before I crash, tip over, or grab the handle bars.

Okay--I didn't say they'd be interesting.
I tag:
Kara
Kali
Sandy
Blake and
Niki (except you can't read hers unless you have a myspace)

Fill Me Up

2007-01-20T23:44:00.000-05:00

This was going to be a different post. But it's not. It's this one.

I don't know what it feels like to be hungry for food.
I do, however, know what it feels like to be full of food.

It's no secret that I thoroughly enjoy to taste food. I relish in the opportunity to try new and delicious new concoctions, and savor old favorites.
My favorite food group: without question the grain group. Pasta, pancakes, panera. . .you name it.

Dear God in Heaven, give us this day our daily bread.
And I promise I thank him daily for it.

Here's the trap I daily fall in:
We pray for God to give us our daily bread. But he already has. We've grown up proclaiming "man shall not live by bread alone, but by every wo-or-rd that proceeds from the mouth of God. (singing alelulia)" Boys even get to proclaim it twice as much, as the girls just sing alelulia over and over. But unevenness aside: we know. We know that praying for our daily bread has nothing to do with the food we eat, but rather the Word of the Lord. And God has already given that to us. We don't need to even go out and find it daily--it's all in one place.
My problem is that I'm already full. I don't want any more bread. I'm stuffed, I'm busting at the seams, if I stuff anything else inside I'll explode (or at least I feel like I will, and I have no desire to actually find out if physics will be defied on account of a little more stuffing).

I'm so full of Dostoevsky, SVU, grading papers, violin, Guster, and (of course) bread, that I don't want any more. I do what every nutritionist, WeighDown Workshop leader, doctor, and mother tells you to do: stop when you're full.

I stop without even receiving my real daily bread. And it leaves me hungry. And I don't understand hunger so I interpret it as boredom. And in my boredom I teach myself how to knit, and watch entire seasons of Everybody Loves Raymond, and have a 65% win rate after 300 games of Free Cell. I write songs, and I invent new pancake recepies that taste like flan. I read 900 page books and see how many songs I can hold a wall-sit through. I clip my toenails, I vacuum my carpet, I play with my fake uzzi, I make dramatic picture documentaries of my car's emergency mirror replacement surgery for Facebook. Today I even pulled out all of my Rasheed Wallace basketball cards and sorted them in order of my favorite picture.
It all left me too full to eat any more bread.

I say a prayer every night to God and I always say "I love you, God." But sometimes I wonder if I shouldn't also be praying to my books or pizza and proclaiming my love to them, too.
I always wanted to love God more than I love myself. Well, that's easy if you don't think you're all that great. But what about loving God more than I love Raymond? I'm pretty sure I do--but shouldn't actions speak louder than words?

Soooo, with that in mind, all I can do is ask for forgiveness, thank God for my daily bread, and eat it FIRST. Before I even have the chance to fill up on any of that other stuff, I have to eat the real stuff first.

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
and heal me up, Great Physician, heal me
inhabit me, Gentle Comforter
and use me up, Holy Master, use me
empower me, Mighty Great I AM

AMEN

Strangers with Kari

2007-01-15T00:43:00.000-05:00

This post is inspired by Patrick Mead's most recent post at his website.
Last night, nearly 1500 churches in Oklahoma closed their doors due to the weather. Something in me really wanted to go to church today. I was really annoyed that churches were closing because of snow and ice. Maybe it comes from my continued grudge I have with Oklahoma for not being Michigan. Maybe it comes from the fact that I'm learning to be hungry for God's word, rather than cookies. Maybe Satan was giving me yet another excuse to not go to church by making it even easier than just sleeping through it.
Whatever it was, I wanted to go to church today to worship God with Christians there for the same reason.
My roommate, Jennifer, wanted to go to church today also. Whatever her reasons were, I was glad that the two of us were going to find one and go together.
We watched the names of closed churches scroll by on the news. All Sunday services cancelled. Then we started noticing a couple of them having an 11am service, or a 2pm service only. We started watching to see if we could find one near where we live in Edmond. We looked at Baptist, Methodist, even a Korean church. Why not? Churches of Christ were closing their doors. People gathering to worship God was what we were looking for. Much to our dismay, the open churches were quite a distance. We noticed that North MacArthur Church of Christ was not on the list. I've worshiped there a couple times before, which is why I thought to look for it. It's about 15 miles from where we live. We decided that we were going to call them and if their doors were open we would drive out.
How does this relate to Patrick's post?
His post talked about how his son drove to church in icy weather not because of a conviction to be at church, but because of the community at his church that he couldn't bear not being part of.
Community.
Did North MacArthur have a community that Jen and I couldn't bear not being a part of? No. We didn't know those people.
So why did we brave the dangerous roads and falling sleet to drive out there?
I can't speak for Jennifer, but I have lately been church hopping.
I'd only been going to Memorial Road because I made some friends who all went there. There wasn't anything about this church I liked, though. From the start.
At first I stayed because I felt convicted because Screwtape said that a good way to keep us from God is to keep us shopping for the church that suits us. But after reading Patrick's post today, I figured out why I was willing to risk my safety to find a place to worship.
I wanted Community.
I wanted any kind of community I could get.
And when I'm at a church of over 3000 people, even though I have 5 or 10 friends, there is no community to me. I think I finally cracked and even started church hopping in the first place because I just longed for the community I'd been lacking for nearly the last 8 months.
I needed it so badly.
Some people from Memorial Road were having house church today, because church was closed. That would have been easy. But I didn't want easy. I wanted community. And I wanted to rise up and go to worship God in fellowship. Whether or not I knew the people didn't matter. They didn't close their doors, and that was welcoming enough for me.
Maybe I'll find a church down here that I'll go to because I can't bear to be apart from the family. I haven't yet, but it doesn't mean I can't build and form relationships.
I want to be part of a church, not just a member.
It's hard because I already grew up with the most perfect church at Livonia I could have ever asked for. But until I move back up there, I've got to be ready to serve here.

I Feel So

2007-01-12T22:39:00.000-05:00

Sometimes I forget that I feel things.
Maybe it's because you can't tell I do by looking at me.
But I do.
I feel happy.
I feel blessed.
I feel under rested.
I feel ugly.
I feel proud.
I feel forgotten.
I feel vandalized.
I feel tricked.
I feel loved.
I feel stalked.
I feel bloated.
I feel calm.
I feel like only my dad knows how special I really am.
I feel like if I wait long enough, things will end up perfectly.
I feel impatient.
I feel like I have a lot left to learn.
I feel inadequate.
I feel dishonest.
I feel wooed.
I feel swept away.
I feel rich.
I feel annoyed.
I feel bitter.
I feel resolved.
I feel jealous.
I feel like I want to avoid entangling aliances. Or jobs. Or commitments.
I feel like running and never stopping.
I apologize to anyone who tries to figure me out and only gets my enthusiasm.
I don't wear my emotions on my sleeve.
But I really am not a robot. I promise.

Potentially Walking in a Winter Wonderland, Maybe, In a Couple of Days. Perhaps.

2007-01-09T23:20:00.000-05:00

It's no secret that there are many things that bug me about Oklahoma. But one of the biggest things is how freaked out everybody gets about the weather. If there is a slight rainstorm on the south east corner of the state, all television programs (no matter what they are--inclusing NBA Finals, MLB Post Season, Days Of Our Lives etc.) will be interrupted no fewer than every 4 minutes to inform people in the Oklahoma City Metro that there is some rain falling on a zoomed in area of the map of some city in Oklahoma that not even native Oklahomans have ever heard of.
If there's the chance there might be lightening or Thunder, don't even dream about getting a whole picture on the television, because they will put the tv show up in the corner and make the entire screen a doppler photo of the storm and its movement.
This is from a state that is supposed to be one of the tornado magnets of the country. You would think with a history of frequent tornadoes, the state would be like "oh, it's just a little thunder." But instead, they go the other way.
I guess we "only have until Friday" to prepare for a possible weekend winter storm. They would have given us longer, but it's "moving rather quickly." Are they serious? It's Tuesday night. They wish they could have given us more notice for 1/2 inch of expected ice 3 days away? They were even nice enough to show a map of Oklahoma with three colored bands sweeping across it. The green meant "heavy freezing rain," the red meant "light freezing rain," and the other part meant just "really cold" I guess. So make sure this weekend you're "not driving anywhere in the section that's RED."

Now, I'm not downplaying the danger of driving on ice. That's perfectly legitimate--especially in a state that doesn't have the resources to handle it. Which, for the record, I find very odd because everyone I've talked to talks about how Oklahoma might not get snow for winter, but there is the constant need to scrape and/or chip ice off the car windows. Anyway, sure--driving on ice is dangerous. Be careful! I do think, however it is silly to wish we had more than 4 days warning for a possible winter storm that might hit 2/3 of the state by this weekend.
If this storm still looks probable in 2 days, I'm willing to bet that by Thursday night all school closings will be announced for Friday.

Is there such a thing as a weather hypochondriac? Because the state of Oklahoma should test the sugar pills to cure it.

This Stupid, Stupid Wind.

2007-01-03T21:06:00.001-05:00

Sometimes bad days just happen.
Everybody says that bad days happen when bad attitudes are present, but I don't think that's always true. Sometimes bad days just happen--and no amount of positiveness can make them better. No amount of theraputic running, guitar playing, reading, eating (which I didn't do, thank goodness), or crying can make them less bad. Bad days come every once in a while, and we just have to stand back and take them.

I woke up this morning with every positive intention to have a wonderful Wednesday.
I did ten jumping jacks to get me moving, and went to the corner to do my little morning Bible study. I reflected a little, prayed for a good day, prayed to teach well, make good choices, and to be blessed. Feeling good, I started to get ready for my day.
I decided that I should stop dressing so casually for school. I own dress clothes and shoes--I should show my kids (and myself) enough respect to dress nicely. I even put on pearls.
Then, I washed my face. This is where it all started to go wrong.
My face has been peeling lately--I'm not sure why. I've been moisturizing it like crazy morning and night, and it's just been pink and sore and peeling. I washed it, put on moisturizer, and it was worse than it had been all last week. My eyelids were peeling, my chin was flaking, my cheeks were red. I knew if I even tried to put on makeup, it would just look like I had flakes of makeup all over my face. So I hid my peely eyelids with my glasses, and I left my face as it was (and if you've ever seen my face before I put on makeup, it's not a pretty sight. I've got what you call "really bad acne.").
It's okay, though. I look nice, I'm ready for school.
I open the door to go start my car, but it's not too cold outside, so there's no need this particular morning. I enjoy my bowl of Grape Nuts, brush and floss my teeth, grab my bag, and head out the door. I walk up to my car and I notice something funny.
My rear view mirror on the driver's side is hanging by its wires, and the red casing is smashed off and missing. Somebody hit my car, broke my mirror off, and then left it.
I sigh, get in my car, and think to myself, "this isn't so bad. I made it from Detroit to Oklahoma City without a hitch. Praise God for keeping me safe." You think I'm being cheesy--but I really did. I called my dad and asked him if insurance would cover something like this and he said he'd call and they'd get hold of me. I very carefully (because I use that mirror a LOT) drive to school.
I got to school 40 minutes early, so I can get all my ducks in a row. It's hard coming back from a 2 week vacation where school is the last thing on my mind. I set up for the day, and start to relax. My face looks pretty awful, and my allergies are making my eyes look really glassy, but kids don't notice those things, do they?
The day went by very quickly. I was very thankful for that--because I just felt so tired.
After school, my basketball girls usually hang out in my room until practice at 4:15. Today was no different. I started organizing my next two weeks--making copies and lesson plans--and one of the girls says, "can I use your phone to call my mom and tell her about late practice today?"
Late practice? What? Well, aparently, practice wasn't going to start today until 5:15 and would go until 6:45. Why didn't anyone tell me? When am I supposed to get my run in? I didn't plan for dinner, I still needed to take pictures of my car before it got dark. . .wasn't going to happen.
I made the most of the time (all 3 hours of it) and got all my copies made and lesson plans done through next Friday. That felt good.
I thought practice would NEVER end, but as all things do, it did. I got in my car to drive home. It's already too late for church, so I decide I'm going to run.
I get out of my car and look around the street to see if I can find the remains of my mirror casing. As I'm picking up the shattered pieces of my car, I start to feel really hurt. It hurt my feelings that somebody broke my car. I took it really personally.
And then Kali calls. I remember that she asked me if I could feed the dog she's dog sitting tomorrow night, but I can't. So I tell her it's going to be impossible between school, practice, and the Pistons' game tomorrow night. She asked why I couldn't do it after I got back from the game, and I said because it was 1) going to be too late, and 2) out of my way. I asked her why she couldn't do it--after all, she had taken on the responsibility. She said she was going to be spending the night in Lawton. I told her what I thought about that: basically you shouldn't make other plans if you've committed to doing something. She said "well, maybe I can find somebody else." I said, again, "Kali, it's your responsibility. You're getting paid to do this. "
(In case you don't know me very well--one of my biggest pet peeves is when people shirk their responsibilities.) "Don't commit to things you can't follow through."
I'm getting kind of upset, but then she takes the cake. "Well, I'm sorry for ever even asking you"
A guilt trip? You're trying to send me on a guilt trip for not taking over your responsibilities while you go off and do something else? No way. If I could have done it, I would have. No questions asked. But I couldn't. So she's trying to make me feel bad for not biding my time to her schedule?
Well, it worked. I was miserable. I was angry, I was frustrated, and I was tired.
I went for a run, and it all started to fall down. I ran harder and harder, and with each step I delivered more and more deliberately. And the more I pushed myself, the harder and faster the wind blew. . .in my face. Angrier than ever, I pounded through it, thinking about my skin, my car, 3 extra hours at school, shattered pieces of my car lying in the street, my sister's selfish behaviour, and this stupid wind. This stupid stupid wind.

Sometimes bad days just happen. They just start to spiral, and the only place to go is to sleep.

I have one continuous comforting promise, however:
God is in control.
That means I'm not.
Bad days will come and go, but God doesn't leave.
And I'm okay with that.

It's a True Story!

2006-12-25T22:36:00.000-05:00

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

2006-12-13T20:43:00.000-05:00

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

2006-12-11T10:06:00.000-05:00

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?

2006-11-16T23:30:00.000-05:00

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.

2006-11-04T14:16:00.000-05:00

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.

2006-10-14T00:33:00.000-04:00

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

2006-09-15T18:04:00.000-04:00

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

2006-08-27T21:58:00.000-04:00

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

2006-08-04T13:38:00.000-04:00

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.

2006-07-02T14:25:00.000-04:00

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

2006-06-26T22:12:00.000-04:00

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

2006-06-02T00:23:00.000-04:00

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.

2006-05-24T22:21:00.000-04:00

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.

2006-05-08T02:10:00.000-04:00

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!

2006-04-21T09:47:00.000-04:00

Rasheed and I are ready to go!

See you in Oklahoma!

On the Move

2006-04-18T14:40:00.000-04:00

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.

2006-04-06T23:38:00.000-04:00

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.

2006-03-27T16:02:00.000-05:00

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!

2006-03-21T11:39:00.000-05:00

I still have 28 more states to go, though!

create your own personalized map of the USA
or check out ourCalifornia travel guide

Lifelong Role Model

2006-03-06T14:15:00.000-05:00

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

2006-03-04T11:19:00.000-05:00

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

2006-02-20T22:49:00.000-05:00

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.

2006-02-17T21:05:00.000-05:00

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

2006-02-06T00:07:00.000-05:00

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:

2006-01-28T22:26:00.000-05:00

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

2006-01-27T12:36:00.000-05:00

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

2006-01-15T03:10:00.001-05:00

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...