How I Like to Remember It.

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

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

Coming Full Circle.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

The Jesus I Serve

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

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

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

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

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

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

Timing is Everything

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

There's Just Something About That Name

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

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

Not a Lot Changes in a Year.

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

More than Enough

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

On Having a Purpose

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

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

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

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

What is it? It's Tricky Tricky Tricky.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

When You're Tired of Running.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

And She's Off!

Rasheed and I are ready to go!

See you in Oklahoma!

On the Move

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

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

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

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

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

I Got Used to Sweatpants.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Bowing Down to Satan.

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

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

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

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

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

look at all the places I've been!

I still have 28 more states to go, though!

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Lifelong Role Model

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

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

Savvy Enterprising at its Finest

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

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

The Story that is My Life

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

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

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

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

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

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

Oh man, I got Punk'd.

Thinking about Aunt Kim.

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


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

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

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

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

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

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

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

I've got 2 things on my mind

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

An (un)interesting turn of events:

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


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

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

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

Maybe I should just start listening.

Tales From the Kari

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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


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

More Than A Habit

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

I know it
Now to mean it...

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

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

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

I still can't wrap my mind around it.

http://imaami.blogspot.com/

on fitting in.

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

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

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

On Prayer. And Husbands.

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

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

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

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

The truth is, I miss you

I don't think a day goes by where something doesn't remind me of Kara.
Last night, the dude with the animals on Conan made me think of Todd.
There's Australia commercials on TV all the time.
I have pictures of Kara all over.
Every time I have a funny story, I start a new letter to her.
Every time I see something I know she'd want to see, I write it down.
And at the end of the week, I have a stack of letters that are all too old to mean anything if I send them.

Sometimes I'm afraid that she thinks I forget about her.
And sometimes I'd say it's true.
Not because I don't remember, but because sometimes when I just need her there
if I don't remember that she's so far away it's easier to not let it get me down.

Sometimes you just need your best friend
and the thought of just talking to her but not having her here hurts more than not talking to her at all sometimes.

Maybe I just need somebody to go on a slurpee run with.
Somebody named Kara Michelle.

I don't feel quite right.

Now and then these feet just take to wandering
Now and then I prop them up at home
Sometimes I think about the consequences
Sometimes I don't
I realize that falling down ain't graceful
But I thank the Lord that falling's full of grade
Sometimes I take my eyes off Jesus
And I know that's all it takes.

I wish that I could say that at the close of every day I was happy with the way that I'm behaving.

Because Job, he chased and answer
The wise men chased a child
Jacob chased her fourteen years and he captured Rachel's smile
Moses chased the promised land
Joseph chased a dream
David, he chased God's own heart
All I ever seem to chase is me

They say a race can only have one winner
And you know you have to pull out front to win
God knows the only time I'm winning
Is when I'm chasing him.

I wish that I could say that at the close of every day I was happy with the way that I'm behaving.

Samson chased a woman, and he chased the Philisties
I'm not quite sure what Jonah chased but I know he caught the sea
Cain, he chased the harvest
Abel chased the beast
David, he chased God's own heart
All I ever seem to chase is me

Jesus chased the money men
And he chased his father's will
He chased my sins to calvary
And he caught it on that hill
Saul, he chased the Christians
and his blindness made him see
David, he chased God's own heart
All I ever seem to chase is me.

I fell in love at the golf dome.

Yes, that's right. Love in a very unexpected and unusual place. The Golf dome at 5 mile and Haggerty. It happened in bay 22.
We had paid for bay 21 for an hour, and I was hitting my driver, trying to get my body to memorize my swing because I haven't been hitting the ball well lately. After about 30 or so swings, I started to hit it consistently. Drew, by this time, was getting tired of waiting so he had jumped on the bay next to us that was presently empty. When I put the driver away, he jumped over and started hitting off of our mat, so I moved over to bay 22 and said "Drew, I'm going to play around with your clubs."
His clubs are TaylorMade Rac LT2's, with a stiff steel shaft. They're much heavier than my Lynx Crystal Cat graphites. So I picked up his pitching wedge and started messing around. It took me a few swings to get used to the drastic weight change, but I was hitting them quite well.
But let's be honest, anyone can hit a pitching wedge. So I moved to an 8 iron. And consistently straight and long and low went the golf balls. I moved up to a 6 iron--a club that is (pardon the pun) hit or miss with me. Perfect. I decided that if I could hit his 5 iron (I have't hit my five iron well since freshman year of high school) I was converted. If I could describe to you how clean I consistently hit this club, you would want to learn how to irish dance. It was amazing. So I am in love with my brother's golf clubs. And they seem to be reciprocating.
Who needs a boy when there's golf?
Seriously.

My very first car accident.

and i no longer have a car

or the 6000 dollars that it cost.


but i do have a nice headache.
sucks.

I'm having a hard time sleeping.

And isn't that the heart of insightful posts?
Usually, yes. Tonight? Probably not. We'll see where the mind takes us.

I think I need to brush my teeth. I also feel the need to go run for three and a half hours. I feel the need to do something incredibly hard, to show me what it means to try. Sometimes I'm all too good at running away from things. It's what I do to responsibility. And difficult things. And even boys. I run away from it all. I'm running away from my job because I'm not happy. I'm not happy because it's too hard. It's too hard because it's not what teaching is supposed to be. But yet I know full well that there are probably 1 in every 6 teachers who are in my predicament. What's the point in graduating early if I can't handle the job? Why am I now suddenly deciding I want to major in physics? Is it from 3 and a half years of having none of it after 3 years of physics every day? Mom doesn't take me very seriously. Understandably so. I don't give her any reason to. I can't even keep my room clean.
I think one thing I am going to have to do is make a decision without asking or looking for approval. I have to decide where I'm going to go, and how I'm going to pay for it. If I sit back and wait for approval on every move I make, I'll never go anywhere because someone will always think I could have made a better one.

So the real question is: do I save the princess out of love, or obligation?

Does Mario put his life on the line day after day for the woman he loves? Or does he rescue her because it's simply his job? At the end of the day does he shake her hand and walk away? Or does he march boldly in and sweep her off her feet?

Do I go back and get my physics classes because it's really what I want to do? Or because I need a valid reason for quitting my job?

I guess it's really neither. Regardless of love or obligation, Mario puts himself out of the equation. He doesn't rescue the princess for himself. He does it for her. If it were for himself, he wouldn't be so selfless as to run head-on into biting botanicals or bullets with only the protection of a mushroom. That's not something you do to make yourself feel better. You do it because someone elses' life is more important than your own.

Whatever I end up doing, I can't do it because the end result is best for me, can I? I have to do what honors God most.

That sucks. Because I know that God knows that the kids where I teach now need me. And to some degree I need them. Let's be honest--I need them all the time.
Unfortunately I don't know how to deal with my Koopa Trooper. I don't have the fire power.
So do I daily sacrifice my sanity, my happiness, my patience, my time, and my health to serve 120 kids who aren't able to return the favor?
Would Mario quit just because he fell down a hole? No.

But I'm not a middle-aged portly Italian man, either. I don't even know anything about plumbing.

I'm in business for self-righteous excuse-making.

It doesn't pay very well.

Tales from Oklahoma

So Kali and I are driving from OKC to Tulsa this morning, and let me tell you it was quite an adventure.
The plan was that we were going to eat lunch in Tulsa at 1:30, so we decided to maximize eating time and minimize waiting time that we should leave around 11. It's about a 90 minute drive, so we figured we'd be early enough to help out a little, but late enough that we didn't have to die waiting for our delicious meal. My mom and Aunt Karen decided they were going to leave around 10:30 (sounds like their plan was somewhat similar to ours).
So 11:10 rolls around, and we're off! I was driving, because I like to drive. Kali was making bows out of ribbon in the passgenger seat.

So we're driving along and things are going well, and then all of the sudden THE BEST SONG EVER WRITTEN comes on the radio. "grrrrr-look at this photograph!" we both begin to belt out at the top of our lungs. This trip is turning out great! "hoowwrr did our eyes get so rrrred?" Oh man!
So we're in the middle of the last chorus (so we're making a huge production of it) and this white Sentra drives by while we're waving "grooood-bye-yi, grooood-bye-yi" along with the song. Let's just say I'll bet they nodded in understanding, saying in their heads "I'll bet they're listening to that kickin' song Photograph. Oh man, that song kicks."

So Kali and I have a jolly good laugh at the high-quality music we just experienced. You know, that song just never seems to get old. And by old, I mean good.

So we're driving, and all of a sudden this little 5 year old Creek or Mexican girl (we couldn't really tell) runs across the highway. We quickly (and by 'we' I mean 'I') slam on the brakes and after that short-lived drama passes, we're cruising on our way. We kept flipping stations, hoping to come across the Baywatch Theme Song, but the closest we came was this other song that wasn't really close at all.

We're driving on a little more--we're about 16 miles outside of Tulsa, and we run into a traffic jam. I decide to call mom (because they left before us) to ask if she had hit it and how long it would last. She answers the phone, and I ask her if they're still on the road or if they've gotten to Aunt Heidi's house yet. She said they were still on the road, and I asked where they were and she replies,"Oh, we're about 16 miles outside of Tulsa still." I asked her if she had hit the traffic jam, and she said they were just into it. I looked around and I see a red SUV 2 cars in front of us and I asked her "is there a white Sentra (yes our friends from before) behind you?" and she was like "YEAH!"
It was hilarious. Because we caught up to them.

So we drive through the traffic jam, and it comes that we're nearing my mom and Aunt in their car to pass them. I decide to roll down the windows so we can make faces at them, and all of the sudden Kali lurches forward and screams "NOT THE BOWS!" as the bows she was making start to slide from the dash. We quickly roll up the windows. Hilarity ensues.

We pass my mom. We're here at Aunt Heidi's. Food is not even close to ready. We're dying.

I'm hungry.

The end.

Happy Thanksgiving!

Why don't I feel anything yet?

And we already know, There's no cancer in Heaven.

Common Sense versus Consequence.

So I was talking with Jason, a five year old boy my mom babysits, and as I was unloading the dishwasher I was holding some steak knives. I said, "Hey Jason. I was thinking of starting a new hobby. Do you know what a hobby is?"
"No," he replied.
"It's something that you do in your free time. So my new hobby, I was thinking of taking up knife throwing. Do you think that's a good idea?"
"NOOOO!" he cried.
"Why not?" I asked.
"Because you'll get a spanking from your mom," my mother interjects from the back room.

Now, I have a problem with that answer. I have a problem with teaching kids that we don't throw knives because if we do we get spanked. Quite honestly, a spanking should be the least of your concerns. The reason we don't throw knives is because it is dangerous. Somebody could get seroiusly hurt.

When I would take Cody (a three year old boy we babysit) to the store, I would ask him if he was buckeled in and he would reply "yep!" I would ask him if he knew why it was important to buckle up. He informed me that if you didn't buckle up, you'd get a ticket. I said, "true. But is there any other reason?"
He said, "so your mom doesn't yell at you!"

I don't think that raising our kids on consequence is the right idea. (Granted, I don't have children of my own--so I could very well not know what I'm talking about.) I think that it's okay for kids to know that 'this is a possible consequence for this action,' but for them to not realize the actual reason those consequences are in place is a shame.

Why will your mom spank you if you throw a knife? Not because throwing a knife merits a spanking, but rather because throwing a knife is dangerous.
Why will you get a ticket if you don't buckle your seatbelt? It's because too many people die as a result of not wearing seatbelts. We wear seatbelts because our lives are at stake. We wear seatbelts to keep us safe. Not so we don't get a ticket. To keep us safe.

My mom disagrees with me. She says that the number one reason we wear them is because God says to obey laws, and the law says to wear one. That doesn't make sense to me. Laws have a purpose. They're not just telling us to do things for no reason. The law is in place to KEEP PEOPLE SAFE. Yes, God tells us to obey laws--even if we don't agree with them. But I disagree that we do things under consequence of the law.

Maybe this is why my classroom is so chaotic sometimes. Because these kids are brought up in a world where consequence is the only reason to stay in order. They don't understand the reason the consequences exist. They don't understand that talking and throwing things around the room isn't wrong because "throwing paper is bad." It's wrong because it keeps their classmates from learning. It's hard to enforce rules when the first smallest consequence has to be the straight up call to parents, and the second one is suspension. Kids don't respond to lunch detentions or extra assignments. And once they've had one suspension, it doesn't scare them. They didn't actually learn any error to their ways. Because they are only looking at the consequence, rather than the reason it occurs.

I am going to change the world one of these days.
We've just got to hang in there.

Programable shampoo!? Sign me up!

So I was in the shower washing my hair and I started to read the shampoo bottle.
I don't know about anyone else, but I have the habbit of reading anything and everything whenever I am in the bathroom. Whether I'm on the pot or in the shower, or just simply waiting for my 60 seconds before I spit my Listerine, I'm reading the bottles, labels, golf magazines etc.
So I'm reading and the bottle says: "Dispenses just the right amount of moisture to every strand without weighing hair down!"
So let me get this straight. . .this shampoo can go to every single little strand of hair on my head and pinch out "just the right amount" of moisture!? That's awesome! I hope the maker of this shampoo is using his talent to help rain fall only on places that need it right then and there and to help just the right amount of deer shot during hunting season so that there aren't too many running around or too few to eliminate hunting altogether.
Maybe this person could work on making sure families have the perfect amount of children to feed, and money to go around, and also that hospitals don't get too full or supplies run short!
Just think of the possibilities!

I'm going to be honest, I've done some computer programming in my day. And what I learned from computer programming is that you have to account for every last instance that something might not go according to plan. For and Do loops for pages and pages, just in case the user enters something in ALL CAPS, or in case the double random generations of digits have the same 4th one. Everything that can go wrong isn't necessarily going to happen, but you've got to prepare for it. Computers can't think to adjust themselves.
But good greif--this shampoo can! AMAZING!

I wonder how they do the tests to make sure that hair got juuust the right amount of moisture? I mean, you can't have a control group, because the simple fact that every hair requires its own perfect amount of moisture means you can't compare two strands to each other because they're different. So when you take this strand after it's been perfectly moisturized, I wonder how you can know if it would have been moisturized just as well by something else. You can't. The opportunity has passed.
Therefore the shampoo can't get sacked for false advertising--they can't prove it.
Hmmm, very strategic.

I'm going to have to think about this some more while I go comb out my perfectly moisturized hair.

Since when are "ghetto" and "black people" synonymous?

Alright, I've lived in Livonia all my life, and I'm pretty aware that it is a city that lacks diversity. It's no secret that Livonia is like one of the whitest cities in the country and I'm fine with that. I never thought it was like that because citizens didn't allow black people in, or felt like there wasn't a place for people who aren't white. I was just always under the impression that there were just more white people in the city than any other race.
A lot of people in my high school and middle school were Asian and Indian. A few were African-American. But truth be told, there were just more white people.
Now, I guess that there's a proposal for a Wal-Mart to go in down at Middlebelt and Plymouth. Okay, first of all, there's one 1/2 mile north at Middlebelt just south of I-96. Why are they going to build another one right there? But I guess that's beside the point.
What got me was that there was a community of people who live right behind the place where the store will go who don't want a Wal-Mart there. They don't want a Wal-Mart there because they are afraid it will attract more black people and turn the area ghetto.

Please, please, please, people of Livonia--tell me this isn't true. Tell me that the people in the media are just making news. First of all, why is it okay to label Wal-Mart shoppers as ghetto? Secondly, why assume only black people shop there? Thirdly, why oh why make the correlation between a large african-american shopping population and something turning ghetto?

To be completely honest, Wonderland Mall (the mall that used to exist where the Wal-Mart might go up) was always considered the "ghetto mall" in the first place. Making it a Wal-Mart, or filling it with black shoppers isn't going to change its ghettocity.

So dear Livonia, I love you and your tall trees and wonderfully timed traffic lights and your highly achieving schools. But if you think that you are above diversity, GET A LIFE. And open your eyes.

That's going to leave a mark.

today i got hit and it really hurt a lot
and i feel stupid because it not only hurt me a lot
but it hurt my feelings
because i don't know why it even happened.

Oh Mother, will you ever learn?

My mother is currently looking at miniature schnausers online. You know, those dogs that are about as big as a shoebox and think they're as big as a volkswagen?
So this has prompted me to do some serious thinking about what I want in a dog.
There are a few rules for purchasing dogs. Okay, actually just one:
1) Must be lazy

This means that purchasing a 1)beagle; 2)lab; or 3)anything shorter than knee-height is completely one hundred percent against the rules.
Everybody knows that little dogs are yippy. They just yip and yap all day long. And there's (for some unknown reason) that crazy temptation to put bows in their hair. And certainly, anything with the word "miniature" in its name clearly isn't even a real dog--let along a whole one.

Dogs were not made to be yippy and carried around in little handbags. Dogs were made to saunter around slowly and plop to the floor in a pile of lazy, calm, gracefulness. Dogs weren't made to be walked on leashes or run around for hours in a yard. They were made to sit with you while you watch TV, cuddle in bed with you, lick your face in one swift movement with giant tongues. That's what dogs are for. They were made for petting and loafing with. Dogs should always be large enough to lay on without crushing. And they should always be lazy enough to be okay with being laid on.

So in summation:

This is NOT a dog.

THIS

is a dog.

Have Fun!

I've got reservations about so many things, but not about you.

So I was cleaning, and I came across my Andy binder.
I don't know if it's a bad thing that I have a chronological binder of our relationship. It's got letters, drawings, poems, IM conversations, e-mails... some good, some bad.

It's weird looking back on how much trust he put in me. And it's weird how much we confided in each other, and how well we knew each other. It's weird that things went so sour after there being so much depth.
Heh, oh well. We were just really young, and people don't stay young forever.

In a way, I became more immature after we broke up. But in so many more ways I grew up a lot.

I definitely forgot how much trust and communication goes into a relationship, though. Sometimes I think that I want to be in a relationship, but in the past 4 or so years I have never had anything close to the type of honest communication I had with Andy. I wonder how it ever even got to that point?

Hmmm. I'm happy I found that book. And I'm happy to have read through it again. I'm happy I'm not with Andy. And I'm happy that I don't have to see or talk to him ever again if I don't want to. Does that sound bitter? It wasn't supposed to.

And I always have Desk to listen to, as much as I want. :-D I love Desk! We were such an awesome band.

I do, however, wish I hadn't been such a jerk to Kyle. Because he was a great friend, and I miss him a whole lot.

And now I have to put this binder away and finish cleaning.
I'll leave you with a poem, courtesy of Andrew Scot Mascaro:

i should have been the classy boy,
crashing home the pixie crust.
awake and adjourned and relentless with amour,
aura strong with no need to face my fears.
i should have connected with the idiosyncrasies.
i should have eaten with the gods and punished my ignorance later.
i could have been shined up for the stories to tell, and hell to smile upon,
a rebel in perfect haze.

i should have been there in the fieldsduring summer,
the vacant black sky to brush us all with cool.
comfort.
i should have broken my indignant back for the slaves of the world.
i owe everything to the blue faced aliens of the futuristic past.
they've shown their bones to me, without ever looking back to theirs.
i should have felt your nerve tips quiver in the storms of my eyes.
i should have iced your lips and set your hair to solidify the air.
it could have been my heart bleeding recessively if i had opened my missed
army
arms.

i leak battery and incandescence, coated with fate, false, flour and fumes.
fiend in no light, retrospect respected fragmented dullness.
i could have been the leader and the glass bomb they all worship.
i should have saved my continues to myself and sucked in my inner ears.
could have spoken up.

i could have been thrice removed and unsure,
without but relentless in my annoyances at least
reasonable.
i should have been the ones in the fire, to teach me
something real about
pain.
rummaging the feelings, forgiving would have meant more than coincidence.
i could have risen above about the earth to serve a prelude to some unknown
mastership,
or at least something new.

but the additives and subtraction will prove something the dust can peruse,
and mistrust, and subjugate, and endure to love and fly and hold and comprise
the very virtues of hope.
i am a power cord to the metal frame of validity.
soft, old, glossy, warm, deep, starred, forgotten, forgetful, imminent, and
permanent.
savored, requested, distinguished, unwholesome, shaped, found, gone, giddy,and stone.
that which looks as fault only supports us in the unnatural institution ofour lives,
and only a porous rock floats in water.

Inspired by Ashley

Well, I've been a 6th grade math teacher at Michigan Technical Academy in Detroit for a week now, and it's going great. I got really sick on Friday, though, and hopefully I'll get over it by tomorrow.
Anyhow, there's a lot of stuff that I've learned in my 5 short days as a real grown up teacher, and college didn't prepare me for any of it.

1. African American children have naturally loud voices. If you want to be heard you have to get their attention first, and get them to stop talking. Which is not easy.

2. Learning names is not as difficult as I thought it would be.

3. Sometimes parents just don't care.

4. Putting an apostrophe at any random place in a name is completely acceptable--if not extremely common.

5. My students have no idea what Alternative music is.

6. I know NOTHING about Black American history.

7. Hands off the 'fro.

8. Hip Hop Artists convey a message in their music, while Rappers focus on negative things. (I didn't know this at all)

9. Gas is cheaper on 8-Mile.

10. Nigeria has a track team.*


*I had my students doing a scavenger hunt through expository text to develop content reading strategies, and they each had a different book. B'onca had a book on Nigeria and she called me over and said "I really like this book! I didn't know any of this stuff!" And she turned the page, and there was a picture of some athletes running on a track and she looks at me in awe and says, "They have their own a track team!? [pause and think] I wonder if they have a cheerleading squad!?" It was really funny.

Mal my Pal

I have this great friend and she's one of the best.
She doesn't compare with any of the rest.
Her hair is super curly but you'd never know
Because she wears it back so she's ready to go.
She's got three brothers who are all pretty neat
and when I come over there's always something to eat.
We spend every weekend at her house or mine
My mom pretends it annoys her, but we know she's fine.
We take silly pictures for hours on end
Mal my Pal and me, we're friends til the end.

it's 11:00pm

My bedtime is 10:30pm.
I succumbed to peer pressure and stayed up until 11.
And by peer pressure I mean Mallory laying on me while I was laying in my bed falling asleep.
I love you, Mal.
Now I sleep.

Oh man!

Thank you for all your encouragement, friends.

In other news:

How excited was I when I typed in www.olivianewtonjohn.com in hopes of possibly finding something i could use, and it turned out to be a real website! Oh man, you have no idea!

The Lord Moves in Mysterous Ways

So while I pull out my sunglasses, and attempt to start the band back up I'll tell you all my story.

So I've been planning my big move out to OKC for a while now. I'd lined up a place to stay and found myself a temporary job until I can find a teaching one, and I'm all set to move. Then my mom calls and asks if we can delay it a week because Niki got some free tickets and was coming up to Michigan for the weekend (and it wouldn't make sense to be down there moving in while she was up here visiting). So I said sure, and that was that.
So I get a call from my good friend Vic Bliss the Friday before the Monday I was originally planning to move and he told me that he had a teaching job and there might be a position open for me and to give him a call. I was pretty much set on moving to Oklahoma, but I called him back anyway--just because it seemed like he'd gone a little out of his way to let me know about this opportunity. We played phone tag for a bit, and the following week while I was packing we finally got in touch with one another and he said there was a 6th grade math position open at the building he got a job at and that I should get my stuff in asap!
I told a few people from church that this might be a possibility, and they were elated because they were all (selfishly--they'll admit it) praying that I wouldn't leave. I dropped off my things and called every other day to check on the job but I knew that I wasn't going to change my plans on a last minute whim. I figured if God wanted me to stay here, he'd make it obvious.
So Friday night Niki comes home and she was going to stay til Sunday, and then me and Mom were going to leave to drive to OKC on Monday. Friday I start feeling a tad under the weather, but nothing serious. Saturday I wake up, and my throat is sore and I'm not feeling very well. With increasing intensity I becoming moaningly-begrudgingly ill. I don't have health insurance so I just lay around and moan while I hope it passes. God sure has a funny way of intervening, doesn't he? Sunday a lady from church kindly called in an Rx for Penecilin for us because my mom classified my symptoms into the category of tonsilitis and an ear infection.
So after Saturday, Sunday, and Monday of not eating or drinking except for when I had to manage a swallow to take my pills; I finally started to choke down tablespoons of soup or cream of rice (because let's face it--I was starving). By Tuesday I could nearly talk again, so I called to check on the job. No response yet. By Thursday I was back to my normal self completely--golfing regularly and everything, so I called and was informed that the position had been filled. My mom asked me what I wanted to do, and I said I'd like to stay around here and look for a little bit--since in all fairness I started looking in Oklahoma without even trying to look here because I've heard nothing but how people can't find jobs.
I go online, and sure enough, there's a math position open in not just a Livonia School, but the one down the road from me and the principal knows all of my siblings, and our neighbors down the street very very well. I put in the App. and went out for dinnner with some friends.
Halfway through dinner I notice I have a voicemail, so I check it, and it's a message from a principal in Tulsa. She would be "very interested in speaking with" me. WHAT!?
I decide to stay here, and now I've got a call from the state that had been silent on me for two months? So friday morning, I wake up and go jogging, and when I get home my mom says "well, when it rains it pours." Vic had called me and said the position at the school was still open and the principal wanted to interview me that day. I returned my Tulsa call, and left a voicemail becaus the principal wasn't it. I faxed my resume and letters of recommendation to the school in Detroit and also called them. No answer, I left a message.
I went golfing and waited around, and neither called back. I even tried calling back on several occasions, but with no response. I was pretty bummed.
All of the sudden, around 6, the phone rings. It's the principal from Tulsa. She said, in not so many words, that there was a job for me if I would move to Tulsa to fill it. I asked her if I could call her back the next day so I could have a night to think it over. I talked with my mom, and thought about it for a while, and I started looking at apt. prices and after about an hour I made up my mind to go to Tulsa. I need to just be on my own, and I knew that God would bless me with whatever decision I chose to make. So I'm sitting in my room, thinking about just loading up my car on Monday and heading out. And the phone rings.
It's the principal from the school in Detroit. She said she just happened to wander into her office to check her voicemail and saw my resume and called me back in hopes I'd be available to interview the next (Saturday) morning. I said sure.
I went to the interview with the mindset that I would do my best, but that I already had a job in Tulsa for me. Well, I got offered the Detroit job, and I accepted it, and I start Tomorrow.
Talk about your soap opera story!
So the good news is that I have a job.
The good news is that God provides, even when you don't know what you need.
The good news is that blessings are falling and soaking them up is feeling pretty nice.

The good news is.

Can't Sleep. It's the pitts.

So I randomly (and I mean totally randomly) got a really bad (and by bad I mean uber painful) case of strep throat this weekend. It pretty much left me hungry and hurting, but I'm doing much better now. Amongst all of the TV watching I could fit in while I couldn't really do much else (except moan and say "ouch" because I'm kindof a wuss) I caught an interesting movie. I can't remember what it was called, but that's alright. It was pretty funny, but I couldn't laugh because it hurt too much. So I just watched it in as stoic of a mood as I could muster--all the while thinking "I always imagined Doris Day to be less 'normal' looking." (As it was my first Doris Day movie, so I'd never seen her before.)
Which brings me to my point:
Hypochondriacs.
Every once in a while I think I might be one. It's probably because I am such a wimp about being sick. It doesn't happen often, but I'll moan and groan with the best of them (cough cough my dad cough cough). I get the flu and have to throw up, I'm sitting in the bathroom crying at 2am while my mom is calling from her room, "Kari, go downstairs at least! We're trying to sleep!" Or I am laying on the couch with a high fever saying "shouldn't I be drinking more cold fluids?" and she'll respond with "take the tylenol and change your clothes when they get too sweaty." No mercy, seriously.
Sometimes, after I'm all better (which is usually only 1 or 2 days, because I suppose I'm resiliant) I think back on the experience and wonder if I couldn't have taken the pain without whining so much? Or maybe if it was only my imagination that it hurt so badly. I'm not sure. Probably.
So I guess what I have a hard time with is when people are constantly bringing up things that are wrong with them. Don't get me wrong, I care deeply about people. And I am also a good listener. But I don't give out pity very, um, generously. Maybe I get it from my mom, with her "suck it up" attitude when I'm sick. That's logical. But regardless, I have this horrible habbit of rolling my eyes at "poor me" people.
Now the occasional sob story is one thing, but you hypochondriacs drive me nuts! And the latest rage of hypochondraic is the kind of person who feeds off of misfortune. Not just illness related, but like pessimism gone terribly wrong.
I think I get frustrated with these people because I am a person who likes to fix things. Yes, I'm a great listener, but when you're done talking--whether you asked for it or not--I'm going to try to help you fix it.
You can't do that with hypochondriacs becasue they don't want to be fixed. They just want to be heard. I think the reason they always keep bringing up more and more things that are wrong is because every time you try to fix the first thing, it might mean you won't hear them anymore.

Okay, I'm out, because I just heard a really loud and abnormal noise inside my house and it's 2:30am so I have to go make sure everything is alright. That's a little scary.
I know,
I'll turn the lights on.