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.