Soli Deo Gloria

2005-12-19T23:26:00.000-06:00

"I'd like to think that most of me is still hiding up my sleeve." --John Mayer

2005-11-26T13:24:00.000-06:00

Hi friends. I'm sorry, I'm not dead, I promise! I've been trying to set things up over at www.swimminginthesea.com because I bought the domain, and it's been, well, let's say interesting. I still need Larry to help me a bunch. But as soon as I get that up and running, we'll be back in business! :)

Hussy Go Home!!

2005-11-20T01:48:00.000-06:00

Union: 1.
Confederates: 0.

So I don't have a whole lot of time to write since I'm exhausted, but I want to take advantage of the free wifi here and post some pics of our day. :)

Me and the J-Ster at the battle.... :) SO CUTE, aren't we?

I love this. I love it in sepia tone too. :)

DUDE. THIS IS THE FACE OF THE CIVIL WAR. RIGHT HERE.

I got a GUN!

Custer spurring his horse onto freedom! ;) (I liked this pic)

I think this looks like something out of a Wells Fargo commercial.

Murr.

General Custer and his proud steed.

I like this. :) CHARGE! (Which is what we did to our credit cards in order to buy our dresses!:))

Road Tripping In and Around College Station

2005-11-19T01:54:00.000-06:00

"From the outside looking in you can't understand it, from the inside looking out you can't explain it."

2005-11-18T03:38:00.000-06:00

"Go put your shoes on, we need to go."

I went into my room in search of my shoes and unaware of the beauty that awaited me. I put on my coat, scarf, and gloves, and went back into the hallway. As we walked to the polo fields, we laughed, joked, and just generally enjoyed each others' company. It was cold out, so we walked a little bit faster than normal and rubbed our noses a little bit more.

As we neared the Memorial, the silence began to descend around us and we followed suit. I fell into step next to Payne as we neared the actual entrance, and Janet and I half-smiled at each other. We stood near the Poem Wall as I call it just inside the entrance for a little while, and then began walking down the softly lit path toward the main part.

The only sound to be heard now was the crunch of feet on gravel, and in the stillness the sound was deafening. It took what seemed like hours to traverse this cold and dimly lit path. Reaching the sphere of memorial stands, Payne motioned he would follow me and we started to circle around to the other side. When we found a good place to stop, we all lined up side-by-side. Nick, me, Payne, Janet, Monica, Shannon. Like little chess pieces in an ever-changing game we stood there, swaying a little, staring blankly ahead like so many dolls on a shelf.

I couldn't think. My head wasn't in the game. I saw all around me people already starting to tear up, to shudder violently, to give way to the stream of tears and pain. I felt nothing. Who were these people that I had never met? I didn't even know their names. Why should I care? Yes, it was a horrible tragedy, but one that happened 6 years ago. SIX YEARS! I had nothing in common with these people.

Then suddenly people started walking towards Center Pole, carrying candles. Mothers, Fathers, Brothers and Sisters- the families of the dead were walking into the middle of the memorial. They set their candles down and began to move back toward their respective portals. The students began filing onto the center grass. Numb from the cold, I followed. After a roll call, we sang Amazing Grace and the Spirit of Aggieland. After that, the hundreds of adults and students stood in that freezing grass circle for an eternity. As people slowly began leaving, I began looking around me. There were corps units with locked arms and blank stares, grieving friends, and clueless freshmen. I turned to Janet and found her with her face buried in Payne's chest, him gently stroking her hair as she cried a little.

I wondered why they all cared. Surely not all of these people knew someone who died, did they? But then I thought, what if it doesn't MATTER if I knew them or not? What if all that matters is that I'm a part of something bigger than myself, a part of something that can't be explained to those who aren't a part of it? These people were just that- people. People with the same feelings, needs, and failings as me. People who needed to feel like they belonged somewhere, and found that "somewhere" to be Aggieland.

When we finally started to walk away, after the crowd had greatly dispersed, I couldn't help noticing again those candles. Just 12 little candles, out there in the middle of such a huge space, and yet shining their light for all those around to see. As I walked I kept looking back and pausing, mesmerized by those candles, thinking. Those little candles making an impact on their world, no matter how small. Little candles, and although their lights might be extinguished, still they remained, if only in the memory of those who witnessed their light.

And as I walked away from those candles, as I was able to see less and less of their light, I found myself thinking, "God bless you and keep you and make His face to shine upon you." I wasn't sure who I was thinking that about, whether it was the families, the dead, or even the student body in general.

Walking away from that memorial, at 3:45ish this morning, I realized again what I have so many times been floored by this semester:

I love it here. I love Aggieland. And I will ALWAYS be an Aggie.

Gig 'Em, and I hope to see you there next year.

More "Things".... :)

2005-11-16T10:25:00.000-06:00

Well Friends, I'm sitting here in the SCC with Alison while she types her Math essay (I know, a MATH essay). Hard core stuff. :)

This keyboard is making me angry. The space key doesn't want to work.

So I know it's been a while since I've actually SAID anything on here, but I haven't felt like I've had much to say. So in lieu of that, I'll post more "things" about myself (Hmm. Any stalkers out there?:))

1. My mother is and always will be my best friend.

2. I love working crosswords. My favorite days are Tuesday and Wednesday, because they're harder than Monday but easier than Thursday or Friday. I like to be able to finish it.

3. I hate myself when I'm a lazy slacker. Like when I skip class.

4. I'm semi-apathetic academically. And by that I mean that I don't mind a slightly lower GPR if it means I get to have a social life. We'll find out come Christmas (grade time).

5. I love naps and all things sleeping-related. Like my pillow, my blankie, etc.

6. I've slept with my blankie all my life. My mother had to buy me a new one years ago because my original one wore out. Literally. Like big gaping holes.

7. Larry helped me buy my laptop. And by that I mean that I told him what I wanted and how much I could spend, and he made it happen. I think he has ties to the mafia. :)

8. My bed is my safe place. It's the one place I won't let other people be (at least in between the sheets). Shannon's brothers are staying with us for the t.u. game and they're sleeping in our room while we sleep across the hall, and it's going to be very hard for me. I'm still not sure if I'm okay with it. Is that dumb? :)

9. The girl sitting catty-corner across from me here in the SCC is staring at me and it's creeping me out.

10. Whenever I go to Sonic I usually get the very same thing every time-- a #5 Snack Size (Jumbo Popcorn Chicken), with tater tots instead of fries, two honey mustards, and a grape slush. I'm a creature of habit.

Well, that's all for today. Have a great one.

Maleficent is like the scariest villian ever. Ever.

2005-11-15T21:11:00.000-06:00

I don't feel like writing right now.
So I'll leave you with a pic I took this past summer. Murr.

PS- I'm starting to get kind of annoyed with my design (due to some random circumstances I can't change the background color and that annoys me). So I'm contemplating switching over to Xanga for a little while til Larry can show me how to fix it. :) Meh, it'll prolly never happen, but I'm just contemplating. ;)

The Joys of Child-Like Innocence

2005-11-12T15:44:00.000-06:00

The joys of being able to sit on a ledge and stare at the brook as if you hadn't just spent 20 minutes playing in it. As if it was the most fascinating thing you'd ever seen. As if you'd never see anything else like it ever again.

The Joys of Child-Like Curiosity

2005-11-12T15:42:00.000-06:00

The joys of being enthralled by a sewer pipe just because you've never seen one before. Of being so adventurous as to jump over rocks over the stream so you can reach the other side. Of being fearless.

The Joys of a Beautiful Baby

2005-11-12T15:39:00.000-06:00

The joys of traveling to a learning concert with a precious baby who sleeps like an angel and laughs like a stream, a baby who makes you believe God has blessed the earth.

The Joys of Friendship

2005-11-12T15:36:00.000-06:00

The joys of greasy hair and beautiful weather while spending time with friends at a rugby match. The joys of taking a million pictures and yelling, "GID 'EEEM!"

In which it is revealed that my mother really only FOOLS people into believing she's a sweetheart.

2005-11-08T23:31:00.000-06:00

"Has Ted called the family? Mamaw will rip him a new one if he doesn't tell her."

"Oh sweetheart, I've got it covered. I told him I'd take care of it. I called both grandmothers, the aunts and uncles, cousins-- the works."

"Aww, you're a sweetie."

"I know."

"Hey, Mom? Will you do that for me?"

"Do what?"

"Call the family and everything. You know. When I get engaged."

"Oh, Heather, when you get engaged, I'll put it on a BILLBOARD! It'll say, 'My daughter is FINALLY engaged! FINALLY!!' "

"What do you have there, Brian? It's a cup of dirt. Just put an F on there and let me go home." --Brian Reagan (sp?)

2005-11-07T18:21:00.000-06:00

I'm a little post-happy today. And I'm lovin' the leaves lately.
Haha. They just usually turn out well. I dunno. It was a beautiful day today. :)
Please comment in the post right before this! Please?

20 Things!

2005-11-07T14:47:00.000-06:00

Just for fun- 20 Things About Me:

1) I ADORE photography and I have no shame about sticking my camera in your face to get "that great shot."

2) I wanna take art and photography classes this summer. Correction- I WILL. I'll make it happen somehow.

3) I'm usually pretty apathetic about girly things, but every so often I'll go all out- makeup, smelly good stuff, the works.

4) I work at Lane Bryant. And I get 40% off. It rocks, except that I spend all the money I earn there. Well, maybe not ALL of it. But some of it. I try hard not to.

5) I hate retail. Well, sometimes.

6) One of my best friends, Janet, gave me a minor concussion last week when she "jumped" over my head.

7) I have one fish, and his name is Squishy, after the baby jellyfish from Finding Nemo.

8) I invent words. And they usually take (and by that I mean people start using them).

9) One of the reasons I am so passionate about photography is because I don't have a lot of pictures of my dad. And I wish I did. So I refuse to let that happen again. Another is because I inhereited it from him. He was quite the shutterbug.

10) I still (and always will) miss him everyday.

11) I can't bring myself to visit his grave more than once or twice a year. I don't know why.

12) My brother is engaged and I absolutely LOVE his fiancee. She's the best. (Hey, it counts- it's sort of about me:).)

13) I ADORE green beans.

14) I HATE cockroaches. HATE them. HATE. I usually scream and jump out of the way.

15) I really like IBC Cherry Limeade. I don't get it very often though.

16) I LOVE getting flowers. Any kind, but my favorite is Gerbera Daisies.

17) I have Polycystic Ovarian Syndrome. No biggie.

18) I don't like having to explain to people what that is all the time. Look it up.

19) I don't know yet if I want to have kids. I bet I will once the time gets closer, but right now I'm all about traveling and a puppy. I REALLY want a puppy. (I guess that should have counted for two numbers. Oh well.)

20) My faith is what keeps me alive. I'm not perfect (big surprise), and I mess up more than I get it right, but it is and always will be the most important part of my life. I never deserve it, but for some reason God has seen fit to love me and protect me from myself. And for that I am eternally grateful.

Your turn! This was fun. I think I might do more some other time. I really wanna know about the people who read this! Post it in the comments section or link to it, whatever. Even if you can only do 10 or even 3, I'd love to read it. :) Thanks and Gig 'Em!

SHARKS IN THE SKY!!!!!!!! RUN FOR THE HILLS!!!!!!!!

2005-11-07T14:21:00.000-06:00

Haha, I'm a nerd. But a nerd in a good mood.
Things are "looking up." No more funnyness in the head. :)

PS- Don't worry, guys. That isn't a REAL shark. It's a window cling.
Yes, that's it, a window cling. There you go, sit back down.
Yes yes, go ahead. Sit down. There, there. I didn't mean to scare you.
There, there. Calm down, it's okay. It's only a photo through my window
of the sky behind the window cling. It's not real.

....Or is it?

in just 8 hours they'll be hanging flowers...

2005-11-06T18:07:00.000-06:00

I officially loathe my job. Okay, maybe not really, but still. Because of a stupid holiday store meeting, I just had to LEAVE EARLY from a Handel's Messiah concert on campus. I MISSED THE HALLELUJAH CHORUS. How much does THAT suck? A LOT. Good grief. So I'm sitting here listening to Jem instead of in the theater listening to the most amazing musicians. And the Alto soloist they had was AMAZING. A voice as smooth as butter. Incredible. Ah, but such is life. FYI, if you hadn't figured it out already: the way to my heart is through good music, good art, and good food. Instead of any of those three, I'm headed off to work to sit through another stupid shrink prevention video and a video about the latest holiday fashions. Yay retail.

....Bah. At least I have a job and at least it pays money. I'm better off than some.

Update: My roomate is the greatest EVER. Seriously. She just called me so I could hear the Hallelujah chorus. Even through the crappy static that is her phone, it still sounded GORGEOUS. Shannon darling, I love you. :)

...You too, Handel. Bless you (even though you're dead).

Blue skies, smilin' at me!

2005-11-05T18:03:00.000-06:00

Taken outside my dorm again. :) I love blue skies....

The sky is a beautiful shade of blue!

2005-11-03T14:11:00.000-06:00

Taken of the tree outside of my dorm five minutes ago. It's a beautful day. :)
(It looks better bigger too. :))

From my ENGL 235 Intro to Creative Writing Prose class...

2005-11-02T17:44:00.000-06:00

Lemme know what you think- this was a story I wrote for my English class. Everyone loved it, but since I am always more critical of my own work, I'm not so sure. I would appreciate comments. :) I also want to rework the title (not sure I like it) but I don't really have any ideas. Suggestions? Here we go.... (PS- It's sort of long...)

If Only I am Needed

I am a park in a city (for the purposes of this text, it matters not which) that sits quietly by as the world swirls and rushes madly about it, much like a rock in the middle of torpid, frothing rapids. Sometimes a wave hits the rock, causing it to shift or settle, but it still remains a rock. In much the same way, I am still a park, though I have been here many years, and though many a worldly wave has dashed against my fences, or splashed against my gate. I am a safe haven for those who love me, an eye-sore for those who do not; a romantic setting for those who want me, a hideaway for those who need me.

I am beautiful to those who can truly appreciate what beauty is; my trees, though old, are large and strong; my swings, though rusted, still swing with as much vigor as they ever did; and my pond, though stagnant, is still teeming with life. The birds still sing in my trees, and swoop and soar as if to say, “Here! Here is where I live and will love until I die! Here and here alone!”

There is a path running through my little world, winding and sloping about through the fall trees, ambling along with all the care of a little child who has all the time in the world to grow up and wants merely to be a kid for a while. There are benches every so often, strewn along the path as if with no thought to their placement, but as if only to the pleasure of the one deciding their final resting place. A stream flows parallel to the path, babbling and gurgling, happy in its simplicity, happy in its routine. It laughs along, singing and splashing against its banks, content.

My playground is quiet now; there are few children left to play within its borders. The swings sway in the breeze, and their gentle creaking echoes against the walls of the bathroom just a short walk away. The floors inside it are sticky, the toilets are broken, and the toilet paper is long gone. Years have passed since it was cleaned or maintained. No one goes in much anymore.

I am a land forgotten by the residents of my neighborhood; a place of memories and nostalgia, but no longer a place of dreams or imagination. I was once a place where exciting things happened, a place where fantastic childish worlds of flight and fancy were dreamed and created, where girls were no longer girls, but princesses; and boys were no longer boys, but knights or soldiers or kings or policemen. There was many a skinned-knee here, or a bloody elbow; many a salty tear fell onto the pavement or dirt here, but no longer; today, trash drifts slowly across my ground until it snags in the bushes, the sand has spilled over the edges of the sand-box, and the weeds have grown over half of the meandering path.

There are few who play here anymore, though I still entertain guests from time to time. George the Retired Janitor ambles slowly along the path every morning, mumbling to himself, talking to Jesus and his late wife in heaven. He shuffles slowly past my swings with a, “Martha, dear, do you remember those? We had some lovely times on those. Still think of you every time I see them.” He is always alone, and never moves faster than a snail. Sometimes a solitary tear can be seen sliding down his cheek, but he always wipes it quickly away. I feel sorry for him; sometimes I rustle my swings a bit, inviting him to play, but he never stops; he keeps moving on, mumbling, always mumbling. I try to be as quiet as possible for him; I know what it is to be lonely. Once he accidentally tripped and fell. I felt so bad for him, because I could see that he had started to cry, but I do not think it was because he was hurt. Nobody comes to visit him anymore. My heart breaks for such a regal man, that he would be forgotten so easily and deemed to be of no use to society. I tried to send a little breeze his way to help him up and maybe even cheer him up a little, but it was no use. He just slowly stood up, wiping the tears from his eyes with the back of his hand, and shuffled off, probably to his cramped apartment that barely keeps him warm. He used to bring his grandchildren with him when he would visit me, and they would run and scream and play. Those were good days.

Sarah the After-School Kid runs through me on her way home every afternoon, evening plans and cute boys streaming through her mind as she streaks past my bushes and the water fountains that no longer have running water. She runs alone, a smile always on her face, hardly noticing her surroundings as she contemplates her next social endeavor, trying to climb another rung on the social ladder of her middle school. She is usually careful to run in the middle of the path, since that afternoon she tripped on an overgrown root, snagged her pants, and got in trouble with her mom. She came back to me that night, sobbing; she collapsed onto my cold ground, at the very spot on my path where she first fell, frustrated and angry with her mother for grounding her for two weeks. I remember well her frustration- “A stupid rip! In a stupid pair of jeans! Agh, I hate her!”- that was a sad night for me. You should never hate your parents. She stayed with me for three hours that night, and I tried many times to soothe her confused and angry heart. The turmoil of adolescence takes its toll on a young girl. Her mother had done things to the poor dear that I could not explain away, but I still did not think Sarah should have hated her. I do not know if there ever really is a reason for hate. I do know that the day will come when she will no longer come crashing through my gate on her way home; I know that someday she has to move on. But I think she will come back; the great ones always do.

Alice the Housewife takes a walk with her baby in a stroller every afternoon, her in a dress and apron, her baby always in a hat and a light coat. Her baby babbles and gurgles as they walk, laughing and trying to catch hold of leaves and stray blades of grass. Alice coos and laughs softly at her baby’s antics, bending down every so often to stroke her girl’s hair or kiss her head. They usually stop a few times along the way so that Alice can pluck a leaf from a nearby tree to show to her little one, who squeals in ecstasy and reaches with her little fingers, straining for the leaf. I laugh with the rustle of my leaves, inviting the young one to grab hold; sure it hurts when she plucks three or four from my branches, but it is forever worth it to see the look of pure innocence and joy lighting up her pixie-like face. Seems to me kids these days lose that look too soon, while they are still young, and they forget what it ever felt like. I look forward to the day when she will be a toddler and will come to play with me; oh the worlds of imagination I can show her! Her mother is a beautiful woman; yet I can tell she is deeply saddened by some tragedy of her past, long ago. Alice brought a friend with her once, and I think I overhead something about her husband maybe dying or being murdered? Or maybe she never had a husband. I am not quite sure; but when she walks with her baby and looks into her eyes, it is plain to me that she sees more than the little girl. She sees someone else; though I know not who.

And then there are Noah and Madison, the Lovers. They come to me almost every night, sneaking through the bushes in the back, giggling and kissing as they come, constantly touching and laughing as they round the corner to the playground. She sits down in a swing, and he bends down, planting a kiss on her forehead, then walks around her as she calms down and begins to breathe deeply. He places his hands on her back, and begins to push her as she closes her eyes and swings her legs to the rhythm. She swings and swings until she can barely breathe; until Noah is panting and can push her no more. She relaxes her legs and lets herself slow to a stop. She stands up; her legs are rubber and she sways gently as she turns around. She begins to giggle again, as she staggers toward him. He laughs as she falls into him, and they fall backward into my cold wet grass. Looking up at the stars, they lay quietly until they realize the time and jump up screaming and laughing again, running off through my gate, late for curfew. Theirs has not always been a happy tale; I remember their first fight (I am assuming it was their first, though I have no proof of the fact), their first kiss (that I am certain happened here- she mentions it all the time), and the first time they fell asleep together under the stars, her head on his chest, just as peaceful as I ever could imagine. I enjoy it when they come; too often people forget what it is to truly love, to forget the rest of the world exists; to see nothing but the electric blue eyes of your first love.

I have not always been frequented by those beautiful souls in whom the world finds its redemption, however. There exist some cruel, hardhearted people who plague my world with their darkness; lurking and stalking about in the shadows, they throw rocks at the birds and pee on the floor of the bathroom. Siniestro the Murderer steals in with the breeze, usually around three o’clock in the morning, looking for trouble. Most times he is alone; though sometimes he brings with him a young girl he has grabbed along the way, dragging her through my gates and into the darkness in order to terrorize or otherwise harm her. He is as smooth as the black silk lining of a coffin; his heart as devoid of warmth as the North Pole. And yet I have redemptive, healing powers even for Siniestro-- I hold for him memories of happier times, times before his mother died, when he was younger; her pushing him in the swings as his father stood across the playground, laughing and pushing his little sister down the slide (she was a precious child to behold, surely), and running to catch her at the bottom. They are all dead now; the target of a gang hit, a gang of which Siniestro is now a member. He brings his victims to me, for the simple reason that he has no other excuse to come, but the demons that haunt him here usually cause him to let them go unscathed. I try to help settle them with a cool breeze, but they usually run for their lives, sprinting through my gate as fast as their legs will take them. This makes me sad; these beautiful women will never play inside my borders again. There is, however, one exception: Koa. Siniestro brought her here, her kicking and biting and scratching. He dumped her on the grass, and holding a gun to her head, told her to get undressed. I was terrified for her; I know Siniestro and I know the harm he can cause. I should not have been worried though; Koa held her own and when Siniestro let her go, he was bleeding and limping and unsatisfied. She comes to visit me sometimes still, to remind herself of what courage and fight lies inside her; and though I wish it was under better pretenses, still I will not turn her away. I hate Siniestro, and yet I feel sorry for him; he is a soul in torment, lost to all but the deepest reaches of love, and that is something not even I can give to him.

I am a place of healing; and though many a politician has tried to pave me over, still I remain-- though I know not how I have managed to survive. I almost lost the fight a few times; there is one instance in particular of which I have an acute recollection. I do not remember the smarmy politician’s name, but he had just taken office, a naïve and overzealous young man with a heart of stone. His mind was consumed with the acquisition of money and power, and there was no room for a little park when a high-rise would do just as well. He would come to me at night, stalking about, poking my trees and mumbling to himself. I could see the lust in his eyes when he looked at me; he never saw my beautifully soft grass or my giggling little brook. He would slink about in the darkness, and every so often, when his eyes would catch a ray of light, I could almost see the dollar signs. I can only imagine that he used to be any different. What happens to a man to make him value nature and beauty so little? What sad and evil twist of fate caused his young and healthy heart to shrivel and shrink away from what is truly important in life? At any rate, he came to me about three times a week, until after a few months he never came again. I am still not quite sure why; there are those who need me still, and maybe they stood for me when I could not stand for myself.

I hope to be here for many years to come; though I know I will succumb one of these days to the pressures and the torments outside my walls. It is inevitable. I know that few will even notice I am gone, and fewer will miss me. I only hope that my legacy and the lives I have touched will be a testament to the time I have served here, a time throughout which I have tried faithfully to serve those whom I was put here to comfort, to protect, and to love. Will George remember me on his deathbed, as he walks toward that heavenly light? Will he remember my soothing breezes, my smooth sidewalks, my creaking swings? Maybe. I do not know. What about Sarah? Will she remember me in high school? When she is married? When she has children of her own? Somehow I do not think it so. And Alice? She will forget me for a time, I think, but when her precocious daughter is grown and moved away, she will come back to me and stroll idly through my trees, picking leaves and remembering happier times. Noah and Madison will forget me; of this I have no doubt. They might remember me as a symbol of their love, but they are so enamored with each other that the rest of the world is as a slipstream rushing by, with them anchored to each other in the middle. Siniestro, however, will never forget. Even though it may be in the deepest recesses of his mind, I will always be there, a gentle reminder that all is not evil in the world; it is never too late to be healed. My visitors come and go; who can say what they will and will not remember about me?

It matters not in the end; if only I am needed, I will be here, ready and able to lend a shady patch of grass or a cool breeze to soothe the aching heart.

BOO!!!! Did I scare you?

2005-10-31T23:42:00.000-06:00

Copied from my away message cuz I'm too lazy to type it all out in detail:

soccer at the REC · whooping Janet at soccer;-) · young men playing basketball on the other end of the court from us :-* · watching men "Lord of the Dance"ing · seeing one particular "Lord" sporting a shirt that said "Straight Pride" · me punting the ball up OVER the HUGE wall INTO the jogging lanes (any of y'all who know our REC knows how high that wall is) · Janet trying to jump over me while i tied my shoe and instead KNEEING ME IN THE HEAD (IT HURT.) · having some guy who had his social training interrupted as a boy come into our court and almost kick Janet in the head · Moving to another court · smoothies and GRILLED CHEESE after a hard game of soccah suckah! · sprinting up the hill on the way back and almost dying · getting back safe and sound and planning to do it again!

Happy Halloween 2K5.... :)

OOOoooOOOooo!

2005-10-31T20:40:00.000-06:00

Happy Fright Night!! I'll update a little later, right now I'm going to the REC with J-Nut to play some SOCCAH SUCKAH. ;) Hee hee.

“If one gives an answer before he hears, it is his folly and shame.”

2005-10-28T20:59:00.000-05:00

This is a great little article/essay thing by John Piper. I found it through Girl Talk, but since I don't know how many of you actually read it, I thought I'd post it here too. It's pretty awesome. Makes you think. I know I'D never thought of some of these things before. You'd think this stuff would be 2nd nature to most people, but you'd be wrong. Enjoy. :)

Ten Reasons to Listen to Questions Before You Answer

Meditation on Proverbs 18:13

October 25, 2005

“If one gives an answer before he hears, it is his folly and shame.”

It is arrogant to answer before you hear. Humility does not presume that it knows precisely what a person is asking until the questioner has finished asking the question. How many times have I jumped to a wrong conclusion by starting to formulate my answer before I heard the whole question! Often it is the last word in the question that turns the whole thing around and makes you realize that they are not asking what you thought they were.

It is rude to answer a half-asked question. “Rude” is a useful word for Christians. It means “ill-mannered, discourteous.” The New Testament word for it is aschēmonei. It is used in 1 Corinthians 13:5 where modern versions translate it, “Love is not rude,” but the old King James Version has “Love doth not behave itself unseemly.” This means that love not only follows absolute moral standards, but also takes cultural mores and habits and customs into account. What is polite? What is courteous? What are good manners? What is proper? What is good taste? What is suitable? Love is not indifferent to these. It uses them to express its humble desire for people’s good. One such politeness is listening well to a question before you answer.

Not answering a question before you hear it all honors and respects the person asking the question. It treats the person as though their words really matter. It is belittling to another to presume to be able to finish their question before they do.

Careful listening to a question often reveals that the question has several layers and is really more than one question. Several questions are all mixed into one. When you see this, you can break the question down into parts and answer them one at a time. You will not see such subtleties if you are hasty with your answer and not careful in your listening.

A question sometimes reveals assumptions that you do not share. If you try to answer the question on the basis of your assumptions without understanding the questioner’s assumptions, you will probably speak right past him. If you listen carefully and let the person finish, you may discern what he is assuming that you do not. Then you can probe these assumptions before you answer. Often, when dealing at this level, the question answers itself. It was really about these deeper differences.

Questions usually have attitudes as well as content. The attitude sometimes tells you as much as the content about what is really being asked. In fact, the attitude may tell you that the words being used in this question are not all what the issue is. When that is discerned, we should not make light of the words, but seriously ask questions to see if the attitude and the words are really asking the same question. If not, which is the one the questioner really wants answered?

Questions have context that you need to know. So many thoughts and circumstances and feelings may be feeding into this question that we don’t know about or understand. Careful listening may help you pick up those things. It may be that there is just a small clue that some crucial circumstance is behind the question. If you catch the clue, because you are listening carefully, you may be able to draw that out and be able to answer the question so much more helpfully.

Questions are made up of words. Words have meanings that are formed by a person’s experience and education. These words may not carry the same meaning for both you and the questioner. If you want to answer what they are really asking, you must listen very carefully. When the possibility exists that their question is rooted in a different understanding of a word, we will be wise to talk about the meaning of our words before we talk about the answer to the question. I find that talking about the definitions of words in questions usually produces the answer to the questions.

Proverbs 8:13 says it is our “folly” to answer before we hear. That is, it will make us a fool. One reason for this is that almost all premature answers are based on thinking we know all we need to know. But that is “foolish.” Our attitude should be: What can I learn from this question? The fool thinks he knows all he needs to know.

And finally Proverbs 8:13 says that it is our “shame” to answer before we hear. What if you are asked publicly, “My wife and I have had serious problems and we were wondering . . .” and you cut the questioner off by giving your answer about the value of counseling and what counselors might be helpful. But then they say, “Well, actually, what I was going to say was, “My wife and I have had serious problems and we were wondering, now that our counseling is over and things are better than ever, how you would suggest that we celebrate?” Then you will be shamed for not listening.

Still learning to listen with you,

Pastor John

©Desiring God

2005-10-28T15:09:00.000-05:00

This is fantastic. Very funny. Actually, I guess you'd sort ofo have to have a REALLY random sense of humor to enjoy this. I think it's golden.

Make sense, much?

2005-10-24T18:09:00.000-05:00

I'm a hopeless romantic.

But what is that? What does that mean? It seems a bit odd that those two words can be put together like that- "hopeless" and "romantic." I think it's a little bit of an oxymoron.

What did you just call me?

Anyway- I was thinking about it earlier, about how romantic movies like The Notebook and Fifty First Dates and even The Princess Bride make me all gushy, practically oozing estrogen. I turn into a simpering, slobbering GIRL when he takes her into his arms after he's lost her for twenty years, her crying, him passionate....stop. Kill me now. But I can't help it; I'm a sucker.

It's fake. All of it.

Does it ever happen like that? I'm not seriously inclined to think so. But even the story of how my parents came about fills my heart to overflowing. The world of romantic media (whether it's books, movies, or pictures even) has become a professional milking-the-emotions machine. It's not like they exactly come up with original plots, oh... EVER, and yet they still get me almost every time. Why? Am I hopeless? Is it really hopeless for me to try and find that man who will sweep me off my feet? Who will love me because he thinks I'm perfect?

I guess it is, yeah.

But that's not all of it I don't think. I love the idea of the nitty-gritty too. No one ever said marriage was a ride in the park, and if they did, go ahead and pull that pin and let them self-destruct.

That made no sense.

Marriage is made in the moments when you think you can't hold on any longer, the moments when you realize it was never you holding onto it in the first place. Marriage is made when everything about the person annoys you, and you're crazy about them anyway. When you're so in love with Christ that you can't help but see past all of their (and your) mistakes to love them with all you've ever known. Truman Capote once said, "Just because someone doesn't love you the way you want them to doesn't mean they don't love you with all they have," and I think he's right. We get so caught up in how we "know" love should be that we miss what it actually is.

Sad, right?

Marriage isn't finding someone who will sweep you off your feet; it's finding someone who will sweep the kitchen floor so you can vacuum the living room. It's not finding someone who will love you because he thinks you're perfect; it's finding someone who will love you because of your imperfections.

And if that makes me hopeless, then just tie the anchor to my feet now, because I'm ready to sink.

...But somehow I think I'll end up floating.

"It's about right that the lightbulb is burned out." --Michael Payne

2005-10-23T23:35:00.000-05:00

"Close your eyes and spin the globe. I'll close my eyes and tell you when to stop. When I say so, you put your finger down to stop it from spinning, and wherever it lands is a place I'll take you someday."

"Awww, really?"

"Really."

"Okay, here we go."

".........STOP."

"Oh whoa dude!"

"What?"

"WHOA."

"WHAT?"

"You're not gonna believe this. Look at where my finger is."

"Oh whoa... is that weird or what? Austin, Texas, the exact place we are right now?"

"Yeah. Payne's house in Cedar Park."

"Whoa."

"I know, right? Whoa."

"I love you."