Friday, November 25, 2011

How I REALLY Feel About Christmas

For those of you that read my blog earlier today (especially the Christmas one which is now deleted)... I'm sorry about all the things I said, a lot of which I didn't mean. I was just very frustrated with our extremely materialistic society and finding God in the midst of all the shopping and spending is just hard to do. It seems like there's two sides to Christmas: 1) the birth of Jesus and the whole nativity scene thing, 2) Santa, shopping, Christmas lights, sultry pop Christmas music, companies getting money, blah de blah blah blah.

And that's hard for me, because where do those two sides collide? Where is Jesus in the "other" side of Christmas?? It's hard to be enthusiastic about the birth of Christ when the only way people know how to celebrate it anymore is by buying expensive things that no one really needs when it should be celebrated with reverence, by treating others with compassion and love, by reaching out to those in real need. That's what I struggle with.

And the post I wrote earlier today, please know that I'm sorry. It was poorly written because I didn't know how to adequately express myself, so I whined about everything having to do with Christmas and was overall very pessimistic. Please let me redeem myself:

Jesus Christ is greater than all of Earth's problems. He is the epitome and personification of love and hope. I know that even though America (and, frankly, the rest of the world) really just "doesn't get it" a lot of the time, someday everyone will know what this life is really all about. Please, help me celebrate the day our Savior came to Earth out of love for us, or, as Relient K would put it, "I celebrate the day that You were born to die, so I could one day pray for You to save my life, pray for You to save my life."


I have a few ideas but please feel free to add more in the comments.

1) Instead of buying someone a present, donate that money you would have spent on a present for them, to a charity that they care about in their honor. Or if you don't know what particular charity they are passionate about about, donate it to one you care about. (Funny story, just as I was thinking about this, my Dad came into the living room and told me, "You know what you could get me for Christmas?" [I had asked him earlier what he wanted, to which he said he didn't know.] Then he started naming charities I could donate to in his honor. What a God-moment.)

2) Instead of buying someone a present (once again), write them a letter about how much they mean to you and how much you love and appreciate them. It would mean so much more to them and they would cherish it much longer. Jesus is a relational God, not a materialistic God.


Matthew 6:19-21 “Do not store up for yourselves treasures on earth, where moths and vermin destroy, and where thieves break in and steal. But store up for yourselves treasures in heaven, where moths and vermin do not destroy, and where thieves do not break in and steal. For where your treasure is, there your heart will be also."


Sorry again for my huge blunder. I ask your forgiveness.

God bless.


UPDATE: I found this GREAT picture that I would like to share:
Click it to make it bigger.
That's all. God bless.

From Couch to 5K

Hi. I've been running lately. I just started a month and a half ago when I expressed multiple times to my then-boyfriend that I would like to start running and that the hardest thing about it was finding the motivation. I said how much easier it would be if I had someone to do it with me. I wasn't trying to manipulate him into doing it, I was just speaking honestly. Seeing as how last semester (before we were dating), we had decided that this semester we would be "running buddies," he ended up being my motivation for starting.

I'm living proof that just because you're skinny doesn't mean you're in shape. Except for a slightly-chubby phase in high school, I've always been fairly skinny. Enough that if I did start running, or swimming or biking or whatever, I wouldn't lose very much weight and I wouldn't look a whole lot different. Maybe a little. But not much. However, I'm still a couch potato and sit on my bum eating cheezits and checking facebook in my spare time. Thank God I inherited my mom's high metabolism. What that means though, is that getting in shape, real shape, is still hard for me. Because on the inside, I'm still really out of shape. So there you go.

I did the Couch to 5K training program when I was a junior in high school with my mom. I felt and looked great, and I realized how much I loved running (almost as much as my mom, the 40-year-old marathon runner). But I remember it being very hard for me. I remember some days I would gasp for breath and feel like I was going to completely keel over. But by golly, by the time it was over, I could run a 5-kilometer race. And I did. With my mom.

My ultimate goal was to run a half-marathon, but I have weak ankles, flat feet, and bow legs, and by the time I was up to four miles, shin splints and knee pain took over. I never made it to more than four miles.   One time, after the 5K race, my mom and I decided to do the four miles. I was going very slowly because my knees hurt so bad. I remember telling her I felt like my legs couldn't hold me up but she pushed me to keep going, wanting to see me do my best. When we were around the three-mile mark, I think, we were on a bridge and I fell down. I was gasping for air and sobbing. Mom asked if I was alright, but I didn't feel alright, and I walked the rest of the way home. My body felt awful. But I didn't abandon running quite yet. I remember it being summer after my junior year, and on vacation with my family in New Hampshire. My mom and I went running several times, but one time was just too much. I stopped early, turned around and walked back. Mom recalls me crying, but I don't remember that part. That was the last time I ever ran. Sort of.

The next summer I worked at camp, and I ran a few times during my break to "get back into it," but nothing worked. By then I had gotten "orthotics" for my shoes which were supposed to help with my flat feet and consequent pain. When my freshman year of college started that fall, I went to the gym and ran twice the whole year. The second time I went, I threw up water on the bathroom floor afterward. It was the first time I'd thrown up since I was eight years old. I was too out of shape and I had pushed myself too far. You can't just start running out of the blue. But I was too stupid to realize that, and I gave up. I was completely unmotivated.

Then this guy came along and said he'd start running with me, so I got back into it about a month and a half ago. We did the Couch to 5K training program again, which was a good choice. He always got enough exercise from sports, so he was pretty much just doing this for me, so I could have someone to motivate me and keep me going. It wasn't as hard this time around, and I started feeling really good. We always ran around the 1/8th mile track, never on the treadmills. It was nice. Afterward he would always hold my feet so I could do sit-ups while I still had a lot of blood flowing to my muscles. He gave me tips on how to breath and how to eat and drink before running. Then we broke up. And I was running alone.

I am still doing the Couch to 5K, by myself. It's harder when you don't have someone pushing you, but  it's still the same. Your body doesn't feel any different but your mind has to try harder. My now ex-boyfriend having gotten me motivated enough to start, I now had the momentum to keep going back by myself. Besides, I know I'd be pretty disappointed in myself if I stopped now that I'd started.

I am on week 5 of 9 weeks (although it has taken me six weeks, haha. One week was repeated, but whatever.) Today I had to run 2 miles without walking. Since I'm home for Thanksgiving break and don't have a track, I run outside. (I don't know why I'm so against treadmills but I am. We have one in our basement that I never use.) This was the first time in the program where you don't stop to walk. I couldn't do it.

I could blame it on a number of things: Thanksgiving overeating happening yesterday, not waiting long enough for my breakfast to digest, the wind that was coming at me, being dehydrated, the air smelling like fresh asphalt making it harder to breath, the hills... a bunch of things. Maybe a combination of several of those. But I stopped to walk several times. I felt like I was going to keel over, or maybe vomit.  I feel bad about it. But I'll get back on track (Haha, get it? Back on track?) I'll get up to three miles eventually, even if it takes longer than the training program says. I BELIEVE IN MYSELF!!

Even though today was stinky, I have confidence in what I'm doing, and I feel good. It won't be much longer before I start to see a physical change in my body, I think. I thank God that I have been given a body that can do these things, that even though I have flat feet and bow legs etc., I can still run, I am still a young, physically able woman, and I can train my body to do all kinds of cool things. I love running. I don't know why. But this is so cool.

Maybe eventually I'll be able to write a blog post entitled, "From 5K to Half-Marathon".


God bless.

Wednesday, November 23, 2011

The Boy Who Cried Wolf

Paraphrased from Aesop's Fables:

Once upon a time, there was a shepherd boy tending his flock of sheep. One day, he thought it would be fun to trick the village into thinking there was a wolf attacking his flock of sheep, causing panic. So he ran into the village yelling "Wolf! There's a wolf attacking my sheep! Somebody help!" Men rushed to help while women and children hid in their homes. When it became clear that there was no actual wolf and that the boy was lying, they became angry and irritated because of the chaos that had ensued for no reason. However, the boy found it absolutely hysterical and relished in the extra attention.

A few days later, the boy played his trick again. He cried "wolf!", and the people came to help, only to find that he was once again lying.

After several repetitions of this prank, the people stopped coming to help when the boy tried to cry "wolf!" and the boy gave up on trying to trick them. However, it wasn't long until he was tending his flock when, lo and behold, a real wolf came stalking up. Panicked, the boy ran down to the village yelling "Wolf! There's a wolf attacking my sheep! Somebody help!" But everyone in the village just looked at him and shrugged. "All he knows how to do is lie! Maybe if we just ignore him he will stop," they said to one another. No one believed the boy, and he wept bitterly when he realized that every last one of his sheep had either been killed or had scattered, never to return.

The greek version of the story ends like this (according to Wikipedia): "The story shows that this is how liars are rewarded: even if they tell the truth, no one believes them."

~~~

The phrase "it's like the boy who cried wolf..." has come out of my mouth at least twice in the last two days, and in light of that topic, I will share with you those contexts and perhaps make a few other made-up scenarios relating to this topic, if I am feeling creative in fifteen minutes or so.


I was sitting with my friend Amber at lunch the other day, and we were discussing how some people really just... try too hard. Try too hard to be funny, try too hard to seem interesting, etc. We talked about how annoying it is to listen to someone who never. shuts. up. Especially if the only thing they are talking about is them-self. You know what I'm talking about.

I made the comment that one of my desires was to be one of those people that when I talk, people listen. To make every word I say worth listening to. But that's simply not the case, because, while I sometimes ramble in my writing, I am actually a pretty concise writer compared to how I talk. I (usually) (or at least, sometimes) know when to shut up, but sometimes I need to talk out my thoughts in order to comes to a real conclusion in my mind. It is the same with writing, but in writing, I have to think about what I'm going to say before I say it, which makes me at least a little more concise.

I also want to be funny. I feel like I usually don't seem like I'm trying too hard, but still, making people laugh is fun, and I am sometimes good at it, so that takes away from my focus of keeping my words limited to wise sayings only.

The end result is: ramble-ramble-ramble-ramble-ramble-wisesaying-ramble-ramble-ramble. Thus, by the time you actually say something worth hearing, people have stopped listening because even though you have something good to say now, you were boring for a long time beforehand. Just like.... the boy who cried wolf.


Last night I was lying in bed, home from college for Thanksgiving break, in my top bunk with my younger (but not much younger) sister on the bottom bunk, and we ended up pillow-talking and catching up until about two in the morning. At some point I was like, I want to talk to you about <<my recent ex-boyfriend>> but you have probably heard me talk about boys SO much in the last, I don't know, 8 or 9 years, that hearing me talk about this boy would be like the boy who cried wolf. And you probably don't even want to hear about it anymore. Her response? "No comment." Poop. But I can't blame her.

On a side note, I have never loved a human being more thoroughly than I love this guy. I mean that with all my heart, no matter how cliché it sounds. I don't even care if it sounds like the boy who cried wolf, all of you can hear me say that, and, believe it or not, I am telling the honest-to-goodness truth.


Perhaps from now on I'll pull a Jesus and be like, "I tell you the truth..." or something to that effect when I am about to say something actually worth-while. That way if you zoned out due to rambling, you'll know to perk up your ears and listen. Yep. Good plan. How about a test run? Okay.


So my sister is exactly two years and five days younger than me and even though she is younger than me she has bested me in driving seeing as how she can drive a little stick-shift car which I cannot do, I can only drive my automatic pick-up truck which I love, her name is Lucie and I love her because she is beautiful even though someone stole her spare tire and now she has a tail hanging down which is the cord that used to hold up the spare tire but oh well I mean life happens and sometimes people just need a little extra money so they steal a spare tire but my mom said the car people said I could just go to a junk yard and pick out a tire that is still good from an old wrecked car that way I don't have to actually buy a spare tire which would be nice because frankly I don't want to spend money because I don't have a job and I really need one because I really need money because I TELL YOU THE TRUTH: I am thinking about going to Thailand this summer.

Well, that was a very roundabout way to get the news out, but please pray for me and my decision/fundraising.


God bless.

Sunday, November 6, 2011

Black Cat

I worked at my camp this weekend, and on Friday night I had to stand by the entrance to greet people as they drove in for their weekend retreat. Now, in my part of the world, winter is approaching quickly at this time of year, and as the sun was setting and I was standing outside, I was getting pretty cold. And as I was standing there shivering, I heard a noise come from the woods next to the road. I saw a small animal which, in the dimming light, I identified as a black cat. It tentatively walked across the vacant street, and we watched each other; it wary, I curious. Eventually it was out of sight on the other side of the street. I  stood there thinking about this beautiful sleek forest-dwelling cat, and got the idea for this poem, which I wrote early this morning. Enjoy.


Black cat
Mysterious and beautiful
Despised and feared by all; loved by me.

You roam the streets,
hiding from the hatred,
Wondering why you have to be
The way you are,
When I find you: mangy and tired.

I take you home, cradled in my arms.
Food, bath, and rest.
And then we talk.

At first you don't trust me:
Shouldn't I hate you too?
Then you slowly learn the truth:
I want to love you.
You share your pain with me:
Black cat, despised by all;
Love is almost foreign.

...Slowly, slowly you learn
Until you feel comfortable
Crossing my path
or, unashamed, letting me see your black fur.
but the rest of the world?
Another story yet.

I pray, I pray, I pray
That one day
Your own beauty
is revealed to you
And you can go in the streets again:
Finally confident, finally happy
And not worried
about the fake bad luck others fear
Because, most precious black cat,
You were made beautiful,
And I love you that way.


God bless.