1) The first thing you need to do is to choose what kind of paper you're going to write your letter on. If it is going to be a long letter, you should probably stick to loose leaf. If it is going to be medium-ish, you have the chance to use fancy stationary sheets, but if it's going to be rather brief, you can just write on a little card with a cute picture on the front. Or a notecard, if that's all you have. But you should probably dress it up with a sticker.
2) Always start your letter with the day and date in the top left-hand corner. It should look something like this:
Sat. 5/11/13
Well, that's how I always do it. Just make sure the day of the week and date (including year) are all there.
3) Dear Jane,
or
My dearest Jane,
or
Jane-
or
My beloved Jane,
or
Jane, whom I love,
or
SUP JANE!!!
4) Now you can begin to write the content of your letter. It can be about anything you want it to be, but it has to be nice. Discouragement is not allowed in letter-writing. Story-telling is permitted as long as you do not embarrass the person to whom the letter is addressed. In fact, try not to embarrass anyone, unless it is you and you are okay with that. Oh, and make sure you utilize paragraphs.
5) Double-check your letter for spelling and grammar errors. If you wrote in pen, that's okay, scribbling is allowed. This is not for a grade.
6) Optional: Choose a cute tagline that you use with consistency. Mine is "God bless". My mom always uses "PTL" which stands for "Praise The Lord". Yours doesn't have to be all religious, though, if you don't want. It can be just like your little signature. Something that identifies you as you. Something that gives your letters consistency.
7) Sign your name! Try to have your signature perfected by this point. Only your first name is required though. Save your last name for the envelope. You can also preface it with something like "Sincerely," "Love," or "Your friend,".
7b) You may have forgotten some small detail. Writing "P.S." after your signature, and then mentioning the thing you forgot, is appropriate. P.S. stands for "post script". If you thought of yet another thing to say, write P.P.S. and P.P.P.S., NOT P.S.S. or P.S.S.S., etc.
8) Add any finishing touches (a drawing, a sticker, a photograph, a coupon, a million dollar check) and fold up your letter! Seal it inside the envelope! Add detail and color and fun to the envelope!
9) Address and stamp your envelope! Don't forget the return address!
10) Take your letter to the mailbox and drop it in the slot. Hooray! Your letter will probably be delivered within 2-3 business days if delivered in the U.S.!
*Writing letters is a positive form of communication. It is better than face-to-face conversation in some ways, because you are able to gather your thoughts before you communicate them. It is a thousand times better than texting. It is an effective method of encouraging your friends and showing them your love and affection in a healthy, not creepy way. If you're not used to it, that's okay. Just do it. Just start. I highly recommend it. That's all.
God bless.
Tuesday, February 28, 2012
Smelly Frank
Each sentence in this story starts with the next letter of the alphabet. Enjoy.
Already having taken his morning bath, our beloved protagonist, Frank, felt clean and ready to start a new day.
Believing himself to smell rather fresh and flowery, Frank ventured out of his house unafraid.
Cautiously, Frank opened his car door and sat down inside, breathing in deep the freshness of his leather seats.
Daring to roll down the windows, Frank enjoyed a nice breeze blowing into his car on the way to work.
Eventually, Frank got to a stop sign at the end of a long country road.
Feeling a little nauseous, Frank realized that the smell he now encountered was that of a skunk near the tree line by the side of the road.
Gasping for breath, Frank hastily turned his car and continued to drive.
Honestly, I think Frank should just calm down.
Into the city Frank drove.
Joining other cars in the midst of heavier traffic, more repugnant smells encountered Frank.
Kissing his open windows goodbye, Frank rolled them up.
Losing the breeze was unfortunate, but it was worth it to not have garbage smells and air pollution filling up his car and ruining his fresh bath smell.
Minding his own business, Frank drove along.
Noticing the red light in front of him, Frank bolted to a stop.
Obviously not paying attention, the car behind him slammed into the back of his car.
Pyrotechnics lit up all around Frank due to his car exploding.
Queasy, Frank fled from his car.
Running and running and running the rest of the way to work.
Stopping only for a quick breath, Frank finally made it to work.
This was not a good day for Frank.
Unfortunately, he now was quite sweaty and had a particularly foul odor.
Venturing to ask what had happened, Frank's boss got only a dirty look from Frank.
When the stares subsided, Frank sighed and sat down at his desk, daydreaming of his bath that seemed so long ago.
Xiphisternum was hard to focus on today, even though it was Franks speciality.
Younger versions of Frank would not have been pleased to see this day come about.
Zealous for smelling clean, Frank realized he had an extra stick of deodorant in his desk drawer, and smiled.
God bless.
Already having taken his morning bath, our beloved protagonist, Frank, felt clean and ready to start a new day.
Believing himself to smell rather fresh and flowery, Frank ventured out of his house unafraid.
Cautiously, Frank opened his car door and sat down inside, breathing in deep the freshness of his leather seats.
Daring to roll down the windows, Frank enjoyed a nice breeze blowing into his car on the way to work.
Eventually, Frank got to a stop sign at the end of a long country road.
Feeling a little nauseous, Frank realized that the smell he now encountered was that of a skunk near the tree line by the side of the road.
Gasping for breath, Frank hastily turned his car and continued to drive.
Honestly, I think Frank should just calm down.
Into the city Frank drove.
Joining other cars in the midst of heavier traffic, more repugnant smells encountered Frank.
Kissing his open windows goodbye, Frank rolled them up.
Losing the breeze was unfortunate, but it was worth it to not have garbage smells and air pollution filling up his car and ruining his fresh bath smell.
Minding his own business, Frank drove along.
Noticing the red light in front of him, Frank bolted to a stop.
Obviously not paying attention, the car behind him slammed into the back of his car.
Pyrotechnics lit up all around Frank due to his car exploding.
Queasy, Frank fled from his car.
Running and running and running the rest of the way to work.
Stopping only for a quick breath, Frank finally made it to work.
This was not a good day for Frank.
Unfortunately, he now was quite sweaty and had a particularly foul odor.
Venturing to ask what had happened, Frank's boss got only a dirty look from Frank.
When the stares subsided, Frank sighed and sat down at his desk, daydreaming of his bath that seemed so long ago.
Xiphisternum was hard to focus on today, even though it was Franks speciality.
Younger versions of Frank would not have been pleased to see this day come about.
Zealous for smelling clean, Frank realized he had an extra stick of deodorant in his desk drawer, and smiled.
God bless.
What Is Love?
This post was prompted by my dear friend, Adam, who gave me the daunting task of writing about what love is. So. I guess I'll try my best.
Although very clearly discussed in 1 corinthians 13, and having a perfect image of what love would look like in human form via Jesus Christ, perhaps we are all permitted to have a little leeway in our own interpretation of the idea.
I guess I could start with my firm belief that not all love is the same love. There are several different types of love, and many variations on each type. For example, one type of love would be brotherly love, another similar type would be platonic love, then we can't forget romantic love, and of course God's unconditional love.
You could argue further that one can have selfish love, "things" love ("I love that book"), love of passion for a hobby or career, motherly love, sentimental love, and all kinds of other smaller types of love, but those, in my opinion, are less to be trifled with. Unless you are a mother. Motherly love can be pretty important.
I guess what I'm saying is that the love that deals with relationships with other people are more deserving of our attention.
I don't really know where to go from here.
You've heard the clichés, "A good friend hugs you when someone hurt you. But a best friend says 'whose face do I need to punch in?'" or how about this one?: "A good friend visits you in jail. But a best friend is in the cell with you saying, 'Man was that fun!'"
How realistic is this? That is to say, have any of you ever had a friend that actually did these things? Sure, they're funny to think about, but I doubt you have a friend this insane. Well, maybe you do. I don't know your friends. But I can't think of anyone in my life that even has that kind of personality. Even remotely. However, we all (hopefully) have those few friends that are so near and dear to our hearts that even though all they do is hug you, or visit you, or listen to you, they're really doing the most loving thing for you. They're showing you they care. They're not letting you down. They're letting the relationship go a step deeper. It would be easier to just numb the pain rather than to share it with someone who loves you, but the easy way out isn't always what's best and they know that. What about the friend who does the practical thing and gives you a car ride on a moment's notice or offers to buy you ice cream or writes you little notes of encouragement or helps you wash your dishes or fold your clothes when you're feeling crummy? They're loving you in a different way, maybe, but loving you all the same.
One of the hardest things to decipher between, in my experience, is the difference between romantic and platonic love. Okay, not so much on my part, but I really make it hard on the men I encounter. I have a thing with hand-holding, and I have led many a man astray by holding their hand. The act, I felt, was meant to be strictly platonic, but they interpreted it as romantic. Yeah, uh-oh. Smiling and laughing, spending long hours talking, can be interpreted different ways by different parties. Therein lies the importance of DTR: define the relationship. Are we friends? Are we going to date? How do we feel about each other? What is actually going on here? Yes, we love each other, but what does that love mean? What category does it fall under?
While this is something to be careful about, there is something incredibly beautiful about both romantic and platonic love. The love between a man and a woman, whether they are husband and wife, brother and sister, or simply best friends, is a beautiful and profound thing.
Uhhh, what else was I going to say? If you're still reading, I owe you much thanks. You're so faithful a reader, even though I'm totally flying by the seat of my pants here.
Ah, yes. Unconditional love. Maybe if you want to hear about that you should turn to the Bible and learn all about God's grace and mercy. We are dirty sinners, we have turned our backs on our Father, we have mocked him and ignored him, we have flat-out denied him, we have deliberately disobeyed him, we have spat in his face. Yet he loves us. So much so that he sent his one and only son to die for us. Because you know what? All that bad stuff we did? It's sin, and the punishment for sin is death. We deserve to die. We deserve to go to hell. Every one of us. But we got Jesus instead. Perfect, sinless Jesus died so we wouldn't have to. So we could go to Heaven. Why? Because he loves us. Despite all the crap that we've done, he loves us. He didn't do it for himself. He could have sat in paradise perfectly content while the rest of us suffered, but God himself came down to earth to suffer with us, and then he died for us. What does that tell you about our God? What does that tell you about love? I don't know how to go much deeper into it.
I can't tell you what love is. I can't. There are a zillion sayings out there that talk about what love is, and yet no one really knows, but I think God's got it all figured out, so we should just say what he says on the matter. God? What do you think?
God bless.
P.S. John 3:16, Romans 5:8
Although very clearly discussed in 1 corinthians 13, and having a perfect image of what love would look like in human form via Jesus Christ, perhaps we are all permitted to have a little leeway in our own interpretation of the idea.
I guess I could start with my firm belief that not all love is the same love. There are several different types of love, and many variations on each type. For example, one type of love would be brotherly love, another similar type would be platonic love, then we can't forget romantic love, and of course God's unconditional love.
You could argue further that one can have selfish love, "things" love ("I love that book"), love of passion for a hobby or career, motherly love, sentimental love, and all kinds of other smaller types of love, but those, in my opinion, are less to be trifled with. Unless you are a mother. Motherly love can be pretty important.
I guess what I'm saying is that the love that deals with relationships with other people are more deserving of our attention.
I don't really know where to go from here.
You've heard the clichés, "A good friend hugs you when someone hurt you. But a best friend says 'whose face do I need to punch in?'" or how about this one?: "A good friend visits you in jail. But a best friend is in the cell with you saying, 'Man was that fun!'"
How realistic is this? That is to say, have any of you ever had a friend that actually did these things? Sure, they're funny to think about, but I doubt you have a friend this insane. Well, maybe you do. I don't know your friends. But I can't think of anyone in my life that even has that kind of personality. Even remotely. However, we all (hopefully) have those few friends that are so near and dear to our hearts that even though all they do is hug you, or visit you, or listen to you, they're really doing the most loving thing for you. They're showing you they care. They're not letting you down. They're letting the relationship go a step deeper. It would be easier to just numb the pain rather than to share it with someone who loves you, but the easy way out isn't always what's best and they know that. What about the friend who does the practical thing and gives you a car ride on a moment's notice or offers to buy you ice cream or writes you little notes of encouragement or helps you wash your dishes or fold your clothes when you're feeling crummy? They're loving you in a different way, maybe, but loving you all the same.
One of the hardest things to decipher between, in my experience, is the difference between romantic and platonic love. Okay, not so much on my part, but I really make it hard on the men I encounter. I have a thing with hand-holding, and I have led many a man astray by holding their hand. The act, I felt, was meant to be strictly platonic, but they interpreted it as romantic. Yeah, uh-oh. Smiling and laughing, spending long hours talking, can be interpreted different ways by different parties. Therein lies the importance of DTR: define the relationship. Are we friends? Are we going to date? How do we feel about each other? What is actually going on here? Yes, we love each other, but what does that love mean? What category does it fall under?
While this is something to be careful about, there is something incredibly beautiful about both romantic and platonic love. The love between a man and a woman, whether they are husband and wife, brother and sister, or simply best friends, is a beautiful and profound thing.
Uhhh, what else was I going to say? If you're still reading, I owe you much thanks. You're so faithful a reader, even though I'm totally flying by the seat of my pants here.
Ah, yes. Unconditional love. Maybe if you want to hear about that you should turn to the Bible and learn all about God's grace and mercy. We are dirty sinners, we have turned our backs on our Father, we have mocked him and ignored him, we have flat-out denied him, we have deliberately disobeyed him, we have spat in his face. Yet he loves us. So much so that he sent his one and only son to die for us. Because you know what? All that bad stuff we did? It's sin, and the punishment for sin is death. We deserve to die. We deserve to go to hell. Every one of us. But we got Jesus instead. Perfect, sinless Jesus died so we wouldn't have to. So we could go to Heaven. Why? Because he loves us. Despite all the crap that we've done, he loves us. He didn't do it for himself. He could have sat in paradise perfectly content while the rest of us suffered, but God himself came down to earth to suffer with us, and then he died for us. What does that tell you about our God? What does that tell you about love? I don't know how to go much deeper into it.
I can't tell you what love is. I can't. There are a zillion sayings out there that talk about what love is, and yet no one really knows, but I think God's got it all figured out, so we should just say what he says on the matter. God? What do you think?
God bless.
P.S. John 3:16, Romans 5:8
Wisdom Teeth Extraction
I woke up this morning with a pretty sore mouth. You can probably figure out why by the title of this blog post, but since it's 7:15 in the morning on my spring break and I clearly have nothing better to do than tell all you lovely folks about it, I invite you to read about and enjoy my small adventure.
By the way, forgive me for any spelling or grammar errors. You have to remember that it is 7:15 in the morning and that I only got about 5 hours of sleep and I have vicodin in me (a known cause of spelling and grammar errors, as I'm sure you all know). I'll edit it when I'm finished so it shouldn't be too bad.
So, on the 27th of February, 2012, my first official day of spring break, I got up bright and early to go to the oral surgeon with my mom. When we got there, we said a little prayer in the parking lot, then went in and chilled in the waiting room for maybe ten minutes.
When the nurse took me into the surgery room, she talked to me about my schooling while all sorts of monitors were hooked up to me. She put a hair cap over my head. I wonder if she had ever touched dreads before. I found that amusing. The doctor came in and was talking to me too. I remember thinking I have to talk to these people and make sure they know I'm intelligent before they put me under and wake up mumbling incoherently. The nurse wanted me to look at her while he put a needle in my arm, which they were going to use to give me the anesthetic and whatever else they needed to inject into me. I would have been fine had I been looking at it though. It felt kind of like when I donate blood, except I'm betting the needle was smaller (I never saw it) and it hurt more. I grimaced but dealt with it. What are you gonna do? When it was all in and settled, the nurse said, "Good job. You made that look easy." Then they put a mask over my nose and said this is giving me oxygen. It felt really weird. Even though it wasn't over my mouth, I could breath this weird cold oxygen through it (my mouth). They said I was going to start to feel kind of woozy. I was like alright that's fine. At first I felt normal, then the ceiling started to spin. That was pretty much the last thing I remember.
About an hour and a half later, I woke up. I felt pretty awake at the time, and when I talked I knew exactly what I wanted to say, but looking back I don't remember much of it. The hair cap was gone. I had a bandaid on my arm where the needle was. There was a blanket on me. I was in a different room and my mom was there. I think there was an ice pack on my head. My mouth felt so full (from the swelling and gauze) but it was also really numb. My tongue felt like big intruder in my mouth, because my finger could feel it when I touched it, but my tongue couldn't feel my finger. I think it was in the car ride home when I kept sticking my finger in my mouth because I felt like the gauze was blocking my airway and it was hard to breathe.
I also really had to go to the bathroom. They asked me as soon as I woke up if I had to go. I said sort of but I can wait. A few minutes later, I didn't feel like I could wait much longer, but I held it until I got home. I remember seeing the wheelchair outside the door and asking if it was for me (more than once) but I don't really remember riding in it out to the car. I remember vaguely thinking that I probably looked really terrible to anyone who could see me as I rode out, but tried to reassure myself that they could tell I had just had surgery and that I needn't feel self-conscious.
When I got home, Mom helped me go to the bathroom (she helped me sit and stand but I did the rest by myself). Then she wanted me to take a pill. I stood in the kitchen, put the pill in my mouth, and tried to take it with water, but all the water spilled out of my mouth onto the front of my shirt and the floor. I felt bad about the mess I made but I couldn't really help it. I tried again, this time more successfully. I'm not sure if I swallowed the pill on the first try (it felt lodged in my throat), but I probably did. It just felt weird. I lied down, texted my friend, and promptly fell asleep on the couch. I dreamed about eating crunchy foods. I went in and out of consciousness, always feeling totally mentally awake when I woke up, but really I wasn't very awake at all until late afternoon when my family started coming home. I barely remember mom changing my gauze pads. I don't think she changed them more than twice, though. I didn't bleed too long.
For dinner, I had jello, tapioca pudding, and cream of mushroom soup. I couldn't open my mouth very wide (I still can't). It was hard getting a spoon in and out of my mouth, but I was hungry.
I stayed awake for the rest of the evening. I started to feel pain but nothing too terrible. I woke up at 6:00 this morning in pain though, but like I said, I've taken a vicodin, so I'm doing a little better now..
I may update later, if anything interesting happens. I realize this post was somewhat boring, but you know. Most people go on a lot more little adventures than they do big ones. This is my little adventure. Now I think I'm going to try and lay down and take a morning nap :)
God bless.
By the way, forgive me for any spelling or grammar errors. You have to remember that it is 7:15 in the morning and that I only got about 5 hours of sleep and I have vicodin in me (a known cause of spelling and grammar errors, as I'm sure you all know). I'll edit it when I'm finished so it shouldn't be too bad.
So, on the 27th of February, 2012, my first official day of spring break, I got up bright and early to go to the oral surgeon with my mom. When we got there, we said a little prayer in the parking lot, then went in and chilled in the waiting room for maybe ten minutes.
When the nurse took me into the surgery room, she talked to me about my schooling while all sorts of monitors were hooked up to me. She put a hair cap over my head. I wonder if she had ever touched dreads before. I found that amusing. The doctor came in and was talking to me too. I remember thinking I have to talk to these people and make sure they know I'm intelligent before they put me under and wake up mumbling incoherently. The nurse wanted me to look at her while he put a needle in my arm, which they were going to use to give me the anesthetic and whatever else they needed to inject into me. I would have been fine had I been looking at it though. It felt kind of like when I donate blood, except I'm betting the needle was smaller (I never saw it) and it hurt more. I grimaced but dealt with it. What are you gonna do? When it was all in and settled, the nurse said, "Good job. You made that look easy." Then they put a mask over my nose and said this is giving me oxygen. It felt really weird. Even though it wasn't over my mouth, I could breath this weird cold oxygen through it (my mouth). They said I was going to start to feel kind of woozy. I was like alright that's fine. At first I felt normal, then the ceiling started to spin. That was pretty much the last thing I remember.
About an hour and a half later, I woke up. I felt pretty awake at the time, and when I talked I knew exactly what I wanted to say, but looking back I don't remember much of it. The hair cap was gone. I had a bandaid on my arm where the needle was. There was a blanket on me. I was in a different room and my mom was there. I think there was an ice pack on my head. My mouth felt so full (from the swelling and gauze) but it was also really numb. My tongue felt like big intruder in my mouth, because my finger could feel it when I touched it, but my tongue couldn't feel my finger. I think it was in the car ride home when I kept sticking my finger in my mouth because I felt like the gauze was blocking my airway and it was hard to breathe.
I also really had to go to the bathroom. They asked me as soon as I woke up if I had to go. I said sort of but I can wait. A few minutes later, I didn't feel like I could wait much longer, but I held it until I got home. I remember seeing the wheelchair outside the door and asking if it was for me (more than once) but I don't really remember riding in it out to the car. I remember vaguely thinking that I probably looked really terrible to anyone who could see me as I rode out, but tried to reassure myself that they could tell I had just had surgery and that I needn't feel self-conscious.
When I got home, Mom helped me go to the bathroom (she helped me sit and stand but I did the rest by myself). Then she wanted me to take a pill. I stood in the kitchen, put the pill in my mouth, and tried to take it with water, but all the water spilled out of my mouth onto the front of my shirt and the floor. I felt bad about the mess I made but I couldn't really help it. I tried again, this time more successfully. I'm not sure if I swallowed the pill on the first try (it felt lodged in my throat), but I probably did. It just felt weird. I lied down, texted my friend, and promptly fell asleep on the couch. I dreamed about eating crunchy foods. I went in and out of consciousness, always feeling totally mentally awake when I woke up, but really I wasn't very awake at all until late afternoon when my family started coming home. I barely remember mom changing my gauze pads. I don't think she changed them more than twice, though. I didn't bleed too long.
For dinner, I had jello, tapioca pudding, and cream of mushroom soup. I couldn't open my mouth very wide (I still can't). It was hard getting a spoon in and out of my mouth, but I was hungry.
I stayed awake for the rest of the evening. I started to feel pain but nothing too terrible. I woke up at 6:00 this morning in pain though, but like I said, I've taken a vicodin, so I'm doing a little better now..
I may update later, if anything interesting happens. I realize this post was somewhat boring, but you know. Most people go on a lot more little adventures than they do big ones. This is my little adventure. Now I think I'm going to try and lay down and take a morning nap :)
God bless.
Saturday, February 4, 2012
Passive Aggressive
**This is not real life. This is me passively-aggressively making fun of passive-aggressive people. All characters appearing in this work are fictitious. Any resemblance to real persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental. It's a joke, really. Dedicated to Claire and David.
You know who you are. You acted like my friend and got me to trust you, then you took my heart and you threw it to the ground and smashed it to BITS and I never want to talk to you again in my life. You're a terrible friend and I hope you don't think I'm going to just get over this. But I'm not going to say your name because I'm going to be the better man (well, woman...) and not shame you in front of God's whole creation.
On the same note, you go and talk behind my back all the time. I know the lies you tell and the rumors you spread. If you're going to say those things why don't you say it to my FACE? Because that's totally what I'm doing in writing this post. Man up! Are you too scared that I'll whoop your butt? Well good, because you should be scared. And if I can't do it, I'll just sic my big brother on you. He's real, I swear.
Furthermore, I saw you talking to my man. Let me just say, BACK OFF. He's MINE and if you think you can ever come near him again, well, you better watch your back! Why don't you go find yourself a slime-bug of a man who's on your level, hmmm? Yeah, that's what I thought.
You are officially dead to me. You can tell I'm totally OVER you by the way I'm being nonconfrontational and writing your anonymity of a name all over my blog. Also, I LOVE the way you'll probably read this and not even say anything to me about it. You probably hate me. Well fine, maybe I feel the same way about you. You know who you are.
Don't be that guy, folks.
Matthew 5:43-48 “You have heard that it was said, ‘Love your neighbor and hate your enemy.’ But I tell you, love your enemies and pray for those who persecute you, that you may be children of your Father in heaven. He causes his sun to rise on the evil and the good, and sends rain on the righteous and the unrighteous. If you love those who love you, what reward will you get?..."
You know who you are. You acted like my friend and got me to trust you, then you took my heart and you threw it to the ground and smashed it to BITS and I never want to talk to you again in my life. You're a terrible friend and I hope you don't think I'm going to just get over this. But I'm not going to say your name because I'm going to be the better man (well, woman...) and not shame you in front of God's whole creation.
On the same note, you go and talk behind my back all the time. I know the lies you tell and the rumors you spread. If you're going to say those things why don't you say it to my FACE? Because that's totally what I'm doing in writing this post. Man up! Are you too scared that I'll whoop your butt? Well good, because you should be scared. And if I can't do it, I'll just sic my big brother on you. He's real, I swear.
Furthermore, I saw you talking to my man. Let me just say, BACK OFF. He's MINE and if you think you can ever come near him again, well, you better watch your back! Why don't you go find yourself a slime-bug of a man who's on your level, hmmm? Yeah, that's what I thought.
You are officially dead to me. You can tell I'm totally OVER you by the way I'm being nonconfrontational and writing your anonymity of a name all over my blog. Also, I LOVE the way you'll probably read this and not even say anything to me about it. You probably hate me. Well fine, maybe I feel the same way about you. You know who you are.
Don't be that guy, folks.
Matthew 5:43-48 “You have heard that it was said, ‘Love your neighbor and hate your enemy.’ But I tell you, love your enemies and pray for those who persecute you, that you may be children of your Father in heaven. He causes his sun to rise on the evil and the good, and sends rain on the righteous and the unrighteous. If you love those who love you, what reward will you get?..."
God bless.
Be Still
This blog post is dedicated exclusively to God (the great I Am, the God of Abraham, Isaac, and Jacob, and the one associated with/in cahoots with Jesus Christ).
Stress about boys... it's something every girl has to go through at some point. And it's never fun. But it has to happen.
I don't know what it is about me that makes me attractive or whatever it is guys like so much about me, but I have no romantic interest in 75% of the guys that express romantic interest in me. Which is really saying something because I get a lot of crushes. Well, at least I used to, when I was approximately 12-15 years old. I'm finally sort of normal about that. But that's not the point. The point is that for no reason apparent to me, guys get crushes on me.
And saying no is hard. Because even though you don't like them like them, you still like them. So you don't want to break their earnest little hearts.
See? I'm being silly about a topic that has actually been weighing heavily on my heart. Yay!
Not to mention, the guy I do care about dearly... well, there's drama. You know. It happens. Not going into detail.
So, there's your vague background for this post. Here's what happened this weekend/just now.
I worked for my summer camp at a church retreat for middle schoolers. Basically for this particular event: go in Friday night, have a brief reunion with old summer staff friends, kids come for a few hours, they leave. Have slumber party where you watch "Cool Runnings" in the church basement. Kids come back Saturday, you lead Bible study, games, etc., kids leave, the end.
The Bible study curriculum, which I was seeing for the first time this weekend, was all about PRAYER. Hopefully we drilled it into these kids' heads enough* that PRAYER IS GOOD ALWAYS. And other various facts, such as: prayer can take on different forms, God always answers prayer (even if the answer is not always yes), prayer is a two-way conversation, prayer can be about pretty much anything, prayer is the communication part of an important relationship with God, etc.
*I do not mean we brain-washed children, as these facts about prayer are TRUE (or at least essentially, seeing as how I paraphrased them.) If you disagree, don't bother arguing because these is my blog and it reflects my thoughts and you can just deal with that. I love you though, readers.
Middle schoolers don't always grasp that prayer is a two-way conversation; not only do we talk to God, but God talks back. And frankly, college students like me can't really fully grasp that concept either. Although I fully commend my parents' methods of teaching me how to pray and appreciate and benefit from their efforts, I wasn't really raised on the idea of "listening" to God. It's only been introduced to me in the last couple of years.
I had a good, enjoyable time this weekend. Getting to relive talking to kids about Jesus was beautiful, and so was singing the old familiar songs and seeing old friends (especially KJ and Kaitlyn since it's been a long time for them for me.) It was a nice escape. I didn't even have internet.
As soon as camp ended this afternoon, I had to go to my actual job at the pizza place (I drive stalkers crazy when I'm vague like that), so I found an Arby's drive-through and spent the 20 minutes before I had to clock in eating roast beef and curly fries in my car. I was sitting there eating, and my mind was wandering back to real life at school with the stresses, drama, etc. I had there, and completely out of the blue, I started to sob. I had to force myself to keep eating. It was so weird. I was fine all through work after that and for the drive home, but when I got back to my dorm room, it hit me again and forth came the waterworks. In the midst of my tearful despair, I pencilled a letter to God, expressing my concern, my overwhelming loneliness, my cluelessness at what to do, my longing, my love. He listened quite patiently, I believe.
A brief phone and texting conversation later (each with different people), the clock struck 9 p.m. Now, my college has bells that chime on the hour (you know, that old grandfather clock tune), and then it tolls out a hymn for everyone on campus and beyond to hear. The hymns change every hour, and from day to day, but I can always depend on 9 p.m. being "Be Still My Soul". No matter the season or the day, that's the only hymn that is regularly played. (Unless there's like a 4 a.m. one that's always played that I have no awareness of...)
Moved by the title of the hymn (about the only part I know by memory), I looked up the lyrics online. I was still crying so I couldn't really sing along, but I whispered the words in time and heard the melody in my head (even when the clock bells stopped playing). Verses one and three in particular stuck out to me:
Be still, my soul; the Lord is on thy side;
Bear patiently the cross of grief or pain;
Leave to thy God to order and provide;
In every change He faithful will remain.
Be still, my soul; thy best, thy heavenly, Friend
Through thorny ways leads to a joyful end.
Be still, my soul, though dearest friends depart
And all is darkened in the vale of tears;
Then shalt thou better know His love, His heart,
Who comes to soothe thy sorrows and thy fears.
Be still, my soul; thy Jesus can repay
From His own fulness all He takes away.
Then, right after that, I saw a facebook message with a Youtube link to a brand new song (which you should purchase at your local iTunes shoppe) called "Be Still" by The Fray:
Be still and know that I'm with you
Be still and know that I am here
Be still and know that I'm with you
Be still, be still, and know
When darkness comes upon you
And colors you with fear and shame
Be still and know that I'm with you
And I will say your name
If terror falls upon your bed
And sleep no longer comes
Remember all the words I said
Be still, be still, and know
And when you go through the valley
And the shadow comes down from the hill
If morning never comes to be
Be still, be still, be still
If you forget the way to go
And lose where you came from
If no one is standing beside you
Be still and know I am
Be still and know that I'm with you
Be still and know I am
It was like God himself was singing this to me.
That's when it hit me: God was answering. At the exact right moment, right after I had prayed to him in desperation (be aware that this goes much deeper than having to tell a few boys I don't like them...I just don't want to tell you all the personal details of my life), he answered me with calming words and beautiful music.
Let me repeat that: God talked back. I believe it wholeheartedly and am comforted greatly. I just need to be still (as both songs strongly emphasize) and trust in him. He knows what he's doing.
As I said on Twitter shortly before starting this blog post,
"God ≈ Horton the Elephant... Faithful 100%"
And that is how God taught me, once again, the same thing I was teaching a bunch of seventh graders only earlier today. I love him.
God bless.
Stress about boys... it's something every girl has to go through at some point. And it's never fun. But it has to happen.
I don't know what it is about me that makes me attractive or whatever it is guys like so much about me, but I have no romantic interest in 75% of the guys that express romantic interest in me. Which is really saying something because I get a lot of crushes. Well, at least I used to, when I was approximately 12-15 years old. I'm finally sort of normal about that. But that's not the point. The point is that for no reason apparent to me, guys get crushes on me.
And saying no is hard. Because even though you don't like them like them, you still like them. So you don't want to break their earnest little hearts.
See? I'm being silly about a topic that has actually been weighing heavily on my heart. Yay!
Not to mention, the guy I do care about dearly... well, there's drama. You know. It happens. Not going into detail.
So, there's your vague background for this post. Here's what happened this weekend/just now.
I worked for my summer camp at a church retreat for middle schoolers. Basically for this particular event: go in Friday night, have a brief reunion with old summer staff friends, kids come for a few hours, they leave. Have slumber party where you watch "Cool Runnings" in the church basement. Kids come back Saturday, you lead Bible study, games, etc., kids leave, the end.
The Bible study curriculum, which I was seeing for the first time this weekend, was all about PRAYER. Hopefully we drilled it into these kids' heads enough* that PRAYER IS GOOD ALWAYS. And other various facts, such as: prayer can take on different forms, God always answers prayer (even if the answer is not always yes), prayer is a two-way conversation, prayer can be about pretty much anything, prayer is the communication part of an important relationship with God, etc.
*I do not mean we brain-washed children, as these facts about prayer are TRUE (or at least essentially, seeing as how I paraphrased them.) If you disagree, don't bother arguing because these is my blog and it reflects my thoughts and you can just deal with that. I love you though, readers.
Middle schoolers don't always grasp that prayer is a two-way conversation; not only do we talk to God, but God talks back. And frankly, college students like me can't really fully grasp that concept either. Although I fully commend my parents' methods of teaching me how to pray and appreciate and benefit from their efforts, I wasn't really raised on the idea of "listening" to God. It's only been introduced to me in the last couple of years.
I had a good, enjoyable time this weekend. Getting to relive talking to kids about Jesus was beautiful, and so was singing the old familiar songs and seeing old friends (especially KJ and Kaitlyn since it's been a long time for them for me.) It was a nice escape. I didn't even have internet.
As soon as camp ended this afternoon, I had to go to my actual job at the pizza place (I drive stalkers crazy when I'm vague like that), so I found an Arby's drive-through and spent the 20 minutes before I had to clock in eating roast beef and curly fries in my car. I was sitting there eating, and my mind was wandering back to real life at school with the stresses, drama, etc. I had there, and completely out of the blue, I started to sob. I had to force myself to keep eating. It was so weird. I was fine all through work after that and for the drive home, but when I got back to my dorm room, it hit me again and forth came the waterworks. In the midst of my tearful despair, I pencilled a letter to God, expressing my concern, my overwhelming loneliness, my cluelessness at what to do, my longing, my love. He listened quite patiently, I believe.
A brief phone and texting conversation later (each with different people), the clock struck 9 p.m. Now, my college has bells that chime on the hour (you know, that old grandfather clock tune), and then it tolls out a hymn for everyone on campus and beyond to hear. The hymns change every hour, and from day to day, but I can always depend on 9 p.m. being "Be Still My Soul". No matter the season or the day, that's the only hymn that is regularly played. (Unless there's like a 4 a.m. one that's always played that I have no awareness of...)
Moved by the title of the hymn (about the only part I know by memory), I looked up the lyrics online. I was still crying so I couldn't really sing along, but I whispered the words in time and heard the melody in my head (even when the clock bells stopped playing). Verses one and three in particular stuck out to me:
Be still, my soul; the Lord is on thy side;
Bear patiently the cross of grief or pain;
Leave to thy God to order and provide;
In every change He faithful will remain.
Be still, my soul; thy best, thy heavenly, Friend
Through thorny ways leads to a joyful end.
Be still, my soul, though dearest friends depart
And all is darkened in the vale of tears;
Then shalt thou better know His love, His heart,
Who comes to soothe thy sorrows and thy fears.
Be still, my soul; thy Jesus can repay
From His own fulness all He takes away.
Then, right after that, I saw a facebook message with a Youtube link to a brand new song (which you should purchase at your local iTunes shoppe) called "Be Still" by The Fray:
Be still and know that I'm with you
Be still and know that I am here
Be still and know that I'm with you
Be still, be still, and know
When darkness comes upon you
And colors you with fear and shame
Be still and know that I'm with you
And I will say your name
If terror falls upon your bed
And sleep no longer comes
Remember all the words I said
Be still, be still, and know
And when you go through the valley
And the shadow comes down from the hill
If morning never comes to be
Be still, be still, be still
If you forget the way to go
And lose where you came from
If no one is standing beside you
Be still and know I am
Be still and know that I'm with you
Be still and know I am
It was like God himself was singing this to me.
That's when it hit me: God was answering. At the exact right moment, right after I had prayed to him in desperation (be aware that this goes much deeper than having to tell a few boys I don't like them...I just don't want to tell you all the personal details of my life), he answered me with calming words and beautiful music.
Let me repeat that: God talked back. I believe it wholeheartedly and am comforted greatly. I just need to be still (as both songs strongly emphasize) and trust in him. He knows what he's doing.
As I said on Twitter shortly before starting this blog post,
"God ≈ Horton the Elephant... Faithful 100%"
And that is how God taught me, once again, the same thing I was teaching a bunch of seventh graders only earlier today. I love him.
God bless.
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