YOU'RE WELCOME.
While sharing this with my mom, I noticed another, similar gem in the sidebar. Indian Thriller. What...
I don't even know where to start.
KILLAH! KILLAH! KILLAH!
I know; it's the greatest thing you've ever seen. No, don't thank me. It's no trouble. Really.
But actually, I took "what have you been watching?" to mean basically, "what have you been enjoying?" So now that I've listed videos, some memes I've been enjoying.
"One friend suggested I post pictures but blur his face. Another advised me to wield the black bar, like the magazines do for the fashion nightmares they spot on the streets. Both would make him look like a criminal. (And that’s every mother’s worst fear.)"
"I use my cats’ names for some magazine subscriptions. Seamus (yes, that’s his real name) receives credit cards offers in the mail. And his offers are better mine."
I must be crazy, but I'm doing this. Writing for five minutes straight and posting the unedited version of whatever comes out.
You can find brief instructions and this week's prompt for the crazy thing I'm doing here. More detailed instructions are here or at the button at the bottom. Feel free to join the madness!
GO
I haven't yet graduated high school, but I feel as if I'm already in between it and college. I'm taking college classes dual-credit, and I don't have much high school left for next year (my last year). Enjoying the in-between period can get hard sometimes...I find myself feeling anxious about what I'll face next year, anxious to finish up this four-year season of my life. I need to stop and smell the roses. They won't smell the same this time next year!!
I guess it makes it even harder that most of my friends are a year older. I feel ready to be where they're at. But I'm not. (Really, I'm not! I promise. I have to keep telling myself that...)
I am determined to enjoy this next year. It's the last year I'll have to enjoy the freedoms that come with dependence, before applying the restraints of responsibility. It's my last year as a minor. Probably my last year at home. And most likely less busy than I'll ever findmyself again. So I need to enjoy the in-between time, and stop stretching from season to season. Because the season I'm stretching for will never really arrive.
STOP
Wow, that went fast. Dang it, I was on a roll! OK, please excuse any spelling and grammar mistakes because I'm really not even glancing back up at that. It would be impossible for me to do so without totally re-writing the whole thing, and that would destroy the point. Be sure to check out this other five minute Friday, and please click the link below and write your own! Have fun!
I need to post something today, because I didn't yesterday. However, nothing of consequence has happened in my life....I'll just give you some tid-bits.
My carpal-tunnel has returned.This started a little over a year ago. I think it began due to a myriad of things... 1) I take school pretty seriously. Given the fact that I'm an English major, this means a LOT of writing. 2) I play keyboard for a worship band at my church. 3) For my foreign language, I chose ASL (American Sign Language). No lips, just hands. Work those fingers, gurl! 4) I work at a tutoring center, which mostly consists of grading papers. More writing. 5) I really enjoy typing on laptops / iPads in bed rather than at a desk in a chair with armrests.
Last year, it started around April but healed somewhat when I started wearing a brace and exercising it, and it basically went away when school ended. It came back a couple weeks before Christmas break and again before Summer, but I'd just resume the brace-wearing and wrist-exercising, and then the school break would do away with it. It went away when this summer began. Then, I started blogging.
Oops.
But y'know,who cares? Not me! I can wear a brace, no problem! So I'mma keep blogging. Throwing caution to the wind!
In other news, The Catherine Tate show is the funniest thing ever. My personal favorite character:
Close second:
DISCLAIMER: This show is not kid-friendly. One character she plays drops the "F-bomb" incredibly often (I get the impression it's not quite as taboo across the pond), and some others will say crass lines here and there, usually unexpectedly.
Also, in case you didn't know, I love singing in the shower. Seriously. Just got out, and I feel way cleaner and refreshed than I would if I hadn't sang. Taylor Swift is usually my choice of tunes to belt out, although Ed Sheeran has recently made the list, and I occasionally feel like Luke Bryan or Florida Georgia Line.
So I took Halle to the park again tonight, and had another interesting experience. After we finished our Chick-fil-A, she ran over to play on the tire swing with some other kids. Those kid's mom was sitting on a nearby bench, singing. Like, really. Singing.She was using that diaphragm and beltin' it out, y'all! I actually like her choice of songs...
...and I'll admit that she had a good voice. But dude, are you at a concert? I mean, I sing with my friends sometimes when we're goofing off all otgether, but she was just by herself and letting it out like she's alone in the shower. Weird. I didn't think too much of it, 'cause y'know, who am I to judge? To each his (or, in this case, her) own, right? Maybe she just likes singing. Maybe she's a professional singer and practicing for her next concert. Maybe She's Lambert herself, in disguise!!
Yeah, I was kinda judging. You would have, too. It was freakin' loud, even with her on the other side of the park.
A few minutes later, she began pushing her kids on the tire swing. She seemed nice, the way she interacted with them and stuff. As I eavesdropped on casually noticed some conversation with her children, I caught that the oldest was named Miranda. Miranda. As in Miranda Lambert. As in the singer. The singer who sings that song, the one she'd been singing. And apparently the only singer she likes, since she'd now moved on to singing Kerosene.
I have nothing against the name Miranda. It's fine. It's posh. But lady, did you really name your kid after your favorite singer and then take her to the park to perform said singer's entire discography?
To each his (her) own. I'm sure you're a lovely person.
I had to stop watching coincidentally observing the scene because Halle wanted to swing. I pushed her for a minute before she ran off to the slide, and I thought, "I can see her from here. I'll swing for a bit too." So I did. My view:
Loved these pics so much, I had to hop down and get some more. Windows into the world of children.
I wonder if people were judging me, as I balanced way up on the swing with my zebra striped iPod, trying to zoom in to see Halle across the park. Maybe even Miranda's mom was judging.
But that really doesn't matter.
To each his (her) own.
Click the badge and open a whole new world of beautiful writing!
I wrote this post because it was stuck in my head. I had no idea what it looked like until it came out of my fingers. Please don't mistake it for my testimony or some extreme trial I've gone through recently; it is merely a simple picture of the unnecessary journey so many of us go through before we find Christ's love, or even after we've found it and decided to stray.
I am running. Running, and running, and running. The intense kind of running. Faster than a sprint, but longer than a marathon. For years, I've been running. The ground I cover begins to look familiar, and I wonder if I've been here before.
I am running from myself. From everything I've ever done and ever will do that constantly separates me from joy. If I keep running, maybe I'll find it. Joy. Maybe I can outrun my past and find a whole new world. I think I'm strong enough to do it. But my actions keep chasing me, and they're gaining on me. I don't know what to do.
I'm drowning. Drowning in a sea of evil. Lies, hate, lust, envy...they consume me and begin to swallow me. I am about to die.
Someone, standing on the shore, is watching me. "HELP," I scream. She shakes her head sympathetically. She's been her before, but she can't help. She points to something I've never seen before.
All my life, I have been running in circles around a hill. I have never stopped to look to the top of the hill, at what's been there all along. This girl points her finger, and I look to the top of the hill.
I fling away the suffocating waters and desperately run up the hill. The climb is surprisingly easy; nothing compared to the run I've endured. At the top of the hill, at the foot of the cross, I find the best thing I possibly could have found. Open arms. I am rescued. I am treasured. I am loved.
I weep tears of exhaustion, then turn to tears of joy. I have found my home. I will never leave the foot of the cross.
I lift up my eyes to the hills-- where does my help come from? My help comes from the LORD, the Maker of heaven and earth. He will not let your foot slip-- he who watches over you will not slumber; indeed, he who watches over Israel will neither slumber nor sleep. The LORD watches over you-- the LORD is your shade at your right hand; the sun will not harm you by day, nor the moon by night. The LORD will keep you from all harm-- he will watch over your life; the LORD will watch over your coming and going both now and forevermore.
One of the most, if not the most, popular cliche's among Christians is the concept of "quiet time." Quiet time can have a length of anywhere between 5 minutes and an hour or even longer. It's the time when you put away cell phones and social media, maybe even music (though some play Christian music), grab your Bible and highlighter, then get to reading and praying. Sounds great, right? Yes, it does! There is absolutely nothing wrong with the concept of quiet time. It's the practical application that sometimes gets us in trouble.
Do you know people who never stop talking about things they "read this morning in my quiet time" or "felt laid on my heart during my quiet time"? Do you ever wonder if they only have it so they can say stuff like that?? I do! I have gone through periods of my life where I don't have a regular quiet time. Actually, that's probably most of my life. I guess it would be more accurate to say I've gone through short periods of life when I did have a regular quiet time. These periods usually happen after a camp, Disciple-Now, or some other youth trip. Or they happen on January the first. Of course, I always know that "This time, it'll be different. This time, I really have changed. This time, I won't stop. I'll keep having quiet time. Every day. At X time of day. That's it. Forever." The thing is, that simply is not practical. Things com up. My motivation wears off. Once a day is a lot! And attaching a specific time makes it even more. If something comes up at that time, I feel like it's too late for that day. If this happens several days in a row, I feel like the entire effort has been wasted and it's too late to go back.
Am I the only one who feels this way? The thing is, I wish I didn't feel this way. I wish I could get motivated, commit, and wake up 15 minutes early every morning to spend some sweet time with Jesus. I want to be touched and amazed, to have one of those great quiet-time experiences that other people talk about. Maybe that would make me a Good Christian.
Wait a second...a "Good Christian"? That is not a thing. And thank God it's not! The entire basis of our Faith would crumble if it was. Romans 3:23 tell us, "All have sinned and fall short of the Glory of God." All fall short. No one is a "Good Christian."
The other thing is, my expectations are rarely met. In the periods of life where I have woken early for sweet time with Jesus, the time isn't sweet. It's forced.There's too much pressure. Too much expectation for this to blow me away and disappointment when it doesn't. Do you know when I do have sweet time with Jesus? When I'm in my car on my way to class, and I see the sun peering through the rainclouds that continue to pour down over my windshield; I turn off my music, and say a prayer of thanks. When I read a sad story that moves me to tears, and I turn to my Lord who has protected me from the things I'm reading about. When I'm in the shower, and I seize the precious moments of solitude to tell Jesus, as a friend, about my troubles a trials as well as the things I'm thankful for and the reasons I'm head-over-heels in love with Him.
Of course, all of these things lack a very important quiet time ingredient: the Bible. And yes, that is a problem. It would be ideal to read the Bible every day. But that's not just a box to check every morning and then stop worrying about! My Bible is what I turn to when I feel led. I don't read it every single day, and that's a problem I need to fix. However, I don't think quiet-time is the fix. I think the fix is listening. When I pray in the car, through my tears, and as I shower, I need to listen to what my Savior says back to me. Then, I need to find my Bible as soon as possible and look for related words of wisdom. Find confirmation of His love and promises. Get to know gpbetter the God I'm speaking to.
Another good fix is a Bible study. It doesn't replace solitary study, which I think is the main point of quiet time, but it does do a lot for spiritual growth. Plus, I find more accountability in that. People ask why I didn't show up to that, while no one will ever know if I skip my quiet time.
I absolutely love this post, in which my dear friend Becky writes about her dates with Jesus. Have you ever heard that comparison, about treating Jesus like a significant other? I hear it quite a lot, and I really like it. Some point out that if your boyfriend whom you loved wrote you a love letter, you'd read it over and over, take notes, and memorize portions of it. Thus, they say, we should do the same with our Bibles, our love letter from God. I agree! But if we're sticking with that, we should remember that neither a boyfriend nor The Lord would require that we spend a certain amount of time each day reading and studying His letter. Neither would He require a certain amount of minutes at a certain time of day. God is not the overly attached girlfriend anxiously waiting by the phone waiting for our call. He is ready anytime we want to talk, and yes, he desperately wants to hear from us, because He's in love with us! In fact, He loves us too much to guilt us into time with Him. It is our decision. It will be infinitely healthier for us to spend as much time with Him as possible, because His love sustains us. But if we don't have quiet time every morning, He won't strike us with a lightning bolt or open up the earth to swallow us. He will simply wait patiently for us to coming running back into His open arms.
The thing is, there's nothing wrong with quiet time. The title isn't exactly true. If you don't know that I often exaggerate, you don't know me at all. Of course I believe in quiet time. I just don't believe in the strict necessity of that particular formula for quiet time. I don't believe in the label called "quiet time." I don't believe in the pang of guilt I used to feel when others mentioned the amazing revelations of their quiet time and I wondered why mine wasn't as fulfilling. If the formula works for you, great! If you like calling it "quiet time," no problem. But you should never feel that pang of guilt for not following that formula with that label. I don't feel that anymore because I have found fulfillment in my beautifully sporadic dates with Jesus. Spend time with The Lord because you want to, not because you think you have to.
PS, I don't believe in Carpe Diem either. When she talks about Kairos-- that's what I'm talking about! Kairos is my quiet time.
This morning, while chilling on the sofa, blog surfing and listening to Ed Sheeran (pretty much the best combo ever), I came across this post, and whoa..it's like she wrote my first post, only better. So blogging is my "thing." What's your thing?
Another thing I came across, something that happens to me a little bit too often....this conversation:
"Whoa, said my friend as she read Sammer's comment, "this guy's, like, into it!" I sat there and dreaded the inevitable point of her reading my comment, probably twice the length of his. My mom came over to see what we were talking about..."Oh, honey," she said condescendinglypiteously gently and sympathetically, "I don't even have to read what you typed. The fact that you're in this conversation means we need to stage an intervention. It's OK, we're here for you! Admitting you have a problem is the first step." Turning to my friend, "Quick. I'll distract her, you call people."
If only she had seen the later addition to the conversation...because yes, it continued. My next comment? In response to this,
I wrote this:
Yep. I'm a nerd.
Later that afternoon, I went shopping with another friend. We spotted an enourmous Half Price Books store, so of course we ended up going in "just to look around..." and not spend $40.... A couple of my finds:
Careful with your headdesk there, don't hurt yourself! Yeah. These are things. These are MY things, gosh-darn-it, and I am PROUD. My mother, however, is not.
"You have low expectations for these, right?"
"Well, someone told me this series was actually pretty good. And this other one is like a choose-your-own-ending thing."
*tries to suppress uproarious laughter, and fails so bad I think her drink came out her nose*
"A Doctor Who choose-your-own-ending? That's like-- I can't even think of a comparison. But I will. I'll text it to you later. Because books based on TV shows are always bad! And choose-your-own-ending's are bad too!! It's like-- like-- It's like a veggie-burger on a wheat-free bun!!!"
Gotta admit...that was pretty funny. And not far from accurate. Here are some gems from the book:
Of course, my expectations were definitely low on that one. But I'm hoping the other one won't be simply awful! I didn't get this for the literature (which is nonexistent) anyway, I just thought it'd be fun. And it was! I'm planning to go back and try alternate endings as soon as I finish writing! YAY!
Something to look forward to, right? I'm not weird! There's nothing wrong with me. Nothing to be concerned about. I AM NOT AN ANIMAL.
Feet up, ear-buds in, and "Dinos" fruit snack out. All the right subjects with all the right prepositions; perfect set-up for blogging. Especially perfect because this house is totally quiet, an adjective which never ever happens at my house. You see, this is not my house. I'm babysitting, and the kid's asleep. The most peaceful times of my life tend to happen when those two things are true.
Of course, babysitting is not always peaceful. It's not always even fun. But it usually is! Today, I took three-year-old Halle to the park. She tends to run off and make friends as soon as we arrive, leaving me to sit on the pavement and watch from a distance. She has a blast. This particular time, after she'd been socializing for about 2 and a half minutes, a little girl, seven years old, came running up to me, green dress and pig-tail braids flying behind her, demanding some answers.
"HEY. Are you really her babysitter?"
"Yes, in fact, I am!"
"Huh. How do they get treated?"
"..who?"
"I mean, how do babysitters treat kids? What do you do?"
I explained that sometimes Halle's mommy and daddy want a night out with just the two of them, so they call me and I come over to watch their kid and take care of her till they come home. She had endless questions, like how often they do that? Do I do it for other mommies and daddies too? Have I ever watched a little baby? What about an older kid? How many kids do I watch? How many at one time? The number of career questions I answered today would indicate that I was a lawyer or an architect or something fancy like that, rather than a babysitter. The girl was cute, though. I didn't mind talking to her.
A couple minutes into our conversation, another girl, about 2 years old, dashed up and plopped her cute, ruffled butt right down in my lap. "She likes hugs," explained the pig-tailed girl. "Oh," I said, unsure as to how to proceed, "well..where is her mommy?"
"Over there."
"Well, does her mommy want her to talk to strangers?"
"Only when I'm here. I'm kind of like her baby-sitter. I'll keep her safe, it's ok. And y'know who's watching when no grown-ups are here? Jesus."
I was trying to decide how to explain the suspicious appearance of my holding her in my lap when her attention span fortunately expired and she jumped to join Halle in a game of tag. But the pig-tailed girl wasn't bored with me yet. She showed me how to play a hand-clapping game, then showed Halle as well. Suddenly, she jumped up and said, "Well, I don't think my mom wants me talking to strangers this much. I better go."
OK then.
A few minutes late, she returned to ask me to push her in the swing. I didn't mind at all, but asked if her mom would mind. "I don't think so. She doesn't like strangers, but I think you're nice."
"Well--" I stammered, grasping for the right words, "I am nice, but not everyone is. And some people seem nice, when really they're not. So you shouldn't talk to strangers, even if you think they're nice."
stare.
"So...go ask your mom, and if she says it's ok I'll swing you."
I'm such a softie when it comes to cute little girls. Turns out, her mom had been watching the whole time and was glad to let me swing her. So I did, until it came time to go.
"Say good-bye to your friend, Halle." She'd been playing tag with a little boy her age.
"Bye-bye!"
I guess he heard "Bye, By" because he answered, "My name isn't 'By,' it's Alexander."
"Halle, say 'Bye, Alexander!'"
"See ya."
I guess that's easier to say than "Alexander."
As I drove Halle home, this Taylor Swift song came on. I've always liked this song, and it's always made me think of the kids I babysit. But never like this. I kept thinking about the pig-tailed girl. Her innocence, and desire to trust anyone who seemed "nice." I thought about Halle, and how much she's changed since I first met her. Even more, how much she will change in the not-far-enough-away future. It was all I could do to keep the tears invisible to the little blue eyes in my back seat.
This is getting much too serious, so I'll share one last funny anecdote from the mouths of babes.
Upon arriving at her house, Halle exclaimed, "I saw a dog at the park. A training dog." I flashed back to my memory of a boy dragging, I mean seriously, dragging, a dog by the leash. The teeny tiny animal was making every effort to keep up, but most of the time he remained airborne with his legs whirling like a hamster in a wheel. The scene had seemed almost comical, in a sick, twisted way. I felt sorry for the poor dog! I wondered if she had seen the same one, as I asked, "What do you mean by 'training dog'?
"He...trains."
Kids sometimes have to have a lot of patience with us "grown-ups" (not that I am one! Oh no, not at all!!) and our slow minds. But that's what makes baby-sitting fun. Kids are the best.
Last night, I spent like an hour writing seven paragraphs of blog on my iPad. Then I tabbed over to "photos," editing faces out of a pic so I could post it for all you creepers out there to see. But apparently, tabs on a tablet are not the same as tabs on a laptop.
I lost every. last. word. NOOOOOOOOO!!!!!!!!!!
I can't exactly tell you why I feel so incredibly sad about this, since I had questioned seriously whether my seven-paragraph post was even a thing. I guess it was, because I miss it much. In fact, I miss it enough to attempt to try again. So here we go! Once more, with feeling!
Mmk. Everyone in the world went to camp this week. I mean, all my friends. Well, all my church friends. Or...most of my church friends. Y'know, I think accuracy is overrated. I'll just leave it at EVERY HUMAN BEING ON EARTH except me went to camp this week. I was expecting to feel bored the entire week with all my friends gone. Fortunately, this week so far has turned out much more fun than I thought it would!
Monday, my classmates and I (in a dual-credit class at the local community college) (Well, dual credit for me. They're actually in college.) ditched the lab to eat junk food downstairs and chat about everything under the sun. And take silly pics for Instagram.
Yes, this is what I did when I tabbed over last night. Not worth it. Though, random side-note, my moms reaction to this photo: "Katie, all the friends you've made are beautiful. And you need to be careful about that. By comparison, you'll always look best next to ugly people." I'm not sure that I agree, though. When I see a group of attractive guys, if there's one average-looking guy in there, I don't really notice. I just see attractive people. Y'know? And if they're all ugly with one who's ok looking, it's like he just got down-graded and grouped in with the weirdos he hangs out with.
(Disclaimer: I promise I'm not a judgmental jerk, though it might seem so after reading the above paragraph...I just like to exaggerate for comic effect. As does my mother, who wasn't calling me ugly up there; she followed it up with a disclaimer similar to this one.)
Yesterday, we did almost the opposite...we stayed like an hour late in lab to help each other ace every assignment. And my friend in the middle up there (I'm on the right) tried to set me up with a handsome, foreign sounding guy. This game is always equally fun whether or not it succeeds (it didn't).
After arriving home from my lab, I played a couple games of Settlers of Catan with my mom and a friend. We love this game because it's like someone took Monopoly and fixed it! See, I don't know if you've noticed this about Monopoly, but about an hour into any given game, one player clearly has the win in the bag. Yet, you still keep playing for about an eternity and a half. Settlers doesn't end up that way! The win can turn around any minute, faster than you can say "Monopoly sucks." Also, even when your chance of winning has gone to never return, you can still keep busy in the game and have fun. You build roads, buy cards, pick on the winning players, etc. In Monopoly, the only thing left for you to do is slowly go bankrupt.
After receiving a total butt-whooping in two Catan games, I left for Starbucks with my book. See, reading at Starbucks is one of those things that I always enjoy once I'm there, but the thought never sounds appealing. I think a big reason could be the unfriendliness of our employees! Starbucks-peeps should act friendly, right?? Not true where I live. Plus, the parking lot is difficult to get into. So the steps from my house to Starbucks consist of me packing up four enormous books, lugging them into a cramped parking space, receiving coffee after some perfect service-without-a-smile, and then beginning the long, painful process of finding a place to sit. In addition to annoying employees, our Starbucks contains one or two tables too many, giving it a permanent feeling of overcrowded-ness, regardless of how many people sit there at any given time. Two corners consist of four big, comfy chairs. Usually, one chair from each corner remains occupied. Can I totally sit right down across from a complete stranger? Is that a thing? I feel the same conflict about the long table with twelve seats, which usually contains one person and one laptop. Hi, can I sit with you? Or are you really occupying a dozen seats right now? Anyway, I finally popped a squat across from someone in the big-comfy-chair area. And y'know what? Hipster-dude didn't care. I don't think he even noticed. And once I sat down for some reading/blogging, I really enjoyed myself! Mental note.
Of course, I didn't actually get any blogging done yesterday afternoon. I started with reading, and my nose got caught. I couldn't get it out in time to write. London by Edward Rutherfurd has me thoroughly enthralled! I can't recommend it with a clear conscience yet because I'm only 86-pages into the 829-page book, but I'll keep you posted! Maybe write a review when I finish.
And then, last night, I finally sat down to blog. Only I didn't have anything to say. So I read some archives from my mom's old blog, searching for inspiration. In one post, she mentioned that, though she rarely writes them, blogs about simple, daily life are her favorite to read. Is that real? Like, is that a thing? I sure hope so, 'cause I just wrote one, to the tune of seven (Holy cow, now it's NINE!) paragraphs. TWICE! I wrote a non-thing twice. And you've just read to the end! Congratulations! But seriously, what do you think? Is this a thing that I should continue writing? I mean, when I have something to say, I'll obviously say it. But when I don't should I do this? (By "do this," I mean what I just did, which is basically throw-up on the Internet. That's what I've done here.)
This morning, I heard a song called "Devastation and Reform," by Relient K. My favorite line in the song says, "You save me from my prayers." I think it earned its place as my favorite because every time I hear it, I can't stop thinking about it! Not saving us through our prayers, or saying yes to our prayers. Saving us from our prayers. Doesn't that just blow your mind?? Maybe I'm the only one, but the idea persists in mesmerizing me.
I think it shows an example of how the Son's sacrifice truly saves us from ourselves more than from some outside evil. Yes, I believe in Satan and his demons. But I don't believe they forced us into our desperate need for a Savior. Christ saved us, first and foremost, from our own sins. However, even after that sacrifice has covered our eternal salvation, He must continue to save us, on a daily basis, from our own prayers. Because we pray for things that we don't need! Not only that; we pray for things that would harm us. We pray for sunshine, and God saves us from drought. We ask for rain, and He saves us from flood. We pray for a better job, but God saves us from a bad situation there that we're unaware of. Or He saves us from missing the ministry opportunity sitting right in front at our nose at our current, lower-paying job. We pray for a relationship, and He saves us from heartbreak or mistreatment.
I'm not trying to make us out like mindless puppets who don't know what we want or need. I'm also not saying that we shouldn't ask for things. We absolutely should! We only need to remember that when we don't receive all of our requests, we are not being abandoned or punished for something. (Another line in the song: "I have mot been abandoned, no, I have mot been deserted and I have not been forgotten.") The simple fact remains that we have in mind only the moment; God has all of eternity. He created us and therefore knows us infinitely better than we could ever know ourselves. The fact that we ask for things we shouldn't receive is exactly as it should be; after all, we are His children. But remember to continue to thank Him for saving us from our prayers.
Also, I typed this whole thing on my iPod Touch. Who da boss?!
I got home this morning, feeling a sudden urge to write. "I haven't written anything longer than a to-do list since school let out," I thought. The desire to keep up some skills combined with a Jones-ing for that feeling of having created something pushed me enough to open up my journal and write down the date before I thought, "hey, ditch handwriting in a notebook, I should blog!"
Towards the end of the school year, I'd planned to start a blog either this summer or in the Fall. Mom said she'd give me Journalism credit for it. (Perks of being homeschooled!) So, might as well get going while I feel like writing, right?
Some time later...."Mom, I just spent over an hour tweaking my template, title, and domain. I also created a Google+ and downloaded every app related too it. I still have yet to write anything."
"Wow, you sound like an actual blogger!"
Now, 12 hours later, here I am sitting on my bed with my iPad and my fancy new Google apps. So I have to write something, right? WRITE? (I'm sorry, but I've thought about using that pun like four times now. I just had to go there.) But what do I write about??? I never thought I'd miss those journal-prompts from English class. Or even the essay assignments! I really just need to write...something.
So where do I start? Book review? Story from my summer class? Funny anecdote? Theological discussion? Description? Fiction? Persuasion? Poem? I simply do not know!!!
Therefore, I started here. Writing about not knowing what to write about. the go-to subject for an enforced, timed journal session in pre-school. The most cliche' first-blog in the history of the Internet. Well, at least I'm writing, right (write)? Maybe that's all that really matters. Maybe I don't really care if anyone reads this or likes it, relates to it or laughs at it, agrees with it or comments on it, finds amusement in it or feels moved by it. Maybe I don't even care if I never post again and this site sits up here for years with one post about nothing, and I don't even get a Journalism credit for it. Maybe all I really care about is that I wanted to write, and I did! Maybe that's the most satisfying reason for doing anything.
A few years ago, my mother decided I did not have enough physical strength and endurance. (Trust me, she was right.) So, she signed me up for a work out class. And I got stronger! But I hated it with every fiber of my being. As soon as she let me off the hook, I stopped doing any physical training and drifted right back to the couch where I had sat, stagnant and idle, before the class. Then, about a month ago, I decided that I wanted to feel fit. I needed to become stronger. So, I did! I started with 13 crunches, and couldn't go any further. 'Til the next day, when I did 49. And then 100. Now, every morning, I wake up and do 200 crunches, in addition to push-ups and jumping jacks. I walk nearly 3 miles and jog up and down stairs. If I look better for it, that's great. But what's even greater is that I wanted to do it, and I did it. I feel much prouder than I did when it wasn't my goal. I also wanted an A average on my High School transcript, and I got it. I wanted to read the Bible in 90 days, and I did it. I wanted to create a blog post, and I wrote it!
I also wanted 20 hours of dual credit, and it looks like I'll only end up with ten. I wanted 35 hours of work per week this summer, and I only have eight. I wanted to read "Gone with the Wind" last Christmas break, and I only read half. But y'know what? Ten hours is still ten hours! Eight-per-week is still a job! Half of "Gone with the Wind" is still 500 pages! And a blog about nothing is still a blog.
I guess my point is, (hey look, a point!) if you wanna do something, do it. If you don't quite make it, stay proud of what you did acheive! And don't even consider giving a crap about what other people think.
Hey! I wrote an actual post about an actual thing! It took me a while to get there, and my writing didn't have awesome direction or conciseness...(partly due to the fact that I had absolutely no plan. I literally just started typing.) I guess not all readers will stay long enough to find the point. Maybe they won't even come back to see if my next post is any better. But...(any guesses what I'll say next? Wait for iiiiiit....) I don't care! I wrote this post for me. I feel satisfied with it. Maybe I'm the only one. And maybe I still don't care.
