Song of the Week 12-18-10

Song of the Week 12-11-10

Compliments to my brother for the suggestion

Song of the Week 12-4-10

This song means something more than just about music.
I listened to this song at my old high school during a fundraiser. This song was sung near the end. I have never heard this song before but it impacted me. The man singing this song was blind. He was escorted up by the girl who would then play piano for him and he sang his heart out.

During the time of that song I was jealous of him. His courage, strength, and spirit came out during that song when he sings, "nothing's going to change my world" over and over again. It was beautiful and could have produced tears to those who opened themselves up to it. This is why music is more than just music. Music is art. It's the soul and mind expressing its' emotions, thoughts, dreams, and aspirations.

My Life as a Story

Does anyone remember those old Wally McDoogle books? The ones where the title is always, "My Life As A ...?" I enjoyed those books growing up. I read them all, unless they made new ones since I grew out of them.

I can't remember why I liked those books.

I can take some guesses though. Maybe it was the fact that the main character was kind of a klutzy geek-ish type person. Maybe it was because of the side stories that the main character wrote about with superheroes and villains with funny names. Maybe they were just overall good stories that, as a kid, I could enjoy.

Have you ever wondered what your own autobiography would look like? I have, at times, mostly before I doze off to sleep or lose track of time in the shower. I wonder what the title would be or what the book genre would be. Will it be made into a movie?

After thinking about the loads of money I will make, and fame I will gain from the movie, it hits me that my life would not make a very good movie, or a good book for that matter. I accept that, I mean, there's no hiding from it, not all people can have a movie made after them. Some people just don't have the movie type of life.

I had to make a video this year for class that describe my life in three minutes. Of course, I couldn't think of anything.

I'd rather make up something about my life. How I saved a drowning boy in a raging river or once serenaded a group of girls with a trumpet and a vuvuzela. That would be a fun story.

I ended up making a movie that repeated the same shots over and over again for three minutes because my life, in general, is consistent. Not that there is anything wrong with consistency but, ya know, who wouldn't enjoy a little spontaneity once in awhile?

I want my life to be movie/book worthy.

So now I sit and think back to Wally McDoogle; the boy who you never saw coming, saving the town from imminent destruction. These books, from what I recall, always pushed the story into Wally. For some reason, Wally was just in the wrong place at the wrong time or one decision led to another decision which in turn led to the book. At the biggest moments, Wally chose to put himself into harms way or he was forced too even though he didn't want too.

Life seems to always come with emergency escapes, but never with Wally.

I think this is the hardest part about living a better story. Forcing yourself into the story. Doing something that is not necessarily scary, but rather something that you're not comfortable with. Stepping into this fear could lead to a good story, or it could lead to total embarrassment. Is it worth the risk? Probably, but I tend to lean on the side of conserving my self-esteem and don't engage this risk. This, I understand, is probably the downfall as to why my life isn't move/book worthy.

I have people around me to encourage me to step into this fear but it's much more than that. It encompasses the whole body. Emotionally, physically, spiritually, and mentally. I'm not sure where to start, what to say, what to do, or even what I want, who I am, and what do I want to be.

Maybe that's a start.

Song of the Week 11-27-10

Song of the Week 11-20-10

Toilets

The toilets in my dorm are very loud.  They are these high pressure toilets that I would think you would normally find in sports arenas.  When you flush, it sounds like a jet taking off. 

I always kick the handle with my foot to make it flush.  Like I'm pushing the ignition button for lift-off or stepping on the jet accelerator.  Not that you needed to know that but now you do. Let that image sink in.

Late at night. When most of my roommates are in bed and my roommate isn't snoring loudly you can hear the jet engine toilets taking off in other rooms.

This noise comforts me.

Why? Because it means other people are using the toilets too, which means they use it just like I use it, which I am just like everyone else.  It means were equals and that is comforting to me. It's not about seniority or "one-upping" one another(I walked on the moon) but rather equality. That the two of us are both equal, made in Gods image, and that we both have to go through this ridiculous awkward process of going to the bathroom.

When I hear that jet toilet take off I close my eyes, get a little smirk on my face, and sigh deeply thinking about toilets and how we all use them.

A friend of mine was convinced that woman never go to the bathroom because they are just too perfect to be involved in such a process.  I think he was joking but I enjoyed believing in it for awhile.

It taught me how to love.

This is going to sound weird, probably because it is but I want you to imagine someone you know. Naturally, you will think of someone you like, at least hopefully you do.  Now imagine them walking into the bathroom, going to the bathroom, flushing the toilet, washing their hands(always), then walking out of the bathroom.

Creeped out? Disturbed on a whole new level?  Do you still like this person?

Hopefully you do.  Now take it a little deeper.  Now imagine the girl/guy you have had your eye on for awhile.  Now lets say they come out and it is stinky.

Is this going too far? Do you still like this person?

You should, because you have probably done the same at some point in your life and people still like you so it would be rude not to so the same.

The point is, if you can imagine someone, in my opinion, in this awkward process, in a low point of human civilization, it is very easy to pour out love to them.  It seems awkward and creepy and it's not a mental exercise I encourage to repeat on a daily basis but it can help. I mean, how can you not love someone who does the same exact thing as you? Isn't that a common interest throughout all of creation?

This is what I think about when I hear toilets flushing at night.

Song of the Week 11-13-10

Song of the Week 11-6-10

Song of the Week 10-30-10

Shower Inspiration (With Help)

There once was a man who had ideas. People would listen to him for inspiration. Every idea that he had he would write down because an idea is a terrible thing to waste and an idea without action is just as bad.

You have a problem? He has an idea to help you.

Have trouble with parking space?
He has a solution

Have a bad GPA?
He knows what to do

Need an idea for a date?
Woman vow he knows their inner soul

In class, he would always answer the questions. That is, unless he gave the answer to another student.

Every day, he would fill up pages upon pages of inspiring ideas. Some ideas were better than others. He had to be very careful as too who which idea he gave to which person because, to every mind, inspiration takes on different meaning.

If he gave the wrong idea to the wrong person. They might interpret it the wrong way and be take the wrong action linked to the inspiration. He had no control over their actions revolving around the inspiration.

If he told someone to think about elephants that person would think about elephants. Their action, however, could turn into something nonreturnable.

The people to whom he gave inspiration too lacked the ability to make up ideas for themselves. They could never get inspired. He knew that inspiration is not black and white but rather, inspiration is the uprising of the soul. It sits, deep in the recesses of the mind, waiting for the soul to prompt it to come out. Giving up on inspiration is like giving up on one's dreams because once inspiration leaves, it rarely comes back. This leaves a haunting scar on the soul. These people, the people he gave inspiration to, were not taught to reach into their mind.

They could not wake up from the slumber of their soul.

Inspiration is an idea gleaned from an outside source and he was the only source.

Did he enjoy this? Of course he did! He was the most popular person on campus. He found worth in his ability to inspire, to create ideas.

Of course, things weren't always smooth and steady with his life.

He would often become tired, worn out, fatigued. So many ideas running through one persons head all day can be dangerous.

He was sick of this singular inspiration source. So he did what he knew he had to do. What had to happen in order to eliminate the world in which he lived.

He wrote the most inspiring idea ever known. He wrote and wrote, making sure nobody was around to read it.

He wrote down a solution to save the world.

After his miraculous inspiring idea of inception interpretation his ideas to people became boring. He did not like giving away his inspirations. Sure, people gave him worth by always wanting his ideas. Who doesn't want to be wanted? Eventually, this led him to tell the people that he was no longer giving away ideas.

The people turned against him, disgracing his name and were uninterested in seeing him.

He felt like a tool.

He was alone.

A mental battle prepared in his mind. Give away ideas for the rest of his life, feel popular and worthy to society, or unleash the beast of his ultimate inspiration and be unable to give away ideas ever again. For he knew that releasing this idea would cause him to lose his own inspirations.

The battle raged on, it took him over.

He had to control it, he had to act. Because inspiration involves action.

There he stood, his book of ideas in his hand and standing before him, a bottomless smelly dumpster. He knew that only one idea inside of it mattered and that this idea would make this book unnecessary. So, with quivering hands, he throws it into the dumpster. And prepares for the final battle, where he will surrender.

The next day he stood up and announced to everyone that he wanted to say something. And he unleashed his beast.

He said, "Inspiration does not come from my mouth, ideas do not come from my mind. Inspiration comes from you. Ideas come from your soul. Open your eyes, open your ears, open your mind, and feel your senses. Ideas are not just for the socially labeled 'creative.' You are the artist of your own mind. You are beautiful because you choose to be not because someone says you are. You are free-thinkers, singular bodies bursting with inspiration, souls waiting to be unchained, and a mind ready to create ideas."

Silence.

He stood there, panting from his speech, shifting his eyes scared that his idea didn't work.

Silence.

Then, slowly, they got it. The people got it. Inspiration exploded like a bomb.

As time went on, he no longer answered every question in class and he was no longer asked to give away ideas. He just sat there in silence, some say he always had a little smirk after that day.

In fact, you don't see much of him around anymore. Some say he left to go inspire in another place, some say he died right after his speech, and some say he never existed but was just inspiration in a physical form while others say that he is just taking a well deserved nap. Nobody really knows, their imaginations run wild thinking of ideas.

All they needed was to know this. That they can inspire themselves. That ideas are made within.

There is more of this to come later, (hint hint, wink wink). I came up with most of the story idea in the shower, hence the title. The (With Help) part comes from my friend Krista, who wrote a large majority of the stuff about inspiration above in a paper for a class.

Song of the Week 10-23-10

What I Learn From My Cat

On occasion, I am home alone with my cat.

For those of you who have met my cat who know how she is. Friendly when you walk in the door, rubs herself against your leg and then when you go in for the pet, she runs away and hisses at you. This is my cat.

But back to being home alone with my cat. When you are the only human in contact with my cat, you can tell. She is meowing at you or around you for most of the day. When you sit down to eat, or when you lie down to watch tv, she hops up and either tries to eat your food and get you to pet her.

You can tell that she is lonely. That she wants attention.

I think humanity is like this. When we are not around people for an extended amount of time, we get lonely, desperate for attention, for a touch, for interaction.

Why do we take pictures of landscapes?

When you look at a pretty picture of a mountain on a postcard, you think nothing of it, or at least I don't. When my professor shows me pictures of a mountain in Alaska where he did research for ten years I don't really care for the picture. I'd rather see a picture of him standing there next to the mountain.

I think we take pictures of landscapes because it is an interaction between us and the sense of "this is what I saw" and "this is what I did." It's a personal reminder of the place we were. It's not just about that mountain range you saw, but about what you did to see that mountain range, who you saw that mountain range with, and the story associated with it. A story to tell other people.

It's a tool for connection. Something to give you meaning and worth.

Pictures are tools.

I acknowledge, sometimes people need time to themselves. You notice whenever rappers come out of jail they always have a brand new song? It's probably because they had time to themselves.

I don't care whether you are introverted or extroverted. Everyone gets lonely, it is all just a matter of time. If ever hear someone say that they would prefer to be alone for the rest of their life, they're lying. Call them on it.

The main reason I never want to go to jail is because of how lonely it will be.

In Blue Like Jazz it mentions how a forest ranger stumbled upon the authors campsite. He mentions how hard it seemed for the forest ranger, who had been alone for two months, to even hold a conversation with them. (If you have the book, page 152-153)

Loneliness kills.

I think the worst thing about hell won't be the furnace of fire, the heat, or the forced labor.(This is how I imagine hell, I blame Hollywood) I think the worst thing about hell will be the loneliness. Could you imagine eternity without talking to or seeing a single soul? Never getting touched? How cold that makes me feel.

My cat gets lonely.

She doesn't say it out loud because, well, she can't speak a language I understand. I can tell she is lonely though. Her non-verbals give it all away. She hops up on the couch with you, goes straight for your face and forces you to pay attention to her, to pet her, to have you recognize her. I would tell her she is high-maintenance but she can't understand me either.

As mean, nasty, and diabetic as my cat is, I feel for her, which I never thought I would, because she is a mean, nasty, diabetic cat. This is what my cat teaches me though.

That loneliness is a sickness we all can suffer from.

Song of the Week 10-16-10

Heartbeats

I once knew a man who thought he had meaning
A man whose life he thought he was leading
He thought he knew what had meaning
Until he found out what is real, a sort of feeling
Cause he knew the lies from which he was feeding
Then this mans heart was beating

I once knew a man who cared about nothing
everything about life, it was just hunching
He lacked intimacy, and friendship, and meaning
and for that, he took the beating
But one day he opened up to what he was dealing
and now a new life, he seems to be leading

He found what has truth, value, and worth
and he held onto them forever
and to those he held, they witnessed a re-birth
A relationship never to be severed

This man I knew looked back and saw his life
From the past he saw it as a darkened mess
And realized who paid the price
Meaning said he had much, but he knew he had less

From looking back he then looked forward
And with support from above he found meaning
Meaning that was refreshed and new
He found something to live for
Someone to live for
With a beating heart

Song of the Week 10-9-10

What Went Through My Head While Squished In A Van

I spy
With my little eye
A guy
Who is shy
But not afraid to cry
Never wonders if they're a gemini
Or questions the hair on his thigh
(Not to pry)

They occasionally enjoys ties
Always waves, but never says his, "Hi's"
Also does the same with his, "Bye's"
Who doesn't enjoy a lie
But really enjoys pie

Who dreams of someday calling a woman my
Maybe someday they'll give it a try
So they close their eyes and gives a sigh
And imagines a different love-high
Which is like imagining how to fly
Up in the sky
And for that, you don't ask why
Because to not experience love, they'd rather die

And that is what I spy
With my little eye

Song of the Week 10-2-10

Hopefully I keep up with this every week and hopefully I find a YouTube video that doesn't get removed really fast like they usually do or that sounds semi-decent. Anyways, here you go.

Friday | TGIF

It's Friday. I like Fridays. When I get out of class on Friday it's such a relief to be done. So since you might be reading this on Friday, go do something Friday-like.

Stop reading now. Go. TGIF.

Thursday | Racquetball with Stefan

On Thursdays, I play racquetball with this guy named Stefan. He's a physics major, parts his hair on the side, and we always play really close games of racquetball. We usually always go to a third tiebreaker game and the score is usually very close. I don't know how many times I have won or he has won but it's probably close. It's nice to know that we are basically at the same level of skill. It's nice having someone else wear those silly glasses with you too.

Stefan usually hits it through the little gap on the back wall where people can observe. He doesn't do it on purpose, but he is very good at hitting it up there unintentionally.

We usually play a little over a hour. We've gotten faster as the semester has progressed so instead of playing best of three games we play best of five and we usually have to go to that fifth game for tiebreaker.

Stefan is a little more outgoing than I am. He always initiates the conversation as what time we can play next. I usually just nod my head and say, "Yeah, that time should work for me." I am a much better at emailing when trying to be social. Usually, I'll throw in a little joke here or there just to lighten the mood because e-mails should be funny, not serious. No one ever gets a bland letter in the mail from someone they know.

Racquetball is a weird sport. It's not tennis, which I was getting comfortable with, and it's not baseball, which, for me, naturally takes over the natural fundamentals of any other game. Racquetball is weird because I combine both tennis and baseball into it. I have to move around, lightly on my feet, like tennis, but I get to smack it like a baseball. So my best shot is a ball waist high, where all I do is it hit it like a baseball, top hand and all. It smacks the bottom of the wall and scoots across the floor.

You don't talk much in racquetball and if you do it is hard to hear. Racquetball courts echo like no other.

That is the main event on Thursdays. That is, until racquetball is over and then "The Office" is my main event. It could be my lab for "Environment and Humanity" but, you know, who looks forward to going to class? Especially a two-and-a-half hour one?

Wednesday | Pie Night

Wednesday is "Hump Day." If you don't know why it's called "Hump Day" I shall explain. Wednesday is the middle of the week. The week is like a hill. Wednesday, being in the middle of the week, is the top of the hill. So when it is Wednesday, you are now getting over the hump of the hill. Hence, "Hump Day." Still don't get it? Well...try thinking.

Wednesday, is also "Pie Day." Where at Baker's Square (you would think us college kids would call it, "BS" for short, but that is not the case, I wonder why?) they have a deal where all you have to do is buy one thing from the menu and you get a free slice of pie. So I got a glass of apple juice and a Reese's Peanut Butter Cup pie. Delicious. Yes!

Here, I experience the same things as Taco Night(See Monday). I experience community, deliciousness, and friendship.

Here, is where I'm learning my roommates "Chewbacca Call." My roommates can make this sound like Chewbacca does in Star Wars. I can't do it, I just gargle my spit and sound like a dying cat. But they can't whistle like I do so it's all good.

That is Wednesday, Hump Day, almost to the weekend.

Tuesday | The List | 01 | Culture

On Tuesday nights I go tutor Somalians. I do it through an organization called SALT. I think it stands for Somali Adult Literacy Training. I'm doing it through my Cultural Communication class. Well, we're required to do it for class. By the end of the semester I will have over twenty-four hours under my belt so, technically speaking, I will have spent one day with a person from another culture.

If you want to get technical, we spend every day with a person from another culture. At least this is what I learned in my class and have observed since then. For example, go to taco night and see who orders a hard shell and who orders a soft shell. I grew up always having soft shell while my roommate grew up always having hard shell. Cultural/Experiential difference. Another example, have macaroni and cheese and ask people what they usually put on their "mac & cheese." I grew up always having ketchup available. I found out early in my college career that this is super weird. Others think putting ketchup on eggs is normal while I think it is disgusting (sorry mom). Others think putting ham in their "mac & cheese" is weird. Again, cultural differences.

So to get more technical I am revising "The List." I am changing it from "spend an entire day with a person from another culture" to "spend an entire day with a person from a different ethnicity."

Now, you could probably get technical about that one too but let's just pretend we won't. I blame on my technicality on my other class, which is Media Law. Hooray for "legal-eeze" language!

Now, I've only been there once, and tonight will be my second time, so I cannot give a huge amount of detail on how things work. So, I will just share my experience from my first time there.

The first fifteen to twenty minutes was "training" and welcoming. I met some regulars who were my age, and cool. There was Amanda, who knits, and Sarah, who lives in the inner-city for outreach and missions. There were more but these two seemed like the regulars.

I mostly stood by them, because I was nervous and didn't know what else to do. The Somalians were already having class but for break they came in and had tea. The regulars sat and talked with them while I just kind of stood there, not knowing what to do. Sarah introduced me to some of them and I shook one of their hands. I was told not to initiate a handshake unless they initiate it first. So I just smiled and stood there.

There are three levels of tutoring. I was with the middle group, where they know basic sentences and that is about it.

Right as I was about to follow Amanda and help her tutor the middle group it was sunset. Because the majority of the Somalians are Muslim they pray five times a day and sunset is one of those times. So a little fifteen minute break and then the tutoring got started.

I helped Amanda teach three men about maps and directions. I taught left, right, and straight. I'm not sure they caught on but I tried. We worked on spelling and pronunciation also. About five minutes in I was so grateful I learned English. English is such a hard language! I was trying to make the sounds for the word "bus" and he kept spelling it "bas." It was probably because I kept going, "Ba, Ba, Ba" for the letter "B" and then "Uh, Uh Uh" for "U." No matter how I tried it kept coming off like it should be spelled "Bas." So, I'm sure I'll get better at it. Don't even get me started on the word, "avenue."

Overall, it was a good experience. Uplifting. Enlightening. Encouraging. Beautiful. I felt that I wasn't doing it out of pity, out of my class requirement, but because I sincerely wanted to help, to serve, someone who wanted it.

I'm sure I'll post more on this later. The stories will surely come up, not that I'm expecting anything.

Monday | Taco Night

Today is Monday. First day of the week. The first day of the uphill climb. So to lighten the tension, and makes things not so hard(Office quote), I'm doing a week of posts. So feel free to not study and read this post for like, three minutes.

Read it twice if you want too.

My life is full of consistency. I like consistency. I like order. My favorite consistent schedule was my freshman year at Baylor. Monday, Dr. Pepper Floats, Tuesday, Dr. Pepper Floats, Wednesday, Doughnut Day, Thursday, Chick-Fil-A day, and Friday, TGIF! My schedule this year is matching up to it, so let me share my schedule with you.

Taco night makes Monday not so bad. Acapulco, on Monday nights, does seventy-five cent tacos. This includes unlimited free chips and salsa. So what I have done, and I've only done this for two weeks, is get two tacos and make up the difference of my hunger with chips and salsa. So, by the end of the night, I spend two dollars, leaving a nice tip which is quite the deal considering eating at Bethel is about nine bucks.

The best part about taco night is the community aspect. The past two times I have gone I've met people, who, before the dinner commenced, were complete strangers to me. And here we are, completely bonded together with tacos and chips. I've learned about the new people I meet, and I've learned about myself. One, that I'm still no good with remembering names and two, I'm definitely a chicken guy. I've learned the feelings of a girl who is about to get braces, and who not to challenge in a speed taco eating contest.

This the beauty of the bondage of tacos, of restaurants, of table seating selection, and the satisfaction of spending two dollars. It brings strangers together, who I can now wave at in the hallway, and builds communities stronger.

And that, makes Mondays not too bad.

Expectations

This is for closure.

I used to have a lot of expectations with things. You name it, I had certain expectations for it, and usually these expectations where high. When I combined these high expectations with my dreamer persona things never went as I expected. I've learned the lesson of expectations many times.

Looking back, I am realizing this awful pattern I would get into. I would have such high expectations that anything below it was a disappointment, and in result I would view most things as a failure. My abilities in sports, in schools, and with girls. Girls were always the hardest lesson to learn. I never got out of this pattern of disappointing myself.

My overly-exaggerated-dreams-turned-into-high-expectations eventually took an emotional toll.

My dreams were very Hollywood. You know, the kind were a guy says stupid stuff but girls still throw themselves at them. I would imagine myself always in the spotlight, usually in slow-motion. My dreams-turned-expectations would always be at the climax, when you learn most about the character and who they really are. I expected to be everyone's hero. The humble, fairly good-looking, kind, generous man who would sweep in, save the day, get the girl, and still be home in time for dinner. ( That last part is a cliche', or at least I think so )

Looking back at what I just wrote I can honestly say that is who I was. Maybe not in public, but definitely the naked-inside-me. Brutally, and painfully honest with myself. How selfish of me. How prideful, arrogant, and boastful. I wonder if everyones dreams are like that? I mean, would it be weird if I wasn't in the spotlight of my own dream? Maybe I'm losing focus because I am talking/blogging about how I would turn my dreams into expectations.

Good thing my dreams never came true. ( although I have had moments of déjà vu )

Now comes the turning point of my dreams-turned-expectations pattern.

There was a girl. I really was starting to like her and I want to say that she was starting to like me. You know, that point where you think both of you are on the same page but you're both waiting for the other person to make a move, or say something about it.

I was at that point.

It all happened so fast though. I felt like I really didn't know that much about this girl, because I only really started getting to know her a couple weeks before. Either way, we hung out a couple of times, doing whatever we felt like. There was always a tension when we were sitting by each other, like a slow chess game waiting for someone to make a move. Her hand would sit on her leg, my hand would sit on my leg. Like we were holding hands that were two feet apart. It was almost torture because I knew I had to do something but just couldn't pull the trigger.

I'm very timid when it comes to doing something risky, or rather, something that could end up being emotionally destructive and awkward.

So on our "date," which I didn't specify as a date but rather an event or hanging out, you know, safe words that don't specify a "date" but could be interpreted like that. Anyways, on this last thing I had such high, imaginative, dreamy expectations that I basically set myself up for failure, which, in my opinion is what happened, even though she said she had a good time.

We watched a movie, and did the same "hand that are two feet apart holding" and that's not even the worst part. Right when I was seriously about to go in for the real hand hold there was the same exact scene in the movie. It was a scene of a guy and girl at a movie theater where the guy wanted to hold hands but she was giving him the cold shoulder.

And that was the end of me seriously thinking about going for the hand hold. I literally rolled my eyes. I wanted to stand up and scream at the screen that they were killing my self-esteem.

I would go on with more things that I should have done but my cowardly timid self couldn't match up to my dreamer self. And because my expectations were so high and because I didn't come close to those expectations I became disappointed.

The worst part was I didn't even open her door when I dropped her off. I just sat in the car, buckled up, told her goodnight and that I had a good time. I did, by the way, have a good time, I was just disappointed in myself that expectations were not reached.

That was the last time we actually hung out. I just never planned anything after that. As to why I didn't plan anything after that. I just don't know. I just didn't know what to do.

Eventually, over time, I realized my long pattern of having too high of expectations and the damage it does to me. So, you can say I learned my lesson. I still have to remind myself on occasion of having high expectations.

My best example of this lesson learned is my mission trip to New Orleans. When asked what I expected to get out of the trip I said, "I don't expect anything. I'm just going to go down there and see what happens." The trip was awesome. I would say it went above and beyond my expectations but I didn't have any expectations so I can't say it.

This is something that has been on my heart recently and keeps me up late at night. This is my lesson learned. This is my closure, for now.

I still can't decide whether having no expectations is good or bad, or even if it is possible. I can't decide if it is better to have expectations, with moderation, or no expectations at all.

Finding Joy in Last Place

I'm arrogant when I drive.

If someone passes me, I pass them. If someone revs their engine next to me, I rev my engine back. If someone is driving super slow, I sit behind them and rev my engine and stare into their rear view mirror so they can see me looking at them hoping they are intimidated.

Stoplights are the same way. Everything is a race to the next red light. (Which is a guarantee if you live where I live) Of course, I realize that it is unfair because the other driver doesn't know but I never care. It's a race, I don't have time to fraternize with the enemy.

I mean, come on, I'm driving a Ford Mustang and because of this I believe I should have my own designated lane where the speed limit doesn't apply. I mean, my car can do the things Conan's can, but better. (see here)

But awhile ago I realized that being first in everything on the road doesn't mean much. That this competition I call driving is a pride issue, and I must rid myself of it.

It reminded me of Donald Miller's Searching For God Knows What where he imagines Adam and Eve visiting him and his friend. Adam and Eve ask why everything is a competition, why we are always trying to "one-up" each other. Why when my sports team loses it's, "they lost" and when the win it's "we won."

It reminded me of my science teacher in eleventh grade telling us that we will never be the best at something. That there will always be someone better than us at something. It was a big downer at that point but now I realize the brilliance of it.

It reminded me of Jesus. Who everyone expected to come to earth and bring down some holy fire on the Romans. You know, go all Chuck Norris on them. But this was a new covenant, a new testament, and things were different now. Instead, Jesus went to the lowest of lows by dying on a cross.

So, regarding my driving, I slowed down, I started finding joy in last place. I didn't make it a competition because I would never be the best and I knew that being in first isn't all that it's hyped up to be. Sure, a Mustang is pretty cool, but it still gets there as fast as any other car.

Am I perfect in this? No, not at all. I still have my moments where I lose my patience and imagine the car ahead of me hitting road spikes, flipping over, (maybe an explosion?) and skidding off to the side as I zoom on by laughing (not really, but you get the picture).

So here's to knowing we're not the best, and finding joy in last place.

Unpublished Poetry : Part Three

This is what happens when you clean your room. You find a poem you wrote "way back in the day" to your friend when he was sick.

Why Are You Sick?

Josh the Bosh
Why are you sick?
are you sick with a cold?
why are you so bold?
are you sick with the flu?
did you wear that pink tutu?

Why are you sick?
You pink tutu dresser
Now, I think of you lesser
You sick dancer
You can go be prancer
you lancer.

You b-ball baller
you shot caller
just go and holler

No b-ball for you
and your silly pink tutu
for I can't see
your pink tutu
with some Nike shocks
you sick sock

Do the soundboard for school
Oh no, no, no, much to sick for that
Make poor little Matt do all of that
You sick little brat.
Why'd you make him do all that

So was it that pink tutu
because you got the flu
or was it poor little Matt
that gave you that
oh, not at all, it was that pink tutu
I bet.

So why are you sick?
You old bosh you
that stink old flu
just got you
so get better soon
oh get better soon
don't you fret
you sick old pink tutu dresser Lancette

Unpublished Poetry : Part Two

This is what happens when you clean your room. You find poems written by your friend "way back in the day." Like it or hate it, you should visit his blog.

Never Kiss A Mouse

Never kiss a mouse
Because their breath smells really bad
And if you ever kiss a mouse
you will be really sad.
Mice don't go to the dentist
To make their sharp teeth white
So they don't care if they turn yellow
So you they'll probably bite.
Even though they are so cute
It doesn't mean you can kiss them
They will say they love you
But that was way back then
Now the mice are evil
They do bad things all day
And if you ever kiss them
It is you who's gonna pay
And you will be very mad
Because they made you their prey
This rhyme is very bad
badder than all the rest
But my next one will be
the very, very, best
I will work on it all day and night
Through fire, through rain, through snow
Which I think is pretty stupid
Since you're not even a girl.

Unpublished Poetry : Part One

This is what happens when you clean your room. You find poems written by your friend "way back in the day." Like it or hate it, you should visit his blog.

Unhealthy Snacks

Matthew Pautsch, Matthew Pautsch
You like to sit on the couch
You like to eat chips and pop
Your belly will soon go flop
from having too much to eat
You won't be able to get back on your feet
You have become so very fat
You're even fatter than your cat
Junk food is not good for you
That stuff belongs at the zoo
So now you best stand back up
before you begin to throw up.
Put that junk food in the trash
And go make yourself some cash.
Don't go and buy more food
It makes you look so very rude
If you by more food, get some burritos
And not the junk food, cooler ranch Doritos
Carrots are a food that is healthy
And eating healthy
Will make you wealthy.
So if you want junk food
go buy some more
But you will end up
very poor.

Buying Underwear

You know those people who wear those "I ♥ N.Y." shirts? I always laughed at those people because I thought they looked stupid.

But awhile ago I wore my "I ♥ N.O." and I felt super awesome about myself because I really do heart N.O.. I didn't care what other people thought about it.

I found my worth not from others but from myself.

Well some time ago, I was wearing this shirt and had to go buy underwear because, well, I needed some.

So I went to Wal-mart because the culture around Wal-mart is the type where I don't feel like I will be judged as much. I'm more comfortable buying personal things there because I feel like I won't be judged or given weird looks.

I had Target gift cards.

I would have gone to Target but it is a commonly known fact that all the good looking girls work at Target so I was too nervous to go buy underwear where all the cute girls are.

I have this nightmare of buying underwear at Target. I would get so embarrassed plopping my pack of underwear of the conveyor belt, having cute girl scan item, look at me, look back at underwear, look back at me, and then I would stare at my wallet, stare at my foot, and then back at wallet.

I would fiddle handing her my credit card because at my nervousness swiping it myself would be out of the question. Then she would ring it up and then ask if I would like a bag and even though I wouldn't need a bag I would say yes because no way would I ever carry that out into the parking lot.

This is my nightmare, hence why I go to Wal-mart.

So I walk into Wal-mart, find the men section, look for underwear, find underwear, look around to make sure nobody is watching me grabbing bag of underwear, grab bag of underwear, put my hands over as much of underwear bag as I can, double time it to the self checkout line.

I double take as I find that the charge is completely even at thirteen dollars, double take again because at thirteen dollars I feel like I'm being ripped off but whatever. Swipe my credit card, then some employee has to walk up and fix something because my receipt wasn't coming out and wouldn't allow me to finish the transaction which was weird.

I grab bag, walk to car, accidentally walked to wrong car aisle, have to back track, find car, get in car, breathe, drive away.

Ah-ha! Success!

This is my underwear buying story.

I wanted to go to Target, because I had gift cards but I couldn't push myself to do it. I tried to convince myself into it like, "everyone wears underwear (hopefully) so people buying underwear shouldn't be that weird."

It didn't work, as you can tell, and I went to Wal-mart.

Just like the "I ♥" shirts, I felt like I would get judged by my underwear shopping. I wear an "I ♥" shirt though, and I don't care what people think about me when I wear it. If only underwear shopping were like that. Maybe I should have forced myself into Target and not cared what people thought about my purchase of underwear. Could you imagine it?

I walk into Target, stare into the security camera, put my fist in the air and scream, "I'm buying underwear today!" I then ask the nearest employee where the mens underwear is and they point, maybe giving me a look that says, "why aren't you at Wal-mart?"

I go get my underwear, walk to the checkout lane with the cutest girl in it, plop my underwear down, look her in the eye, smile, ask her how she is doing, wheres she from, and then as she gives me my receipt I give her my number that I have been saving in my wallet, hold her hand, and say, "call me because I would to take you out to dinner."

All that because I don't care what people think of me. All that because I get my worth from this guy named Jesus who died on a cross for me because He loves me.

Beat Feet Poetry

I was looking outside my window the other day and saw this woman walking to her car. I had music playing and was tapping my foot to the beat. Eventually I started timing her walking to the beat of the song. It was in perfect unison and it was magical.

I thought to myself about how we walk. How people swing their arms back and forth and move their feet left and right in a beat-like pattern. I am sure a lot of people do this and I think it is amazing. How people move their feet to a beat. It's almost like poetry. Always on a beat of words that never stop flowing and rolling out of the tongue.

Left, right, left, right, left, right.

The feet start the beat and the arms sway along and then the hips get into it swaying side to side. Walking seems like a dance that nobody notices. I have begun to notice that everyone walks a little different.

Some people walk with a purpose, arms swinging violently, each stride very long and purposeful, never slowing down.

Left, right, left, right, left, right.

Others walk with security, holding their backpack straps in their hands, clutching their purse, on their toes, but moving slowly, looking around as to notice everyone.

Left, right, left, right, left, right.

Others walk lethargically, slow, like a turtle, almost bobbing around waiting for something to stop them.

Left, right, left, right, left, right.

All very poetic and beautiful. Everyone of them telling us something different. Something about themselves and the creativity flowing out of them.

And then people read things differently. And reading is like walking, except we do it in our head. I mean, people will probably read this in a different beat than I do.

This is probably why people add italics to certain words for emphasis.
This is probably why people add italics to certain words for emphasis.
This is probably why people add italics to certain words for emphasis.
This is probably why people add italics to certain words for emphasis.
This is probably why people add italics to certain words for emphasis.

Whether it be with words, body, or soul I think we're all poets and we just don't know it.

Funeral Grass

I filmed a funeral.

I got asked to because a lady organizing/participating in it goes to New Life Church so through the vine she contacted me.

This was only the second or third funeral I have ever attended. I don't remember any of the other ones really in detail so I'm pretty inexperienced in this concept of the "celebration of death."

I didn't know what the proper attire for a funeral was so I googled it. Google said dark clothes and (in caps) never to bring to a camera. I wore a dark blue shirt, black pants, black socks, black shoes, but white underwear. (tmi?)

The ceremony and message went smoothly and quickly with only one hiccup. One of the pastors read the obituary and he read that the Vietnam Veteran was dishonorably discharged instead of honorably discharged but he corrected himself and everyone was forgiving.

After the service we went to Fort Snelling National Cemetery where there are two things: grass and white headstones.

There were a lot of workers there replacing dead grass with new grass and there were signs that read "grass restoration in progress."

I guess someone didn't water enough last year or something.

After the burial service there was a luncheon for all the attendees. It was at a senior housing center which, to me, seemed like a hotel. There people chatted and ate cake, sandwiches, and tapioca pudding.

Later on that day I went to a graduation party.

//

Death has always been a bit of a mystery to me so a funeral seemed like a good place to experience it. I had so many questions about a funeral like why do we go to so much length for a dead person? Is it for honor, or pride? Is it to comfort the family? Is it the time for the "final goodbye?"

There must be this connection with humanity and death. I imagine watching Marley & Me as the family cries when the are saying there last goodbyes and then I start crying too as the little boy goes, "He knows...he knows."

Looking around at Fort Snelling Cemetery you can see a lot of flags, flowers, and other things around graves honoring the dead. I wondered what urged people to come back and do that if a funeral is the "final goodbye." Maybe just to remind themselves of the past, to provoke emotion into themselves?

Boyd has been talking about death lately and he says that we are already dead. Not physically but he says we have to wake up, that we are already dead and God is what makes us alive. I can't really remember much more about what he said but the verse that comes to mind is "dead to sin, but alive in Christ."

They said a bunch of times that a funeral is a celebration of someones life. I don't think celebration is the right word, or maybe we just don't treat it like a celebration. People are crying, comforting each other, there are no balloons or streamers.

What I mean by this is that at the graduation party, you could tell it was a celebration of someone graduating. There was a "Congrats Graduate" on the garage door and I didn't have to google what I should wear. There were colorful table cloths, candy, and you can bring presents! At a funeral you wear dark clothes, everything is plain, simple, dark. There is no colorful sign on the front door, no table cloths, and they sing sad songs. I just don't see the celebration part.

Isn't it in New Orleans where they have a parade as a funeral? What's that called?

During the burial ceremony a lot of cars and construction machines went by on the street. One of the machines was holding a big golden coffin. I wondered why they chose that coffin, why gold, and why so large. After it's buried six feet under, does it really matter?

I remember when I went to New Orleans that at the edge of the city was a large cemetery with very large headstones. Some of them with large statues or large crosses. It made me feel uncomfortable when looking at it and I thought how expensive they must have been.

Grass dies, but gets restored with newer grass, which comes in big rolls that have to be carried by a bobcat. When people die, our body gets put in a coffin then buried in dirt. Well, at least our physical body does. Who really knows what happens to our souls or spirits?

When you look at dead grass it's never an individual blade of grass, its usually a cluster of blades. It's like the surrounding blades die a little too. Maybe that is what happens when a loved one dies, a little part of ourselves dies too.

I still haven't figured out death completely and I don't think I will anytime soon. It's kind of hard to talk about or think about. They kept saying that through death, comes new life. Maybe that is what Boyd means, that we have to realize that we're already dead so that we may start our new life in Christ.

Life through death. Sounds catchy.

A Five-Point Story: Bethel

05|05

This point five of five. This means this is the end of my story; so far...

Transferring is hard. I did not like transferring. It was kind of a big hassle always emailing advisers, learning a new campus, a new system, learning the lingo of what is what. I mean, Bethel has BC, DC, AC, CC, HC, RC, SRC, CLC, and Sem and that took me like three weeks to learn.

I never wanted to go to Bethel when I was searching for colleges my senior year of high school because that is where a lot of people went from my high school. I applied because it was my back-up plan and never intended to actually go there.

My goal was to be the first sibling in my family not to transfer. My sister transferred, my brother transferred. I guess it's a family tradition now.

Anyways, Bethel has been good so far. I almost went through the same motions that I went through at Baylor but in not as grand of a scale and it took a lot less time to get acquainted with people here at Bethel. I guess it is either because people at Bethel are a lot nicer or because I had one year under my belt so I had a little experience.

I knew a lot of people from my high school when I came to Bethel and that was nice, I had quite the supporting cast, something that I lacked at Baylor.

I always imagined Bethel as being a New Life sister and I think that it is true. It seems to be pretty unorganized like New Life was. It is a lot larger than New Life but small on a college scale.

I owe my smoother transition to Bethel toward my experience in the past and towards the comfort I feel being closer to home. I tried a little bit harder getting involved in campus activities. Now, I really didn't do that many activities but after I read the book "A Million Miles in a Thousand Years" by Donald Miller I was convinced I had to do something. So I, on a whim, signed up for a Spring Break mission trip to New Orleans. It turned out to be a good trip, a trip that I feel I would have never done while at Baylor.

Bethel has been more supportive for me in my spiritual life. I didn't go to chapel all the much in the fall semester because I didn't feel like it. My excuse was always that Baylor chapel ruined the concept of chapel all together but really I just would rather read a book. Spring semester though, near the end of the semester I finally came around and started going to chapel and I started enjoying it. I heard some good messages, some not so good. I now had a group of friends to go with which makes it easier to go.

And now here I am in my final week of my first year at Bethel. I've learned a lot, I think. I am now realizing it is a lot harder to write about the stuff that has just happened to you. Probably because you haven't had the time to think through it or because you told the story so many times recently it is not very exciting.

My five-point story ends here, but my story is still being written.

A Five-Point Story : Baylor

04|05

For those of you who don't know, which is probably none of you, I went to Baylor my freshman year of college. But you knew this already so this is just a statement re-affirming your knowledge of my life.

For those of you don't know, which is also probably none of you, Baylor is a large university down in Waco, Texas. But you knew that too. You readers are smart!

I went through a lot of the same motions during my first year at Baylor as I did during the first year at New Life (see previous blog).

In short, I hated it. I also loved it at times. I say this a lot now but looking back, I think if I stuck it out for another year I would have been alright. I would have put Baylor on a probationary semester or two and then decided whether to transfer or not. Like I said before(again, previous blog) community takes time and at times I feel as if I shorted Baylor on the time part.

At first glance, I viewed Baylor as a large, a lot more organized version of New Life. Baylor had a vision, a goal, a history, and a very pretty campus. I figured, my brother was at a school in Texas and he turned out alright. (He says he went for the academics but we all know he went for a woman.)

So I was excited for this adventure in Texas.

It was early in my first freshman semester that I started this blog. This was done at my friends beckoning because it was the cool thing to do. One and half years later and here I am. After awhile my blogs got kind of depressing, kind of critical, political, and mechanical. I was in a sad state of mind and very critical of everything around me, something that I still carry around at times. I would critique everything down to the bone and would overall turn it into something negative against me being down here. I would never actually critique things in public because I was too scared, rather, I would let my critiques fly free in this blog. Of course, If anyone opposed me of my points I wouldn't be able to defend myself.

It wasn't all terrible down in Texas. I had some very good moments down there too. My roommates were funny and liked to play soccer so I at least stayed active. I still can't believe they thought I was fast.

I went from this very involved life at New Life to a very non-involved life at Baylor. This is what I wanted though. I didn't want to be overwhelmed with things to do during my first year at college. I wanted a little vacation from extra-curricular activities. This could have been my downfall in the end, because extra-curricular activities is where you meet people. I didn't want to go a fraternity though because who wants to work that hard just to get into some club? That's about the extent of my search though, my roommates had lots of friends and I would tag along with them so I wasn't completely lonely.

During my last couple of months at Baylor, when my decision on whether to transfer or not was coming closer it became very hard to decide on whether to stay or to go. Each day was thrown into the equation as I deliberated. Some good days told me that this is where I should be, that I can stick it out here. Some bad days told me that this place was of the devil and Texas was a terrible state. I kept a mental list of pros and cons about Baylor. Whether to stay or to go.

In the end, you all know what I chose. I still like Baylor and I hold no grudges against it. It is a fine institution that I just couldn't seem to find the right spot in or didn't give it enough time to fit somewhere.

Overall, Baylor taught me about who I am as a human. I thought it would teach me this but I imagined it in a very different way. I expected support through me becoming the person I wish to become but rather I received a brick wall for which I had to climb over. I expected people to help lift me over the wall, encouraging support so that when I fell off the wall they would catch me and throw me back up but I never really received that. Again, maybe with time this could have happened. Either way, I still learned a lot about who I am, who I want to become, and who I am becoming.

It was a rough year, freshman year, but it was also a good year, one that I can look back on and reflect upon. Something that helps me in my story, and something helps me help other who seem to be going through the same thing.

This is part four in my five-point story. Baylor. Texas. Sic 'em.

A Five-Point Story: New Life Academy

03|05

So this is part three of my five-point story. This is the halfway point.

New Life Academy is a fairly large point in my story considering I spent ten years there and it is probably the most essential part in becoming who I am as a human today.

At this place I learned things not only academically, but also spiritually and emotionally. The biggest aspect I think I have learned throughout those years was community. Community is something so essential to every human on the planet and at New Life I was enveloped in it.

Of course, it wasn't all the awesomeness I give it now. My first year there was third grade. I "transferred" from Royal Oaks Elementary which I still call my "old stomping grounds" because I "owned" that playground. I went there against my parents better judgment, I never wanted to leave Royal Oaks.

My first year at New Life I hated. I would call it No Life Academy because supposedly the people there had no lives but I was in third grade so what did I know. I had to wear a uniform which included wearing a tie every Wednesday and for me dressing up was like the worst that could ever happen. It was very hard for me to make friends, all these new people whose name I had to learn in addition with learning multiplication and spelling. I remember at one point I was walking out of New Life and the kid in front of me said, "We are now leaving the danger zone..." or something like that, either way, it was scary.

I changed my opinion as I grew though, but it wasn't through some miraculous turn of events or anything, it just took time. I remember in fifth grade I still kinda hated New Life because I didn't want to sign some stupid covenant with the school saying I would obey all these rules. But still, over time, I made more and more friends and made memories that I can recall even today.

The same goes with community, it doesn't happen magically, it takes time. You slowly learn about one another through various social activities like school and sports. It was a forced community but I am fairly certain that without going to school everyday I would not have many friends. Maybe forcefully going to school is what rids our fear of meeting new people.

I mean, as I am typing this now I am watching my dorm neighbor, who I do not know to well, going back and forth bringing stuff to her car and back. Will I go help her? Probably not, because I am too scared that I will drop something of her or that she will deny me when I ask if she needs help. Rather, I am comfortable watching from afar, scared to enter my fear.

But back to New Life, over the years through and through I learned more about the people who I had gone to school with for the last couple of years. I went to their houses, their parties, their events. I became part of their life as well as they became part of mine.

I was in their story and they were in mine.

Of course, words cannot do justice to my emotions as I begin to explain everything that occurred in my life throughout my time spent at New Life Academy. This community though is what made me the person I am today. I learned life lessons through mistakes and wise words. I had more role models than I could possibly imagine. I was in a community that develops people to the core of their being.

All these stories and all these memories led me to begin to cry as I approached graduation. I would cry in my bed as I would imagine walking down the aisle in cap and gown, receiving my diploma, and then look at the teachers. I didn't want to leave.

I wanted just one more year.

The hardest moment for me was sitting in the balcony during our last chapel. Of course, by this time I didn't have to wear a tie anymore. By this time, I was wearing a sweatshirt. It was our last chapel of the year and I sat there as we started singing worship songs and everything just came to me and I started crying trying to hold back the tears. The sleeve of my sweatshirt got pretty wet from me trying to soak up the tears and my nose started to sniffle. It was too much to take in, too many things that I didn't resolve. It was a forceful end to the chapter of New Life Academy. In tears, in the balcony during the last chapel.

Of course, high school ended, college was beginning and that was kind of exciting. The community, however, stayed and still is going and now, it's not forceful. We go to different schools now but the community is still in place and we still take part in each-others stories.

This is part three in my five-point story. New Life Academy.

A Five-Point Story: Youth Group

02|05

I had two youth group leaders, one named John, another named Jason.

These guys were like the dynamic duo of youth group leaders. Of course, I might be a little biased. OK, I am a biased but after looking back I have realized how much impact they had on my life.

John, the older one, was soft-spoken and very calming but had a very happy kind of laugh. He was the more serious kind of youth group leader, one who would want to dig into the Bible instead of playing more games.

Jason, the young one, was a kid at heart and as I recall a radio DJ or something like that. He also lived in Wisconsin. He was the young, athletic, energetic one who could moonwalk and make cool noises.

My youth group consisted of a bunch of guys that would meet at someones house for who knows how long, I don't really remember. We went through the Bible but I don't remember what books. I do remember talking about our lives together, everyone telling us about what was going on that week and if we had any prayer requests. It was probably one of my first experiences of community with the exception of family or sports team. This was a bunch of guys coming together and sharing are lives and specifically what God was doing in our lives.

For awhile we held it at my house and sometimes my family would invite John and Jason over for dinner before everyone else came or maybe it was after everyone left. I don't remember.

I remember that we usually had enchiladas.

Looking back, John and Jason were both single so I assume they didn't really have people cook for them all that often but back then I didn't really care. I was pretty self-centered back then, but now I see these dinner moments as a slice of community.

I'll end this post with two memorable moments with each of them.

One moment, we were sharing with everyone and I had this question that I just couldn't put my mind around. I looked at Jason and I asked him, "What if we're wrong?" What I meant by this is about God. What if we're wrong just like we think the Buddhist are wrong? I mean, I am sure all these religions think all these other religions are wrong. What if my religion is just in the mix of wrong religions? I asked a question like that and Jason said, "that's deep man and I just don't know." That stuck with me for awhile and I respect Jason for that answer.

Another moment was after one of our enchiladas dinners with John. He was leaving and getting his jacket and I was near him as any good host should do. He kept thanking me over and over again for the hospitality and the food and I kept telling him it was no problem and that it was cool. Then he hugged me, and it wasn't just a normal hug but it was something different about it. I think it was a hugged that changed my life. Well that might be overreacting but it definitely changed my philosophy on hugs. It was that moment that I most remember John for and I would go into more and more details about it but I feel as if it would run-on for a longer time.

This is point two in my five-point story. Youth Group in my junior high years.

A Five-Point Story: Acceptance

01|05

Before my mission trip to New Orleans began, we had a prep retreat. This was a sleepover at some church where our team would bond by sharing stories and playing games.

At one point we filled out our "life journey with God," or "testimony," and had to do it with five major points hence the title of the blog and hopefully the blogs to come.

Point number one deals with the acceptance of Jesus into my life by praying the sinners prayer. I was seven. I did it in my basement. My mom told me what to say while she was sewing or at least I think she was sewing.

I don't even remember what urged me to ask her or what I even said. I do remember being a little rushed because I thought I heard someone coming and I didn't want them to see me in the middle of accepting Jesus in my life. I mean, how embarrassing would it be for some seven year old, right?

So this is significant moment number one is my testimony, my life journey. I don't remember what I said or what urged me to do it, but I remember it.

It seems kinda silly to make this such an important moment in my life. It seems silly to me because I don't really remember anything about it other than those few details up above. We all seem to remember that moment though of accepting Jesus in our hearts so there has to be something special about that.

My old youth leader, who will come up in a later post, said he couldn't count the amount of times he accepted Jesus into his heart which struck me as a youth because I thought you could only do it once, like there was some limit on how many times you could say it. I think after he said that I started doing it more too because sometimes I wasn't sure if I really meant it back when I was seven. Nothing like a little reassurance.

I guess, maybe, that God might accidentally skip my name in the book that says I'm cool to go in heaven and that if I had my name in their multiple times the chances for him accidentally skipping me would be less. It doesn't seem believable now but I think youth-me would have believed it because I believed pretty much anything back then.

So accepting Jesus into my heart at the old age of seven is point one in my five-point story.

The List

My friend made me a list of things I should do with my life and because my new found hobby is adventure and living a better story I agreed to do my best to complete this list. Let it be known I have every intention of completing this list.

Now, my friend made me a list that she knows I can accomplish but will require me to escape my comfort zone. She said I just have to cross them off as I go about life and that I can do them in what order I want. I will blog about something on the list when I complete one of them.

Here is the list that my friend wrote:

1. Spend a day with someone else from an entirely different culture.

2. Spend one night homeless.

3. Find a place that you can call your own that allows you to think by yourself and relax (preferably with an excellent view).

4. Take a girl that you are interested in out on a casual date, just to take that first step to get to know her (and be honest about your intentions and what you are doing).

5. Sing karaoke at a public place.

6. Go swing dancing (or try a style of dancing that interests you).

7. (While we're on the topic of jazz) Visit the Jazz club in St. Paul, it's off Wabasha and it's underground!

8. Write five encouraging notes to five people you don't know.

9. Try to eat 6 saltine crackers in under a minute (It's impossible).

10. See how many licks it takes to get to the middle of a lollipop.

11. Memorize 3 quotes that inspire you and are totally different from each other (this one's kinda lame I know).

12. Try a new class like Yoga, Kick Boxing, Pilates etc. just once.

13. Create a raft or flotation device and test it out on some sort of body of water... there's at least 1000 of them, you should have no problem with that.

14. Go to a book store and make a list of ten books that describe who you are or who you want to become and why.

15. Watch a sunrise from a top a building (so much cooler than on the ground).

16. Watch a chick flick you swore you'd never watch.

17. Catch up with a friend from high school that you never talked to much in high school.

This is the list. Have a different idea or a suggestion? Leave a comment below!

Home Bound

Seven o'clock rolls around and I wake up at six forty-five getting the best sleep I have gotten the whole week while at New Orleans. I could tell I got a good sleep because I felt like I did and because I had super crazy hair.

When I got up I almost automatically went into my normal routine of putting on my work jeans, my "I <3 N.O" t-shirt, and my green bandanna but then I realized that it was part one of the travel home.

The group was in for a twelve-hour drive today which is the longest Bethel will let us go for one day. We got gas and set our course for Hannibal, Missouri which is the home of Mark Twain.

Mark Twain isn't even his real name. It's Samuel Clement or something like that.

Long story short, we made it there, hence why I am able to write about it now. I navigated the whole time for two different drivers. We ate at Subway.

To keep the driver awake during the final stretch we played a lot of rap music, and we played a christian rap CD that the guys from the church gave us. Some of the songs they sang, some were other guys. It was pretty good.

I went to bed that night tired from all the car riding. I went to bed watching the National Geographic Channel which was doing a documentary on two beaver families. One family was the wily old veterans while the other was the young in-love beaver family. The young family didn't do so well building the home for the winter but they made it which was a relief for me watching because I was rooting for them.

Day two of the journey consisted of us waking up at five so we could get to Bethel by the afternoon. I drove seven hours all the way through Iowa to Bethel. It was a good time but I am still never going to get a minivan. Also, Iowa is definitely on the top five list of top boring states to drive through.

I did miss one exit but just turned around to fix it.

The GPS can be deceiving sometimes.

And that is the end of the journey. A week in New Orleans, The Big Easy, or The City Care Missed.

Some Information:

I stayed here

This is the church

I worked through this

New Orleans : Day 6

This was the last day of working in New Orleans. It would be a shorter work day and then the day would end with what they called, "The Closing Ceremonies" which made me automatically think of the Olympics.

I imagined all of the teams walking down the street holding the flag their group is affiliated with and then we would all circle up with the Olympic song playing. I couldn't really imagine it past that because I wouldn't know what else we would do.

Maybe pass on some sort of torch to something?

So this day I helped clean the church where our group had eaten breakfast and listened to people speak because they were having some sort of inspection next Tuesday. I helped change light bulbs and that was about it. It took us awhile to find a ladder, because in New Orleans all the ceilings are super high and so are the light bulbs. Then we had to replace all the light bulbs in the exit signs because they were all burned out.

We didn't have any new light bulbs for the exit signs so Bill had to go get some but when he came back he didn't come back with enough so we just put one bulb in all the exit signs instead of the two it required. This was weird for me because I would think you would do a good job instead of just going half way with it.

The closing ceremonies consisted of us filling out some forms and having some people talk and that was it. No fireworks or torch passing like I had imagined.

After the ceremonies we hopped in our vans, ate some food, and drove down to the Lower Ninth Ward which is where the levees broke and everything started flooding. It was pretty desolate, all the houses pretty much got demolished because they had a lot of damage I guess.

There were some newer houses though, supposedly the new ones where the ones donated by Brad and Angelina and they looked cool but they didn't look like true New Orleans style housing. They all had solar panels for roofs and funky architecture.

We also stopped by a memorial showing how high the water got everywhere

After that, we ate Domino's Pizza, the new and improved formula, and it was a lot better in my opinion.

Later on, we went back to the French Quarter which is where Bourbon Street is and we saw how the night life differed from the afternoon life was like there.

There was loud music, lots of people, lots of beads, and that was about it. I think we saw a drunk guy so our group walked a little faster and faster to get away from him. It is kind of weird how fast all the guys in the group went into super protective mode. It was like a flip of a light switch. All of a sudden we form a perimeter around the girls and get ready for whatever.

I spent the rest of the night just chatting it up with people on my team which I enjoyed.

That was my Friday, my last day in New Orleans, we were set to leave the next morning at seven which will be continued in the next post.

New Orleans : Day 5

Thursday. Today was a busy day. We all did the usual routine of getting up early in the morning and eating breakfast then we went off to work.

My groups assignment for the day was to clean up the lot next to the very house we were staying at.

We moved a lot of rocks and got to use a sledgehammer at one point which made me feel very manly. I basically became a landscaper for the day, moving around a lot of dirt and therefore getting very dirty.

Mom, I will need new socks when I get home because mine are pretty much ruined.

Also, my shoes that I have worn so dearly for the last two glorious years are on their last breath. I will have to move to those newer shoes sitting in my closet.

That pretty much took until quitting time where we then had to drive to have a prayer walk around a community.

Basically all we do is walk around the neighborhood in a group of five or so and prayer whenever we feel called or pray with people that come out and want prayer.

We prayed over some water, a house with a lot of dogs, an abandoned school, some houses, and a woman named Donna.

Donna had a shirt on that said, "I was blown and f*#@$* by Katrina, what a whore" which kinda pushed me away at first but she was very kind. I silently prayed her unsurpassable worth and how she was a creation bringing heaven on earth. We walked around a community that was being built up before Katrina and because of the hurricane it hasn't been restarted since. So in some places were foundations and others were older houses. Supposedly the water there was about six feet high after Katrina.

After that we went to a block party and ate hot dogs, chips, and water.

After that we went back and showered which was nice because I was feeling really dirty then. I had become tanner by way of dirt.

We hung out for awhile then the guys of our team "serenaded" the girls of our team with an acoustic version of "Down" by Jay Sean. It was ok, we messed up the rap part of the song.

After that we all came down and ate some craw fish. It was kind of spicy and made my lips tingle. For those of you who don't know what craw fish are they're basically like shrimp and they don't have that much meat.

Throughout the rest of the night I watched people color Hello Kitty posters and played some Uno which was pretty relaxing.

Well friends, tomorrow is my last official work day. I'll be back on Sunday.

New Orleans : Day 4

Wednesday. Happy St. Patty's Day! Today was a typical same old schedule where we get up at 6:45, get dressed, and walk the one block to the church to eat breakfast. Today was some egg and ham thing which I didn't really like so I ate other things.

After that we listened to some lady talk about poverty but she never really got on the topic of poverty which was weird. She kept telling us that she wasn't a good public speaker so I didn't really pay attention.

Instead, I read the Bible because she had passed out Bibles. I went to one of my favorite funny Bible verses which is Hosea 3:1 because it has "sacred raisin cakes" in it depending on what version you read and because sacred raisin cakes seem funny.

I then started reading from Colossians and the next thing you know I had already read a chapter which was weird because the Bible has always seemed to drag on when I read it.

I haven't read the Bible in a long time. I only hear it on occasional Sundays and a couple times in class. Reading the Bible this time though was interesting, different, and poetic. I don't know whether it was from taking a long break from reading the Bible or from reading lots of books about the Bible.

Maybe a little of both.

Next thing you know the message is over and we are on our way to work.

It was chilly in the morning and rained just a little bit so for the first part of the morning we were working in mud. It heated up though and got nice out.

The first half of the day I cleaned off a curb that basically had not been cleaned in a long time judging from the build up of mud and weeds on the street. I found a pile of fire ants which I was told to stay away from so I did. Supposedly those things are nasty.

The second half of the day I watched a chainsaw guy cut up a massive tree and we helped roll away the pieces to the side of the road. It was a very large tree, so much so that two big pieces are still sitting in their original spot because they were too heavy.

After working we took a little break and then hopped on the vans and went to go play with little kids again. I played frisbee with some guys and then we got in our circle groups.

I am on the blue team and on our team today was Josh and Orlando.

We played a relay game where we would run around the circle with a football or a baton. I slipped going around the circle in the same spot I slipped twice the day before. Naturally, I was embarrassed but I got back up and ran harder for one reason only.

We have a chant everyone does before the games. The leader goes, "click, click" and we shout, "we don't quit!". We chant this many times among other cheers.

So I don't quit, Josh doesn't quit, Orlando doesn't quit.

All of us never quit.

We slip, we get back up. We fail, we try again, and again, and again.

I want to say that I have gone through life with a kind of quitting attitude. Where I set my limit and then when I reach it I can start to slack off when I know I can do better. I want to start the "click click we don't quit" mentality of my life.

I want to say I'm off to a good start so far. I've never been on a mission trip. I've never been to New Orleans and I've never really put myself out there as much as I have down here.

Here's an example:

One of the games we had to do was to make up a team cheer with everyone. We had to include our team name, blue, and our motto, all people are sinful, in our chant.

There was also green with God loves me, red with Jesus died for me, and yellow with I need Jesus to be my best friend.

For our chant we had a few people say, "all people" in a cool beat pattern and then Orlando and I came in with, "are sinful!". Our part was fun because we use get to use our falsetto voices for the "sinful" part. My leader said it was funny to watch because I had my crazy hair and my head would go back when I would try to scream sinful in a falsetto voice.

At the end we did this little dance thing were we would all get in a big circle arm in arm and then the leader would scream, "leg up," and we would all raise our leg. Then the leader would yell, "and stomp," where we would start stomping on the ground. Next the leader would scream, "let me see you (insert dance move here)" and everyone would reply back with, "what's that you say?". We would repeat that three times and then we would do that move as we would make a smaller circle then go back and return to our original circles.

I got to be a leader on this one and we did the spider-man. Other leaders chose the superman, the stanky leg, the cockroach, and the funky chicken.

All things I would normally never do and all totally worth doing.

We got ice cream after dinner and now I'm just waiting for the dryer to get done with some laundry. I'll be back on Sunday y'all.

New Orleans : Day 3

This will be my Twitter-like blog. It will be shorter.

Breakfast at seven. Work at nine. Mowed a lawn at ten.

Found lots of cockroaches under wood piles. Those things can survive atomic bombs?

Worked more at different location. Took bathroom break.

Met a family who lost their 22 year old from a shooting. Bill prayed for them...with his bluetooth earpiece in.

Cleaned up trash. Walmart run. Played games with little kids again. Grass stains. Wanting to play disc soon.

Shower. Dinner. Yum. Petted Muscles, neighbors dog. Made up new game we call Hoodball.

Played Hoodball. Drove over 24 mile bridge. Got Sonic. Cherry Limeade. Yum.

Tired. Going to bed. Twitter journal.

New Orleans : Day 2

Monday, today we got up and ate breakfast around seven.

We ate and then listened to some pastors talk about stuff. I would have been paying attention but I was so tired from everything we did from the day before.

The part that I did pay attention to was boring and I didn't like it. I guess when you listen to a lot of good speakers and read a lot of good writers everyone else seems second rate.

They used war terminology at times which I don't like because I don't think God, war, or violence should be used together all that much. I also felt weird because I didn't close my eyes when we prayed which I blame Boyd for but it was weird when I did close my eyes because I would doze off to sleep.

In the early afternoon they shipped us off two blocks down the road to the "hood." What we did after that was all the same. We separated into teams and cleaned up abandoned lots. I picked up lots of glass, trash, and weeds. Our team leader was a guy I call bluetooth earpiece guy.

I later found out that his name is Bill, he is from Nebraska, and he doesn't like my Texas Longhorns hat. Bill wears his bluetooth earpiece all the time and it bugs me. He gave a sermon with it in, he prayed with it in, he talks to you with it in. I want to tell him to take it out because I can't take him seriously when he wears it but I refrain from that and just pick up my trash.

After we returned from the "hood" we took a quick break then hopped back on the vans to some local neighborhood where we played games with little kids.

After that, we went back to the church where I climbed a tree to get a kickball to play four square with some of the team members.

Then, I took a shower and laid on my air mattress getting some rest before the even more planned activities. I went back where we heard more sermons, sang more songs, and prayed more prayers. If I were to use a spiritual cup analogy I would say they sucked it all out of me because I was tired, physically and mentally, from all the church we were doing.

We were scheduled to mop and sweep the church when the service was over so we did that then watched a bunch of guys play basketball. I went to bed tired and got ready for the next day.

New Orleans : Day 1

I am currently laying on an air mattress in New Orleans at this place called "The Yellow House." I'm here in a room with all the guys from the Bethel team while a group of guys from San Antonio, Iowa, Kansas, and Harvard (the school) are in a room to my right and left.

If you want to stereotype a Harvard guy right now I will tell you they snore, and snore loudly.

We entered the southern states yesterday and got to our hotel around 5pm. We immediately went to our rooms where we were welcomed with big beds and a very fancy looking shower. You know it was a cool shower because the first thing we talked about when we got back together for a meeting was the showers.

We then decided to jump in the outdoor pool which the hotel said would be cold but us being the Minnesotans we are we thought that they meant southern cold and not northern cold. So we all jumped in and then got out right away because it was cold, very cold.

For dinner we went to a pizza buffet place.

After that some of us went to Wal-mart. It was an experience, for me at least.

I should have noticed from the parking lot that this was not going to be a nice Wal-mart. Shopping karts were scattered everywhere. On the inside only about five checkout lanes were open so the lines were long and no self checkout lanes were open. The people working there seemed very impersonal, almost like they didn't want to interact at all which was different than what I was used too. I forgot that Minnesota nice is non-existent in Louisiana.

That night we played the game Mafia and we were to loud because the room next to us called the front desk and they had to tell us to get quieter.

And that was yesterday, and today I was a tourist, camera and all. Walked around downtown New Orleans, saw a bunch of "Who Dat?" t-shirts, and walked by a lot fortune tellers. Does anyone know what "Who Dat" actually means? I also saw multiple stores basically selling sex and a male wearing fishnet leggings and a skirt that was way to short.

It's been quite the culture shock so far to say the least. More to come later.

Squeaky Windshield Wipers, A Sex Sign, and a Kia Minivan

We made it to St. Louis last night at around 2am and now its 8am and we're back on the road already. We all are a little short of sleep so the people sitting behind me are currently sleeping, or attempting to sleep.

I currently am holding the position of navigator which chooses the music and helps keep the driver company. I don't even navigate because I'm in the car that doesn't have the GPS so basically the car I am in just follows the first car.

Yesterday we departed from Bethel at 5:00pm. We drove non-stop to someplace in Iowa. We stopped in what seemed like a sketchy place, even for Iowa. It was dirty and had a bunch of cars going by blasting rap music.

Along the way though we drove by a store by the name of Purely Pleasure. It had one of those big signs that displays the time and temperature but also displayed other sayings such as, "sex is great and our toys are too.". It was in the middle of nowhere too but I assume that since they have a display sign they are doing alright. I imagined the owner of the shop; wondering what his life must be like. I also wondered if he likes his job.

But this brings me back to an Iowa gas station in what seems like a sketchy area. We all had to use a bathroom in this gas station which had an "out of order" sign on it but everything worked so I don't know what was out of order. This gas station sold a lot of liquor, like wall to wall liquor.

Some guy was restocking the shelves and I was standing there waiting for someone to get done in the bathroom. He asked me if I was from Texas because I was wearing my UT Longhorns hat. I told him no that I'm just a fan. He smiled and I smiled and I got the feeling, or the impression, that he was a very friendly guy. He left though to go restock some more and now I am wishing I made some more small talk with him.

After that Iowaian ( Iowaean, Iowaite, Iowation?) gas station the weather got pretty bad, it rained, poured, visibility was low and we had to pass many semi-trucks which is scary in good weather if you ask me. We took another small break a couple hours later and that is when it was my turn to drive.

Before I drove though we got gas. And before I drove I sat in the back seat listening to a squeaky windshield wiper going back and forth which was annoying to the driver and the navigator at the time. At the gas station we checked out this squeaky windshield wiper and I'll spare you the details of the damage but we fixed it pretty easily and because we fixed it we felt manly so we checked the oil to feel more manly.

Then I drove and the rain still was coming down but not as worse as before. I drove this Kia minivan and for those of you who like minivans, shame on you. It was like driving a suburban but it was a lot lower and I don't how those things are safe at all because they have a huge blind spot. This is my rant on minivans. I shall never own one of those things.

I drove until we got to St. Louis and i was surprised I made it that far. My navigator kept me awake and played a random shuffle of music that we would sing along too.

The only event that really occurred was having a rock hit the windshield causing a little dent crack thing.

It's now 9am and we are still heading southbound. More to come later.