Last Seconds

I wrote this for my RA staff around the end of the school year. I read it to them during a meeting I ran. I cried, uncontrollably. I edited it to make it easier to relate to. Enjoy.

I am dealing with a lot of “lasts” here at Bethel and from that I think alot about the moments I’ve had. Moments with friends, professors, roommates, and crushes.

Being who I am, a media communication major, I love the media. Music, film, social networks, I love it all. One way I connect with God is through the media. In every good media there is usually, at least for me, a moment that the light goes off, the switch turns on, the bridge is connected, where everything just clicks. It’s moment like that where I experience God or I learn something applicable to life and love.

Moments are a funny thing. When we want to tell stories to one another we rarely tell it the same each time. It’s always a moment that we remember and build off of it from there. Like when I ripped a bag of Honey Nut Scooters open, playing swords, playing racquetball, talking about birth, playing the game Tanks and commanders, or talking about broccoli, or watching someone find her long lost iPod, or helping someone in need, climbing trees, or talking about cameras, doing P90X, Chipotle runs, and running around Heritage at 2am during finals week. Moments that I don’t plan on forgetting and want to cherish forever.

It only takes a second to define a moment.

A second is all it takes to make a moment. To make a memory. To set a story in motion. Just a second, and you know if you've done something good or bad. A second to make a decision that makes something set in motion.

It’s like this: “The saddest thing about life is you don’t remember half of it. You don’t even remember half of half of it. Not even a tiny percentage, if you want to know the truth. When we die and sit down with God I’ll tell him what I did with my life and when I am done with my story, God will probably sit there looking at me, wondering what to talk about next” (Donald Miller, A Million Miles in a Thousand Years)

To be cliche’ the line from Hitch rings true here. Life isn’t measured in the amount of breaths you take, but the moments that take your breath away.

All good stories have moments that take our breath away. All good stories also involve fear. This fear causes conflict and all good stories have conflict.

Fear sucks. I hate fear. Donald Miller describes it like this: “Fear is an manipulative emotion that can trick us into living a boring story” (A Million Miles in a Thousand Years, 108).

To live a good story you must face the fear that is holding you back from living a good story.

Legacy

It's about 1:00am on Sunday night.

I had some pop about three hours ago. Big mistake, I'll be up all night probably.

So I bought the Gungor album and am sitting totally awake in a dark dorm room with new music playing through my headphones as my roommates sleep soundly. For those of you who ask; the Gungor album is pretty good so far, a good use of my gift card I got for Christmas. Thank you to whoever got that for me.

I have been haunted lately.

I had a conversation with a friend a few days ago while eating Chipotle that has caused this haunting. It went something like this:
FRIEND: "so what are you doing with the rest of your night?"
ME: "oh you know, changing the world." (said sarcastically, I actually had nothing to do)
FRIEND: "oh, and how would you do that?" (in a semi-serious manner)
ME: "um...(caught off guard)...I dunno...water. I would build wells...you know...people need water."

Graduation is a mere fifty-four days away.

When people ask me what it is like being a senior in college and if I am excited to graduate I usually reply by saying, "It's a little scary, but it's also exciting." It's true, the future is scary, but it is also exciting. New things in life can be exciting.

I have had a lot of thoughts about my future, you know, finding a job, that sort of thing.
I have also had a lot of thoughts about my past, and what I am leaving behind.

It is an emotional roller coaster; being a senior and all. Much more than I anticipated. I mean, I was a senior once already, how different can it be? I've had this great experience of committing four years of my life to learning a specific area and how to implement that into the real world. So it's exciting to look ahead at my potential in my future job market. It is also sad looking back at all the great memories I have had here at college and thinking about them leads to a small empty feeling and me almost crying.

It's like I'm not quite satisfied yet.

And there's more to it. Questions that pester me. What am I actually leaving behind? Have I changed at all? Has my community changed at all? Is my college experience to "normal" or to consistent? Have I just gone with the flow? What have I actually done in my time here? What kind of legacy am I leaving? Is it counter-intuitive?

That is the questions that have bugged me fifty-four days from graduation. Instead of letting them pass by or forget about them, I decided to confront them.

Head on.

And resulting from those questions I have come to a conclusion:

I want to change the world.
I want to do that by building a well.

Better yet, I want my community to change the world and I want us to do that by building a well. I want a community somewhere in the world to have fresh, clean water. I've gone all my life never having to travel far to get clean water, but there are people out there that have to travel hours back and forth, each day, just to get water that isn't even all that clean.

Now, for awhile I thought I was going crazy. I mean, who does this? Who tries to raise $5,000 so close to graduating? So I emailed my RA team, asking them if I was going crazy or if this was actually something worth pursuing.

They told me I should go for it and offered their suggestions and help.
The Holy Spirit must be real and must have a sense of humor. I thought for sure I was going nuts.

So now I am not only questioning my future and finding a job, but I am also putting into question my past and what I have done, or what I have to show, in my four years of college.

Later in life, when someone asks me about my college experience I would like to smile and tell them, "I had a great college experience. I met some great people and together we built a well for a community that now has access to clean water."

Ok, now I'm tearing up, stupid Gungor instrumental ending, why do you do this to me?

When The Semi Became Less Scary

Last week I was driving down the highway when I passed a semi-truck.

I hate semi-trucks. I hate driving near them, behind them, in front of them, and especially alongside them. They are just big scary monsters that could run me right over if they felt like it. The semi is quite wide too, and I feel like my lane is being overtaken when I drive next to them. Kind of like the scene in Star Wars when they are stuck in the garbage shoot and the walls are slowly closing in on them. I get that feeling.

I usually just drive really fast by them so I don't have to deal with the feeling of being destroyed at sixty miles an hour. I also imagine that being my excuse to the cop that pulls me over. "Yes sir, I was going pretty fast, but did you see that semi that had it in for me? It was going to destroy me so I ran away."

I have a great amount of respect for semi-truck drivers though, because they know the rules of the road, or at least most of them do. I think they are really good drivers in an insufficient vehicle for their skills. One night, I was driving back to school and a semi passed another semi on the highway. The semi wanted to get back into the right lane because they were slowing down traffic. So the semi that got passed flashed their brights when the passing semi had enough room to merge in front of them. I thought it was awesome and have wanted to do the same since.

But last week I saw a semi and I passed it quickly like always. I had enough time though to look inside the passenger side of the semi and to my surprise there was a kid sitting in the seat. I could only assume that is was the drivers son. A son that the driver probably hadn't seen in awhile. Supposedly semi-truck drivers are on the road so much that they don't see their family a lot. Supposedly they get super lonely on the road too. This kid in the passenger side of the semi was all wide-eyed, looking down the road, like he was having a good time. I felt compassion for semi-truck drivers everywhere and my feeling of being destroyed slowly went away.

That is when, to me, the scary monsters of the road became the gentle giants.

Goliath Eyes

I was on the road to a leadership retreat.  It was three hours of sitting in the very back row of a van all to myself.

So I had lots of time to look around.

At one point we passed a yellow Mitsubishi, with a rather large man wearing a yellow sleeveless shirt.

We made eye contact for a brief second which is not as awkward as it sounds.

It was one of those unique moments of eye contact.  Those moments where it only lasts a second but you feel like you know them.  Like you know their story.  His eyes were comforting.  They were singing songs of pain, song of a history, songs of peace.

I felt like I was looking at Goliath.  I am not sure why, but I felt bad for him.

Then I wondered what the real Goliath of the Bible looked like while going into battle.  What story did his eyes tell?  I wonder if it was anything like the man I saw?

Then I thought about what David looked like while throwing his stone.

I just read the story of David and Goliath (1 Samuel 17).  It's definitely not like it was in Sunday School.  Lots of smack talk, and in the end David cuts off the head of Goliath and brings it to Jerusalem.

Summer Dreams

I had some dreams this summer. I only wrote down two though.

One: Trees

All the trees were cut down in the front yard.

One dying tree.

This dream had all of the trees cut down. It was very bright because there was less shade and it was a lot easier to mow the lawn. That was my first thought about it.  How it would be easier to mow the lawn.

Now thinking about it I think it would not be fun mowing the lawn without any trees.  The sun would beat down on  me and even though I wouldn't have to duck under branches and leaves I would get really hot and sweaty.

So what does it mean?

Two: Biking and timing

I had this same dream two nights in a row.

In this dream I went biking with my parents and for some reason we had an instructor. I guess in the dream my family got super into biking. The dream seemed to be all about biking properly and pedaling at the right time, going up hills and down hills, knowing when to pedal and when not too.

I remember going down a steep hill and then crossing a  bridge.  I also remember never being on time. I was always late, always making some mistakes along the way to make me late.  My instructor pointed them out to me too and eventually I got to the point where I knew when I did it wrong.  There was always an emphasis on timing, on the clock.  Very strange with the possibility of being meaningful.

So what does it mean?

Waiting For School

This is what happens when you're bored at school, sitting in the library before Spring Break, and doing the grand pastime of people watching.

I'm sitting in the library at Bethel and can't think of anything to write.

I like people watching. Maybe I'll do that.

The majority of people at the computer lab are males and about 80% of them have what I would consider short hair. One has glasses.

Most of the girls are on the other side of the individual computer stations where the slower and older computers are located. Whenever they stand up I can see them walk around.

I've heard the beeper at the entrance of the library about three times since I got here a little over an hour ago, which is a little out of the ordinary. A lot of people must be trying to steal books today. It is a lot louder than I recall in the past because I can hear it over my Avett Brothers music playing through my headphones.

Nothing exciting is happening or worth noting.

Writer's block.

School is about a month and a half away. For some odd reason I am excited to go back to school. I don't know why. Maybe because it is 2:30am when I finally finished this draft or maybe it's because I did a bunch of internship homework the past two nights. Anyways, the senior year ahead should be interesting as to what the future holds for me.

By the looks of it, I won't be following in my brothers footsteps of marrying the weekend after I graduate (shout-out to you big bro) and that is ok with me. The future doesn't seem scary to me right now in this moment. I am not sure what I want to do for a career and that doesn't scare me. It's a relief to me, who usually hides away when thinking about the future.

Mission Trip

View Larger Map

Well, this is a little different than my mission trip last year. In case you don't know, last year I had a blog entry every day recounting my days in New Orleans. This year was a little different.

First off, the street view above you is where I stayed. It's the white house in the back, slightly to the left of the center of the screen. If you have time, look directly behind you and you will see railroad tracks. I'll explain those below.

I went to West Virginia. Southern West Virginia. To be specific, Northfolk, West Virginia.

Our team was told about how this tiny town used to be one of the richest cities in the United States and is now one of the poorest. The reason it was so rich was because of the coal mining. They basically built a whole city around the coal mining factory and it flourished with schools, churches, and jobs. All the coal would be sent north, by train, to the steel factories in Pennsylvania.

As time went on, the coal industry revolutionized, got smaller, and needed less people so the town essentially became a ghost town as everyone left. Some people remained though.

Currently, the schools are closing and collaborating, stores are closing, and twenty people at a church service is "large."

A team of thirteen Bethel students drove to Northfolk and stayed at that house in the google street view above. We had the whole house, which slept thirty-six people, all to ourselves.

The organization we worked through was called Mustard Seeds & Mountains.

At night, the trains would rumble by honking their horns. Train horns are loud. The more we slept there the more we didn't notice the horns though. Pretty amazing if you ask me.

Most teams come in the summer.

The city lies between two mountains, so cell phone reception is unaccessible as well as the internet. So I was basically "off the grid" for a week. Which is a weird feeling and should be another blog itself.

Our team of thirteen split into three smaller teams to go to work sites where we would repair homes.

The team I was apart of worked up the street from the house at another one of the organizations houses, where more teams would be during the summer. There is where I primed and painted three rooms.

And that's about it. I painted three rooms.

A few other things. I talked with a 93-year-old woman, who cried when we left saying that she, "gets so lonely." Also met a dog named Gimli.

A little sad isn't it? Maybe just a little. We did save the work site manager, Lacy, at least four weeks of work. That felt nice to hear.

After working the teaching leader, Bob, would give a lesson, usually about the poor.

Here is a list of things I learned from these lessons.
1. COMPASSION is a big word, and it's essential
2. Realize the needs around you and use your talents to solve these needs.
3. Go to where needs are needed
4. We are hiding our hurts
5. Southern accents are cool

I would expand on those points but I'm trying to keep this blog as more of an overall overview of my trip, not a lengthy doctorate paper.

Overall, God taught me that not all His work will be noticed, that we should work with a humble heart, and to "open the box" or use our talents to help solve the needs around us.

And, in a nutshell, that is my mission trip. Looking back I wished I would've journaled every day. I probably would've remembered a lot more. Anyways, if you wish to know more talk to me, comment below, write me a letter, email, facebook, twitter, whatever other form of communication is out there and I am more than happy to tell you.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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