Thinking about family this morning.
It hurts a lot when someone you love is so badly wounded--spiritually, emotionally, and physically.
You ask yourself: "What could I have done to prevent this? Could I have reached out to her more? Could I have made sure she had someone in her life that would listen without judging? Why wasn't I there for her? Why didn't I step up to the plate? When she contacted me, why didn't I follow up?"
And then you make the decision: "In the future, I will be there for her. I will make an effort to be a light in her pain. I will do everything I can to protect someone that is older than me...but that doesn't mean I can't fight beside her. I will tell her whenever I can that I love her--always have, even when we were so distant from who we used to be. And I will pray for her regularly, often, and fervently."
That future? It starts today. Today, I start fighting an "elephant."
"There is no life - no life without its hunger; Each restless heart beats so imperfectly; But when you come and I am filled with wonder, sometimes, I think I glimpse eternity." [Selah, is the version that I know, but I think Josh Groban actually wrote the song? Maybe?]
Thursday, May 26, 2011
Wednesday, May 25, 2011
God, I want to dream again, take me where I've never been...
I may not have a job yet, hopefully that will come soon, but I've still been keeping busy. In a sense.
I've done a fair amount of reading--surprisingly enough it's all been young adult fiction, a genre I don't generally enjoy. It's not so much that I dislike it... I dislike what it's doing to young readers... but that's a post for another day. (And I know I'll get a lot of grief for it, so it can wait.) What I want to talk about is my independent study, actually.
I can't remember if I have posted about this directly yet or not... I've certainly thought about it a lot. In this independent study I'm required to write an hour a day (at least) and pick an author I would like to emulate. Which is a word I don't particularly like, I've decided. I don't want to be another author, but I do want to learn from them. Ideally, this would be an author that writes a similar genre to what I'm interested in, but do it differently than I do, or better than I do.
So I've been reading Fantasy. The problem with finding a fantasy writer of whom I am going to read all of their works is that they write a lot. Now, naturally the first author that came to mind was Tolkien. (How did you guess? You know me so well.) However, even he was a prolific writer in that he wrote the entire history of Middle Earth. I'm not ready to tackle all of that in a summer. And besides, I just did a study on him, and if I'm going to learn more then I need to pick someone new.
What have I been reading?
Well, I'm just about to finish reading Graceling by Kristin Cashore. And let me tell you, for this being her debut novel, I'm impressed. She has created this fantasy world with skill, and I can tell she has put a lot of thought into it. I feel bad choosing her though because she's only written one book. But it's a good one. I'm excited to see how it ends.
I've also been reading the Hunger Games trilogy. I just need to read Mockingjay. I'm anxious to see how Suzanne Collins is going to wrap this all up--there are so many questions swirling around in my head. I don't think that I would classify these as strictly fantasy, but more as a fantastical dystopia.
In addition to these books (which mostly only take me a day to read) I've been reading The Books of Pellinor by Allison Crogan. (I think that's how you spell her name.) These are intense. I first read The Naming my summer between my Sophomore and Junior year of high school. And I had started The Riddle shortly after. It's been a book I return to off and on. I was determined to finish it this summer, and the rest of the four book series. These books make me happy, and not because they're particularly joyful--they're not. No, it's something else--they're challenging. Even for me, a senior in college. Yet, they're considered to be YA books because the protagonist is a young adult. But the reading is dense, full of detail and creative devices. And intrigue! I'm being surprised all the time, and I love that I can't necessarily predict it! I love that there are young adults out there reading these books and being actively challenged. I'll have to do some research and see if she's written anything else. I also love her mastery of scenery, something I desperately lack.
Most of all, while I'm writing, I'm beginning to realize that I'm afraid of what this could turn into. My instinct is to just pump the story out--finally finish Morning Star so she won't be a burden anymore. But I've wrapped my identity around this book--what if people don't like her? Each of those characters carries a piece of who I am, or who I want to be. Do I really want to release them out to a world that they may be ridiculed? Am I strong enough to handle that possibility?
And then there's the issue of names. The protagonist of Graceling: Katsa. The protagonist of The Hunger Games: Katniss. Thank goodness that The Books of Pellinor don't have a protagonist who's name starts with 'K.' And then there's Morning Star, who contains a character, one who will be fairly influential even if she doesn't get the book title: Katra. It makes me angry that these other books have come out before I could finish mine... mine that has been in the works for at least seven years. I don't want to be just another female writer with a female character who's name starts with a 'K.'
And am I writing for a young adult audience? That would be ironic, after all. Or am I more like Markus Zusak? Not writing for any particular audience, but telling a story I feel must be told. (Granted, my story doesn't carry as much weight as one about Nazis.) More on this when I talk about Young Adult literature I think.
Do you have any author suggestions?
"Forget the fear, it's just a crutch that tries to hold you back and turn your dreams to dust. All you need to do is just dream." [Fireflight]
I've done a fair amount of reading--surprisingly enough it's all been young adult fiction, a genre I don't generally enjoy. It's not so much that I dislike it... I dislike what it's doing to young readers... but that's a post for another day. (And I know I'll get a lot of grief for it, so it can wait.) What I want to talk about is my independent study, actually.
I can't remember if I have posted about this directly yet or not... I've certainly thought about it a lot. In this independent study I'm required to write an hour a day (at least) and pick an author I would like to emulate. Which is a word I don't particularly like, I've decided. I don't want to be another author, but I do want to learn from them. Ideally, this would be an author that writes a similar genre to what I'm interested in, but do it differently than I do, or better than I do.
So I've been reading Fantasy. The problem with finding a fantasy writer of whom I am going to read all of their works is that they write a lot. Now, naturally the first author that came to mind was Tolkien. (How did you guess? You know me so well.) However, even he was a prolific writer in that he wrote the entire history of Middle Earth. I'm not ready to tackle all of that in a summer. And besides, I just did a study on him, and if I'm going to learn more then I need to pick someone new.
What have I been reading?
Well, I'm just about to finish reading Graceling by Kristin Cashore. And let me tell you, for this being her debut novel, I'm impressed. She has created this fantasy world with skill, and I can tell she has put a lot of thought into it. I feel bad choosing her though because she's only written one book. But it's a good one. I'm excited to see how it ends.
I've also been reading the Hunger Games trilogy. I just need to read Mockingjay. I'm anxious to see how Suzanne Collins is going to wrap this all up--there are so many questions swirling around in my head. I don't think that I would classify these as strictly fantasy, but more as a fantastical dystopia.
In addition to these books (which mostly only take me a day to read) I've been reading The Books of Pellinor by Allison Crogan. (I think that's how you spell her name.) These are intense. I first read The Naming my summer between my Sophomore and Junior year of high school. And I had started The Riddle shortly after. It's been a book I return to off and on. I was determined to finish it this summer, and the rest of the four book series. These books make me happy, and not because they're particularly joyful--they're not. No, it's something else--they're challenging. Even for me, a senior in college. Yet, they're considered to be YA books because the protagonist is a young adult. But the reading is dense, full of detail and creative devices. And intrigue! I'm being surprised all the time, and I love that I can't necessarily predict it! I love that there are young adults out there reading these books and being actively challenged. I'll have to do some research and see if she's written anything else. I also love her mastery of scenery, something I desperately lack.
Most of all, while I'm writing, I'm beginning to realize that I'm afraid of what this could turn into. My instinct is to just pump the story out--finally finish Morning Star so she won't be a burden anymore. But I've wrapped my identity around this book--what if people don't like her? Each of those characters carries a piece of who I am, or who I want to be. Do I really want to release them out to a world that they may be ridiculed? Am I strong enough to handle that possibility?
And then there's the issue of names. The protagonist of Graceling: Katsa. The protagonist of The Hunger Games: Katniss. Thank goodness that The Books of Pellinor don't have a protagonist who's name starts with 'K.' And then there's Morning Star, who contains a character, one who will be fairly influential even if she doesn't get the book title: Katra. It makes me angry that these other books have come out before I could finish mine... mine that has been in the works for at least seven years. I don't want to be just another female writer with a female character who's name starts with a 'K.'
And am I writing for a young adult audience? That would be ironic, after all. Or am I more like Markus Zusak? Not writing for any particular audience, but telling a story I feel must be told. (Granted, my story doesn't carry as much weight as one about Nazis.) More on this when I talk about Young Adult literature I think.
Do you have any author suggestions?
"Forget the fear, it's just a crutch that tries to hold you back and turn your dreams to dust. All you need to do is just dream." [Fireflight]
Sunday, May 22, 2011
I will swim in the deep...
We've had a lot of rain. And not nice rain but destructive rain. There has been hail and tornado warnings. Let's just face it--if the rain is coming down hard enough and fast enough it's just downright scary.
A prime example of this was Friday. I took my brother to school in the hopes that I would have an interview in the afternoon and would need a car. Well, the interview didn't happen (but hopefully this coming week!). And so, 3:30 rolled around and I had to go get him. At about 2 it had started raining pretty hard. I thought for sure it would clear off by 3:15. It didn't. So, I ran out to the car and started driving.
Visibility was minimal. Gravel is no fun when wet--to the point of being covered in water. My cousin later described it as "driving through a swimming pool." And I think that's an accurate description.
You're going to laugh, but when I got in the car and turned the radio on "Blessed Be Your Name" was playing. I laughed a little, and then enjoyed the song. That got me to the highway. Then the song "Manifesto" (it's fairly new) started playing. That got me to the main road I needed. And then I could hardly see, and there were semis. So, I turned the radio off to focus.
I don't like silence. So I started praying out loud. "Papa God, get me to the school and pick Josef up safely. Protect those traveling on this road." Mostly I was scared of hydroplaning, or being hit by someone else who was. Or my engine flooding--I had to drive through some pretty substantial puddles.
After I was done praying, I turned the radio back on. And I started laughing at the song that was playing. God really does have a funny sense of humor. (Not that I think He made this song play on the radio, but it was a hilarious coincidence.) So I sang along. The song was, "Let the Waters Rise" by Mikeschair.
It was wonderful. I made it to school. My brother had to leap a stream to get into the car, but he made it--a bit wet. (And by a bit wet, I mean soaked.) And we made it home. Just as we pulled into the driveway the rain let up. And I laughed some more.
"There's a raging sea right in front of me, wants to pull me in, bring me to my knees. So let the waters rise if You want them to." [Mikeschair]
A prime example of this was Friday. I took my brother to school in the hopes that I would have an interview in the afternoon and would need a car. Well, the interview didn't happen (but hopefully this coming week!). And so, 3:30 rolled around and I had to go get him. At about 2 it had started raining pretty hard. I thought for sure it would clear off by 3:15. It didn't. So, I ran out to the car and started driving.
Visibility was minimal. Gravel is no fun when wet--to the point of being covered in water. My cousin later described it as "driving through a swimming pool." And I think that's an accurate description.
You're going to laugh, but when I got in the car and turned the radio on "Blessed Be Your Name" was playing. I laughed a little, and then enjoyed the song. That got me to the highway. Then the song "Manifesto" (it's fairly new) started playing. That got me to the main road I needed. And then I could hardly see, and there were semis. So, I turned the radio off to focus.
I don't like silence. So I started praying out loud. "Papa God, get me to the school and pick Josef up safely. Protect those traveling on this road." Mostly I was scared of hydroplaning, or being hit by someone else who was. Or my engine flooding--I had to drive through some pretty substantial puddles.
After I was done praying, I turned the radio back on. And I started laughing at the song that was playing. God really does have a funny sense of humor. (Not that I think He made this song play on the radio, but it was a hilarious coincidence.) So I sang along. The song was, "Let the Waters Rise" by Mikeschair.
It was wonderful. I made it to school. My brother had to leap a stream to get into the car, but he made it--a bit wet. (And by a bit wet, I mean soaked.) And we made it home. Just as we pulled into the driveway the rain let up. And I laughed some more.
"There's a raging sea right in front of me, wants to pull me in, bring me to my knees. So let the waters rise if You want them to." [Mikeschair]
Monday, May 16, 2011
How did You go and make me pretty?
My friend, Leesha Harvey, is an aspiring musician, and she's awesome. You should go look up her music, it's great. I don't know if it's on iTunes or not... but you can do a free download of her new album, and then donate to get the lyrics and some awesome photography! Go here! (The title of the post came from one of her songs, hence the plug.) (Lisa, I think you would enjoy this.)
It's funny, I was originally going to talk about music here--one song particularly. And then, while I was getting ready to start the post that song played and that line just struck me, and it had to be a post title.
So, the main event:
This morning in church we sang "Blessed Be Your Name." Now most people know that song, especially if they attend a church with contemporary worship--it tends to be a favorite. So, it's not strange that we sang it or anything. However, it got me thinking. If there's one song that has been a theme in my life, it's this one. I mean, there are all kinds of songs that I can listen to and remember a period in my life that was totally in sync with it, but this song in particular has been with me through many storms.
Maybe there's someone out there that isn't familiar with the song. (If so, go find it on YouTube, a ton of artists sing it, feel free to get a variety!)
I just want to share with you all my journey with this song.
I grew up singing this song: Sunday mornings, and some Wednesday nights when I was in middle school and high school, and Church camp. It's been a huge part of my churchgoing experience. Most you know how it is: you sing a song so many times it can start to lose meaning. Not so with this song, not for me. It speaks to several different times in one's life that it is always relatable in new ways.
When I was first told I had to wear a back brace I didn't think it would turn into a two year ordeal. But while I was in that thing, the song was able to speak to that wilderness. "God, this sucks. Why am I having to go through this? Yet I love You. Blessed be Your name." And I guarantee you that when I was finally released from the spine doctor, my heart was singing (along with my mouth)
"Blessed be Your name
When the sun's shining down on me
When the world's all as it should be
Blessed be Your name"
I found out last year that the lady that took my senior pictures, a family friend, has a rare lung disease. Basically, her lungs are turning into smooth muscle, which means no breathing once it gets too bad. She was pregnant when we found out. I was home for the weekend, or something, and Mom told me just as I was arriving. I remember going down to my room. I was angry at God. Why would He let that happen to her? She is one of the sweetest ladies I know, and she needs Christ in her life. While I was in my room, I was laying on my bed, staring the ceiling, choking on tears. Suddenly, this song popped into my head. And I sang. At the top of my lungs, not thinking about the people above me.
On the road marked with suffering
Though there's pain in the offering
Blessed be Your name."
Over and over again.
"You give and take away
You give and take away
My heart will choose to say
Lord, blessed be Your name."
The idea that the life within her womb could have brought her closer to death made me feel ill. And still I sang, even though it hurt.
When I found out that my middle school science teacher had died, I was alone in my dorm room. I don't remember where LeAnn was, but I'm glad she wasn't there. I had been studying Greek. And then I wasn't. I was laying on the floor crying my lungs away, until I couldn't hardly breathe. Then I climbed up into my bed, and cried some more. I tried to sing again. I thought maybe that this loss would be easier to bear if I could honestly still sing, "Blessed be Your name, God, even though this isn't fair." But I couldn't make my lung work anymore. So I went home for the visitation. And after I spent five minutes in the room, I went out to my car and cried some more. I called my friend Cole and cried to him for a while. (Cole, I'm still incredibly thankful for your silence when I couldn't speak, and for your encouragement when I was breathing again.) When I hung up with him, I stared at the roof of my car, and I was finally able to sing again.
"When the darkness closes in,
Lord Still I will say
Blessed be the name of the Lord"
(Someday I will be able to write a more in depth blog about this, but right now I can't.)
While this song speaks to me in my joys, I find it is a megaphone to my sorrows. And today when we sang it in church I wasn't either. I was neither joyful nor sorrowful. I simply was. And that was okay. For here there may be sorrows sown, and there will be joys reaped. I'm learning that through it all, the good and the bad, God is making me beautiful. I don't understand, and it's painful, but He's doing it. And I love it. So, I will sing with arms raised and heart abandoned because I know that threw it all, even when the way is tough and my heart is numb, "Blessed be Your name!"
"I will remain silent. Time will not heal the loss. Look to the One before us. Journey this road to the Cross. And we walk, we walk. What else can we do? Though the road seems that much harder, now that we're walking without you." [Leesha Harvey]
Sunday, May 8, 2011
Hey you, I love your soul...
Yes, two posts in a 48 hour period, crazy right?
Today is Mother's Day. I realize that I spend a lot of space on here talking about my Dad, and how well we get along. There have been a few times where I have made a point of saying that my Mom and I just don't communicate well. Well, both of those statements are true. However, I wouldn't trade my Mom for anything in the world.
The facts of the matter are:
I do get really cross sometimes. LeAnn may be the only person at Concordia that has witnessed this (sorry about that, LeAnn). My Mom definitely carries the brunt of those "attacks." And she still loves me. My Dad once told me, "Anna, you and I are a lot alike. And we're both very lucky that your Mom loves us both a lot. She has more love for you than you even know." That struck me. It came during the crazy graduation season my senior year after she had asked for the third time before 1pm if I had heard about who was going to my graduation party. I was annoyed. Extremely annoyed. Mom and I were crying and yelling in the truck cab while Dad and Josef just sat there, silent. The fight ended with Mom saying she wasn't going to talk to me--now that was a blow to the face. Dad pulled me aside and I thought for sure he was going to chew me out too, but he didn't he told me that. (see up a few lines) That was probably the nicest way he could have told me, "I see why you're annoyed, but you were being a total jerk to your mom." We still fight. We probably always will a little bit. But I know that she will never stop loving me, and I love her for that.
If I'm super excited about something, chances are that Mom is the one that will really get it and be happy with me. This applies from the girliest thing to the most academic achievement. She's the best cheerleader around--really.
It doesn't take much to make her cry in way of sappy movies. There are certain points during a variety of chick flicks that I know if I look at her I will see puffy red eyes and a wadded up tissue. I always give her a hard time, but only when I'm not crying... ha. The funny thing is, I've always felt like I needed to be the strong one. I make a point of not letting my Mom see me cry. I'm not entirely sure when that started, but probably around the time I got my brace and I needed her to know that I was going to be okay, that I didn't need pity. But when I do start to cry during those movies, I know (without looking) that Mom is crying too.
We share a birthday, and the day I can't celebrate with her on the day will be a sad one. (Look for that blog post in the future, folks. It's sure to get one.) I've always loved being able to tell her Happy Birthday when she tells me Happy Birthday. It's a great way to wake up in the morning.
She's a pretty great lady, and she cares about people more than anything.
I love you, Momma.
"Oh for a heart that does not ache. And for a backbone that won't break. For some steady feet or sturdy ground, a road that isn't going to let me turn around and run. For a thousand times to sing. To wear wisdom like Soloman's robe. For the patience and perspective of a man like Job. Just to soar on wings like eagles for no other reason than the bird's eye view for a flight or two. ... Who I wish I was. ... I never could be good enough to measure up, but You want to take me as I come. You're the only one that cares to take me as I am." [Nichole Nordeman]
Today is Mother's Day. I realize that I spend a lot of space on here talking about my Dad, and how well we get along. There have been a few times where I have made a point of saying that my Mom and I just don't communicate well. Well, both of those statements are true. However, I wouldn't trade my Mom for anything in the world.
The facts of the matter are:
I do get really cross sometimes. LeAnn may be the only person at Concordia that has witnessed this (sorry about that, LeAnn). My Mom definitely carries the brunt of those "attacks." And she still loves me. My Dad once told me, "Anna, you and I are a lot alike. And we're both very lucky that your Mom loves us both a lot. She has more love for you than you even know." That struck me. It came during the crazy graduation season my senior year after she had asked for the third time before 1pm if I had heard about who was going to my graduation party. I was annoyed. Extremely annoyed. Mom and I were crying and yelling in the truck cab while Dad and Josef just sat there, silent. The fight ended with Mom saying she wasn't going to talk to me--now that was a blow to the face. Dad pulled me aside and I thought for sure he was going to chew me out too, but he didn't he told me that. (see up a few lines) That was probably the nicest way he could have told me, "I see why you're annoyed, but you were being a total jerk to your mom." We still fight. We probably always will a little bit. But I know that she will never stop loving me, and I love her for that.
If I'm super excited about something, chances are that Mom is the one that will really get it and be happy with me. This applies from the girliest thing to the most academic achievement. She's the best cheerleader around--really.
It doesn't take much to make her cry in way of sappy movies. There are certain points during a variety of chick flicks that I know if I look at her I will see puffy red eyes and a wadded up tissue. I always give her a hard time, but only when I'm not crying... ha. The funny thing is, I've always felt like I needed to be the strong one. I make a point of not letting my Mom see me cry. I'm not entirely sure when that started, but probably around the time I got my brace and I needed her to know that I was going to be okay, that I didn't need pity. But when I do start to cry during those movies, I know (without looking) that Mom is crying too.
We share a birthday, and the day I can't celebrate with her on the day will be a sad one. (Look for that blog post in the future, folks. It's sure to get one.) I've always loved being able to tell her Happy Birthday when she tells me Happy Birthday. It's a great way to wake up in the morning.
She's a pretty great lady, and she cares about people more than anything.
I love you, Momma.
"Oh for a heart that does not ache. And for a backbone that won't break. For some steady feet or sturdy ground, a road that isn't going to let me turn around and run. For a thousand times to sing. To wear wisdom like Soloman's robe. For the patience and perspective of a man like Job. Just to soar on wings like eagles for no other reason than the bird's eye view for a flight or two. ... Who I wish I was. ... I never could be good enough to measure up, but You want to take me as I come. You're the only one that cares to take me as I am." [Nichole Nordeman]
Saturday, May 7, 2011
This was over before it ever began...
This year has just flown by. I can hardly believe that I'm home for the summer. The general theme seems to be: "I'm going to miss everybody, what am I going to do without all of my friend? We've made it so far!"
Now. I am going to miss my friends. And I truly can't believe I only have a year of undergrad work left. It's a big deal. And honestly, it probably deserves a blog post--but I'm not going to give it one. Nor am I going to give my pining for my friends a post--I'll see them again, before we know it summer will be over. (I do miss you all, really I do.)
The bigger issue of being done with the semester--packing and unpacking.
It took me a day to get all of my stuff loaded into the pack of the truck with the help of some friends (thanks Andrew, Heather and Heidi). Before I left campus, I looked at the truck and said, "Woah. My whole life fits into the back of a truck." This may be an over generalization, but it's kind of true, when you think about it. Everything I need to "survive" was in the back of a truck. Crazy.
When I got home I had to unload it all into the garage and living room--my room in the basement wasn't ready to handle all of the boxes yet. How is it that a room couldn't hold what a truck could? Because it was full of a crap from the previous chapters of my life--middle school and high school.
So, I spent the first day on break ignoring the impending project and read a book, a whole book. For fun. It was lovely. Today though, the second day of break, I had to venture down to my bedroom... and started pulling things apart so I could put them back together in a more efficient way.
What has happened?
Well, I stripped my bed to wash the sheets and stuff, and then I started going through some of the older boxes that held stuff I had forgotten existed. I threw a lot of stuff away. I figured that if I didn't remember it I probably didn't need it. That said, I still have a huge pile of crap on my naked bed. Stuff that I don't know what to do with.
I went through the old Graduation Cards...that was a nice trip down memory lane.
I found millions of old notebooks with started stories...I'm excited to see what I may be able to do with some of them.
I checked hundreds of pens to see if they still worked...I love the cheap pens that never seem to die.
I have apparently been hoarding music from high school...All State Music...that made me smile, I hadn't realized I had stolen from the school.
I went through a very angsty period in my life...there are many pieces of paper with poems to prove that which I don't really remember.
I. Am. A. Pack. Rat.
(But if I'm throwing most of it away now, does that redeem that quality?)
Here's to big projects. And the start of summer. And books yet to be read. And stories waiting to be told and written down.
"It's hectic in my mind, but I'm gonna leave it behind. I'm ready to let go." [Natalie Grant]
Now. I am going to miss my friends. And I truly can't believe I only have a year of undergrad work left. It's a big deal. And honestly, it probably deserves a blog post--but I'm not going to give it one. Nor am I going to give my pining for my friends a post--I'll see them again, before we know it summer will be over. (I do miss you all, really I do.)
The bigger issue of being done with the semester--packing and unpacking.
It took me a day to get all of my stuff loaded into the pack of the truck with the help of some friends (thanks Andrew, Heather and Heidi). Before I left campus, I looked at the truck and said, "Woah. My whole life fits into the back of a truck." This may be an over generalization, but it's kind of true, when you think about it. Everything I need to "survive" was in the back of a truck. Crazy.
When I got home I had to unload it all into the garage and living room--my room in the basement wasn't ready to handle all of the boxes yet. How is it that a room couldn't hold what a truck could? Because it was full of a crap from the previous chapters of my life--middle school and high school.
So, I spent the first day on break ignoring the impending project and read a book, a whole book. For fun. It was lovely. Today though, the second day of break, I had to venture down to my bedroom... and started pulling things apart so I could put them back together in a more efficient way.
What has happened?
Well, I stripped my bed to wash the sheets and stuff, and then I started going through some of the older boxes that held stuff I had forgotten existed. I threw a lot of stuff away. I figured that if I didn't remember it I probably didn't need it. That said, I still have a huge pile of crap on my naked bed. Stuff that I don't know what to do with.
I went through the old Graduation Cards...that was a nice trip down memory lane.
I found millions of old notebooks with started stories...I'm excited to see what I may be able to do with some of them.
I checked hundreds of pens to see if they still worked...I love the cheap pens that never seem to die.
I have apparently been hoarding music from high school...All State Music...that made me smile, I hadn't realized I had stolen from the school.
I went through a very angsty period in my life...there are many pieces of paper with poems to prove that which I don't really remember.
I. Am. A. Pack. Rat.
(But if I'm throwing most of it away now, does that redeem that quality?)
Here's to big projects. And the start of summer. And books yet to be read. And stories waiting to be told and written down.
"It's hectic in my mind, but I'm gonna leave it behind. I'm ready to let go." [Natalie Grant]
Monday, May 2, 2011
Proud to be an American...
Sometimes I hate Facebook. It can be a great tool to communicate and organize group events, but generally it's just a nuisance. Especially lately. Part of that is because it is so good at distracting me from writing my final papers. (Which is a personal problem, and I don't blame Facebook, it just proves I have a weak will.)
Last night, however, it nearly made me sick.
I was driving back to college with a friend after going to a concert in my home town--which is what I was planning on blogging about, but won't for now--when she said, "My sister just texted me, Osama bin Laden is dead. We won the war."
My first reaction? "Well... I'm glad we caught the man, but I don't think that his death will necessarily mark the end of the war, it will certainly be a turning point of sorts."
And then I didn't really think about it until I got back to my room and checked my Facebook. I wish I hadn't. It was riddled with three different kinds of reactions, here are the paraphrases:
"Yeah! Osama's dead! AMERICA!"
"Are we celebrating? Really? What's wrong with our country."
"I don't really know how to feel..."
Now, I take a deep breath before I jumped into the rest of this blog because I know that I am bound to offend someone--such is the way of America.
If you don't like rants, stop reading here. I will try to keep it fairly contained.
I will admit, I was relieved to hear that he was dead. Some of my thoughts included, but were not limited to: Maybe some of my friends that have been serving to keep us safe will be able to come home sooner now. Maybe some of the movement of the terrorist groups with be slowed--though I'm sure another leader will take his place. Maybe Americans can finally stand united again.
I guess I can't count on the last one.
The comments on Facebook that bothered me the most? The ones that railed on those that were excited about bin Laden's death. The ones that had this holier-than-thou attitude because they had overcome the human reaction and decided to "love." Last I checked, calling all of the other Facebook users "inhumane" isn't loving. And what kind of image does that promote to the non-Christians? "You're celebrating? You heathens. We should have shown mercy."
Have we forgotten where this all began? Sometimes I wonder if America remember the 9-11-01 attacks. I wonder if they remember how united we were right after that tragedy. I'm sure no one thought this war would go on for close to 10 years, but I wonder if we remember this attacked came from a deep-rooted hate for Christians?
Now, we could have put bin Laden to trial I suppose, but it still would have ended with a death sentence, I'm sure.
It just kills me that it's a lot of the same people that wanted the war to end that are condemning those that see this as the light at the end of the tunnel.
It makes me wonder how people reacted to the death of Hitler. In my mind, bin Laden is the Hitler of my generation. Granted, Hitler took his own life, but I'm sure there was celebration state-side. If there had been Facebook would I have had to sift through the same kind of messages I did last night?
Now, should we rejoice in another's death? Probably not. But I understand the celebration. And a part of me joins in on the "party." I do think justice has been served. I am glad that another Hitler has been removed.
I respect the most those that say they don't know how to feel. "Torn between two kingdoms," as one of my friends put it.
Do I think it's appropriate to say things like, "Burn in Hell?" No. Of course not. Frankly, if we said that every time a sinner died, we would be saying it all the time--every time. (Thank God that with Christ we are forgiven.)
So, I say, "Thanks to our troops for keeping us safe, even when Americans doesn't seem to appreciate your sacrifice for our freedom. Thanks be to God for being a just God. And God bless America, because there are Christians here, and God bless the Middle East, because there are Christians there too. Let His kingdom come, His will be done. May the Christians be able to unite and help restore those that are in need. And please, America, stop trying to destroy yourself from the inside."
Last night, however, it nearly made me sick.
I was driving back to college with a friend after going to a concert in my home town--which is what I was planning on blogging about, but won't for now--when she said, "My sister just texted me, Osama bin Laden is dead. We won the war."
My first reaction? "Well... I'm glad we caught the man, but I don't think that his death will necessarily mark the end of the war, it will certainly be a turning point of sorts."
And then I didn't really think about it until I got back to my room and checked my Facebook. I wish I hadn't. It was riddled with three different kinds of reactions, here are the paraphrases:
"Yeah! Osama's dead! AMERICA!"
"Are we celebrating? Really? What's wrong with our country."
"I don't really know how to feel..."
Now, I take a deep breath before I jumped into the rest of this blog because I know that I am bound to offend someone--such is the way of America.
If you don't like rants, stop reading here. I will try to keep it fairly contained.
I will admit, I was relieved to hear that he was dead. Some of my thoughts included, but were not limited to: Maybe some of my friends that have been serving to keep us safe will be able to come home sooner now. Maybe some of the movement of the terrorist groups with be slowed--though I'm sure another leader will take his place. Maybe Americans can finally stand united again.
I guess I can't count on the last one.
The comments on Facebook that bothered me the most? The ones that railed on those that were excited about bin Laden's death. The ones that had this holier-than-thou attitude because they had overcome the human reaction and decided to "love." Last I checked, calling all of the other Facebook users "inhumane" isn't loving. And what kind of image does that promote to the non-Christians? "You're celebrating? You heathens. We should have shown mercy."
Have we forgotten where this all began? Sometimes I wonder if America remember the 9-11-01 attacks. I wonder if they remember how united we were right after that tragedy. I'm sure no one thought this war would go on for close to 10 years, but I wonder if we remember this attacked came from a deep-rooted hate for Christians?
Now, we could have put bin Laden to trial I suppose, but it still would have ended with a death sentence, I'm sure.
It just kills me that it's a lot of the same people that wanted the war to end that are condemning those that see this as the light at the end of the tunnel.
It makes me wonder how people reacted to the death of Hitler. In my mind, bin Laden is the Hitler of my generation. Granted, Hitler took his own life, but I'm sure there was celebration state-side. If there had been Facebook would I have had to sift through the same kind of messages I did last night?
Now, should we rejoice in another's death? Probably not. But I understand the celebration. And a part of me joins in on the "party." I do think justice has been served. I am glad that another Hitler has been removed.
Do I think it's appropriate to say things like, "Burn in Hell?" No. Of course not. Frankly, if we said that every time a sinner died, we would be saying it all the time--every time. (Thank God that with Christ we are forgiven.)
So, I say, "Thanks to our troops for keeping us safe, even when Americans doesn't seem to appreciate your sacrifice for our freedom. Thanks be to God for being a just God. And God bless America, because there are Christians here, and God bless the Middle East, because there are Christians there too. Let His kingdom come, His will be done. May the Christians be able to unite and help restore those that are in need. And please, America, stop trying to destroy yourself from the inside."
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