So it turns out that the church I've been going to since I moved home is really into the rodeo. The Houston Livestock Show and Rodeo started last weekend, so this Sunday was deemed "Rodeo Sunday." There was a petting zoo set up, roping demonstrations, cowboys and their horses--all sorts of rodeo themed fun. Oh, and all the music was country. The church has a very good worship band, but I looked upon this morning's prepared set with a dubious stare. However, I was proved wrong. It was so much fun! I mean, I wouldn't like for every song on every Sunday to be all twangy and two-steppy, but it was a good time for one day. It is undeniable that good country and bluegrass music has a certain joy and unimpaired spirit to it that can be infectious.
Therefore, I am grateful for the gift of music. I know that God can reach us in countless ways, and he certainly doesn't need music, but I think he realizes that some of us do need it. There are times that music can take me to a place that words cannot.
I am reminded that I could not enjoy the gift of music without my sense of hearing, so I am all the more grateful that I have ears that work. Without them, I could not hear the violin swell or the banjo wail. I could not hear the sound of my mom's voice or falling rain. It is a true gift to be able to hear.
On a completely separate note, the pastor said something at church today that stuck out to me: "When we're praying for something that will take God's place, his answer will always be no." Wow. Harsh. But true. I think... but then, I'm reminded of Israel crying out for a king, and God's (slow and begrudging) concession. What does that mean? I haven't thought out all of the implications of that statement, whether it is true when weighed against the Bible, and so on, but I found it to be very much worth taking note of.
Sunday, March 7, 2010
Saturday, March 6, 2010
Day 2: The Gratefulness Project
I am so thankful for Saturdays. And sunshine. And temperatures in the high 60s. What a beautiful day it was today! Now that I am subbing a lot more often and no longer work at American Eagle, I have Saturdays off and I don't have to feel bad about it. In fact, it feels great to have a Saturday off when I don't feel 1.) guilty that I'm not working or 2.) obligated to do some form of homework. I just slept in a bit, spent some time outside, enjoyed cooking dinner, and watched The Godfather: Part 2 with my dad. And it was a beautiful day. Thank you, God, for Saturdays.
Friday, March 5, 2010
Day 1: The Gratefulness Project
I am grateful for the ability to read. I spent a lot of time reading Jesus for President by Shane Claiborne and Chris Haw today, and it has been opening my eyes (and my heart) to many things about Jesus and the Gospel. It occurred to me that I would not be able to realize such things--at least not without God intervening in some other way, but that's for a different discussion--without the ability to read. Then I thought about the myriad of opportunities that I would not have if were not able to read. Wow. The implications are sobering.
Therefore, I am also grateful for teachers and my parents. Without them, I would not have the education I've had, and I would not have the same opportunities.
Therefore, I am also grateful for teachers and my parents. Without them, I would not have the education I've had, and I would not have the same opportunities.
Thursday, March 4, 2010
21 Days of Gratitude: The Gratefulness Project
It happens so quickly. One little thing doesn't go "my way," and I forget that I have so much to be grateful for. To cut myself some slack, there are times that the thing isn't quite so little, but that still does not change the fact that I have much more to be grateful for than I do to be bitter about.
We talked about this a bit in my small group tonight. I tend to expect God to give me good things when I've been "good"; I feel that I deserve them. However, when I've been "bad," I don't ask for God to give me bad things, even though I deserve them. Instead, God has provided an alternative known as grace. He extends grace and mercy whether I'm "good" or "bad," never giving me what I deserve, only his unconditional love. That is so much better than always getting what I deserve (or think I deserve).
Lately, I've been thinking that I deserve a lot of things. And when I don't get them, I am bitter about it. One thing leads to another, and before I know it, I'm not grateful for anything anymore. ICK!!
So I'm going to keep a gratitude journal, and I'm going to keep it here on my blog for you to read. This is partially to keep me accountable. They say it takes at least 21 consistent days to change a habit, so for at least 21 consistent days, I'm going to make a very conscious effort to be grateful. The hope is that this will lead to a way of grateful thinking and behaving that is second nature.
With that, I invite you to read for the next 3 weeks about the things that I am grateful for!
We talked about this a bit in my small group tonight. I tend to expect God to give me good things when I've been "good"; I feel that I deserve them. However, when I've been "bad," I don't ask for God to give me bad things, even though I deserve them. Instead, God has provided an alternative known as grace. He extends grace and mercy whether I'm "good" or "bad," never giving me what I deserve, only his unconditional love. That is so much better than always getting what I deserve (or think I deserve).
Lately, I've been thinking that I deserve a lot of things. And when I don't get them, I am bitter about it. One thing leads to another, and before I know it, I'm not grateful for anything anymore. ICK!!
So I'm going to keep a gratitude journal, and I'm going to keep it here on my blog for you to read. This is partially to keep me accountable. They say it takes at least 21 consistent days to change a habit, so for at least 21 consistent days, I'm going to make a very conscious effort to be grateful. The hope is that this will lead to a way of grateful thinking and behaving that is second nature.
With that, I invite you to read for the next 3 weeks about the things that I am grateful for!
Tuesday, February 9, 2010
Finding the Center
I've been trying to find an open studio where I can keep up my practice in pottery, and I've been ruminating over the whole process of "throwing" quite a bit lately, and over all of the similarities the it bears to my walk with God. By the way, I'm well aware of how often this comparison is made--I mean, we find it in the Bible itself! But oh well, I wanted to share my experience with the metaphor.
Last year I took a ceramics class at ACU. I should have taken it pass/fail--my mistake--but still, it was one of the classes that I most enjoyed adding to my transcript, despite the "B." We started out with handbuilding, rolling slabs, coiling little pots. That was all nice and very quaint, but I was anxious to graduate to the potter's wheel.
Finally, the day came, and it was spoiled almost immediately. I was terrible at it! The first step in the process is to literally throw your ball of clay onto the wheel, aiming for the center, hoping it will find its way there and stick itself good. I found myself blindly wielding my clay, afraid to watch lest my hand-eye coordination be proven any worse than it already was. After getting my first decently-centered-and-stuck piece of clay, I proceeded to center the clay. This is the part where the potter actually begins to spin the wheel and work with the clay, trying to form a nice dome of perfectly centered clay that is ready to move on to the next stage.
Centering is considered the most important step in this process, as well as the most difficult by many. It requires (especially for the beginner) a good deal of patience and strength. You will often discover if you stuck your clay well enough upon the first rotation of the wheel. If it has not adhered to the wheel adequately, it will be spun right off. This not-so-phenomal phenomena elicited many a "Son of a . . . !!" from me over the course of that semester. But once it has proven itself stuck, the potter begins by pressing in on the clay from opposite directions. I usually began with the heels of my palms, and as the clay began to soften and press itself inward, I would allow more of my hands to wrap around it. The potter then applies enough pressure to both sides to force the clay upwards, allowing it form a conical structure. Next, the potter uses the bottom of a fist to apply pressure on the top of the cone, while the other hand applies some pressure to the side of the cone, pushing the clay back down, allowing the hands to once again encircle it in order to form a dome.
The point of this step is the get the clay ready to be stretched and to find the perfect rotational center from which to form the vessel. During this step, the potter's hands are constantly on the clay, hardly leaving but to retrieve some moisture, some nourishment, if you will, to keep it from becoming too dry. Its hard on the clay, and often times, frustrating. When watching a demonstration, it is the most boring part to watch, and when it is performed by a very experienced potter, it can go by pretty quickly. But that does not make it unimportant. Without a well-centered piece of clay, the vessel will not succeed. The rotational pull will be too much for the clay to sustain as the potter tries to stretch it and mold it into the shape he has planned for it. Finding the center makes all the difference in the world.
Last year I took a ceramics class at ACU. I should have taken it pass/fail--my mistake--but still, it was one of the classes that I most enjoyed adding to my transcript, despite the "B." We started out with handbuilding, rolling slabs, coiling little pots. That was all nice and very quaint, but I was anxious to graduate to the potter's wheel.
Finally, the day came, and it was spoiled almost immediately. I was terrible at it! The first step in the process is to literally throw your ball of clay onto the wheel, aiming for the center, hoping it will find its way there and stick itself good. I found myself blindly wielding my clay, afraid to watch lest my hand-eye coordination be proven any worse than it already was. After getting my first decently-centered-and-stuck piece of clay, I proceeded to center the clay. This is the part where the potter actually begins to spin the wheel and work with the clay, trying to form a nice dome of perfectly centered clay that is ready to move on to the next stage.
Centering is considered the most important step in this process, as well as the most difficult by many. It requires (especially for the beginner) a good deal of patience and strength. You will often discover if you stuck your clay well enough upon the first rotation of the wheel. If it has not adhered to the wheel adequately, it will be spun right off. This not-so-phenomal phenomena elicited many a "Son of a . . . !!" from me over the course of that semester. But once it has proven itself stuck, the potter begins by pressing in on the clay from opposite directions. I usually began with the heels of my palms, and as the clay began to soften and press itself inward, I would allow more of my hands to wrap around it. The potter then applies enough pressure to both sides to force the clay upwards, allowing it form a conical structure. Next, the potter uses the bottom of a fist to apply pressure on the top of the cone, while the other hand applies some pressure to the side of the cone, pushing the clay back down, allowing the hands to once again encircle it in order to form a dome.
The point of this step is the get the clay ready to be stretched and to find the perfect rotational center from which to form the vessel. During this step, the potter's hands are constantly on the clay, hardly leaving but to retrieve some moisture, some nourishment, if you will, to keep it from becoming too dry. Its hard on the clay, and often times, frustrating. When watching a demonstration, it is the most boring part to watch, and when it is performed by a very experienced potter, it can go by pretty quickly. But that does not make it unimportant. Without a well-centered piece of clay, the vessel will not succeed. The rotational pull will be too much for the clay to sustain as the potter tries to stretch it and mold it into the shape he has planned for it. Finding the center makes all the difference in the world.
Tuesday, January 26, 2010
A general wondering
I was just fixing to go to bed, thinking, "What will I do tomorrow?" Unless I get called in to substitute, which seems to be highly unlikely, I won't have any pressing plans. I started thinking about the different activities I could fill my day with, and it surprised me how few of them are things that bring me true joy. So I was wondering, why is it so easy to fall into a routine that is not fulfilling and life giving?
Satan is a crafty one.
But the victory belongs to the Lord.
Satan is a crafty one.
But the victory belongs to the Lord.
Tuesday, January 12, 2010
Non-fic-tion
I need a routine. Without regular working and/or school hours to force my life into a routine, I'm floundering around, starting a project here, reading a page or two there, without really getting much of anything done. Pray that I get a job in the teaching field soon. Please. The district that I live in is not hiring teachers or substitutes. Neither is the district next door. How can this be??? I was counting on at least getting on as a substitute in order to make it through until districts start hiring for next school year. I am feeling pretty downtrodden. I applied with the Sylvan Learning centers that are hiring around the Houston area today. We shall see.
I decided to assign myself an essay. I've been thinking about my summer in New York a lot lately, so that is, naturally, what I'm going to right about. It will be nonfiction, clearly, but I think I can say with some degree of certainty that there will be slightly fictitious embellishments. Anyhow, I wrote a couple of "introductory" paragraphs a little while ago, so I'm just going to post them here for you all to read and let me know what you think. Do you like where it seems to be heading? If I were going to expand on anything I've already written, what would it be? What would you change? Etc. The title is a working title, one that I borrowed from a much shorter essay about NYC that I wrote in a nonfiction workshop. But I think I'll keep it.
Southern Fiddle
To begin is the most difficult task. After all, when something (or some place, in my case) means as much to you as the city of New York means to me, where do you begin to tell the story? And how do you even decide what the story is about? It was one summer, and it is the one summer that feels like the only summer there ever was.
I am positive that were I to return today, the lenses would be lifted and none of the buildings, subway cars, or sidewalks would look the same. But still, its just like when people speak of the great loves of their lives—they never recall the bad times, that time you screamed at each other all night over (initially) the credit bill, his jugular throbbing and threatening to explode all over the newly-installed kitchen tile, you making a show of putting together an overnight bag, because you were going to spend the night at your sister’s, goddamn it, if he couldn’t talk about this like a reasonable adult. We never remember stuff like that. This story will not remember stuff like that, because this story, my friend, is a love story.
I decided to assign myself an essay. I've been thinking about my summer in New York a lot lately, so that is, naturally, what I'm going to right about. It will be nonfiction, clearly, but I think I can say with some degree of certainty that there will be slightly fictitious embellishments. Anyhow, I wrote a couple of "introductory" paragraphs a little while ago, so I'm just going to post them here for you all to read and let me know what you think. Do you like where it seems to be heading? If I were going to expand on anything I've already written, what would it be? What would you change? Etc. The title is a working title, one that I borrowed from a much shorter essay about NYC that I wrote in a nonfiction workshop. But I think I'll keep it.
Southern Fiddle
To begin is the most difficult task. After all, when something (or some place, in my case) means as much to you as the city of New York means to me, where do you begin to tell the story? And how do you even decide what the story is about? It was one summer, and it is the one summer that feels like the only summer there ever was.
I am positive that were I to return today, the lenses would be lifted and none of the buildings, subway cars, or sidewalks would look the same. But still, its just like when people speak of the great loves of their lives—they never recall the bad times, that time you screamed at each other all night over (initially) the credit bill, his jugular throbbing and threatening to explode all over the newly-installed kitchen tile, you making a show of putting together an overnight bag, because you were going to spend the night at your sister’s, goddamn it, if he couldn’t talk about this like a reasonable adult. We never remember stuff like that. This story will not remember stuff like that, because this story, my friend, is a love story.
Saturday, January 9, 2010
Red Scare
I recently began reading A People's History of the United States by Howard Zinn, and the first chapter alone is enough to keep my mind racing for weeks. What has really got me thinking is his description of the 17th century Iroquois tribe. According to Zinn, who I am fairly confident can be trusted as a legitimate source, this tribe was made up of 5 smaller tribes, and it consisted of thousands of people who all spoke the same language. A group of thousands who speak the same language, that is spread across a large portion of northeastern America, and is, by all practical definitions, unlinked by accesible communication? To a technology dependent, 21st century American, that is a pretty impressive feat. But what I find most impressive is this--they shared.
An account from a French Jesuit priest, dated in the 1650s, reads: "No poorhouses are needed among them, because they are neither mendicants nor paupers. . . . Their kindness, humanity, and courtesy not only makes them liberal with what they have, but causes them to possess hardly anything except in common."
This was a civilization that was--by and large--untouched, unspoiled, and untainted by the outside world. These people existed as they had for generations before them, which leads me to wonder. . . is this human behavior at its most basic level? Is it humanity's natural tendency to share with one another, to take care of one another?
If so, it would appear that some form of what we generally refer to as "communism" is in our blood, and I have to say--would it be such a bad thing? I mean, greed, materialism, and "progress" haven't seemed to work out too well for most of the world.
I hope Senator McCarthy's ghost doesn't come after me for this.
An account from a French Jesuit priest, dated in the 1650s, reads: "No poorhouses are needed among them, because they are neither mendicants nor paupers. . . . Their kindness, humanity, and courtesy not only makes them liberal with what they have, but causes them to possess hardly anything except in common."
This was a civilization that was--by and large--untouched, unspoiled, and untainted by the outside world. These people existed as they had for generations before them, which leads me to wonder. . . is this human behavior at its most basic level? Is it humanity's natural tendency to share with one another, to take care of one another?
If so, it would appear that some form of what we generally refer to as "communism" is in our blood, and I have to say--would it be such a bad thing? I mean, greed, materialism, and "progress" haven't seemed to work out too well for most of the world.
I hope Senator McCarthy's ghost doesn't come after me for this.
Friday, January 8, 2010
Chocolate Puppy, Colossians, and Tony Dungy
It is unreal how swiftly and deftly God can move through your life.
He has been present and active in my life in the strangest ways this week. He moved in quickly, and with such precision, such accuracy. He got right down to the heart of things.
To begin: Sunday morning, I had to work at American Eagle. When I got off around 1 pm, I checked my phone for messages. My dad left me a voice mail asking me to call him before I left from work. I figured he needed me to pick up something from the mall before coming home, so I called to find out what he needed.
What he actually needed was for me to meet him at the vet hospital. For those of you who don't know this, my dog Scout is very special to me. I could say a lot more, but suffice it to say that I would be pretty shaken up if she died, especially right now. Anyways, it turned out that my dad had accidentally dropped an open bag of dark chocolate chips while cleaning out the pantry, and after forgetting to pick them up, Scout, well... got high. Chocolate is like speed for dogs, and being that she weighs about 7 pounds, it can be fatal for her. My stepmom, Kathy, realized what had happened, and she and my dad rushed Scout to the vet clinic. They induced vomiting, but because she had eaten about 4 ounces (which is around 4 times the fatal dose), they recommended that she be kept there overnight for treatment. It would cost umm... a lot more than I could afford. But my dad stepped in and paid the cost for me.
My dad is a very kind, compassionate, and caring man. But when it comes to animals, he's a country boy at heart. He enjoys having a good dog around the house, but he has never been one to put a lot of time (and certainly not a lot of money) into a pet. I would have never expected him to pay for my dog's veterinary costs. But as he hugged me outside the clinic, he just said, "I understand what Scout means to you." Many, many times, I have felt misunderstood by my dad. And I'm sure he has felt the same about me. But at that moment, I knew that my father truly understood at least that part of me. At that moment, I could feel the love of God flowing through my dad to me.
In addition: I recently started working with this little book that some awesome people I went to church with in Abilene recommended to me--the Spiritual Disciplines Handbook. (Yeah, I know, awful title. But give it a chance!) It addresses a slew of practices that the author labels as "spiritual disciplines," many of which are not considered "traditional," and whilst reading through the laundry list, I made note of a few that I felt compelled to try and implement in my life. But somehow, I ended in a section called, "Practicing the Presence." This discipline is meant to draw one deeper into the presence of God, to make one more privy to God's presence in the minute details of a day. One of the scriptures listed in this section is Colossians 3:3-4 (taken from The Message): "Your new life, which is your real life--even though invisible to spectators--is with Christ in God. He is your life. When Christ (your real life, remember) shows up again on this earth, you'll show up, too--the real you, the glorious you. Meanwhile, be content with obscurity, like Christ."
With all of the discontentedness I've been feeling lately, I know that God meant for me to read that scripture. It became so clear to me why God has placed me here. Okay, maybe clear isn't exactly the right word for it! Because I don't know if anything is ever clear while one is living in the midst of it. But I do know this: I have wanted something for quite some time now, and even though I want it out of the goodness of my heart, that doesn't mean that I'm entitled to it. I want to be out there, in the schools, reaching out to young people. And I want a lot of other things. But first and foremost, I want to start my career so that I can start my life. But God showed me that my life has already started. It started years ago when I gave it up to Christ. Now that its his, I should be content with whatever it is he asks of me and wherever it is that he takes me. I'm not saying that I went from feeling discontent to content overnight--I know it will take time and prayer--but I am saying that I understand my father a little bit more, and I know that he understands me.
To finish: I watched the national championship football game tonight (is that supposed to be captialized? I'm sure the college football purists among you can say). At the end, when the field became an interview stage for all of the sports correspondents to get their sound bytes, Colt McCoy (the Texas quarterback) made a touching comment. Now, allow me to put this into perspective before I continue. I'm not really that into football. I know who Colt McCoy is, and a few other players on the UT team, but I wouldn't call myself a fan. I didn't follow their season, or anyone elses, for that matter. What I'm trying to say here is this: don't disregard what I'm fixing to say because you might think that I'm biased. Anyhow, the losing quarterback, who was taken out of his last football game as a Longhorn player due to an injury, congratulated the winning team, and said that at the end of the day, he knows that God is in control of his life, and he is thankful to be standing on the rock.
So after hearing that, I got curious about him and looked him up on Wikipedia. Because that's what you do with anything you're curious about these days. And under "Personal Life," there was a mention of a video that he made for something called, "I Am Second." So I Googled that. It took me a few minutes to figure out what it is. Its basically a website with video testimonials from several people about their relationships with God. The whole idea behind it is that we are all second, and Christ is first. Growing up in the church and all, I've found myself to be kind of (I hate to admit it) quick to judge this sort of thing. But these really intrigued me. I realized that they weren't only done by sports stars or celebrities, which has me more convinced that this particular group is pretty legit.
Anyhow, I watched the video done by Tony Dungy, and holy smokes, it was like God was speaking directly to me. I mean, who knew that God's voice sounds like Tony Dungy's? I kid.. :) He was talking about the dissappointment he felt after being fired as head coach of Tampa Bay. He said, "That's one of the hardest things in life, when you have an idea of how things are going to go, what you hope for, what you dream about, what you pray for, and it doesn't come through. That's when its easy to be dissappointed with God. I had to realize that it worked out. It just didn't work out the way I had planned."
I've heard so many people say something like that. But tonight was the first time that I really understood the weight of it. I think its because I felt like he validated my heartbreak.
God's presence has been all around me. From my chocolate puppy, to Colossians, to Tony Dungy, he has been revealing himself to me. Praise be to him.
ps. You should check this out for a minute or two: I Am Second
He has been present and active in my life in the strangest ways this week. He moved in quickly, and with such precision, such accuracy. He got right down to the heart of things.
To begin: Sunday morning, I had to work at American Eagle. When I got off around 1 pm, I checked my phone for messages. My dad left me a voice mail asking me to call him before I left from work. I figured he needed me to pick up something from the mall before coming home, so I called to find out what he needed.
What he actually needed was for me to meet him at the vet hospital. For those of you who don't know this, my dog Scout is very special to me. I could say a lot more, but suffice it to say that I would be pretty shaken up if she died, especially right now. Anyways, it turned out that my dad had accidentally dropped an open bag of dark chocolate chips while cleaning out the pantry, and after forgetting to pick them up, Scout, well... got high. Chocolate is like speed for dogs, and being that she weighs about 7 pounds, it can be fatal for her. My stepmom, Kathy, realized what had happened, and she and my dad rushed Scout to the vet clinic. They induced vomiting, but because she had eaten about 4 ounces (which is around 4 times the fatal dose), they recommended that she be kept there overnight for treatment. It would cost umm... a lot more than I could afford. But my dad stepped in and paid the cost for me.
My dad is a very kind, compassionate, and caring man. But when it comes to animals, he's a country boy at heart. He enjoys having a good dog around the house, but he has never been one to put a lot of time (and certainly not a lot of money) into a pet. I would have never expected him to pay for my dog's veterinary costs. But as he hugged me outside the clinic, he just said, "I understand what Scout means to you." Many, many times, I have felt misunderstood by my dad. And I'm sure he has felt the same about me. But at that moment, I knew that my father truly understood at least that part of me. At that moment, I could feel the love of God flowing through my dad to me.
In addition: I recently started working with this little book that some awesome people I went to church with in Abilene recommended to me--the Spiritual Disciplines Handbook. (Yeah, I know, awful title. But give it a chance!) It addresses a slew of practices that the author labels as "spiritual disciplines," many of which are not considered "traditional," and whilst reading through the laundry list, I made note of a few that I felt compelled to try and implement in my life. But somehow, I ended in a section called, "Practicing the Presence." This discipline is meant to draw one deeper into the presence of God, to make one more privy to God's presence in the minute details of a day. One of the scriptures listed in this section is Colossians 3:3-4 (taken from The Message): "Your new life, which is your real life--even though invisible to spectators--is with Christ in God. He is your life. When Christ (your real life, remember) shows up again on this earth, you'll show up, too--the real you, the glorious you. Meanwhile, be content with obscurity, like Christ."
With all of the discontentedness I've been feeling lately, I know that God meant for me to read that scripture. It became so clear to me why God has placed me here. Okay, maybe clear isn't exactly the right word for it! Because I don't know if anything is ever clear while one is living in the midst of it. But I do know this: I have wanted something for quite some time now, and even though I want it out of the goodness of my heart, that doesn't mean that I'm entitled to it. I want to be out there, in the schools, reaching out to young people. And I want a lot of other things. But first and foremost, I want to start my career so that I can start my life. But God showed me that my life has already started. It started years ago when I gave it up to Christ. Now that its his, I should be content with whatever it is he asks of me and wherever it is that he takes me. I'm not saying that I went from feeling discontent to content overnight--I know it will take time and prayer--but I am saying that I understand my father a little bit more, and I know that he understands me.
To finish: I watched the national championship football game tonight (is that supposed to be captialized? I'm sure the college football purists among you can say). At the end, when the field became an interview stage for all of the sports correspondents to get their sound bytes, Colt McCoy (the Texas quarterback) made a touching comment. Now, allow me to put this into perspective before I continue. I'm not really that into football. I know who Colt McCoy is, and a few other players on the UT team, but I wouldn't call myself a fan. I didn't follow their season, or anyone elses, for that matter. What I'm trying to say here is this: don't disregard what I'm fixing to say because you might think that I'm biased. Anyhow, the losing quarterback, who was taken out of his last football game as a Longhorn player due to an injury, congratulated the winning team, and said that at the end of the day, he knows that God is in control of his life, and he is thankful to be standing on the rock.
So after hearing that, I got curious about him and looked him up on Wikipedia. Because that's what you do with anything you're curious about these days. And under "Personal Life," there was a mention of a video that he made for something called, "I Am Second." So I Googled that. It took me a few minutes to figure out what it is. Its basically a website with video testimonials from several people about their relationships with God. The whole idea behind it is that we are all second, and Christ is first. Growing up in the church and all, I've found myself to be kind of (I hate to admit it) quick to judge this sort of thing. But these really intrigued me. I realized that they weren't only done by sports stars or celebrities, which has me more convinced that this particular group is pretty legit.
Anyhow, I watched the video done by Tony Dungy, and holy smokes, it was like God was speaking directly to me. I mean, who knew that God's voice sounds like Tony Dungy's? I kid.. :) He was talking about the dissappointment he felt after being fired as head coach of Tampa Bay. He said, "That's one of the hardest things in life, when you have an idea of how things are going to go, what you hope for, what you dream about, what you pray for, and it doesn't come through. That's when its easy to be dissappointed with God. I had to realize that it worked out. It just didn't work out the way I had planned."
I've heard so many people say something like that. But tonight was the first time that I really understood the weight of it. I think its because I felt like he validated my heartbreak.
God's presence has been all around me. From my chocolate puppy, to Colossians, to Tony Dungy, he has been revealing himself to me. Praise be to him.
ps. You should check this out for a minute or two: I Am Second
Friday, January 1, 2010
Frankly
I don't know why I have decided to keep up with this sometimes. Most of the time, I'm pretty positive that I'm the only person who returns here every few days. Every time I start to write a new entry, I kind of mock myself. And if there is someone reading this, I know how this sounds, but I'm really not trying to fish for compliments. I'm just being transparent, which is something I made a commitment to be when I started writing this a year and a half ago.
Because tonight is one of those nights. Its one of those nights when I feel like going to bed at 7:30. I feel like the day beat me up, and not because it was demanding in any way. I washed some clothes. I went by work to pick up my schedule. I returned a Christmas present I got for my dad that didn't fit him in exchange for some socks (because socks always fit, unless they're kid-sized. obviously). Demanding, right? But somehow, the day still kicked my ass.
Because somehow I've wound up curled up in my bed, hugging my dog, and wondering how I ended up here. Last night was New Year's Eve, and I didn't go anywhere or see anyone but my dad and step-mom. I went to bed at 10:30. I miss my friends.
I'm trying to stay positive. I really am. I applied for another job yesterday, this one in Round Rock. I'm keeping my fingers crossed. Truly. I know Round Rock, Texas isn't New York, Chicago, or New Orleans, but at this point, its sounding like paradise. Because its not that I don't appreciate my parents letting me live with them rent free, or helping me out with a new car, or the part-time job I know that I'm lucky to have during an economic situation like the one we are in, I just want to start my "adult-life" the way I saw it starting.
Can you relate?
I'm wondering if Jesus can. I wonder if he sat around at 22 and thought, "Well, Dad, I thought we'd have this whole Savior career in full-swing by now. What's the deal?? I barely have any friends because I left them all in Nazareth when you told me to come Galilee. But now I'm just waiting for some guy to get put in prison so I can go and preach? Sounds kind of unlikely. Thanks for all the support."
Yeah. I know God knows what He is doing. I just wish I did, too.
Because tonight is one of those nights. Its one of those nights when I feel like going to bed at 7:30. I feel like the day beat me up, and not because it was demanding in any way. I washed some clothes. I went by work to pick up my schedule. I returned a Christmas present I got for my dad that didn't fit him in exchange for some socks (because socks always fit, unless they're kid-sized. obviously). Demanding, right? But somehow, the day still kicked my ass.
Because somehow I've wound up curled up in my bed, hugging my dog, and wondering how I ended up here. Last night was New Year's Eve, and I didn't go anywhere or see anyone but my dad and step-mom. I went to bed at 10:30. I miss my friends.
I'm trying to stay positive. I really am. I applied for another job yesterday, this one in Round Rock. I'm keeping my fingers crossed. Truly. I know Round Rock, Texas isn't New York, Chicago, or New Orleans, but at this point, its sounding like paradise. Because its not that I don't appreciate my parents letting me live with them rent free, or helping me out with a new car, or the part-time job I know that I'm lucky to have during an economic situation like the one we are in, I just want to start my "adult-life" the way I saw it starting.
Can you relate?
I'm wondering if Jesus can. I wonder if he sat around at 22 and thought, "Well, Dad, I thought we'd have this whole Savior career in full-swing by now. What's the deal?? I barely have any friends because I left them all in Nazareth when you told me to come Galilee. But now I'm just waiting for some guy to get put in prison so I can go and preach? Sounds kind of unlikely. Thanks for all the support."
Yeah. I know God knows what He is doing. I just wish I did, too.
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