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Something New

Posted on 2009.02.19 at 23:42
Recently, Stephanie was upset with me. She was angry for several weeks but did not tell me; rather, she let herself get angry and treat me unfairly for a while, until I finally had to write her a letter and explain to her that she was hurting my feelings and that I wanted an explanation.

When we talked a few days later, yesterday, she said that I had hurt her and that she didn't feel like she could trust me any longer.


For a long time, I've felt tired and antisocial. I might go to chapel and not even say hello, or if I do, I might just grunt. I've been doing it for a long time, not just in the morning. I always feel tired, easily irritated, and overly-hurt in the event that someone insults me or treats me in a way that I perceive as unfair.

For a long time, without thinking about it, I've been treating everyone around me like garbage. I assumed that they understood that I wasn't feeling well, and that my attitude was nothing personal. I guess, after a while, it gets old, and people can't always be as patient as I need them to be with me.

I've been mean, and selfish. Sometimes I think I suffer from a bit of depression, since I am so easily upset by others. Sometimes I have to try so hard to not be down. For weeks, different people having been asking me, several times a week, "Are you ok? You don't look so good." And I always just say I'm tired. But it's not always that. There's something wrong, and I can't quite put my finger on what it is.

I told that to Stephanie last night, and I was crying a bit. She sounded upset.

"People ask me all the time if I'm ok..."

She sounded broken. "Danny...I don't think you are ok."

Maybe it's something spiritual; maybe it's this place. I reckon that has something to do with it. I can't blame everyone else for my own behavior, which has been lackluster and downright sinful at times. But so often I feel that these people are forced, and that the things they do are in-genuine. I know that some of them are very genuine. But this isn't for me. I need to get back to a place where the joy of the LORD is evident in the lives and words and deeds of His people. I have made many wonderful friends at Florida College and learned so much. I value this place and these people. But I told Stephanie, "I can't do this. This...'Churches of Christ...' this arrogance, this hypocrisy, it feels so fake to me. I'm barely hanging on to the spirituality I had when I came here. I haven't grown at all. If I stayed here, I'd fall away."

I didn't look at her, but I heard some defeat in her voice.

"...I know."

I think that the spiritual climate at this school has a lot to do with how I've been feeling. It has been awkward to talk about God, the way some of these people here think. That they are the only ones who are right. That they are quote unqoute "the church." It's the Stone-Campbell restoration; THE Churches of Christ. It is us, and no one else. We are the Lord's people; we are His church.

The arrogance becomes unbearable after a while.

I love it here. But by God, it's time to go.

I'm going to try to be better. I apologized to Nash today for how crappy I've been treating her for the past 6 months. I know she didn't deserve it. She's hard to deal with, and we have a history, but I've just been so wrong; it's the only way to say it.

I told her that. I said, "I've been treating you like garbage for six months."

"I know, but you were upset with me, and I hurt you."

"That doesn't make it ok. I shouldn't have done that."

"I know..."

"You don't deserve that. I just needed to tell you, that I'm sorry."

She nodded. Hugged me for the first time in ages. Went inside to do some homework.

I turned around, headed to the library. Truly smiled for the first time in a while.

T-Minus 2 months. Time to fix this.



Posted on 2007.12.11 at 17:12
Location: FC Library
Feelin': busy
Finals started this week. I had two on Monday the 11th (Biblical Research and Classroom Management) none today, a 200-question Greek monstrosity tomorrow, and a test on the epistles of John on Thursday.

Spent most of today typing up notes for said Greek test. Going to spend the rest of it writing out paradigms and going over these here notes.

I think I did pretty well in my classes this semester. Next semester will probably be a lot tougher (with the lack of Greek study groups and me taking mostly upper-division Bible courses) and I hope that I'm up to the challenge.

I was very blessed to receive a care package from my adopt parents--the Smiths--yesterday. It contained a kind letter as well as arealy big bag of almonds and a check for 75 bucks!! I was very taken aback by their generosity toward a person they had never met before.

So, I hope I can do well for them, too.

That's about it as of right now.

Cartoon Danny

Tighty Whiteys

Posted on 2007.12.05 at 16:57
Feelin': relievedrelieved
One warm January evening in Florida, I went on my first church outreach at the local park. It was a sports outreach, which basically meant that a bunch of us would go and start playing sports with random people at the park. It was winter, so they sky had stopped being orange a good hour before we got there.

When we arrived, we opened with prayer, and the eleven of us were split into groups of two and sent out into the park to engage the people who were there. The object was to invite them to play sports with us, so that we could get to know them better and then tell them about Jesus or invite them to church.

One of the younger girls, Ashley, who was about fifteen, was a friend of mine. So when the event coordinator, Jessie, said that Ashley needed to be in the only group of three, I volunteered. Jessie paired me up with Ashley and another youngster, Phil. Phil was also about fifteen, but his beard would have made me guess eighteen.

The other pairs went off to ther respective corners of the courtyard, and Jessie pointed behind us to a large bush. "Ok," she said. "I saw some people back there, so just go introduce yourselves and see if they'd like to join us. If they don't want to, well, you can just talk to them anyway."

I gave her a self-assured thumbs-up.

So we started walking. Ashley trailed behind Phil and I. As we got closer to the bush, I asked him, "So have you ever been on one of these? It's my first time."

"No," he said, unapologetically.

I rolled my eyes. "Oh. Well that's great. I have no idea what I'm doing."

"It's no big deal, Danny," Ashley chimed in. Just talk to them for a minute and then ask them if they want to come play with us.

Surprisingly, her words gave me a bit of confidence. "All right...it shouldn't be too--"

And there were at least ten of them. My eyes widened--the XXL shirts, the corn rows...the smell of good quality marijuana--a conglomeration of gangsters! I stopped but had to force myself to finish walking the bend. All I could think was, "Damn you, Satan! I should have known you had a part in this!" I quickly glanced back to make sure my cohorts handn't burst into flames.

Now let me say this: these were not little high school kids who think baggy clothes are cool and that they are thugs right before they hop into their mom's Kia and go back to suburbia. No. These were real-deal thugs. I turned the corner, and one of them had a huge blunt in his mouth. It was just this big incandescent orange sun of a burning reefer hanging off his lips. And there I was, armed only with an oversized neon-yellow Nerf frisbee.


I quickly remembered my sign of the cross from my days in Catechism classes. "Hey guys, how ya' doin'?"

I could have sworn I heard a record scratch.

One of them lifted his chin to me. "Sup, dog?"

I sternly asked them if they would like to join us for some sports, since it was better with more people. Sternly in the way you look an angry bear in the eyes--it's really not stern, you just do it because that's what they say to do on the Discovery Channel.

The short one with the coolio haircut asked, "Ya'll got a football?" Smoke rolled out of his mouth while he spoke.

I started talking in ebonics without thinking about it. "Yeah, we got balls...'bout twelve balls. Just a whole buncha' balls. Soccer balls, volley balls--yeah, I'm sure we got a foot ball if you bras wanna' play."

I mentally slapped myself. Bras?!

He looked excited. A little too excited. "Hell yeah. We fonna' play some foot ball. Some tackle foot ball with deh tighty whities."

"Ok, cool. Uhh...we'll come get you after we see if anyone else wants to play."

Then we stood there for a few seconds. There were neither crickets nor tumbleweeds, but by all standards, there should have been.

"Right, ok, we'll be back in a minute."

The marijuna smoke again began to bellow as we walked away.

We returned to the group at large. Ashley broke off and joined them while Jessie greeted me with that missionary-genuine smile. I like to call it a crap-eating grin. Not because of her or anything; her smile is very nice. I just like to say crap-eating grin. It reminds me of a pie-eating contest, except with a steaming plate of poop; maybe a glass of milk.

"So, did you talk to them?" she asked, sifting through the ball bag. Her attention was obviously miles away from my impending doom. I guess you kind of get used to it in the mission field.

I stared at her. "Yes. Yes I did. They want to play football. Do you have a foot ball in there?"

She was busy. "Huh? Uhh, no."

"What?!" Was I saved? No; certainly not. They would kill me for lying to them.

Now she was paying attention. "Wait, what?"

I annunciated. "Do you have a foot ball in there?"

"Oh, yeah. Here ya' go." She tossed it to me; it spun in a perfect sideways-spiral.

"Thank you spanky spankerson."

She cocked her eyebrow. "What?"

I had just recently watched Ace Ventura: When Nature Calls. "Huh? Oh, nothing." I giggled as I walked away. "Shikaka."

It was a horrible sort of irony. Just as Ace had to enter the enclave of the vicious Wachati in order to get the next clue in search for Shikaka, so I had to dance around the burning flame of social, economic and historical differences, all the while doing armpit farts. The only question was: would I be lucky enough to escape only with spears impaled into my legs?

I approached. Phil was waiting for me. He looked happy. The poor, young fool.

Two of the guys had their shirts off. Their developed ebony torsos gleamed in the night sky. The coolio guy was still saying, "We fonna' play some foot-ball." He saw me. "Hey! Toss that ova' he-aww."

I spun it like Jessie, except way to the left. He almost missed it.

Blast, I thought to myself. Strike one. I must not show weakness. No weakness. I let out a low growl, recounting advice from the late Steve Irwin. Graaaaar.

Phil looked a bit frazzled as he turned and walked toward the guys.

"You fonna' play or what?" Coolio shouted.

"Yeah, let me see if anyone else is fonna' play." I ran toward the church group and shouted, "Sanctuary!!" A few birds flew out of the tree above me and everyone stared for a minute before they returned to their "soccer" game.

By the way, "soccer" is Swahili for "big group of sissy girls." Don't bother looking that up; it's true.

Just then, Jason, a guy about eighteen who for some reason really reminded me of a duck-billed platypus, walked by. "Hey!" I tapped him on the shoulder. "You wanna' play football? I threw my thumb over my shoulder, feeling like the Fonz for a sec. "Ehhhhhh?"

"Uhh, no thanks," he said. He didn't sound like a real human when he said it. He sounded like a hamster who drank a magic potion and turned into a human.

"Are you sure?" I asked. "We really need another person. Please?" Somehow, I had fallen to one knee.

"Umm...let go, please. He kicked me off of his pant leg and stumbled back.

I pointed an angry finger at him. "That's right, Jason! Just walk away! Walk out on everything you know and love!" The church group looked over at him as he shrugged. Cowards.

I turned around. A third member had joined the troupe: a tall, lanky fellow with a baggy tee and a doo rag. I started walking back toward them.

As I walk through the valley of the shadow of death, I shall fear no ev--

And a sweet voice--certainly the sweetest voice I'd ever heard--awoke me from my self-eulogy. "Excuse me...would you happen to have a phone I could borrow?" Ahh. The raccoon eyes. The black and pink. It was an emo chick. The most beautiful emo chick I'd ever seen.

She was huge, with teeth like an old hacksaw. But she had given me a few more precious moments of life. I bolted toward her, nearly taking out a passing elderly couple in the process. I slid to a stop on the moist grass, my cell phone already extended. I had a crap-eating grin on my face. She looked to her left, eyes only.

No one there, chicky-poo.


"You're welcome," I smiled. I waited a few seconds. "Did God send you? Tell Him I need guns." I whispered. "Lots of guns."

She stared at me, open-mouthed, as her free hand reached for her pepper spray.

"Hey! Tighty whitey! You comin'?"

I turned and whispered to myself. "Curses." Now he was angry; and to think I was almost saved by the spray.

"I'll only be a second," the girl shouted. She was about thirty yards away, under a lamp post.

"Ok!" I yelled back. "Take your time! I have free nights and weekends!"

"I'm just calling my dad, thanks!"

I looked over at Phil and the gangsters. They were getting psyched up and enjoying their THC high. Phil was trying to talk about Jesus.

Damnable hell. What would I say at his funeral? "Here lies Phil. I watched him die. Uhh...sorry?"

But more importantly, what would I wear?

Just then, the girl finished her phone call. My LG wizzed through the humid evening air and slapped me in the back of the head. "Arg," I snapped, turning around. But she was already already gone.

I picked up my phone and started toward the group, setting my "one" speed dial to nine-one-one. Grandma would have to be moved to two. Sorry grandma.

"Awright," Coolio said upon my arrival. "If we's all ready, we fonna' play some tackle foot-ball." He cocked his head every couple of words.

He and his homies were lined up across a sidewalk. Phil and I stood alone on the other side. I hoped it had nothing to do with ethnicity.

"Hey," Phil interjected. "Why don't we mix the teams up so it's more fair?" What sort of scheme was this? Didn't he know that once you go black, you never go back? From the hospital, in this case?

The very large middle one, who had not yet spoken, nodded. "A'ight little man. You come over here, an' I'll be on his team." He pointed at me. I looked to my left. Then to my right. Then I pointed at myself. "Yeah. You." He switched spots with Phil, then nodded over at the lanky guy. "He's all-time Q. And this sidewalk here is deh two-hand-touch zone; no tackles here."

"Ok, I said. So from those trash cans way over there," I pointed to where Main Street met the edge of the park, "to that tree way back there," I turned toward where the rest of the church group was playing soccer, "is the two-hand touch zone. Got it."

He looked annoyed; his voice went up a pitch. "Naw naw, man. Jes' this sidewalk here. Everywhere else is tackle."

"Are you sure?" I waved my hand in a Jedi Mind Trick motion, trying to be nonchalant. The Tyco lightsaber hanging from my belt was of no assistance in this matter.

"Yeah ahm' sure!!" His eyes flared with an almost lustful passion. Once you go black, you never go back.

I flinched, going for the saber. "No daddy, no!" There was that scratching record again. This time they heard it, too.

"What the--?!

"What? I said, 'let's go daddy, go.' "

I didn't want to risk another botched attempt at the Mind Trick, and the red cone protruding from my lightsaber was embarressing, at best. I was no Sith; a Gray Jedi, at worst. And that would have to be on a bad day. Besides, I wouldn't have needed it if that angel would have simply delivered the guns to me.

He took a step away from me. "Yeah. Ok. Les' play, den."

"All right," I said, sabering down. "Who's got ball first?"

At this point in the meeting, the gangsters started speaking mostly through explicitives. The following chart will describe the explicitive and the word that I will substitute in its place, since I am not one to use such language.

A-word: mustache
B-word: clown
S-word: chowder
F-word: thrust
N-word: wiggler

"We does," Coolio said, tossing the ball to Doo-Rag. He cackled, looking over at the big guy. "Man, this is fonna' be some funny mustache chowder!"

"Fo' sho'," the big guy said, chuckling. "A'ight a'ight, les' do this."

"A'ight," Doo-Rag said, setting the ball. "Ready?"

Coolio curled his lips and got into a sprinting position. "Chowder yeah, wiggler! Les' do this!"

Phil did the same, minus the obsceneties.

Doo-Rag nodded. "A'ight...hike!!"

Coolio dashed off of the line like a shadow of the night. He ran to me, circling several times, showing off his alpha-maleness. He flew down toward our end zone, as Doo Rag fired off. The ball whizzed blindly through the darkness, missing Coolio by a good distance. The lack of visibility was going to make this a running game. Fortunately, I was much slower than them and could probably avoid being hit.

"Chowder, wiggler! What the thrust kinda' throw was that?!"

Doo Rag didn't look like he wanted to be bothered. "Chowder, i's too dark to see."

I checked my pockets; I had felt a cold shudder run up my spine while Coolio had circled me with his alpha-maleness. Keys: check. Lightsaber: check. Wallet: che-- It felt lighter. I looked through it. The check card was there, as was the cash. Driver's license. I looked more closely, and gasped--my bookstore preferred customer card was misplaced!!

Son of a clown.

It was on.

I ran over to the big guy. He turned to me. "All right! We gotta' put these punks down! I wanna' run a seventeen-twenty-two post pattern, right after the hike. You get the tighty whitey; I got him." I glared at Coolio, who was unaware that he had just unleashed the beast. I let out a second low growl. Grrrrraaaaaar! The big guy looked like he needed another doobie hit.

"Hike!" Doo Rag shouted, tossing the ball to Coolio.

Phil charged at me, trying to block, but the human wall that was my team mate stopped him flat. Coolio weaved around them, sliding like a stock car across the moist ground. I took off on an interception course. He juked. I followed, calling on the Force to maintain balance. He spun, trying to dodge, but just as my feet gave way under me, I grabbed his waist and dragged him down with me. He rolled across the ground next to me, falling.

"Yes!" I shouted.

But he stood up, ignoring the rules of good sportsmanship and the NFL. He sprinted down the rest of the field, screaming, "Mah' knees weren't down!" and hopped into our end zone.

I scratched my mustache in thought. So this was how it was going to be. Well, unbeknownst to them, I was the proud owner of a genuine leather jacket. I don't think I need to elaborate on the toughness connotations of such a thing. It was time to forget the bookstore card and bring my best. It was time for my C-game.

Coolio started jogging back. “Nice run,” I said, tilting my head like David Caruso. He cackled, completely ignoring me. “Chowder, dog, that was too easy!”

“Yeah, your mustache was down, clown,” the big guy groaned. “Tha’ white boy had you.”

“Hey,” Phil chimed in, “do you think we could talk to you guys about Je—“

I head-butted him. “Shut up, Phil! This game isn’t over yet!”

After that, it was like a Sports Center highlight reel, complete with that one NFL song they always play on supermarket tailgating party commercials; y’know, that really intense fight song complete with the brass section overtones. We tore up the courtyard with our testosterone-driven rampaging, dodging one another’s assaults and trampling passing school girls. Four, to be exact.

After several minutes of the most intense football ever seen, the gangsters who had opted to form a small gangster cheerleading squad were getting antsy; I assumed this was a side effect of all that weed. Since I didn’t have a bag of Funyans with me, they called out to their brethren, urging them to return to the fold. Not before Phil had a say, however.

“Hey,” he wheezed, as they prepared to leave. “If you guys died today, would you go to He—“

I lunged at him for a second head-butt, missing completely in the winter penumbra. I tripped across the slick lawn, landing face-first in a dirt patch. The group stared at me, amazed less at the blatant religious confrontation than they were with the fool who once more laid before them.

Phil returned to speak with them, as they gathered around with an air of solicitude. I stood to join him and stopped—there, filthy in the mud but in plain sight—was my bookstore preferred customer card! I leapt for it, plunging my fingers into the dirt, retrieving it and licking it clean. Holding it up to the light, I could only imagine all the savings one could make by employing its services.

I turned to the group, tears welling in my eyes. That day, God had rescued me from high prices on premium literature. I had no choice but to shout “THERE IS A GOD” in the most maniacal manner for forty minutes straight, I later told the police and my lawyer. When asked why I had to do it with no pants, I simply winked and pointed up.

The gangsters came to church the next week, and they no longer call me “tighty whitey!” For my efforts at inner-city missionary work, I am now affectionately referred to as “lavender speedo.”



Posted on 2007.11.06 at 21:21
Location: Library
Feelin': busy
Music: Pinky and the Brain.
I looked upon the tumbling leaves
toward dirty clouds adumbrated,
with Dan and Bethel up my sleeves,
the thunder clapped--the lightning cleaved,
and thus my eyes did witness last.

From my arms the kingdom’s wrenched—
flower patches, honey and milk,
for though I dare men’s souls to quench,
try as I might my fists are clenched,
it slips as soft sand grains; as silk.

Although I live my seed is lost,
among my cultivated field of lies,
where I first fell upon the rock,
and in his name I did not stock.
Where blood of mine is lapped by flies.

My empty tears shan’t clear this plan,
nor soothe the pain of awful stings,
for alone amongst these idols stands…
I…nothing but a shallow man.
And a liar; and a king.



Mr. Walker is a Werewolf.

Posted on 2007.10.27 at 14:41
Location: Library; FC.
Feelin': satisfiedsatisfied
Okay, my friends, let’s turn the tables on Ms. Taylor. She shamelessly and wrongfully attacked me from the platform this morning. What have I ever done to deserve that? My only desire is for the welfare and enjoyment of you, my friends.

So here I am nursing my wounded heart and suddenly it hit me - “the students will help me”.

Start sending emails to Ms Kaitlin Taylor telling her you’ve sighted me. Tell her you saw me in chapel, in the dining hall, in the student center, on the sidewalk. Track my progress across campus. Send her multiple emails documenting the time and location of my presence, one after another. Feel free to describe what I had on (I think he was in a ball cap and sunglasses) or that I changed clothes (he was in a striped shirt, but then later I saw him in a bathrobe and slippers), or that I otherwise altered my appearance (I think I saw him with a shaved head, but that could have been Robert Ashley with multiple layers of clothes on).

Make sure all students know about this, but Ms. Taylor does not why she is suddenly inundated with emails (Molly Taylor, you cannot pass this on!)

Start now. Let’s fill her life and in-box with tales of “Mr. Walker sightings”.

Go, my friends, let your fingers fly across the keyboards. Send, send, send. Her email is _________

So, the other night, I saw this awful thing, and the above-cited series of events has caused me to speak out about what I witnessed. I sent this message to Ms. Taylor in confidence, although I have no problem posting it publicly on the internet:

"Ms. Taylor--

While taking my nightly stroll down by the river, I was alarmed to hear what I believed to be a group of wild animals fighting amongst themselves. Afraid of being mauled but curious as to what was causing the ruckus, I descended the riverbank and was shocked to see a shirtless Ralph Walker wrestling two bobcats. At that point it seemed to me that the fight had been going on for several minutes, evident from the apparent exhausted condition of Mr. Walker (as well as the scratch marks that lined his back.) He briskly ended one of his attackers with a piledriver as I fumbled for my phone, fearing that our beloved Mr. Walker would be killed by these ravenous beasts. But no sooner had I dialed 911, however, that the high winds pushed the clouds to reveal a full moon. I (as well as the surviving bobcat) watched in horror as tufts of thick hair began to burst through Mr. Walker's writing body. His face pushed forward into a narrow muzzle while his canines lengthened and his ears began to point up. He twisted in pain as he fell into a quadraped position, and a bristly tail pushed its way into the humid night. He let out a long, feral howl into the darkness, signifying that the transformation was complete.

I fell back, awestruck and frozen with fear, as the bobcat mad-dashed for the swampy woods east of the Hillsborough River. The transformed wolf turned to me, a glob of yellow saliva dripping from his teeth, and grinned, as he leapt in a supernatural fashion across the river after his former attacker.

I bolted back to my dorm, shuddering with fear. As I laid fully-clothed in a fetal position under the pounding waters of an ice-cold shower, I knew no one would believe my story. I would be called crazy; carted off to the nearest asylum for scientific analysis.

However, your announcement yesterday has given me boldness. There is something much more sinister at work here than the tales of a prehistoric Florida College. Mr. Walker must be stopped, or I fear students will soon fall victim to his newfound taste for meat.

Anyway, you asked for Mr. Walker sightings, so I thought it was important to let you know about that.


D. Martin"


The King of Threads

Posted on 2007.10.24 at 15:31
Location: School Library
Feelin': busy
Music: Audioslave
Is to cite explicit examples of recent shaftings.

As usual, my jalopy decided that it should have died several years ago and has once again presented me with a three-digit (that's hundreds in money we're talking about) process of vehicular-defribulation. It's about the 20th time something like this has happened in the past four years. The most recent debacle was chronicled in this lengthy Livejournal entry from March and involved a $1,200 transmission replacement. I can't afford to fix the thing so I'm just glad my parents recently got their $100,000 sinkhole settlement and will be able to help out. If not, I'd probly' send the thing to be blown up by the Mythbusters.

A fitting end for my noble steed.

I was partially shafted by a scholarship program of my school's (although I can't really complain, since they are giving me money) when I found out that two of the three people donating money to me are actually not. The pleasent surprise arrived at my home--addressed to my parents--in the form of a bill for $290. Yaaaaaaaaaay.

The next heterosexual male at my conservative Christian college who gently caresses my bottom and compliments my gorgeous new hairstyle will be mercilessly dropkicked in the chest. And pleasently thanked for the comment.

I was recently asked about my haircut preferences by a friend, who wondered if I preferred the way it looks now or the way it looked last week. I responded, "Whatever attracts the most laydeeeehz. Then a girl walked by and said, "Hey, nice haircut!" Then I looked at my friend and gave her an amorous kitten growl.

So I guess things are looking up.


Standing Still

Posted on 2007.09.09 at 22:42
Location: Next to Woody.
Feelin': busy
We who cast our cares upon colloquial dreams
drink light above from dancing diamonds--
from nascent love; eyes sweet like doves.
We who wrap ourselves within each other's arms
turn about the gears of clocks politely;
time will wait when our lips are infrangible,
and treble clefs will hang suspended notes
to dry their happy tears.
Yes, the music will rejoice at the notion of our love;
all creation will be captivated by a little piece
my fingers wrote for yours
in the days before I knew
the alluring tingle of your voice.
Somewhere a river anticipates with glee
a moonlit, cloudless night,
(perhaps a chilly winter breeze,)
when some people in love will know it.

And time won't do a thing to stop itself
from standing still.


The Happenings

Posted on 2007.08.29 at 11:38
Location: Wilson Hall Dorm Room
Feelin': busy
The Happenings
Because it's been so long since I've written anything, I'm going to randomly spurt the happenings out onto this blog that have taken place since my last journalistic entry.

1. As most readers would know by now, I did not go to Kenya as planned. The trip was moved up to September/October because of spiking ticket prices, and I therefore had to decide if I was going to go to Kenya or college. In accordance with tax breaks for my parents, the wise council of family and devoted Christians, the amount of time I've already been out of school, and, most importantly, I believe, the direct order of the Lord to move on in life, I went to school.

2. I now attend Florida College in Temple Terrace (just about 5 minutes from Busch Gardens for my peeps back home, in case you're needing a ballpark estimate of where I am right now.) I live on campus and currently don't have my car with me for a lengthy series of reasons I will neglect to elaborate upon in this blog. However, I will most likely be bringing my car back to college with me after Labor Day.

My major is Bible Studies and my minor is Education. My current courses are as follows:

History and Geography of the Old Testament
The Gospel and Epistles of John
Intro to Biblical Research
Beginning Greek
Classroom Management

I'm particularly excited about my Greek class. After only three class meetings, I can already read Greek (as in, I have memorized the alphabet and can transpose sounds) and am starting to learn many words. As I have always known, many of the words we use in our language have Greek roots, which has always been fascinating to me and only proves to be more true as I learn.

I spend a ridiculous amount of time studying. I pretty much work every day from the time I get up until about ten or eleven at night. But the Lord has been providing me guidance, strength and enthusiasm nonetheless.

The school atmosphere is great. I've met a lot of people these past two weeks, and everyone is pretty amicable and easy-going. I've made some friends and look forward to getting to know a lot of the people as the year goes on. Likewise, the professors are all intelligent, interesting people who do what they do very well.

I look forward to getting involved in some extra-curriculars and getting to know all of my 500 classmates.

3. I fell off the ladder my last week at Dockside. Well, technically it was kind of the ladder/sink next to the ladder, since I foolishly decided to stand on the front-heavy sink which didn't like me harassing it and therefore decided that it would careen down--taking me with it. Fortunately I had no serious injuries (two slashes on my wrist which are only just now starting to go away, a bruise/cut on my nose [I hit my face,] two small cuts on my hand, a bruised knee [an abrasion that still stings] and maybe some other things I can't thing of) but it certainly looked a lot worse than it was. The marble-top sink shattered, sending splints of stone everywhere--not gouging out one of my eyes, unbelievably. A number of the items on the wall I was near also fell down on top of me, as did the sink and other assorted pieces of home decor.

I felt pretty bad breaking a $300 sink my last week, but fortunately I made up for it with two hours of paperwork. They were just glad that I was OK.

4. I wouldn't call myself homesick, but I definitely miss home. I miss church. A lot of the people at FC are members of the Church of Christ, so I'm not used to doing a lot of the things that are done at CoC gatherings (which are the only services I've been attending since I started here.) I don't mind hymns, small gatherings, different speakers on different occasions, no instruments during worship or having different men choose and lead worship hymnals as ideas in and of themselves, but I nonetheless find myself seriously missing CCWC. I sincerely believe there is a reason the Lord brought me to CCWC, and I have come to the conclusion, being away from my brothers and sisters from the congregation, that it has a lot to do with what appeals to me personally in regards to worship and the general method of approach in regards to the Church.

Henceforth, despite me initially not having my car, I will be bringing it with me for reasons I don't wanna' write about (long, boring) and am very excited about being able to not have to get a ride to a CoC for church but rather being able to choose where I want to go/be more receptive to the Lord's leading in that matter. It has been a concern of mine, but I don't think it'll be a problem when I...

5. COME HOME THIS WEEKEND!!111!1!1!!!!! I am ridiculously excited about going to church. I guess you don't realize what you've got until you don't got it no mo'! But I am very much looking forward to Sunday morning and Revive (I think that's what they're calling it now) on Sunday evening!

I'm of course also excited about seeing the family -_- and the dogs, who I assume will leap on me. Unfortunately baby is going to be in Wisconsin with her mamma', so I won't get to see her. But, nonetheless, I am very much looking forward to this weekend.

And I think that very briefly covers that all!

Greek in 25 minutes!

NYAAAAAH *smokebomb*


West of the Nile

Posted on 2007.07.10 at 19:00
Location: John's Room
We'll ride Etruscan horses
west of the Nile,
dust in our poems, words out of style,
we'll make tapestries from scorched-earth sand,
weave metaphors with dunes of solid glass--
with empty canteens we'll ride.

We'll have plump conversations on
sun-bathed days with
varicose phrases
coursing our veins.

We'll sail our dreams 'cross the ocean of sand,
talk about peace in no presence of man.
We'll glide through the mornings and
slide through the dusks,
at our backs'll be the desert breeze;
we'll hopscotch the stars to Tripoli.

We'll take a rest by the shaded trees,
zephyr whispers cooling sweat beads.
We'll take the boat from Tripoli, and
roll across the waves of seven seas.

We'll ride Etruscan horses
west of the Nile,
island-hop 'cross the saphire for miles,
we'll craft memories with these four hands,
forge stories of mountains that crash into land.
With wide-open eyes we'll ride.

Posted on 2007.05.10 at 15:20
Location: Home
Feelin': contentcontent
Music: Rachel Ray's Voice
Life recently has been pretty mundane. Its mainly consisted of work, church and video games intertwined with the weekly or twice-weekly movie night with Jeremy. All of the money I've earned since I started my new job has gone toward my bills, tithing and Kenya trip. Minus a movie ticket, dinner at Chile's and a night of watching my brother on stage in a mauve robe & gas mask whilst playing the bass in front of a gym full of high school students and middle class adults. Frankly I've spent my money on much better things, but, sometimes you gotta' repreZent fo' yo' family. Fo' sho'.

Jonna's wedding (5/6/2007) was nice. The last wedding I attended before it was her first wedding, back when I was seven. Apparently my brother and I were part of the wedding procession and didn't find out until we got there. We walked our Mema down the plastic grass paper (outdoor wedding) in front of a crowd of about fifty.

The wedding was held at Countryside Country Club. The reception was held in one of the upstairs rooms. The food was typical banquet food: looks a lot fancier than it tastes. There was an open bar, where I ordered the following:

Cranberry juice with lime.
Pepsi with lemon.
Cranberry juice with Sierra Mist.

And tipped the following:

Jonna asked me to say a blessing before we ate (which the DJ forgot to announce) so I was called up to improv it in the middle of being served our Caesar salads. It was kinda' weird because there was a lady filming the event, and before I knew it there was a camera with a light and fifty people staring at me. But it went all right.

My Papa had one too many Martinis, which was a little unsettling, to say the least.

We got back to Mem's at about 6:30 and drove home in a torrential rainstorm. Luckily we had Dad's Elantra for the event.

I need to talk to Pastor Covic about getting some of the money for my Kenya trip deferred, since I don't have the full amount and no one but Ashley and Aunt Doreen & Uncle Mike sent anything to help (yet.) Getting decent hours has been tough, since the corporate office has been riding my boss about scheduling hours at work. She had to cut everyone back, which really isn't helping me much.

I trust in and ask that God would have His will be done in the whole situation.

It's been a while since I've written something.

That is all at this point.

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