Hand dryers

Give me a good old fashioned paper towel any day of the week. Hand Dryers suck. But let me not get ahead of myself. Unduly, that is..

There are points in my life when nothing could be more inconvenient than having to stop what I'm doing in order to take a restroom break. Peanut Gallery Detour: In my younger days, I was that kid who put off making a pitstop until the absolute last possible moment. I was that kid who just didn't have time to take care of business unless in emergency situations (secret time: which is normally to say I pushed my bladder's limits: end of secret time); I was a busy guy. In retrospect, I can see now that I was gravely mistaken concerning my perception of busy. The six, seven, and even eight year old versions of me had no idea what the term "busy" could entail. Regardless, it wasn't a rarity to push myself to the point of frantic panic. I've changed my ways now; promise. :P
With that mild digression out of the way....

Back to hand dryers: Even more aggravating than having to take a bathroom break is having to dry one's hands with an electric hand dryer afterward. I loathe hand dryers; particularly the low air-output type.

As it would happen, just a few minutes ago, I was forced to put down my Bible study in order to take one of said detours, and upon attempting to dry my hands, I was faced with my arch nemesis; a particularly difficult specimen of hand dryer that has an air output analogous to a two year old attempting to blow out her birthday candles, with the heat output that draws certain parallels to the radiant heat of a table top.

Now, the only thing worse than having to wait on your hands to dry underneath such a specimen, is to go about your day with wet hands. So one naturally dries one's hands, in, if I might add, pure and righteous contempt. After conceding to dry one's hands, the temptation is nearly always to rush through the drying process, possibly even leaving with hands only half-dried; a compromise that eliminates "unnecessary" waiting, while also rendering one's hands to a manageable dryness that can be wiped on one's pants if needed. Such was my struggle today, when I feel like I was blessed with a decent analogy. I love those teachable moments when God inserts a wise thought into my head and heart as I'm going about my day. Thank you Lord. :)
So here it is, and then I'm finished; promise. :)

So often our spiritual lives are so analogous to my struggles with hands dyers. Notice here that I'm cautious to label hand dryers as everyone's struggle, as it may just be mine. But then I would feel just silly. If this is indeed a fact, please don't tell me.

Actually, I am going to be über-cautious here as well and label the spirituality as my struggle as well, though I'd hazard a guess it could be your's as well. If it is your's, you know who you are; just nod and keep reading. Ahem.

So often in my life--after getting "wet "in the world, when it comes to the point where I reconvene with the Lord at different parts of the day, be it through need or want--so often I am tempted to either skip or rush the times of refocusing. So often, I am so busy in this life that my times of devotion to Him are short in nature, almost rushed, in the name of carrying about my day that much sooner. In this way, my spiritual life is sometimes analogous with my hand dryer struggles: Just as I want to rush the step of drying my hands after washing them to lessen my down time, sometimes I want to rush the healing from the Father that comes after a day in this world. So often, I do rush this time, much to my future dismay and destruction, and only receive a partial treatment. When I only half-dry my hands, I have to seek other methods of meeting my needs later, none of which meet the same standard (whether it be drying my hands on my pant legs, shaking them dry later, or blowing on them myself). Such is true for my spiritual life as well; when I rush my time of devotion with the Father, I feel, though perhaps slightly restored, as though I'm still lacking in that area of my life, causing me to unwittingly grab for other things in this life to meet those needs, none of which can of do. Here is the point to this:

While the Father's method's of healing our hearts can sometimes be slow or even, in the moment, cumbersome, they are methods that we need desperately (even more so than dry hands). If it takes twenty minutes of prayer, if it takes an hour of reading His word (it often depends on how "wet our hands" are, right?), only after staying for the whole treatment can we be completely restored. The Bible says:

"He giveth power to the faint; and to them that have no might he increaseth strength. Even the youths shall faint and be weary, and the young men shall utterly fall: But they that wait upon the Lord shall renew their strength; they shall mount up with wings as eagles; they shall run, and not be weary; and they shall walk, and not faint." (Isaiah 40:29-31 KJV)

Whatever your struggle today, wherever you may be, whatever you may be doing or may do, I bid you to take time to refocus on Him, to persevere through Him. This is all we can do, and it should be something we long to do. This is where the analogy breaks down, however: I'm just not going to be able to wait on that hand dryer after stopping for a restroom break. I'll just use germ-X when such break is needed. Speaking of...........

Confessions of a Downward Spiral

I found this this evening in my “unfinished thought” pile. Now may be the time to finish, I should think. I will add commentary, now that I have a bird’s eye view on this:


Life has a way of abruptly changing what we know to be true to stark falsehood. So abrupt are these changes that the aftermath leaves the previously blissful, optimistic person in a state of deflating, demoralizing, morale annihilation.

This was a point in my life about six months ago when I experienced a pain like never before. It is not that I had never experienced pain before, or even that my situation was so terrible—graven as it was. This happening was completely unexpected, and thus painful. This is reflected, here:

Yesterday was one of these occurrences for me. Not to say that everything was going perfectly, but my day was actually going really well. Any cares and worries I had were but faintly present. The coffee was that morning beautifully stark. My friends were present and seemingly content to just hang around and talk with me for a time. Comfortable, I was confident and the whole day seemed to shine like bright neon shoes. It was at this point, that life turned the tables, slowly at first, before roughly jerking them upside down, and downside up.


Haha, I still remember the weight in my stomach that seemed to drop from my throat that refused to swallow. Unguarded, I can still feel the emotion of the moment now.

Frequency and intensity of such happenings seem to differ amongst different people. Still, different people deal with life’s blows in different ways. Some sink into a state of depression comparable to that of a house fly caught in jelly. In other words, they don't, they simply take glee in what their current situation has to offer, and much like a fly caught in sugary life support, this brand of individuals blissfully finds the silver lining. These people are lucky, obviously enjoying yet another silver lining, this time concerning being born with brain defects.

Others crash and burn in the most spectacular manner, waving their arms about wildly and screaming all the way down—needless to say, some take life's strikes less well than others.

Still more of us fall in the category that's somewhere in between to first two. Faced with disaster, the word 'apathy' probably best describes this category's reaction to tough luck, a category which I seem to fall into. We from category number three tend to pull back when life manifests itself into hardship. Our paradigm encompasses the notion that hurt is the product of seeking comfort, and so when we hurt, we pull back.

For hours after the tables turned, I stumbled about my day in a sort of “zombie-like” fashion. Thoughts racing through my mind were ignored. Emotions were put aside. I completely pulled back, not only from family and who-not, but from reason and emotion. It was easier to ignore 'it' than it was to face 'it,' so I did my best to quit thinking. Ironically, as I found out, trying not to think employs a considerable amount of brainpower.

So often, within the climax of our pain, we essentially disown our lives' reasons for joy, making the situation ever graver. We forget the bliss we enjoyed just before, choosing instead to focus solely on our pain we know now. At this point, life’s blow is strengthened, having an effect on our lives that is audaciously more powerful than what life can deal without our help. Life can only push us down the road of misery so far—so often we walk down the road on our own accord.

At this point in my writing, I had stopped writing entirely, and this is where I will pick up and finish. So often, writing helps me work out the details, and reach status of a clear mind—as I write my thoughts down, the task of sorting out emotions and thoughts becomes a task that a mere mortal like me can accomplish. This case was no different, as I realized the erred reasoning that I had owned just paragraphs before. I took in my surroundings:


I was sitting in a small roadside diner, venting through verbs, nouns and antecedents while waiting for a platter of breakfast to arrive at my table. I had a window seat, and to my left my window overlooked a busy highway and an overcast sky that almost gave me a sense of belonging. To my right a small cup of coffee sat, ready for my enjoyment. It was good coffee, stark and almost “romantically”-well-brewed—It was my third cup since my arrival. I took a sip and burnt my tongue; a minor setback to my shifting mindset. I remember sighing, shaking my head.



You see, life is what we make of it. It is a story which we write page by page. Every great story has a beginning, a middle, and an end. More specifically, every good story has a high point, a low point, and an ending where circumstances rearrange themselves for the better.


Additionally, the collective power of all of life’s low-points is astoundingly weak in comparison to the power we're enabled with mindset. In a former paragraph, I remarked that optimists enjoy a silver lining of defective thinking, but I would like to pose a rhetorical question to you:

Who is more dim? The person who resolves to enjoy life even when it hurts or the one who decides to give up on life because it momentarily reeks of sadness?


I remember at this moment, God granted me peace. The realization that this moment was merely a chapter in the story of my life gave me hope and an astonishingly positive outlook to what might be in store in the next chapter…

I finished my coffee, careful not to scald myself this time--no more setbacks in this story. I left soon after and began writing the next paragraph of my life…

A thought on knowledge

Knowledge is not objective. Knowledge, after all, is grouped within the same "container" as our feelings, thoughts, emotions. It is just as easily recalled as experiences of the past, as easily re-experienced as the recollection of the heartache of forbidden love or the hot anger of resentment that sometimes follows. Knowledge, jostled about within our mind, colliding with our other distinguishable "biases" becomes tainted over time to better accustom one's point of view. As a cake left uncovered in a fridge collects the aroma of the neighboring onions, so our knowledge and insight becomes swayed by our personal bias.

Faith

One of the most secure states one can find himself is in a state of understanding. The ability to speak, "I understand," is a reflection of the inner belief in one's ability to comprehend as well as the encompassing grasp on what is preeminent. It is fitting then, that a state of incomprehension is the most uncomfortable state one can find himself. Confusion and chaos are oft uttered within the parameters of a short sentence.

This also decides that the most difficult action to take is an action decided upon faith, without any understanding or grasp upon the circumstances on hand. Saying, "I have faith," can sometimes be uttered from a moment whereas there is no logic, comprehension or understanding of the going-ons of the moment.

This is why faith in Christ is so remarkable, admirable, and truly extraordinary. It comes from a willingness to forget and discard personal logic, knowledge, understanding or anything that we as humans cling to for comfort and a sense of control. It comes from a willingness to leave the proverbial "comfort zone" of ours and instead step out into a world of unknowns. It does not come from understanding or knowing what can happen when He is in your life; rather, it is a reflection of the inner belief in the wisdom, knowledge, and understanding of another being.

This is what makes faith so hard. It is fitting then, that to draw near to the One who understands, grasps, comprehends, and knows everything--every feeling, every doubt, every problem, every solution, every life, every death, and all the things that are unfathomable--one must resign to a state of faith.

Unit Circle Cake

Ta-dah! I present to you, my finest creation yet: The Unit Circle, as played by sweet, golden cake and butter-cream frosting :D

Niftily decorated in halloween-ish colors (the season is upon us, y'know), this delight doubles as a symmetrical spiderweb, leaving many-the paranoid observer haunted by the unknown where-abouts of the mathematically-inclined spider that conjured such a masterful web. And for some of you, nothing renders you a milquetoast faster than a good x and y-axis, effectively doubling to its spooky effect :-)

Ooh hoo hoo, so awesome..

Yes, through all four quadrants, those are actual functions of the unit circle including actual radians, degrees, and functions of all major angles between zero and three-hundred sixty degrees! :D

Ah, I love math so, so very much sigh

Trigonometry Identities :D

I. Am. Nerd... Hear me "Nerdspeak" ;-D :-D There is definitely a plethora of "identities" in Trigonometry. For instance (but not confined to), there are the 'Pythagorean Identities', which are basically just numerous variations of the Pythagorean Theory itself, near-endlessly manipulated by the six Trigonometric functions. Then there be the 'Quotient Identities', which are basically the aforementioned functions dividing each other to equal still other seemingly unrelated functions. And then somewhere in there, there's my identity. I so love Math

Icecream with Brian

So I took my brother Brian out for ice-cream after school the other day:

Exiting the yogurt line, our bowls filled with ice-cream, we made our way down to line of toppings; effectively starting the extremely difficult process of choosing between favorites.

Cognizant of the price per ounce, I strategically graced the top of my yogurt with a combination of gummy bears and toasted coconut. Placing my finished product on the scale, I looked down with a sense of pride—I had created a perfect combination of flavors, all for under 6 ounces. I heard Brian place his finished product on the scale and turned my attention to the cashier who was ringing us up—“That will be 12 dollars and 23 cents," she said with a smile. I froze before glancing at the scale and doubletook—
—the scale read 1.6 pounds!
I swiveled my gaze slighty downward and jumped back in shock at the grotesque sight I now beheld:
Sitting on the scale, absolutely dwarfing my bowl ,was a liberal portion of ice-cream large enough to feed three starving teenagers. This bowl, however, was intended for just one teenager—Brian.

I leaned closer and examined his toppings.
"Brian, are those…Fruit Loops?" I asked wearily.
"Yeah!"—he replied buoyantly— “and Captain Crunch!”
I looked down at the bowl again--My goodness! He speaks the truth!

"...and...I guess…those are nerds," I inquired, pointing to the array of colored candy.
"Yep!"
"And...do you suppose you have enough gummy worms on your yogurt?" I asked, referring to the large clump of frozen worms that pointedly intruded the airspace three inches above his bowl's rim.
"...um—

—I didn't wait for his reply—

I sighed and handed the still-smiling cashier my credit card, and watched as she swiped it in a flash of plastic.
Now twelve dollars poorer, I received my card back with a “thank you,” and, after pocketing it, I met my brother's gaze and uttered,

"Brian, you are one darn expensive girlfriend."

I left him in favor of searching for a seat, laughing to myself under my breath. My brother, though undoubtedly unaware of his monetary footprint on my wallet, was hopefully at least vaguely aware of how much he was worth to me:

Absolutely Priceless

One of those moments

Everyone has those moments. You know, the moments when they have to stop and say, "okay, now why did I say that?" While a question in intention, this line is a declarative statement admitting a blunder of word choice, yet still a bugging inquiry to oneself, asking perplexedly why you hadn't employed cautiousness. Such an expression is usually muttered to one's self in exasperated frustration and is often paired with at least one palm covering eyes that are shut tightly.

Today, I had one of those moments. :P

It was hot. It was humid. It was downright despondent. The air felt miserable, yet the stuffy air of the enclosed hallway was far better than the scorching temperature of the air out of doors. I was walking down the hallway of a psychiatric hospital, wiping sweat from my forehead with my sweat-drenched sleeve. I slowed my pace to a trot, allowing my coworker to catch up. My coworker's name was Tim, and on this miserable day, we had been commissioned to install wireless thermostats on VAV units overhead. Bribed with a contract, our company had taken on the task of converting the hospital's units to a wireless, smart controls system, and so the company had assigned Tim the job supervisor, and I was tagging along to help.

Peanut Gallery Detour: Timothy A. Short is probably one of the most difficult coworkers of mine to figure out. He has a great personality that takes a few days to work itself out into visibility, all the while causing the hapless younger technician like myself to worry over whether or not the veteran takes keenly to or absolutely dislikes him. Bind that with regular physical assaults he dishes out regularly, playful or not, and it all tends to drive a mind toward parnoidity. After a few months of working (and worrying) with Tim Short, his real personality broke free, and the talkative, playful young-gun emerged. Tim and I are half-decent friends now, though my morale and standing with him as a coworker depends much upon acting like a ‘guy.’

Allowing Tim to take the lead, I followed him into a small room where we found the box of equipment we were there to install. Tim picked up a box of something or other, gruffly saying something to the effect of, “You’ll need these.” Regrettably, I cannot quite recall what Tim was calling my attention to, as I caught notice of something when I had reached my hand out for a box of parts; rather, my finger had caught ‘notice’ of something. Drawing my hand closer, I realized that I had a problem. My fingernail was split at the end, and I had a deep hangnail, hanging with hazard off the top of my thumb.

It was an impressive hangnail—about an inch wide. Simply writing of it now causes a large shudder to engulf my body as the photographic memory of it crowds my mind.

I realized after a few seconds that Tim was staring at me, and I immediately ceased staring at my thumb and began staring at him. I allowed my eyes to focus more precisely before he asked me, “What’s the matter with your finger?” At this point, what I thought and what I actually said are two entirely different sentences. What I thought was, aw, nothing is wrong. I’m just getting some dirt off. Instead…

“I…I broke my fingernail.”

*facepalm* Why in the world had I..?

Evidently, it was his turn to stare again, and he did so with one eyebrow raised. “You…you broke your—” —he never finished his sentence as a hearty laughter erupted from somewhere behind his belly-button. Wiping tears from both eyes, he chuckled and mockingly asked if I needed to go home. Answering a shameful ‘no,’ I trudged away from him and his never-ceasing laughter and made my way back through the now even warmer hallway, accepting my lot in life as the jobsite’s wimpiest technician.

Leaving the jobsite hours later with Tim, we drove toward another jobsite for what was to be an afterhours frenzied push to help close down the jobsite. Upon arrival, we met up with 4 technicians and 2 engineers from our company in a small computer room. Bidding the others farewell, I grabbed a few parts and left to install a few override dials. I pocketed the previous shame and buoyantly started down the hallway, eager to start my task.

Returning ten minutes later down the same hallway feeling a bit proud of myself after a job well-done, I heard feverish laughter as I approached the computer room. Walked into the room, I discovered it to be filled with 5 technicians collectively and quite literally sitting, all but one, doing absolutely nothing.

Well…almost absolutely nothing.

Standing in the doorway, the collective attention turned upon me and the laughter died to faint giggles erupting every few seconds. A tall, dark-haired technician named Lance spoke up, eyes sparkling and teeth showing beneath his all-too-wide smile:

“We were just talking about you.”

*facepalm*

I was having one of those moments all over again, and I hadn’t even opened my mouth.

Hammer and Nails

*Bang*

 *Bang*

*Thump.*

Ouch. I'd done it again. The sixteen penny rink-shank nail previously held steady by my ever so steady hand, was now abandoned—left to fall two stories down to the concrete reality of concrete patio below as I pulled my throbbing left thumb nearer to my face for a closer examination. Throbbing wildly back and forth in synchronization with my pounding heart while systematically gracing between deep lavender, dark red, and pale white colors, my thumb emphatically protested; openly opposing its lot of opposability.

Inspecting my thumb for signs of intolerable stress as this was not the first time my hammer had struck my thumb in such a fashion, I realized that this was the third time this morning that I had inflicted such pain upon my thumb, a notion that worried me further as I discovered a stress line growing on my nail. I also realized that all three times thus far, my left thumb had been the blunt of my hammer’s fierce kinetic energy—a perfect 3-0 record. How very odd…

Peanut Gallery Detour: I am undecided pertaining to word choice at this point, which is not a position that I find myself in often. To say that the sudden consciousness my left thumb’s sudden stroke of terrible luck puzzled me, might be slight embellishment, as my mind was still at least half-heartedly focused upon the stout pain which had engulfed my thumb and began to spread down toward my wrist by this time. To simply shake the following thoughts away as never having occurred, however, would be terribly uninteresting and underly dramatic, almost like reading a 12 page synopsis regarding the function of chicken bouillon cubes. Yeah, drama is my weakness…

Plagued with incredulousness, I wondered in speculative awe as to why my poor left thumb was the lone one of two to suffer the hammering punishment dealt by a hammer. Calculating the mathematical odds, I concluded that the odds of my left thumb being hit all three consecutive times was 12.5%, or about 1 out of 8 odds. For you mathematically deficient, that’s a so called ‘fat chance’, a find that was all the more perplexing.


Slightly bothered by life's great mysteries, I stared off into the far reaches of the front yard, searching for the door of wisdom. After a long pause, I blinked and checked my phone and realized that I had been staring blankly at a tree for two minutes. Rats. Realizing that I was still a few brain cells short of an answer, I terminated my search and shrugged off the overwhelming grasp of mystery, remembering all at once that I was still standing on the roof of a tall house and my task was still to fasten trim to the edge of the eaves.

*sigh*

I unimaginatively selected another nail from the box of screws (don’t ask) with my left hand and reaching for the hammer with my right…

…the door of wisdom opened unto me and enlightenment imparted: You're right-handed stupid. There, standing atop wooden shingles and under both the fierce Oklahoma sun and the stark weight of realization, I realized that my right thumb was far too busy being opposable and holding a hammer to be bothered by being hit with it. My right thumb’s mathematical odds of being hit: 0% , 0 out of 10, and, for you knuckleheads out there, absolutely none.

*facepalm*

Slightly worried about the affect the sun was seemingly dealing to my intellectual prowess’s former glory, I closed my eyes…

…and immediately began to wonder why it was so dark inside my eyelids.

Perplexingly Simple

It's...complex. It is difficult to explain what complexity means. Emotionally, it is when you know what to say, but you can't put it into words. Mentally, it is the inability to completely wrap your mind around something because it isn't quite what it seems, or possibly it is everything and all that it seems. Spiritually, it is when life and circumstances are not quite as easy as just knowing. Mortally, complexity is insimplicity that breeds an inability to feel immensely anodyne in what once was or what now is. Complexity—it is life.

Beautifully, and in seemingly sheer defiance of life's complexity, love is so simple. No, I am not referring to the bubbly, warm feelings of emotional love. Neither am I denoting the warm thoughts of mental love, nor even our unfaithful, undedicated 'love' toward a greater, spiritual being. These fore-mentioned 'loves' are more complex than prevalent, which they are exceedingly. These 'loves' are not what I write of, because love, real love that is, is not a mortal emotion.


The love I speak of is immortal, all-powerful and unfailing; a love only an immortal, all-powerful and unfailing being can give. The love I speak of is the love that can create, in all complexity, simple peace. The love that makes life so worth the effort is the love that our Creator, our God, our Father gives freely to all. I think I shall start capitalizing this form of love, as it is divine. How wonderful life is, knowing that the most complex being ever, would give His children a Love so simple.

As The Moon

Moon. Such a dynamic word, it is, though not nearly as dynamic as the moon itself. When mentioned, this word brings to mind the notion of peace, the feeling of serenity, and an overwhelming sense of joy that only accompanies the ability to grasp seemingly immortal beauty in its purest form.

Also symbolically mysterious, the moon's past is riddled with wonder and speculation upon its meaning and purpose.

Inspiring, the moon has influenced the human race to exceed their gravitational boundaries and push for greater purposes, almost as artfully as it influences the waves.

The moon, though merely a reflection of something greater, has found its meaning, its purpose; it's essential self, in simply being the reflector of a greater light. The moon, dark and cratered on its own, finds it's light by reflecting the Sun's. The moon shines, not of its own accord, but by reflecting light omitted from elsewhere. No, the moon is not original, but the need to be isn't there. The moon's light is cleanly beautiful, and generations upon generations have marveled wondrously at the beauty of this light.

I pray that I would be, in this way, as the moon. Instead of striving to be original or cool or something of that like, I pray that my life would wholly reflect my Creator's light. I pray that when people see me, they do not see a hip, cool, funny, _____ (<fill in the blank) individual; rather, I long that people would look at my life and see the Creator.

From now on, my life will reflect beauty in its purest form; the form of perfect love.

From now until I die, my life will be a light that lost souls speculate of, that sad hearts look to in wonder, giving me the opportunity to further glorify my Savior and my Creator.

My life will influence the ones around me to push for something greater, to pull away from the 'gravitational pull of bondage, sin and life without Christ.

From this day forward, I will be as the moon, reflecting a greater light. Unlike the moon, I will be reflecting the greatest light.

The Train of Thought Serves Toast?!

The oddest thing happened to me this morning. After my morning ritual of taking a shower...


...what's wrong? Don't you take one every morning?! THEN ITS A RITUAL!! Shakes head, scowling with mouth half open 


*ahem* Aaaanyway...


...Hair wet and clothes new, and garnered with the minty freshness only a toothbrush can brandish, I opened the bathroom door, and immediately felt quite strange as the warm steam poured out from the bathroom, seemingly pursuing me. I stood in silence for a moment, trying to place why this morning air felt so very strange. I poked my head into a bedroom, warily, not quite sure of why I was being wary. The room was empty. I walked cautiously into the living room, and 'it' hit me:


It was quite cold in the living room.


Frowning, I walked into the kitchen wishing that I had donned a sweater. As I punctured the invisible separating line between the living room and the kitchen which existed somewhere within the doorway, I was hit by yet another realization--It was quiet.


Too quiet.


I had a nagging thought, trying to enlighten me, yet I couldn't place it. Suddenly, the exhausted realization that had been trying valiantly to board my morning train of thought since my leaving the bathroom, climbed aboard, made its way to the train's caboose, and whispered enlightenment into the conductor's ear.


Peanut Gallery Detour: Isn't it just annoying to have a thought, word, or witty line on the tip of your tongue, the outskirts of your mind, the essential perimeter of your being, yet finding a profound inability to summon it close enough for practical useage? This sort of occurrence is one that overtakes me far too often, and I believe I know why. I believe  the frequency of these phenomena is directly affected by the frozen-dairy related brainfreeze. 'Nuff said for now.


The train picked up speed, fueled by a sudden realization. I realized, as I stood into the kitchen, that I was quite alone. Slightly confused as my loud and busy family had occupied the house's grounds, even as I had jumped into the shower. At this point I felt kinda...well kinda...


...it was then that I caught smell of something absolutely delightfully pleasant. I looked down, as I found myself standing over the table. There, on a small plate, was a warm and buttery piece of toast, which was complimented nicely with the brim-filled glass of orange juice that was sitting beside it.


Mmm...


Delighted, I grabbed my newfound company, and strolled out the door, absolutely forgetting the sense of lonliness that had accompanied what I had realized just thirty seconds before.

Responsibility...

This is a story. More specifically, this is a story with a principle. Moreover, this is a story (with principle) about four individuals, aged respectively, named Everyone, Someone, Anyone, and No One. Now these four individuals were a valiant bunch, strong and brave and smart. So it was only fitting that one day, the four were given a special task to complete; one of upmost importance. Upon convening with one another to sort that task out among one of them, Everyone was asked to complete this task. Now, dear Everyone was sure that Someone would do it, so he lazily ignored the job, as he was eldest. While Anyone could have worked this task, finally, No One completed it. This notion angered the fiery middle-brother Someone, because it was, after all, Everyone's task. It was quite obvious, however, to Everyone that Anyone could have done this job just as well as he. Alas, keen No One understood that neither Everyone, nor Anyone, would not do it. The final result? Everyone blamed Someone when No One did what Anyone could have done.


The End

It rains in my Father's world.

The noise of the Kordsiemon household quietly fades away as the screeching cracks of lightening and epic booms of thunder pierce the air. The afternoon sky has, over the last few hours, gradually become dark—a harbinger of impending rain and an excuse to burn softly lit candles. After a dramatic opening, the rain is pounding the windows and roof and...mmm, very possibly my dog…

Peanut Gallery Detour: My dog is a Schnauzer. She is pretty much spoiled and has adopted the paradigm that she is the last remaining defense, the essential dividing line between her family (us) and the great evil that surrounds us (the neighbors apparently). Our valiant defender with the shrill bark, e.i. Havi, is afraid of nothing. *ahem* Almost nothing. Her deepest fear involves the other lady of the household (mother), and bathtime. Any variation of these elements are equally frightening to her. On this particular day, whilst the rain gives the hard soil a bath, our poor guardian looks in the window angrily, as she as well  is having to participate in an unscheduled bath-period. Anyway...

Even on a splendid day like today, where I'm found sleeping in for once and otherwise enjoying a splendid and rare day off, in the back of my mind, my troubles exist quite loudly. Even this lovely afternoon, when one could see me proudly reading over my work in bliss, what could not be seen was how my heart broke at the mere mentioning of a dear friend in a casual conversation. Yet, as I pick up the pieces and prepare to immerse myself in the imaginary world in which my only troubles are simply finding the perfect words to convey brilliancy, my troubles still distress me as I start to plug in my headphones and prepare to dive off the cliff of imagination. And then...

...the rain falls, and I remember. While listening to the thunder roar, the rain fall, and my dog yelp, I remember comfortingly that yesterday, right now, tomorrow, and forever, my God is here. As my troubles scream all around me, He puts His hand on my shoulder. As I’m in tears on the floor, he’s sitting beside me, offering His shoulder as a place to bury my head. Even now, as I write down this inspired blogpost, with the rain beginning to calm down, He smiles down on me. He is my constant. He never fails me; He never leaves me. Father, I am so sorry that I become so wrapped up in my little world, and forget that I’m in my Father’s world. Yes, it rains here--not always the good kind of rain, but in my Father's world, He makes oceans from the rain. 

If you haven’t put two and two together, this sort of weather has a very calming effect on me. As I press on writing, I take the earphones out of my ears, choosing instead to listen to God's background music. Silently, with my trusty coffee mug sitting beside me, and God’s love with me, I take a breath and a moment to thank God for all that He has created for and given to me. Days like this remind me that with all my troubles and fears, all my worries and problems, all my sadness and never-ending pain, He is here. Be still and know I'm here, He says gently. In an inconstant world where the grounds shake, the earth quakes and emotions lose themselves, He is constant. 

"All my life, you have never left my side. You are my constant." --Francesca Battistelli

This is My Father's World--Song
                  vvv
http://youtu.be/byIpfEVxhs4

Spilled Coffee and Awesome Shirts

They say you shouldn't cry over spilled milk, but does the same principle hold true for spilled coffee? I mean, coffee is second only to crude oil as far as trading commodities go, so I should think that if one, in theory, could cry over spilled milk that one would utterly bawl over spilled coffee. In addition, one can drink coffee with milk, but also without it, making milk a mere efficacy that essentially glorifies coffee, not the other way around. Of course, one could make the "vice-versa" argument, but really, who drinks their milk with coffee?? That notion simply shames reason.

Anyway, though I wouldn't normally cry over spilled coffee, today I had experience that showed capabilities to create certain circumstances that could prove to have been unpleasant, though in all likely-hood, not worth tears. Here is what happened:

It was 8:55 of the clock, and I was driving my 2005 Hyundai Tuscon to school. Coffee in one hand, steering wheel in the other, I was happily listening to tobyMac on the radio. Okay, I'll admit, I might've been actively listening to tobyMac, which goes to say I may have been singing along... 

*facepalm* You can see where this is going, right? So of course I would spill coffee all over my pants five minutes before my 9 of the clock history class was to start. 

Peanut Gallery Detour: Of the clock is actually the spelled out contraction of o'clock.  Back in the day, My English teacher would demand that his students spell out all contractions (e.i can't-->cannot, wouldn't-->would not, ext.), save one. He thought it impractical and unnecessary to spell out the contraction "o'clock," and thus premised us to use this contraction. I, however, happen to like spelling out this contraction especially well. So anyway...

Epic humility lesson in the making right? Absolutely shocked as the coffee was hot-leaning-scalding, I took in the developments quite calmly, as I managed to keep the car on the road. Letting out a deep breath, I anxiously looked down at my pants, though I knew what I was to find. Amusingly enough (now), the coffee had spared all but one area. Without going into grave details, it appeared that I had had a rather unfortunate accident; one that was the upshot of coffee consumed, instead of coffee spilled.

In other words, it looked like I had wet myself.

I slumped in my seat, unnerved. Great, I thought, that's all I need. Looking at the clock, I realized that a return to the house was not an option, as it was now 8:56 of the clock. Swallowing my pride as I had no more coffee left swallow, I realized that I had already arrived at the college anyway. I was doomed. Parking my car in a secluded corner, I unloaded and upon standing upright, examined the spot in the more natural light of the sun. Yep, I was doomed. Without a word, I grabbed my book-bag, and attempting to console myself, I repeated in my head, It doesn’t matter, I’m here to learn; just focus on learning AND DON”T MAKE EYE CONTACT!!

I had been fortunate enough to have not met anyone along my journey to my classroom, so upon arriving at the classroom door, I paused and took a deep breath. Looking down once more and wincing because I was doomed,  I walked through the doors. My teacher was just setting herself up to teach when I walked through the doors, allowing me for the collective attention of the classroom. I wore a faked smile, and made my way down to the back row, attempting to look "non-chalant." “Nice shirt,” some guy said as I walked past. Huh? I sat down, and the girl I had chosen to sit next to said warmly, “wow, I love your shirt!” “Thanks!” I said, delightedly stunned. I looked down at my shirt. In all my worrying, I had forgotten that I had worn my favorite “nerd” shirt. Ah, this is looking up, I thought happily. Yes, I had lost some very good coffee along the way but, hey, I was alive, right?

So, of course it only makes sense that after all my worrying about my pants, my shirt would be the thing that received the attention.

Logical Explanation? I have several:

So maybe my shirt was just so awesome that it drew all attention away from my pants by sheer virtue. I mean, it is pretty awesome :D 
Or maybe everyone was just so eager to avert impending awkwardness, they actively complimented my shirt so as to draw attention away from my pants. Mmm, not as flattering, no but yes, that could be it. 
*gasp* Maybe the two complimenters were the only ones out of thirty who were actually paying attention to my shirt. Hhmm, the odds at this point aren't looking that great.

Mmm, or maybe I'm just making a big deal out of this...

Anyway, the moral of this story is that you shouldn’t cry over spilled coffee…

…especially if you’re wearing a totally awesome shirt like me :-)

[Mis]Adventures with My Little Blonde Girl

*sigh* (instant heartmelt)

    So…my little blonde girl. Her name is Abella though everyone just calls her Bella. She has beautiful blonde hair that always seems to 'go rouge' even under the most deterring restraints. She is the cutest chick that I have ever seen….aaaaand she is two-years-old (she's my little sister). Anyway, I will randomly record thoughts and reflections, as well as funny moments inspired by our actual misadventures. Here we go:


This morning, from the general direction of our sporadic dining table, I heard a cry of disturbance. Abandoning my coffee and rushing to the source of the scream, I deduced that it was my little sister Bella, who was pointing distantly at a spot on the floor. Following her laser-accurate-finger, I realized, to my relief, that nothing extremely terrible, certainly, at least, nothing worth the scream, had taken place. Instead, I discovered, after a minute of keen visualizational effort, that there was a small ant underneath the table, lying motionless; apparently dead. Immediately, I was amazed at her keen eyesight as this ant was merely a rather small discoloration in our dark-grouted-tile-floor. In addition, the hapless ant had ventured onto our busy kitchen floor, the result in evidence as it had been skooshed; his well-earned doom.
My little Bella is emotionally intolerant of bugs or any type of creepy crawly being in general; I'm pretty sure Chewbacca would have similar affects on her :P

Peanut Gallery Detour: Emotionally Intolerant is my way of saying scared, or afraid of. When I say, "emotionally intolerant," I am basically using unnecessarily-large words to create a euphemism, which is to say that I am feeling rather special at the moment (my favorite word is 'sesquipedalianistic,' whose dictionary definition is a word containing liberal amounts of syllables, or, aka…a big word).

Putting my previous fears on hold, I began to console my little sister, as she was losing her sanity. "Ah, I see. It's okay darling," I said in my most soothing voice, "its…not a bug."

Yes, I was lying to her, but I realized that my actions over the course of the next five minutes, if chosen strategically, could restore sanity to the kitchen, and thus me. If chosen haphazardly, the situation's dire features would simply amplify, which was a route I wanted to avoid since I was running late. Her facial features instantly morphed into one of indignant disbelief, and she placed her hands on her hips and glared at me. "It's a bug," she retaliated.

*gulp*

She wasn't buying it. Sensing my plan was in danger of epic failure, I cast a pleading look to my other blonde sister (Kate), who had been watching the developments; simply amused. She responded immediately, crouching down underneath the table, as she was soothingly talking to Bella—"it's alright Bell, it's just a—" at this point my sister had prodded the dead ant with her finger and instantly recoiled. "Eeeew, it is a bug" she concluded helpfully. I cast her a dark-glare and found, upon returning my attention to her, that Bella trusted Kate over me. "Now, now Bella," I began, "it may be a bug, but its dead now. It can't hurt you." Having none of it, she insisted, "Take it away outside please."

Her proposal spelled one word for me:

inconvenience. "Dear [Bella], Adam will sweep it up later, okay?" I pleaded.

"No, uh, right now take it outsiiiide," she spelled out with her lips.

*facepalm* "Look Bella," I said attempting to kick it away with my foot, "Sit down and eat your—" She gasped as soon as my foot began scooting it across the floor. Kate, trying to redeem herself, flicked the ant out of the doorway, eliminating our problem…at least for the moment. Bella, uneasy about our "solution," grudgingly sat back down in her chair to resume eating.

I left, but was summoned again a few minutes later as my little sister had located the ant's mangled corpse once again.

*sigh*

"Alright Bella, stop that. That's quite enough," I said permanently eliminating the problem with my foot, "It's gone for good now." I looked at her, and in turn, she looked down at the spot with her hands again in a position of scrutiny on her hips. Not able to locate the 'beast,' she held her hands up in an inquirative shrug, asking, "Where did it go to?" Picking her up (buying time), I blurted, "Ca…CandyLand." I closed my eyes. Why did I say that? Opening my eyes, I saw that my little benevolent had digested this answer quite well, and that her little heart was at last at ease. I quickly decided I would stick with my answer, as I cuddled her in my arms. "Let's go find some candy," I said, thrilled as her eyes lit up with joy. "Okay," she said, smiling...

Trust

Have you ever gone through something that absolutely devastated your life? Tears fall as you realize everything you have ever known will never be the same. As your world literally crashes all around you, suddenly, you wake up, and find that you are staring up at the dark ceiling and realize that it is three in the morning, eventually realizing that you were only dreaming. Sighing in relief and offering up a prayer of broken thankfulness to God, you wipe the tears away with your blanket and turn to the other, non-tear-soaked side of the pillow. Have you ever had one of those dreams?

I have. It is such a relief to know that everything is okay. It is such a comfort to know that God has you in his hands, and that everything that was troubling you was nothing.

Hey wait! Isn't that just like with real life? Hey, don't judge me, I already know I'm sort of crazy—just bear with me here. I mean, real-life is just like dream-life, right? Granted, maybe real-life doesn't have flying hippos or moonwalking dinosaurs, but one could draw lines in this case, right?

Right?

Right.


When we're crying in a dream, we wake up and realize that there's absolutely nothing to cry about. Life is cruel, and tears seem to be the only antidote sometimes. But in real-life, would we be shedding tears of pain if we could "wake up" and realize that God still has us? Realizing that He has us in His loving hands, and that He will never let us go, how could we really cry...in pain anyway? Back to the former example: After a particularly horrible dream in which I lost everything, I woke up and realized I was still "alive" (yes, it was very awful :P). I wept for joy, grasping that I was crying for no reason and that everything was okay. Let me pause here for a moment to quote a friend:

"…It's just a cool feeling. Especially when you wake up and realize there's nothing to cry about."

Cool. Thanks buddy, couldn't have said it better myself. Where was I? Ah yes…

Now, I realize that in "real-life" it isn't quite that simple. Actually, I don't because, isn't it? *nods head, even though he is writing* Are we not God's beloved children? Jesus says in Matthew:

"Do not be afraid of those who kill the body but cannot kill the soul. Are not two sparrows sold for a penny? Yet not ONE of them will fall to the ground apart from the will of the Father. And even the very hairs of your head are numbered." –Matthew 10:28-30

Sparrows. Yeah, they were like the ultimate two-for-a-buck deal at this time; yet, not "one" of them could fall to the ground without it being God's will.

"So don't be afraid; you are worth more than many sparrows." –Matthew 10:31

Simply beautiful. So, what does this mean? Does it mean that God loves you and everything is just a dream and you won't ever have to trials and heartbreaking hardships? *sigh* No. This is how real-life differs from dream-life: in real-life we can't just wake up and bid farewell to the bad dream. In dream-life we can weep for joy, because we know that it is all alright. Stop right there. Shouldn't that be the same reaction in the real, non-dream world? God still has us; nothing has changed. Nothing can change his love for us, and nothing can change His power and His will.

"I have loved you with an everlasting love; I have drawn you with loving-kindness" –Jeremiah 31:3

Moreover:

"…I know the plans I have for you," declares the LORD, "plans to prosper you and not to harm you, plans to give you hope and a future" –Jeremiah 29:11

Though life may look dire at the moment, difficulties in this life only make us stronger, and eventually, when we surpass the trials, we will emerge victorious in the Lord. Paul was onto something when he said:

    "Not only so, but we rejoice in our sufferings, because we know that suffering produces perseverance, perseverance, character, and character, hope." –Romans 5:3

We can literally 'wake-up," and see that God has us, even through the trials of this life. We can have joy, knowing that we are in His arms, because really, where else would we want to be? And we will have hope, because we know that God is going to take us through this. You can bet on it.

"And we know that in all things God works for the good of those who love him, who have been called according to his purpose." –Romans 8:28

What do you think? Let us talk…