You love me but you don’t know who I am. Just let me go. I’m here screaming out your name, crying out for your attention from the rooftops and yet you don’t hear. I’m waving a “look at me” flag in your face, but you’re too busy with anything and everything else. I’m here just on my knees, begging, pleading CRYING OUT for you to just love me, to just show me love.
And Nothing.
Dad.
Sunday, December 12, 2010
Sunday, December 5, 2010
The Son's Story
There are holes in his house that match the general size of his hands. His bedroom door has a crack in it. The knob of the front door has left a nasty little imprint on the foyer wall behind it from where he was stormed out. And then back in after his mother chased him outside. There are rubber marks in the driveway from the screeching of his tires and tread marks in the grass by the road from where he cut a turn too tightly in his road rage. There are marks of rage, pain, despair, and loneliness all over his house.
He doesn't live alone. Not technically.
The people who love him do not treat him or his other loved ones in such a way. The people he loves are 250 miles away, laughing and carrying on without him. Sure, they miss him, but they aren't going to cry themselves to sleep at night over his absence. Not every night at least. Not like he has done.
There's enough salt on these floors to stock a restaurant. There have been far too many tears spilled on his behalf. Because of him.
The house is afraid of his next out burst, and so is he. College is stressful enough without a phone call from your dad informing you of his departure from the house you grew up in. College is depressing enough sometimes without listing to you mom cry on and on about your father. College is lonely enough without knowing that your sister is a mere five feet away from your mother during these phone conversations, wishing she could help. Wanting to help.
Then he came home. Came home to help, both emotionally and financially. He came to be with one family while leaving another behind. One morning while getting dressed for work, his mother became strangely vocal for 7 30 am. She was laughing. No she was yelling. No she was pleading with her husband. He was doing something or would be doing something that would hurt her. Why couldn't he this. The son could see it and he had just woken up.
She cried. She didn't just cry. She wept. She mourned over the results of that conversation and quickly became a child. She was defeated and lonely and sad. Curled up on the couch like a puppy, she was actually whimpering aloud her husband's name and no one was there to help her.
Except her son.
He put down everything and rushed over. He was in disbelief that this was happening, that someone could be so upset over the emotional loss of a person that they would crawl into the fetal position on the couch. And then the hypocrite son looked around at the house he was systematically destroying and took a deep, humble breath. Holding his mother like a child in his arms, he knew he had not been the source of strength and love that everyone needed at that time.
Where was his source? Where was his loving embrace? That's what he missed most about his father during the days and nights that he didn't see him: his touch. He spoke to him on the phone. He shared daily life's events with him over texts, but he rarely got to hug his father. The half-felt, one-arm side hugs were not good enough and in fact, they made his father seem distant and afraid of commitment to the family - which he was.
Nights are scariest, because his mind is still in gear while his body tells him to shut it down. His emotions are wrecked from the day's events, but his mind wants to think through things and remember and ask why why why?
Why did Dad leave? Why won't he come back? Why does Mom treat him like a hotel quest but me like an employee when we get home from work.
When will I see my father again?
He was now laying in bed in the middle of the night, thinking about the "good times". These entailed his mom and dad being united - against him. They would open season on their son all year round and lay into him for the most trivial of mistakes. Sure, they were trying to teach him a lesson, but the spit coming out of his father's mouth while he just screamed at his son showed their true intentions.
And these were the good times.
And yet, he laid there wanting to hold his dad close. He knew he was lonely. He could imagine him there in a one bedroom apartment, away from his family, away from his home, but too damn prideful to change the situation.
He could imagine his mother and sister in their rooms down the hall, both silently sobbing themselves to sleep while he watched TV. And all of this made him think back, strangely, to playing catch with his dad at 12 years old. His only goal then was to show his dad how much he had improved as a ball player. All he wanted was his father's approval. He just wanted attention and love and for his dad to be proud of him.
He wanted his mother and sister to feel safe around him and to be comforted by his strong words of encouragement. He didn't want to be the crazy one running around punching holes in walls. Oh, God, what had he become.
And all of these thoughts were now rushing around in his mind, heart, and soul. It was nearly two in the morning, but he couldn't cry himself to sleep. He had gone beyond that emotional point; nothing made him cry anymore.
He laid there looking at the old glove he and his father had played catch with, and hugged it tight. He could not cry himself to sleep this night. All he could do was hold on to himself for dear life. He would have to hug himself.
No one else would.
He doesn't live alone. Not technically.
The people who love him do not treat him or his other loved ones in such a way. The people he loves are 250 miles away, laughing and carrying on without him. Sure, they miss him, but they aren't going to cry themselves to sleep at night over his absence. Not every night at least. Not like he has done.
There's enough salt on these floors to stock a restaurant. There have been far too many tears spilled on his behalf. Because of him.
The house is afraid of his next out burst, and so is he. College is stressful enough without a phone call from your dad informing you of his departure from the house you grew up in. College is depressing enough sometimes without listing to you mom cry on and on about your father. College is lonely enough without knowing that your sister is a mere five feet away from your mother during these phone conversations, wishing she could help. Wanting to help.
Then he came home. Came home to help, both emotionally and financially. He came to be with one family while leaving another behind. One morning while getting dressed for work, his mother became strangely vocal for 7 30 am. She was laughing. No she was yelling. No she was pleading with her husband. He was doing something or would be doing something that would hurt her. Why couldn't he this. The son could see it and he had just woken up.
She cried. She didn't just cry. She wept. She mourned over the results of that conversation and quickly became a child. She was defeated and lonely and sad. Curled up on the couch like a puppy, she was actually whimpering aloud her husband's name and no one was there to help her.
Except her son.
He put down everything and rushed over. He was in disbelief that this was happening, that someone could be so upset over the emotional loss of a person that they would crawl into the fetal position on the couch. And then the hypocrite son looked around at the house he was systematically destroying and took a deep, humble breath. Holding his mother like a child in his arms, he knew he had not been the source of strength and love that everyone needed at that time.
Where was his source? Where was his loving embrace? That's what he missed most about his father during the days and nights that he didn't see him: his touch. He spoke to him on the phone. He shared daily life's events with him over texts, but he rarely got to hug his father. The half-felt, one-arm side hugs were not good enough and in fact, they made his father seem distant and afraid of commitment to the family - which he was.
Nights are scariest, because his mind is still in gear while his body tells him to shut it down. His emotions are wrecked from the day's events, but his mind wants to think through things and remember and ask why why why?
Why did Dad leave? Why won't he come back? Why does Mom treat him like a hotel quest but me like an employee when we get home from work.
When will I see my father again?
He was now laying in bed in the middle of the night, thinking about the "good times". These entailed his mom and dad being united - against him. They would open season on their son all year round and lay into him for the most trivial of mistakes. Sure, they were trying to teach him a lesson, but the spit coming out of his father's mouth while he just screamed at his son showed their true intentions.
And these were the good times.
And yet, he laid there wanting to hold his dad close. He knew he was lonely. He could imagine him there in a one bedroom apartment, away from his family, away from his home, but too damn prideful to change the situation.
He could imagine his mother and sister in their rooms down the hall, both silently sobbing themselves to sleep while he watched TV. And all of this made him think back, strangely, to playing catch with his dad at 12 years old. His only goal then was to show his dad how much he had improved as a ball player. All he wanted was his father's approval. He just wanted attention and love and for his dad to be proud of him.
He wanted his mother and sister to feel safe around him and to be comforted by his strong words of encouragement. He didn't want to be the crazy one running around punching holes in walls. Oh, God, what had he become.
And all of these thoughts were now rushing around in his mind, heart, and soul. It was nearly two in the morning, but he couldn't cry himself to sleep. He had gone beyond that emotional point; nothing made him cry anymore.
He laid there looking at the old glove he and his father had played catch with, and hugged it tight. He could not cry himself to sleep this night. All he could do was hold on to himself for dear life. He would have to hug himself.
No one else would.
Saturday, December 4, 2010
The Daughter's Stoy
She wasn't a little girl anymore, even though sometimes she didn't mind being treated like one. Responsibilities were expected as her junior year came to a close and her high school one began. What was not expected was that she would play marriage counselor for her separated parents.
A lot of things come along unexpected. Grief, in her case, was not one of them. She was used to loss by now, but not of this magnitude. She was not ready to lose her dad emotionally and have him be all but absent for her life. It was not expected that her mother, her strong-willed, playful, hard-working mother, would turn into a shell-shocked traumatic victim who would have to take a week off of work because she couldn't go five minutes without bawling. It was not expected that her parents would separate.
She had always been a very family oriented person, but her tendency to bottle emotions up and turn inward upon herself to cope with situations lead some to believe that she would rather be left alone. When she found out that her parents were splitting up, and, more importantly, that her father was moving out of the house, she couldn't handle.
Her brother was up at college and a little part of her resented him for that. He wasn't there to share in the pain of physically seeing their mother absolutely shut down. She spent countless nights crying both of them to sleep on the couch. Waking up the next day to the lonely realization that they were truly alone together only brought them closer. That's not to say that the mother and daughter didn't see things differently, but for the most part they teamed up and began to blame Dad.
And now tonight, of all nights, she was sitting at the harbor with her boyfriend, pleading with him to "just do this one thing" for her. She was trying to impress upon him how important her faith in God was, and was asking him to come to Church with her the next day. He just didn't get it. How could her boyfriend, who had been with her through everything over the last seven months, not see that the number one priority in her life was God? The fact that he couldn't proven to her that he didn't need to be a priority.
She said goodbye.
And this hurt more than she thought should be allowed.
He left her there on the pier. Alone.
She was alone, and for the first time in seven months, the rest of the family was not. Her brother was on the verge of getting back to the place he loved to continue his college education and her parents were finally happy again under one roof. This made her feel even more alone. Why was everyone else becoming happier while she sat there crying on a boy that didn't think their relationship was important enough to go to church over?
She launched herself upward and stormed about the parking lot, cursing his name. She worked herself up into quite the rage. She marched over to the bank of shells lining the shore and in one fluid motion, swiped her hand down to pick one up, never stopping her motion, and hurled it into the ocean. It was rage. It was grief. It was unimaginable loss. And yet, it seemed to help. Her arm now sore from the sudden jerking about, she was able to take a deep breath and just take in the scene in front of her.
It wasn't pretty, what was happening to her, but a change indeed was occurring. It didn't mean that she shouldn't be devastated over the loss of yet another important person in her life, but the girl took hope in the fact that everyone around her seemed to be making progress, so why shouldn't she?
The tears now streaming down her face in a weird joyful sadness were being almost immediately dried by the blowing, salty wind off of the Gulf. She let it out right then and there in the harbor parking lot across from McDonald's and the BP gas station. She let out all of the pain from the last seven months that had been needlessly inflicted on her. She let out the separation. She let out the arguments. She let out her brother's rage at her over the most meaningless crap. She let out her boyfriend telling her "it's just not important enough" to go to Church with her. She let out "it's a waste of time."
Screw all of them.
And, at the same time, she missed all of them and wanted them all back.
This was pain. This was realization. This was being fixed. This was progress. This was joy.
This was God.
A lot of things come along unexpected. Grief, in her case, was not one of them. She was used to loss by now, but not of this magnitude. She was not ready to lose her dad emotionally and have him be all but absent for her life. It was not expected that her mother, her strong-willed, playful, hard-working mother, would turn into a shell-shocked traumatic victim who would have to take a week off of work because she couldn't go five minutes without bawling. It was not expected that her parents would separate.
She had always been a very family oriented person, but her tendency to bottle emotions up and turn inward upon herself to cope with situations lead some to believe that she would rather be left alone. When she found out that her parents were splitting up, and, more importantly, that her father was moving out of the house, she couldn't handle.
Her brother was up at college and a little part of her resented him for that. He wasn't there to share in the pain of physically seeing their mother absolutely shut down. She spent countless nights crying both of them to sleep on the couch. Waking up the next day to the lonely realization that they were truly alone together only brought them closer. That's not to say that the mother and daughter didn't see things differently, but for the most part they teamed up and began to blame Dad.
And now tonight, of all nights, she was sitting at the harbor with her boyfriend, pleading with him to "just do this one thing" for her. She was trying to impress upon him how important her faith in God was, and was asking him to come to Church with her the next day. He just didn't get it. How could her boyfriend, who had been with her through everything over the last seven months, not see that the number one priority in her life was God? The fact that he couldn't proven to her that he didn't need to be a priority.
She said goodbye.
And this hurt more than she thought should be allowed.
He left her there on the pier. Alone.
She was alone, and for the first time in seven months, the rest of the family was not. Her brother was on the verge of getting back to the place he loved to continue his college education and her parents were finally happy again under one roof. This made her feel even more alone. Why was everyone else becoming happier while she sat there crying on a boy that didn't think their relationship was important enough to go to church over?
She launched herself upward and stormed about the parking lot, cursing his name. She worked herself up into quite the rage. She marched over to the bank of shells lining the shore and in one fluid motion, swiped her hand down to pick one up, never stopping her motion, and hurled it into the ocean. It was rage. It was grief. It was unimaginable loss. And yet, it seemed to help. Her arm now sore from the sudden jerking about, she was able to take a deep breath and just take in the scene in front of her.
It wasn't pretty, what was happening to her, but a change indeed was occurring. It didn't mean that she shouldn't be devastated over the loss of yet another important person in her life, but the girl took hope in the fact that everyone around her seemed to be making progress, so why shouldn't she?
The tears now streaming down her face in a weird joyful sadness were being almost immediately dried by the blowing, salty wind off of the Gulf. She let it out right then and there in the harbor parking lot across from McDonald's and the BP gas station. She let out all of the pain from the last seven months that had been needlessly inflicted on her. She let out the separation. She let out the arguments. She let out her brother's rage at her over the most meaningless crap. She let out her boyfriend telling her "it's just not important enough" to go to Church with her. She let out "it's a waste of time."
Screw all of them.
And, at the same time, she missed all of them and wanted them all back.
This was pain. This was realization. This was being fixed. This was progress. This was joy.
This was God.
Her Story
She turned off "Letterman" and for a moment was temporarily blind. As her eyes adjusted to the dim light, she felt around for her robe and walked gingerly out of her bedroom and into the hallway. She stumbled, yawning, down the empty hallway past her daughter's room, and then past her son's room. Both of them were empty, dark, and cold; their inhabitants were gone for the night.
She opened the refrigerator and eyed some Chinese food from the night before, and then convinced herself to stay the course by settling for a cup of yogurt. She closed the fridge with a sigh and a forlorn look on her face. The impact of her situation hit her hardest at night. Her brain was still in high gear but there was nothing stimulating her to focus on anything else, so her thoughts drifted toward the depressive.
Opening the door to invite out the family dog, she noticed a slight chill in the air, and was happy for her warm robe. It was early December and "beginning to look a lot like Christmas" everywhere she went, except for her home. With no one there to decorate for, what was the use?
And owl hooted off in the distance and sharpened her gaze. She caught a shimmer of the bright moon reflecting off of the water and allowed her thoughts to take over. She was taken back to April, when he told her enough was enough and that he didn't want to argue in front of their daughter any more. He said he would make the call to their son who was in college if she would tell their high school senior living 5 feet down the hall. Neither child took it very well.
Neither did she. Nights were bad, but the work days were as well. It was a chore to see people at work, at lunch, or even on TV whom she knew were married. It was silly and self-absorbed, but she couldn't understand how all of these people could smile 24/7 while she was in such emotional pain.
She couldn't sleep in an empty bed. She couldn't cook for three. She couldn't make coffee for one. She couldn't go about daily life knowing that the man she loved had made a conscious choice to be away from her indefinitely. The one or two times a week he did come over, he was distant and cold. He spoke mainly with the kids about their goings-on and didn't want any attention or affection from her, even though she was more than willing to give it.
A squirrel somewhere up in a tree snapped a twig that snapped her back to reality. The emptiness of the house behind her was too big to comprehend. While the kids were only gone for the night on a visit to the son's university for a football game, she felt like everyone she loved was thousands of miles away.
She stood slowly and gazed out over the back yard her children and husband had once run around in with joyful voices and laughs: truly in love. The creak of the screen door was louder than she remembered and echoed throughout the whole of the house. The pat-pat-pat of her bare feet across the wooden floor alerted the dog to her presence. At least she would have a warm body in the bed with her tonight.
The tissue box on her nightstand would be active tonight, as a single, large tear fell from her eyes and to her sheets as she laid down. Turning to face a picture of her family, all together and smiling, she loving stroked the frame and whispered "I miss y'all".
She turned over and curled up into a little ball. Here laid a grown woman, truly afraid and truly alone. Who would hold her as she cried tonight?
She opened the refrigerator and eyed some Chinese food from the night before, and then convinced herself to stay the course by settling for a cup of yogurt. She closed the fridge with a sigh and a forlorn look on her face. The impact of her situation hit her hardest at night. Her brain was still in high gear but there was nothing stimulating her to focus on anything else, so her thoughts drifted toward the depressive.
Opening the door to invite out the family dog, she noticed a slight chill in the air, and was happy for her warm robe. It was early December and "beginning to look a lot like Christmas" everywhere she went, except for her home. With no one there to decorate for, what was the use?
And owl hooted off in the distance and sharpened her gaze. She caught a shimmer of the bright moon reflecting off of the water and allowed her thoughts to take over. She was taken back to April, when he told her enough was enough and that he didn't want to argue in front of their daughter any more. He said he would make the call to their son who was in college if she would tell their high school senior living 5 feet down the hall. Neither child took it very well.
Neither did she. Nights were bad, but the work days were as well. It was a chore to see people at work, at lunch, or even on TV whom she knew were married. It was silly and self-absorbed, but she couldn't understand how all of these people could smile 24/7 while she was in such emotional pain.
She couldn't sleep in an empty bed. She couldn't cook for three. She couldn't make coffee for one. She couldn't go about daily life knowing that the man she loved had made a conscious choice to be away from her indefinitely. The one or two times a week he did come over, he was distant and cold. He spoke mainly with the kids about their goings-on and didn't want any attention or affection from her, even though she was more than willing to give it.
A squirrel somewhere up in a tree snapped a twig that snapped her back to reality. The emptiness of the house behind her was too big to comprehend. While the kids were only gone for the night on a visit to the son's university for a football game, she felt like everyone she loved was thousands of miles away.
She stood slowly and gazed out over the back yard her children and husband had once run around in with joyful voices and laughs: truly in love. The creak of the screen door was louder than she remembered and echoed throughout the whole of the house. The pat-pat-pat of her bare feet across the wooden floor alerted the dog to her presence. At least she would have a warm body in the bed with her tonight.
The tissue box on her nightstand would be active tonight, as a single, large tear fell from her eyes and to her sheets as she laid down. Turning to face a picture of her family, all together and smiling, she loving stroked the frame and whispered "I miss y'all".
She turned over and curled up into a little ball. Here laid a grown woman, truly afraid and truly alone. Who would hold her as she cried tonight?
His Story
Sometimes, you can look outside and know that it is cold. The trees have lost most of their leaves, the sky is gray and distant, the sun leaves a more shallow glow than normal, and everything around just seems....cold.
The middle-aged man driving home from work one evening in December noticed all of these things, and sighed. A book could be written about all of the thoughts and unsaid words that were put into the feelings expressing that sigh. The steering wheel slid effortlessly through his fingers as he pulled into the still unfamiliar apartment complex and parked his Honda coupe for the evening. He wouldn't be going anywhere, and no one would be coming to him. He entered his apartment with these thoughts bouncing around in his head like a grenade dropped into a tank.
TV on the News. Shoes off. Computer on. Routine. No one to talk to, no one to ask how his day was, or to tell him about theirs. Just him and the walls that he called "home". Except really, he didn't. He called it "my apartment". Home. There was no home right now. Home had been invaded by 3 people he used to call his wife and children. Now he called them. Literally. His main contact with his 20 year old son, 17 year old high school senior daughter, and separated-from wife was his cell phone. He now knew what it must be like to have teenager hands. Always grasping for the phone. Noticing when the hands didn't feel the weight of the wireless communication device. Checking it every ten minutes for a text message or missed call from his son, daughter, or wife, whom he loved very dearly: all of them.
It was now 6 pm, and time for dinner. He walked out of the living room and right through the dining room in one step to get to the kitchen. He still knocked various body parts against various kitchen equipment as he got used to the confined spaces. The confined spaces in his apartment, heart, soul, and life. Everything was compartmentalized. Wake. Work. Lunch. More work. Drive. "Home". Sleep. No Church. "Family" when he could.
His phone buzzed in "vibrate" mode on the coffee table a few feet, and rooms, away and he nervously dropped everything to answer. Could this be an invite for dinner? Or the ball game?
"Missed you these last few days. Hope your trip was fun. Come see me. I love you," read the text from his son. A smile instantly grew across his face and he slowly replied "See U tonight".
The separated husband and father then jumped in his car, ready to see his son's smiling face. But he knew that he would still be perceived as an outsider, and treated as a guest by his wife. She tended to his every need, and he knew she was trying to make him want to come back. He couldn't do it. Not tonight. It was too stressful.
He called his wife and told her there was an emergency at work. He had to go in and tend to the night shift (he was head of psychology at mental hospital) and would not be able to "stop by" tonight. He knew his son was just shaking his head at his mom saying "That's ok then, hope to see you tomorrow".
The husband, father, and man trudged inside and laid down on the couch. He started singing songs he had once sung to his children out loud. He hummed the song that he and his wife danced to at their wedding, 23 years ago. The man went into his bedroom with 23 years of memories, and 7 months full of regrets.
He turned to a picture of his family on his bedside and stroked it lovingly.
"I miss y'all," he whispered as a single, giant, wet tear streamed down his face and fell on to his sheets. He rolled over on his mattress - mattress not a bed, and attempted to fall asleep. Alone.
The middle-aged man driving home from work one evening in December noticed all of these things, and sighed. A book could be written about all of the thoughts and unsaid words that were put into the feelings expressing that sigh. The steering wheel slid effortlessly through his fingers as he pulled into the still unfamiliar apartment complex and parked his Honda coupe for the evening. He wouldn't be going anywhere, and no one would be coming to him. He entered his apartment with these thoughts bouncing around in his head like a grenade dropped into a tank.
TV on the News. Shoes off. Computer on. Routine. No one to talk to, no one to ask how his day was, or to tell him about theirs. Just him and the walls that he called "home". Except really, he didn't. He called it "my apartment". Home. There was no home right now. Home had been invaded by 3 people he used to call his wife and children. Now he called them. Literally. His main contact with his 20 year old son, 17 year old high school senior daughter, and separated-from wife was his cell phone. He now knew what it must be like to have teenager hands. Always grasping for the phone. Noticing when the hands didn't feel the weight of the wireless communication device. Checking it every ten minutes for a text message or missed call from his son, daughter, or wife, whom he loved very dearly: all of them.
It was now 6 pm, and time for dinner. He walked out of the living room and right through the dining room in one step to get to the kitchen. He still knocked various body parts against various kitchen equipment as he got used to the confined spaces. The confined spaces in his apartment, heart, soul, and life. Everything was compartmentalized. Wake. Work. Lunch. More work. Drive. "Home". Sleep. No Church. "Family" when he could.
His phone buzzed in "vibrate" mode on the coffee table a few feet, and rooms, away and he nervously dropped everything to answer. Could this be an invite for dinner? Or the ball game?
"Missed you these last few days. Hope your trip was fun. Come see me. I love you," read the text from his son. A smile instantly grew across his face and he slowly replied "See U tonight".
The separated husband and father then jumped in his car, ready to see his son's smiling face. But he knew that he would still be perceived as an outsider, and treated as a guest by his wife. She tended to his every need, and he knew she was trying to make him want to come back. He couldn't do it. Not tonight. It was too stressful.
He called his wife and told her there was an emergency at work. He had to go in and tend to the night shift (he was head of psychology at mental hospital) and would not be able to "stop by" tonight. He knew his son was just shaking his head at his mom saying "That's ok then, hope to see you tomorrow".
The husband, father, and man trudged inside and laid down on the couch. He started singing songs he had once sung to his children out loud. He hummed the song that he and his wife danced to at their wedding, 23 years ago. The man went into his bedroom with 23 years of memories, and 7 months full of regrets.
He turned to a picture of his family on his bedside and stroked it lovingly.
"I miss y'all," he whispered as a single, giant, wet tear streamed down his face and fell on to his sheets. He rolled over on his mattress - mattress not a bed, and attempted to fall asleep. Alone.
Thursday, December 2, 2010
Where I am right now
How do I feel right now?
For starters, I’m physically tired. I’ve been working my butt off at the store the last month and it’s wearing on me. I need to get to sleep earlier, but when I get home at 7 each night, there’s so much that I want to do and talk or write about that I end up staying up too late to do it. Today is a welcomed day off, and I was finally able to sleep in for a few hours.
I’m content that my father has moved back in and things seem to be going smoothly between all four of us. I haven’t had any major blow ups with Mom, Dad, or Grace, and the parents seem genuinely happy. I know that there is still work to be done to by all of us to solve some heavy burdens on our hearts, but progress is being made, and for that, I am content.
I am proud of my sister. She recently broke things off with her boyfriend because he refused to come to church with us. He said it wasn’t important to him and that she was making too big of a deal about it. Hearing her talk about why they broke up was saddening to me, but I also saw a light in her, and I know that she is a woman of God. To have the strength and courage to stand by your beliefs at 17 years old and break up with your high school boyfriend because of them is incredibly mature and brave, and I am excited about having her at MSU next year.
I am excited about the coming month’s plans. I’m finally starting to get in the “Christmas spriit” and I want to get my family members something nice, but something meaningful at the same time. I want each gift to the 3 of them to be significant of the help and support they have given me over these past 6 months. I’m also excited about the trip I am taking to Asheville, NC for an Avett Brothers concert at the end of the month. Hopefully, this will coincide with a certain Bulldog football game in Atlanta the next day.
I am apprehensive about going back to school in January. I can’t wait to get back to the place and people I love and miss, but at the same time, I have been away and out of the loop for a solid six months. I hope that I am able to push aside all distractions and make school the priority it has to be in my life for me to stay in Starkville. I also hope that the relationships I value so much will continue to grow and blossom with God. I value my relationship with God and the people He has placed in my life above everything else, and I don’t ever want to lose those people again.
All in all I would say I’m at a good place right now, and it’s only getting better. I’m writing and reading more. I’m planning trips with friends, and planning on getting back to Starkville, MS, in order to study to become a writer.
Things are looking pretty good at the moment.
Praise the Lord.
For starters, I’m physically tired. I’ve been working my butt off at the store the last month and it’s wearing on me. I need to get to sleep earlier, but when I get home at 7 each night, there’s so much that I want to do and talk or write about that I end up staying up too late to do it. Today is a welcomed day off, and I was finally able to sleep in for a few hours.
I’m content that my father has moved back in and things seem to be going smoothly between all four of us. I haven’t had any major blow ups with Mom, Dad, or Grace, and the parents seem genuinely happy. I know that there is still work to be done to by all of us to solve some heavy burdens on our hearts, but progress is being made, and for that, I am content.
I am proud of my sister. She recently broke things off with her boyfriend because he refused to come to church with us. He said it wasn’t important to him and that she was making too big of a deal about it. Hearing her talk about why they broke up was saddening to me, but I also saw a light in her, and I know that she is a woman of God. To have the strength and courage to stand by your beliefs at 17 years old and break up with your high school boyfriend because of them is incredibly mature and brave, and I am excited about having her at MSU next year.
I am excited about the coming month’s plans. I’m finally starting to get in the “Christmas spriit” and I want to get my family members something nice, but something meaningful at the same time. I want each gift to the 3 of them to be significant of the help and support they have given me over these past 6 months. I’m also excited about the trip I am taking to Asheville, NC for an Avett Brothers concert at the end of the month. Hopefully, this will coincide with a certain Bulldog football game in Atlanta the next day.
I am apprehensive about going back to school in January. I can’t wait to get back to the place and people I love and miss, but at the same time, I have been away and out of the loop for a solid six months. I hope that I am able to push aside all distractions and make school the priority it has to be in my life for me to stay in Starkville. I also hope that the relationships I value so much will continue to grow and blossom with God. I value my relationship with God and the people He has placed in my life above everything else, and I don’t ever want to lose those people again.
All in all I would say I’m at a good place right now, and it’s only getting better. I’m writing and reading more. I’m planning trips with friends, and planning on getting back to Starkville, MS, in order to study to become a writer.
Things are looking pretty good at the moment.
Praise the Lord.
Wednesday, December 1, 2010
A look my mind's thought process
A Picture of the Mind of a Writer:
A dog sitting on the floor
I was floored by what you said.
What you said hurt me
Ouch
Ouch Charley OUCH
British
Harry Potter
Books
Authors
Writers who sit at a coffee shop table
My future?
Coffee…mmmm
Waking up
Work
Work
Work
Not in Starkville
Home
Bulldawgs, 8-4, football win
Brett Favre Drew Brees
Saints
Superbowl
Saints
Win
Clark, my roommate
Not in Starkville
Depression
Alone
Mom and Dad split up
But now they’re back together!
They lied?
Like the web of a spider
Lies
Spider
Back to the start
Coldplay lyrics
Concert
Avett Brothers concert coming up
Starkville
Clark, my roommate
Brother
Sister
Grace
God’s grace
Church
Youth group, youth minister music
Guitar, concerts
Avett Brothers who are a great acoustic band
Starkville AGAIN
Again again words
Typing on my “new computer”
New because I got a new keyboard and powercord
Expanding thoughts now
Simplicity
Coffee shop simplicity
Dog sitting on the floor
Dog
What is she thinking?
Thinking
Mind
The mind thinks like mine?
Ha rhyming
Wait I missed the loop
Back to the start
A picture of the mind of a writer
A dog sitting on the floor
I was floored by what you said.
What you said hurt me
Ouch
Ouch Charley OUCH
British
Harry Potter
Books
Authors
Writers who sit at a coffee shop table
My future?
Coffee…mmmm
Waking up
Work
Work
Work
Not in Starkville
Home
Bulldawgs, 8-4, football win
Brett Favre Drew Brees
Saints
Superbowl
Saints
Win
Clark, my roommate
Not in Starkville
Depression
Alone
Mom and Dad split up
But now they’re back together!
They lied?
Like the web of a spider
Lies
Spider
Back to the start
Coldplay lyrics
Concert
Avett Brothers concert coming up
Starkville
Clark, my roommate
Brother
Sister
Grace
God’s grace
Church
Youth group, youth minister music
Guitar, concerts
Avett Brothers who are a great acoustic band
Starkville AGAIN
Again again words
Typing on my “new computer”
New because I got a new keyboard and powercord
Expanding thoughts now
Simplicity
Coffee shop simplicity
Dog sitting on the floor
Dog
What is she thinking?
Thinking
Mind
The mind thinks like mine?
Ha rhyming
Wait I missed the loop
Back to the start
A picture of the mind of a writer
Saturday, November 27, 2010
The Awesomeness of the Egg Bowl
Mississippi State has beaten the University of Mississippi in their annual football rivalry game for the second year in a row. This has been stated many different ways by many different people, but the fact remains, “there’s certainly one program in this state that’s on the rise and headed in the right direction.”
So why is the 2010 Egg Bowl victory for Mississippi State so awesome? Well I’ll hazard a shot at an explanation.
- This is the first time MSU has won the Egg bowl back-to-back since ’98 and ’99. The last time MSU won 3 in a row was 1940-1942. Cue Dan Mullen, “We plan on partying like its 1940. Also, MSU last, and only, (unofficial) National Championship was 1941.
- The win puts us at 8-4 (4-4 SEC) and in line to go to the Chick-Fil-A Bowl (formerly Peach) in Atlanta on New Year’s Eve.
-If we had lost, MSU fans could at least use the “better season, actual bowl” excuse
that Mississippi fans used last year. But we didn’t. So we can say both.
-If we had lost, Mississippi fans could recite the score like we did last year (41-27, by the way). They would use this as a counter-argument when we called them the Care-Bears or the Fightin’ Yogis. But we didn’t.
-If we had lost, MSU fans would be forced to endure the miserable weather and condition of the Liberty Bowl in Memphis. But we didn’t.
-The win is big for the next several years as we continue to recruit the State of Mississippi hard. We have already “stolen” two recruits (Market and Brassell) from South Panola, which is traditionally a Univ of Mississippi funnel program. Why would recruits want to play for the SEC school in Mississippi where fans don’t show up? If you thought MSU had a jump in attendance THIS year, just wait. I hope Scott Stricklin and company are working on those expansion plans.
-There will be 53,123 people at the Maroon and White spring game this year.
- Dan wants to stay at a program where he can build it up. He’s always said he wants to get this team to Atlanta (for the SEC Championship game). He has definitely earned his paycheck and more this season and we treat him and his family right, I think he’ll want to stay here for a long time.
-LaDarius Perkins, Chris Relf and Vick Ballard: need I say more?
-I do? The loss of Anthony “Boobie” Dixon was a worry for many a bulldog faithful over the off-season. While one can never replace “The Prophet”, the Bulldogs have definitely grinded it out in Boobie’s honor this season as he grinds on in San Francisco. Chris Relf threw, yes threw, for 288 yards. Perkins had 238 total yards. Ballard has been a rock all season and, while he didn’t have a stellar game stat-wise, Mississippi had to stack the box against him and allowed room for players like Perkins on the outside. 498 total yards from our beloved Bulldogs. 498.
-The Golden Egg stays in our trophy case in Starkville and the Mississippi Black Bears go into hibernation for the winter.
-MSU 31, UM 23. I love Mississippi State University.
So why is the 2010 Egg Bowl victory for Mississippi State so awesome? Well I’ll hazard a shot at an explanation.
- This is the first time MSU has won the Egg bowl back-to-back since ’98 and ’99. The last time MSU won 3 in a row was 1940-1942. Cue Dan Mullen, “We plan on partying like its 1940. Also, MSU last, and only, (unofficial) National Championship was 1941.
- The win puts us at 8-4 (4-4 SEC) and in line to go to the Chick-Fil-A Bowl (formerly Peach) in Atlanta on New Year’s Eve.
-If we had lost, MSU fans could at least use the “better season, actual bowl” excuse
that Mississippi fans used last year. But we didn’t. So we can say both.
-If we had lost, Mississippi fans could recite the score like we did last year (41-27, by the way). They would use this as a counter-argument when we called them the Care-Bears or the Fightin’ Yogis. But we didn’t.
-If we had lost, MSU fans would be forced to endure the miserable weather and condition of the Liberty Bowl in Memphis. But we didn’t.
-The win is big for the next several years as we continue to recruit the State of Mississippi hard. We have already “stolen” two recruits (Market and Brassell) from South Panola, which is traditionally a Univ of Mississippi funnel program. Why would recruits want to play for the SEC school in Mississippi where fans don’t show up? If you thought MSU had a jump in attendance THIS year, just wait. I hope Scott Stricklin and company are working on those expansion plans.
-There will be 53,123 people at the Maroon and White spring game this year.
- Dan wants to stay at a program where he can build it up. He’s always said he wants to get this team to Atlanta (for the SEC Championship game). He has definitely earned his paycheck and more this season and we treat him and his family right, I think he’ll want to stay here for a long time.
-LaDarius Perkins, Chris Relf and Vick Ballard: need I say more?
-I do? The loss of Anthony “Boobie” Dixon was a worry for many a bulldog faithful over the off-season. While one can never replace “The Prophet”, the Bulldogs have definitely grinded it out in Boobie’s honor this season as he grinds on in San Francisco. Chris Relf threw, yes threw, for 288 yards. Perkins had 238 total yards. Ballard has been a rock all season and, while he didn’t have a stellar game stat-wise, Mississippi had to stack the box against him and allowed room for players like Perkins on the outside. 498 total yards from our beloved Bulldogs. 498.
-The Golden Egg stays in our trophy case in Starkville and the Mississippi Black Bears go into hibernation for the winter.
-MSU 31, UM 23. I love Mississippi State University.
Monday, November 22, 2010
Alex and Ernest, with a side of Tobasco
The grass blades flicked up and stuck upon the heel of Alex Stiebling’s right shoe. His left was perfectly clean, as that was hitting hard cement with ever other step. He must have looked a bit odd: running down the exact seam of park grass and sidewalk, one side recently wet, the other a designated place for the exact activity he was engaging in. However, Ernest did not care about what the people in the park thought of Alex’s running style. In fact, Ernest did not care about much at all, except for running. Oh, how he had wanted to run like this for several days now. He longed for the crisp autumn air and the feel of the wind against his face as he chased after nothing in particular. At least, one would reasonably assume Ernest was longing for these things. No one could know for sure because Ernest is a dog, and when he learns to communicate with humans, there will be bigger questions to ask than, “What do you think about when you run?”
Ernest might seem like a strange name for a dog, but Alex had a perfectly good reasoning for naming him such. Alex Stiebling is a writer by trade, and studying other writers is a passion of his. When his girlfriend brought a salt and pepper colored shepherd to his apartment three years ago as a birthday gift, Alex was at a loss for words for perhaps the first time in his life. He was amazed at the generosity of Emma (they had only been dating for two months prior to his twenty-fourth birthday) as well as the simple fact of a dog in his two –bedroom apartment. When Emma demanded a name in a cute huff of a voice, Alex fumbled over his decision before laying eyes on a copy of The Sun Also Rises, which was resting carelessly amongst papers and notes around his typewriter across the room. He jolted out “Ernest!”, which of course came from the famous novelist Ernest Hemingway, and Emma took to it right away.
Given his choice, Alex would have named the dog Tobasco, and called it “Toby” for short. However, he shouted out “Ernest!” and that was that. For the first few months of their time together, Alex called the dog “Toby” under his breath, but it never really seemed right. Perhaps it was the salt and pepper hair that gave him a distinguished look which demanded far more than “Toby”. Perhaps it was the fact that Alex knew if you put the dog on his haunches and up in a chair in front of a typewriter, he was a dead Hemingway look-a-like. Whatever the reason, the dog’s name was Ernest, and there was no going back on that.
Ernest might seem like a strange name for a dog, but Alex had a perfectly good reasoning for naming him such. Alex Stiebling is a writer by trade, and studying other writers is a passion of his. When his girlfriend brought a salt and pepper colored shepherd to his apartment three years ago as a birthday gift, Alex was at a loss for words for perhaps the first time in his life. He was amazed at the generosity of Emma (they had only been dating for two months prior to his twenty-fourth birthday) as well as the simple fact of a dog in his two –bedroom apartment. When Emma demanded a name in a cute huff of a voice, Alex fumbled over his decision before laying eyes on a copy of The Sun Also Rises, which was resting carelessly amongst papers and notes around his typewriter across the room. He jolted out “Ernest!”, which of course came from the famous novelist Ernest Hemingway, and Emma took to it right away.
Given his choice, Alex would have named the dog Tobasco, and called it “Toby” for short. However, he shouted out “Ernest!” and that was that. For the first few months of their time together, Alex called the dog “Toby” under his breath, but it never really seemed right. Perhaps it was the salt and pepper hair that gave him a distinguished look which demanded far more than “Toby”. Perhaps it was the fact that Alex knew if you put the dog on his haunches and up in a chair in front of a typewriter, he was a dead Hemingway look-a-like. Whatever the reason, the dog’s name was Ernest, and there was no going back on that.
Thursday, November 11, 2010
God Is Great: Prayers Answered
In the explosion that was CamTwitterGate today, I neglected to tell many of you the great news that I received last night: MY DAD'S MOVING BACK IN!!!!
I can't begin to describe how this makes my sister, mom, and me feel, but I will try in tomorrow's longer blog post. I'm exhausted right now and need sleep, but I am overjoyed to have my father back under the same roof as my mother 24 hours a day. What a blessing!
Matthew 11:28: "(and Jesus said,) "Come to me, all you who are weary and burdened, and I will give you rest."
I can't begin to describe how this makes my sister, mom, and me feel, but I will try in tomorrow's longer blog post. I'm exhausted right now and need sleep, but I am overjoyed to have my father back under the same roof as my mother 24 hours a day. What a blessing!
Matthew 11:28: "(and Jesus said,) "Come to me, all you who are weary and burdened, and I will give you rest."
Sunday, November 7, 2010
How and Why
Why? Why do you say that we do not want you back? Why do you allow us to cry out loud for your name while you do not answer? Why do you come, and then leave.
I want to know how you could allow such pain to come down upon yourself and us at the same time. I do not understand your pain, but I do believe that it exists. I feel it every time you walk in the door, only to leave a few hours later with a half-hearted hug and a "see you later". Neither of us knows when "later" will be. I cannot be mad, nor can I allow you to continue down this destructive path. You have to know what's going on at, what you used to call, home. We wake and cry. We eat and cry. WE drive, talk and sleep..... and cry. Do you?
Yes, I know that you do. I do not know why you left and I wish that you would tell me, and her, as I sit here each morning holding her tightly as she cries.... she cries out for you. WHY? I do not know. I do not understand. Why does she cry out for a man who acts like he no longer loves her. And why can't I be mad at you for that? WHY?
Why do I allow these tears to fall as I form these words about you in head every day. Spoken or unspoken, these words still come.
Dad.
Dad. I do not want to have to hug my mother at night because you aren't here to do so. I want to hug her as her son, not as some morphed view of the son and husband she once had. The two men in her life that she once relied on, both changing, and slipping away with each passing day, hour, minute. I do not want to tell you what's for dinner because you aren't here to smell and taste the food that your wife still cooks for four, instead of three. I do not want to pick up the paper every morning because you aren't here to take the dog out and peruse the sports section.... like you used to. Everything... like you used to. I do not want to, Dad, but I do.
Can't you see? Can't you hear? If so, then WHY aren't you here to feel? To feel our pain - to understand our relentlessness. We know of yours...so why do you not care of ours. In fact you DO. But how are we to know this?
I can see you now. Alone. Sitting on your couch watching your TV in your apartment away from your family. I see that through these blurry, wet eyes as I think about how alone I have felt and been these last seven months. AND I HATE IT. I know you hate it too. Now show me.
Please come back home.
I miss you.
I want to know how you could allow such pain to come down upon yourself and us at the same time. I do not understand your pain, but I do believe that it exists. I feel it every time you walk in the door, only to leave a few hours later with a half-hearted hug and a "see you later". Neither of us knows when "later" will be. I cannot be mad, nor can I allow you to continue down this destructive path. You have to know what's going on at, what you used to call, home. We wake and cry. We eat and cry. WE drive, talk and sleep..... and cry. Do you?
Yes, I know that you do. I do not know why you left and I wish that you would tell me, and her, as I sit here each morning holding her tightly as she cries.... she cries out for you. WHY? I do not know. I do not understand. Why does she cry out for a man who acts like he no longer loves her. And why can't I be mad at you for that? WHY?
Why do I allow these tears to fall as I form these words about you in head every day. Spoken or unspoken, these words still come.
Dad.
Dad. I do not want to have to hug my mother at night because you aren't here to do so. I want to hug her as her son, not as some morphed view of the son and husband she once had. The two men in her life that she once relied on, both changing, and slipping away with each passing day, hour, minute. I do not want to tell you what's for dinner because you aren't here to smell and taste the food that your wife still cooks for four, instead of three. I do not want to pick up the paper every morning because you aren't here to take the dog out and peruse the sports section.... like you used to. Everything... like you used to. I do not want to, Dad, but I do.
Can't you see? Can't you hear? If so, then WHY aren't you here to feel? To feel our pain - to understand our relentlessness. We know of yours...so why do you not care of ours. In fact you DO. But how are we to know this?
I can see you now. Alone. Sitting on your couch watching your TV in your apartment away from your family. I see that through these blurry, wet eyes as I think about how alone I have felt and been these last seven months. AND I HATE IT. I know you hate it too. Now show me.
Please come back home.
I miss you.
Tuesday, November 2, 2010
More thoughts on death, God, friends, life.
Nick Bell was 20 years old and lost his short battle with cancer this afternoon. I am 20 years old.
This is a sobering thought.
Nick Bell was a member of the Mississippi State football team, and I watched him play live and on TV. He is in a montage video shown leading the team out of the tunnel.
Three days ago, twitter, facebook, and the MSU message boards were inundated with anticipation over the upcoming elections and football results. Today, those same social networking sites help to spread the news of the mourning over the loss of a friend, brother, son, teammate, and much much more. God was clearly using people today to communicate the love and admiration they shared for one of His children.
I'm not a doctor, but from what I understand, the cancer Nick was diagnosed with is extremely rare. I am just glad that he did not suffer for very long, and that his family, both blood and bulldog, got to see him before he passed on into the hands of his savior. Nick was diagnosed with Synovial Sarcoma, which occurs in only 5-10% of new soft tissue sarcoma (one of the rarest forms of cancer in general) a year. So the cancer Nick had was one of the rarest of the rare forms of cancer. http://www.cancer.gov/cancertopics/factsheet/Sites-Types/synovial
We are taught, hopefully, that our God is sovereign and all-powerful. If we are to believe that God is all-power, and that God's glory reigns over-arching in every situation, then we have to believe that God was at work in Nick Bell's life, and, therefore, God was with Nick until the very end.
What happened at the Junction on MSU's campus tonight was very moving. If you weren't there or haven't heard, I'll link the video of several hundred bulldawgs gathering at 7:36 (7 wins this season for #36, Nick's number) to ring their bells for our Bell. It was very moving, very emotional, and very touching. After, from what I'm told, the group joined hands in an impromptu motion of unity, and sang the hymn, "Amazing Grace". All the while, everyone's hearts and minds were no doubt on Nick Bell, #36. http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=PtUchACSsqI&feature=player_embedded
The football team now needs our support more than ever. They have lost their brother, one of their own. While practice will be a distraction from the mourning, it will also be a daily reminder of where they saw and knew Nick the most: on the field, wearing maroon.
Every time we ring our bells, every time we put on maroon, and every time we pass by or step in Davis-Wade Stadium, may we do so with the knowledge that life is precious, and the memory of the great #36: our fallen brother bulldog. I wrote a small "RIP #36" on my bell tonight, and I encourage all of you to do the same. I look at my bell almost every day, and hopefully this will be a simple reminder of our dear bulldog, Nick.
We love and miss you Nick.
Edited to add: Sorry I can't work out the links right now. If you copy and past them into your URL bar, they should work.
This is a sobering thought.
Nick Bell was a member of the Mississippi State football team, and I watched him play live and on TV. He is in a montage video shown leading the team out of the tunnel.
Three days ago, twitter, facebook, and the MSU message boards were inundated with anticipation over the upcoming elections and football results. Today, those same social networking sites help to spread the news of the mourning over the loss of a friend, brother, son, teammate, and much much more. God was clearly using people today to communicate the love and admiration they shared for one of His children.
I'm not a doctor, but from what I understand, the cancer Nick was diagnosed with is extremely rare. I am just glad that he did not suffer for very long, and that his family, both blood and bulldog, got to see him before he passed on into the hands of his savior. Nick was diagnosed with Synovial Sarcoma, which occurs in only 5-10% of new soft tissue sarcoma (one of the rarest forms of cancer in general) a year. So the cancer Nick had was one of the rarest of the rare forms of cancer. http://www.cancer.gov/cancertopics/factsheet/Sites-Types/synovial
We are taught, hopefully, that our God is sovereign and all-powerful. If we are to believe that God is all-power, and that God's glory reigns over-arching in every situation, then we have to believe that God was at work in Nick Bell's life, and, therefore, God was with Nick until the very end.
What happened at the Junction on MSU's campus tonight was very moving. If you weren't there or haven't heard, I'll link the video of several hundred bulldawgs gathering at 7:36 (7 wins this season for #36, Nick's number) to ring their bells for our Bell. It was very moving, very emotional, and very touching. After, from what I'm told, the group joined hands in an impromptu motion of unity, and sang the hymn, "Amazing Grace". All the while, everyone's hearts and minds were no doubt on Nick Bell, #36. http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=PtUchACSsqI&feature=player_embedded
The football team now needs our support more than ever. They have lost their brother, one of their own. While practice will be a distraction from the mourning, it will also be a daily reminder of where they saw and knew Nick the most: on the field, wearing maroon.
Every time we ring our bells, every time we put on maroon, and every time we pass by or step in Davis-Wade Stadium, may we do so with the knowledge that life is precious, and the memory of the great #36: our fallen brother bulldog. I wrote a small "RIP #36" on my bell tonight, and I encourage all of you to do the same. I look at my bell almost every day, and hopefully this will be a simple reminder of our dear bulldog, Nick.
We love and miss you Nick.
Edited to add: Sorry I can't work out the links right now. If you copy and past them into your URL bar, they should work.
Putting things in perspective: RIP Nick Bell
I'll be short. In 30 minutes I will step outside to honor a fallen Bulldog. Nick Bell, 20, lost a short battle with cancer this morning. I hate that cliche, really, because "loss" implies that there is nothing to look forward to. Yes, he lost his physical life, but Nick Bell will gain so much more in the next one. Christ has called Nick home, provided he is a Christian, and I hope that his family finds hope and peace in this fact. I know I do.
Everything else seems so trivial now.
36 clangs for #36 at 7:36.
Rest in Peace, Nick. You were loved. You will be missed.
Everything else seems so trivial now.
36 clangs for #36 at 7:36.
Rest in Peace, Nick. You were loved. You will be missed.
Monday, November 1, 2010
The people, not the place
Kind of a more laid back post today...just some thoughts from the weekend:
I'm a people person. I love to be around people...especially friends...especially friends at Mississippi State. I went up to Starkville this weekend to see MSU beat Kentucky (to go 7-2 and be ranked 20). I fell in love with the city and people all over again, as I have every time I've visited this year. I realized that it wasn't where I was that lead to me having a great weekend, but rather, who I was with.
This semester of being at home instead of MSU and working instead of taking classes would be much easier on me if my friends were with me as I went through it. But then, what would be the point of the lesson that God is teaching me?
What I'm saying is this: it's not where you are, what you do, or how you do it that make the best memories; it's who you share those memories with that make them so special.
When Johnathon Banks picked off Tim Tebow last year and returned it 100+ yards for a TD, the entire stadium went absolutely insane. I don't remember anything that happened after Banks hit the 50 yard line, because I was engulfed in the biggest group hug on record. The entire student section was embracing itself. It was magic.
A very similar thing happened this weekend, and it was thanks, again, to Johnathon Banks.
31 seconds left on the clock, MSU is up by a touchdown, 24-17. Kentucky has done whatever they want on this drive, and who's to think it will be any different as Mike Hartline took the snap on 4th and 10 from our 20 yd line. The ball goes up to the left corner of the endzone (in front of the student section), and so does J-Banks. When #13 came down with Hartline's pass. I went nuts. One of my best friends and roommate from last year, Clark, went nuts. My friends behind me, to my left, right, and in front of me went nuts. It was the loudest I have ever heard the student section at Scott Field, as I turned around to watch the whiskey shower and high five people (all the while ringing my bell), I couldn't help but smile in the company of my best friends.
The drinks continued to rain down upon us, and I really didn't care. MSU was now 7-2 on one of the most exciting plays all year, and 54 thousand people were partying at the same time. As the bells clanged along with the band (I assume they were playing, I couldn't hear anything ), and as I sang hoarsely along with everyone, arm in arm, proclaiming "loyal friends we'll always be", I thought about the people I was with, not where I was. We then proceeded down the tunnel and one of my favorite sounds hit my ears: cowbells clanging under the stadium after a bulldog win. It was magical, and all because of the wonderful people that call Mississippi State University "home".
The people I love, in the place I love. It doesn't get any better than that. Hail State.
I'm a people person. I love to be around people...especially friends...especially friends at Mississippi State. I went up to Starkville this weekend to see MSU beat Kentucky (to go 7-2 and be ranked 20). I fell in love with the city and people all over again, as I have every time I've visited this year. I realized that it wasn't where I was that lead to me having a great weekend, but rather, who I was with.
This semester of being at home instead of MSU and working instead of taking classes would be much easier on me if my friends were with me as I went through it. But then, what would be the point of the lesson that God is teaching me?
What I'm saying is this: it's not where you are, what you do, or how you do it that make the best memories; it's who you share those memories with that make them so special.
When Johnathon Banks picked off Tim Tebow last year and returned it 100+ yards for a TD, the entire stadium went absolutely insane. I don't remember anything that happened after Banks hit the 50 yard line, because I was engulfed in the biggest group hug on record. The entire student section was embracing itself. It was magic.
A very similar thing happened this weekend, and it was thanks, again, to Johnathon Banks.
31 seconds left on the clock, MSU is up by a touchdown, 24-17. Kentucky has done whatever they want on this drive, and who's to think it will be any different as Mike Hartline took the snap on 4th and 10 from our 20 yd line. The ball goes up to the left corner of the endzone (in front of the student section), and so does J-Banks. When #13 came down with Hartline's pass. I went nuts. One of my best friends and roommate from last year, Clark, went nuts. My friends behind me, to my left, right, and in front of me went nuts. It was the loudest I have ever heard the student section at Scott Field, as I turned around to watch the whiskey shower and high five people (all the while ringing my bell), I couldn't help but smile in the company of my best friends.
The drinks continued to rain down upon us, and I really didn't care. MSU was now 7-2 on one of the most exciting plays all year, and 54 thousand people were partying at the same time. As the bells clanged along with the band (I assume they were playing, I couldn't hear anything ), and as I sang hoarsely along with everyone, arm in arm, proclaiming "loyal friends we'll always be", I thought about the people I was with, not where I was. We then proceeded down the tunnel and one of my favorite sounds hit my ears: cowbells clanging under the stadium after a bulldog win. It was magical, and all because of the wonderful people that call Mississippi State University "home".
The people I love, in the place I love. It doesn't get any better than that. Hail State.
Thursday, October 28, 2010
Who is God? Forgiveness and Acceptance
“Come, Thou Fount of every blessing,
Tune my heart to sing Thy grace;
Streams of mercy, never ceasing,
Call for songs of loudest praise.”
--Come Thy Fount, Robert Robinson
Earlier today, I asked, “Who is God?” The question has been marinating in my head for a few hours and I must say (surprise!) that I do not have an answer. I will probably never have an answer of who God completely is. Again, this is part of the Divine Mystery. While I cannot begin to describe the bigness, the unfailing grace, the power, the wonder of God, I can talk about one of His attributes that I believe is very important for college students to grasp.
God forgives.
We’re going to meet people from all different walks of life here at MSU. We must realize that it is not right, not fair, and foolish to think that every person we encounter will have the same beliefs as us. Not everyone is a white, middle-class Baptist whose parents voted Republican the last 5 elections. It just doesn’t work that way anymore. And there is absolutely nothing wrong with the family background I just described. I just feel that a lot of us (as in myself included, yes, us) superimpose our personalities on others, so that we can better relate to them.
Why are we (again, plural first person, I’m included) instinctively afraid of what is different, what is foreign, what is “wrong”. Talking with one of my friends tonight about people’s past, we realized that there’s no need to harp on past mistakes, because God sure doesn’t. She spoke on the need for forgiveness, because how would we ever be able to have a relationship with God when we are constantly screwing things up, if He did not forgive our sins? It would be an impossible standard to live up to – perfection, that is.
I have a problem. It’s impossible for me to stay mad at someone forever. I get frustrated with people rarely and upon the unusual occasion that someone does manage to legitimately upset me beyond a simple “I’m sorry,” I almost always come back to them first to reconcile the grievance, even if it is several months down the road.
This “problem” is one of the gifts God has given me: the gift of empathy and compassion. I have no qualms about saying confidently that I am a compassionate person and can easily, and almost immediately, put myself in someone’s shoes and feel their pain. I can’t stay mad at you, because I know what it’s like to be outcast, shunned, and the cause of someone’s anger. It’s a sickening feeling on both ends.
The reason I am able to feel this compassion for others, the cause of my general love for humanity, comes from God. This is part of who God is.
God is love. God is compassion. God is forgiveness and mercy and redemption and a second, third, and (insert really big number here) chance. God is all of these things, and He allows some of us to be these things on an imperfect scale.
So the next time you wonder who God is, maybe you can think about what God is to help explain it. I know the only way I can attempt to understand the Creator of the Entire Universe is by simplifying Him in my mind, only to build Him back up in my heart and soul.
The mind cannot comprehend what the soul believes or what the heart feels.
Thought of the Moment: None is perfect. None is any more “worthy” to enter the Kingdom of God than the next. God forgives and God accepts. Shouldn’t we?
Matthew 20: 29-34 – Jesus’ compassion.
Tune my heart to sing Thy grace;
Streams of mercy, never ceasing,
Call for songs of loudest praise.”
--Come Thy Fount, Robert Robinson
Earlier today, I asked, “Who is God?” The question has been marinating in my head for a few hours and I must say (surprise!) that I do not have an answer. I will probably never have an answer of who God completely is. Again, this is part of the Divine Mystery. While I cannot begin to describe the bigness, the unfailing grace, the power, the wonder of God, I can talk about one of His attributes that I believe is very important for college students to grasp.
God forgives.
We’re going to meet people from all different walks of life here at MSU. We must realize that it is not right, not fair, and foolish to think that every person we encounter will have the same beliefs as us. Not everyone is a white, middle-class Baptist whose parents voted Republican the last 5 elections. It just doesn’t work that way anymore. And there is absolutely nothing wrong with the family background I just described. I just feel that a lot of us (as in myself included, yes, us) superimpose our personalities on others, so that we can better relate to them.
Why are we (again, plural first person, I’m included) instinctively afraid of what is different, what is foreign, what is “wrong”. Talking with one of my friends tonight about people’s past, we realized that there’s no need to harp on past mistakes, because God sure doesn’t. She spoke on the need for forgiveness, because how would we ever be able to have a relationship with God when we are constantly screwing things up, if He did not forgive our sins? It would be an impossible standard to live up to – perfection, that is.
I have a problem. It’s impossible for me to stay mad at someone forever. I get frustrated with people rarely and upon the unusual occasion that someone does manage to legitimately upset me beyond a simple “I’m sorry,” I almost always come back to them first to reconcile the grievance, even if it is several months down the road.
This “problem” is one of the gifts God has given me: the gift of empathy and compassion. I have no qualms about saying confidently that I am a compassionate person and can easily, and almost immediately, put myself in someone’s shoes and feel their pain. I can’t stay mad at you, because I know what it’s like to be outcast, shunned, and the cause of someone’s anger. It’s a sickening feeling on both ends.
The reason I am able to feel this compassion for others, the cause of my general love for humanity, comes from God. This is part of who God is.
God is love. God is compassion. God is forgiveness and mercy and redemption and a second, third, and (insert really big number here) chance. God is all of these things, and He allows some of us to be these things on an imperfect scale.
So the next time you wonder who God is, maybe you can think about what God is to help explain it. I know the only way I can attempt to understand the Creator of the Entire Universe is by simplifying Him in my mind, only to build Him back up in my heart and soul.
The mind cannot comprehend what the soul believes or what the heart feels.
Thought of the Moment: None is perfect. None is any more “worthy” to enter the Kingdom of God than the next. God forgives and God accepts. Shouldn’t we?
Matthew 20: 29-34 – Jesus’ compassion.
From I AM to who am I?
“God said to Moses, ‘I AM WHO I AM.’”
That simple statement spoken directly to Moses by the Lord of the Universe have baffled me for years. When I first read it, the all-knowing little kid known as Ben raised his hand in objection. It didn’t make any sense. It wasn’t even proper grammar. How could you define an entity with its own name?
Perhaps it is easier to ask, “Who am I?”, before asking “Who is I AM?”. While we need to have a personal relationship with our Creator, there are parts of the Divine Mystery that we as humans will just never understand, or come close to understanding. Hence, “mystery”.
Humans are much easier to understand right? After all you only have two types: males and females. Then within those you have adults and children. After that it’s really easy, because you just have to divide those four groups into babies, toddlers, children, preteens, teenagers, young adults, slightly older young-adults, the middle-aged, those nearing retirement age, the elderly, and the “really seasoned veterans”. Simple right? It’s not like we all have different personalities, come from different walks of life, and respond completely differently in the exact same situations. Oh wait….. we do. And God is responsible for it all.
In Genesis 1, God says, “Let us make humankind in our image, according to our likeness; and let them have dominion over [every living thing].”
The most important part of that verse is, “our image”, because it tells us a lot about God and about ourselves. It tells us that God is multiple entities. In my opinion, this is the first introduction of the Trinity. It also tells us that God wanted to create mankind. He has no need for us to carry out His will, and there is nothing we as humans can do that would ever be good enough for God. Yet somehow, He wanted us here, and so God created man in his own image. Say those last 4 words out loud “in. his. own. image.” We are His most perfect and cherished creation. Want more proof?
Psalm 8 talks about the Divine Majesty and how we fit in to God’s creation: (verses 1-6a)
“O LORD, our Soverign, how majestic is your name in all the earth! You have set your glory above the heavens. Out of the mouths of babes and infants you have founded a bulwark because of your foes, to silence the enemy and the avenger.
When I look at your heavens, the work of your fingers, the moon and the stars that you have established; what are human beings that you are mindful of them, mortals that you care for them? You have made them a little lower than God, and crowned them with glory and honor. You have given them dominion over the works of your hands…”
God, who breathed into being the entire universe, made US in His image, and made US a little lower than himself; we are His most valued creation. We are more beautiful than the purest of white doves, more awe-inspiring than the snow on top of Mount Everest, more amazing than the sun giving way to the horizon off the coast of California. We are the most incredible thing that God, the Creator of the Entire Universe, has ever imagined. That is who we are.
Thought of the Moment: Why would we ever expect anything less than the best of ourselves, when, after all, we are His best?
Psalm 8, Psalm 84, Genesis 1 – God’s Kingdom
That simple statement spoken directly to Moses by the Lord of the Universe have baffled me for years. When I first read it, the all-knowing little kid known as Ben raised his hand in objection. It didn’t make any sense. It wasn’t even proper grammar. How could you define an entity with its own name?
Perhaps it is easier to ask, “Who am I?”, before asking “Who is I AM?”. While we need to have a personal relationship with our Creator, there are parts of the Divine Mystery that we as humans will just never understand, or come close to understanding. Hence, “mystery”.
Humans are much easier to understand right? After all you only have two types: males and females. Then within those you have adults and children. After that it’s really easy, because you just have to divide those four groups into babies, toddlers, children, preteens, teenagers, young adults, slightly older young-adults, the middle-aged, those nearing retirement age, the elderly, and the “really seasoned veterans”. Simple right? It’s not like we all have different personalities, come from different walks of life, and respond completely differently in the exact same situations. Oh wait….. we do. And God is responsible for it all.
In Genesis 1, God says, “Let us make humankind in our image, according to our likeness; and let them have dominion over [every living thing].”
The most important part of that verse is, “our image”, because it tells us a lot about God and about ourselves. It tells us that God is multiple entities. In my opinion, this is the first introduction of the Trinity. It also tells us that God wanted to create mankind. He has no need for us to carry out His will, and there is nothing we as humans can do that would ever be good enough for God. Yet somehow, He wanted us here, and so God created man in his own image. Say those last 4 words out loud “in. his. own. image.” We are His most perfect and cherished creation. Want more proof?
Psalm 8 talks about the Divine Majesty and how we fit in to God’s creation: (verses 1-6a)
“O LORD, our Soverign, how majestic is your name in all the earth! You have set your glory above the heavens. Out of the mouths of babes and infants you have founded a bulwark because of your foes, to silence the enemy and the avenger.
When I look at your heavens, the work of your fingers, the moon and the stars that you have established; what are human beings that you are mindful of them, mortals that you care for them? You have made them a little lower than God, and crowned them with glory and honor. You have given them dominion over the works of your hands…”
God, who breathed into being the entire universe, made US in His image, and made US a little lower than himself; we are His most valued creation. We are more beautiful than the purest of white doves, more awe-inspiring than the snow on top of Mount Everest, more amazing than the sun giving way to the horizon off the coast of California. We are the most incredible thing that God, the Creator of the Entire Universe, has ever imagined. That is who we are.
Thought of the Moment: Why would we ever expect anything less than the best of ourselves, when, after all, we are His best?
Psalm 8, Psalm 84, Genesis 1 – God’s Kingdom
An Introduction
“All are worn down, the time for sleep is now, but it’s nothing to cry about..”
--Death Cab for Cutie
I can’t help but think about the lyric above and the song it comes from, “I’ll Follow You Into The Dark”, as I write this evening. Admittedly, it’s very late, but this is the time I begin to think, ponder and wrestle with God and His plans for me. Some of you reading this may know of my current situation. I am in the middle of what would be the fall semester of my third year at Mississippi State. I am not in Starkville, MS. I am home in Long Beach.
The decision to come home was not an easy or noble one on my part as many of you might think. I went kicking and screaming the entire way and I have just recently accepted fully the fact that I will not be permanently returning to MSU before (at the earliest) January of 2011. My parents demanded that I come home after several days of being unable to reach me this summer while I was getting fired and not re-applying to MSU. I had dropped the final ball, and it was time to come home and face the music. It was time to grow up and be a man, not a boy, of God.
I’m a people person by nature. I love being around people, interacting with people, watching people and, most of all, talking to and with people. This includes writing, which is why I think I will declare journalism as my final choice of major in January. I say of all this to talk about the reason for this blog. I have to have an outlet. Some of you have dealt with my whining over texts and calls these past 3 months and I do appreciate that. I will continue to engage in those points of contact. However, I find myself wanting to say things that a lot of people will hear. Maybe some of you will be able to avoid the same mistakes I made. Maybe some of you would care to offer some advice, or weigh in on topics that I’ll bring up. Maybe some of you are bored to tears and need another fool’s writing to read. Whatever the reason, I’m glad you’re here.
I won’t start us off for too much tonight; this was more about me remembering the sensation of writing with a purpose again, as well as introducing myself to the blog. Surely more is to come in the next hours, days and months, so I will leave us for now.
Thought of the Moment: If we believe in a perfect and sovereign God, who never loses control and works everything according to His will, then why do we complain so much?
Exodus 4: 10-17 – Moses’ excuse, God’s response.
--Death Cab for Cutie
I can’t help but think about the lyric above and the song it comes from, “I’ll Follow You Into The Dark”, as I write this evening. Admittedly, it’s very late, but this is the time I begin to think, ponder and wrestle with God and His plans for me. Some of you reading this may know of my current situation. I am in the middle of what would be the fall semester of my third year at Mississippi State. I am not in Starkville, MS. I am home in Long Beach.
The decision to come home was not an easy or noble one on my part as many of you might think. I went kicking and screaming the entire way and I have just recently accepted fully the fact that I will not be permanently returning to MSU before (at the earliest) January of 2011. My parents demanded that I come home after several days of being unable to reach me this summer while I was getting fired and not re-applying to MSU. I had dropped the final ball, and it was time to come home and face the music. It was time to grow up and be a man, not a boy, of God.
I’m a people person by nature. I love being around people, interacting with people, watching people and, most of all, talking to and with people. This includes writing, which is why I think I will declare journalism as my final choice of major in January. I say of all this to talk about the reason for this blog. I have to have an outlet. Some of you have dealt with my whining over texts and calls these past 3 months and I do appreciate that. I will continue to engage in those points of contact. However, I find myself wanting to say things that a lot of people will hear. Maybe some of you will be able to avoid the same mistakes I made. Maybe some of you would care to offer some advice, or weigh in on topics that I’ll bring up. Maybe some of you are bored to tears and need another fool’s writing to read. Whatever the reason, I’m glad you’re here.
I won’t start us off for too much tonight; this was more about me remembering the sensation of writing with a purpose again, as well as introducing myself to the blog. Surely more is to come in the next hours, days and months, so I will leave us for now.
Thought of the Moment: If we believe in a perfect and sovereign God, who never loses control and works everything according to His will, then why do we complain so much?
Exodus 4: 10-17 – Moses’ excuse, God’s response.
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