It may not last long, but it’s worth each walk to see it while it lasts.
“Whatever happens in a house, robbery or murder, it doesn’t matter, you must have your breakfast.” – Wilkie Collins
“God does not love a future version of yourself better.” -Matt Chandler
“The goal of practice isn’t doing something until you get it right. It’s doing it until you can’t get it wrong.” -Bob Kauflin
“A man who carries a cat by the tail learns something he can learn in no other way.” -Mark Twain
“Don’t get common.” -Francis Chan
“Faithfulness is the new radical.” -Bryan McWhite
“Kind words can be short and easy to speak, but their echoes are truly endless.” -Mother Teresa
I wouldn’t survive. I would choose sleep over safety.
Last night around 12:30 am our fire alarm went off: beeps and incessant high pitched noises from each smoke alarm, and then a blaring hall alarm with a blinking light to coincide. It was obnoxious. I heard the noise, wondered what was going on, looked at the screaming smoke alarm on my ceiling, determined it was just noise and closed my eyes again. Instantly I was in that 1-2 seconds before you hit sleep when I heard my roommate’s door and the door of the apartment next to ours fly open.
Oh! Fire! There could actually be a fire!
At this point I leapt out of bed with my two blankets and met some of the other tenants on the deck. We were mildly disoriented, but we figured out the time and soon figured out that someone’s roommate had just moved in about 3 hours earlier and in celebration baked a frozen pizza. He was too new to know the smoke alarms are a little sensitive and that it sets off every alarm in the small complex. Truth be told, I am too. This fire drill seems to be a bit of a tradition when a new person moves in, so I’m surprised I haven’t instigated this kind of meet and greet yet. (Note to self: Only cook or bake in daylight hours.)
It was a beautiful night though. No snow. A firetruck in our parking lot. Mostly clear sky with a waning moon and visible stars. The soundtrack was something to be desired, but we added a few laughs and some small talk. Our adrenaline had worn off before the alarms. We had just sat down on our stairs and started zoning in our blankets when the noise stopped.
Sweet mercies, after a half an hour we could hardly believe it. Our block party ended. We all gave a sleepy but cheery “It happens!” to the final apology from the new guy, said good night and snuggled back in our beds.
Numbers 15 & 16: Short people, especially Hillary; and Puzzles
These were taken at the IA State Fair in August 2011. Our state fair is a great state fair, you know, and friends like Hillary make it that much better. It rained, but she brightened my day. We spent that night walking throughout barns and petting baby animals, talking about horseback riding and Africa and India and our dreams of spending a good portion of our lives overseas, of how money isn’t everything (however handy it is to have) and how very much Jesus is; we ate what we craved from the greasy food stands and marveled over people’s creativity and gluttony in being able to market something as American as deep-fried butter on stick.
Hillary is epitome of a faithful friend and a brilliant one at that. She has a heart for the nations to walk in truth and has already embarked on her heavenly mission to lead them in that. Watch out, World. 15 hands tall and she will set you on fire with a hunger to change history.
Number 11: Presents!
I’m glad we’re commanded to give, because giving and receiving presents are two of the world’s greatest phenomenon.
Interestingly enough, this leads to another one of the greatest things of the summer: my birthday! I kid.
Number 12 is irrational phobias.
Particularly those of my friends.
If I had a recent picture of Hillary that I had taken myself, I would insert a blog entry detailing why I love her. I don’t have one. Not even of her opening the above gift which delighted me so to find. (For being a genius, I’m not very good at thinking on my feet.) So for now, a picture of her phobia will do.
I suppose if I knew why she was afraid of whales, this fear wouldn’t be classified as irrational; however, living in the midwest isn’t safety enough, and a book like this gives her the willies. Still, she continually seems tickled, not ambushed, by soap dispensers and ice cream scoops and other paraphernalia that make her friends think of her.
In WIRED, we do each other favors.
“Conner, will you be my sunglasses again?”
Without skipping a beat, Conner drops his chalk, takes his place, and with perfect form stands like this for minutes in effort to keep the sun out of Ashley’s eyes.
And Kaleah. I don’t think any of them knew that I was on a picture rampage until the damage was done.
Have you ever come across a street that looks familiar, not because you’ve driven down it many times, but because its name is, well, one you know so well? Since I was in high school, street names spelled identical to people I know simply made me happy.
My best friend at the time was named Elizabeth, and I always wanted to put on top of a care package or–no kidding– make a postcard of it and send to her house 20 minutes away from mine.
Then there is my cousin, who ever time my dad gave his family directions to our house from WI was charged with the responsibility to not forget what exit to take off of the interstate. He liked that sign (and his future wife) so much that he eventually would move down and live with us for a year and get his own “Guthrie Av” sign. A genuine article, to say the least.
During my year in CO Springs, I stumbled upon a part-time nanny position on Craigslist. That, as it turns out, was the only position I pursued (among nearly a hundred) that would even hire me. At my casual interview, Colby was wearing a WI sweater, and it delighted me to discover that she and her family were actually from God’s Country, and liked books. She and her boyfriend were so down to earth, and though most of our conversations happened as we were coming and going, it was still refreshing to talk to people outside of the internship I came to the Springs for and make their 2-year-old son laugh.
I love animals.
And animals love me.
Much like your classic Cinderella or Aurora, I have a way of attracting shy and unlikely animals and earning their trust rather quickly. This is most commonly displayed among persnickety domestic mammals, but about a month ago, I went for a run around Copper Creek where caught in the net over newly planted grass was a small bird trying fruitlessly to fly out. After watching it for a few seconds in pure wonder how it landed himself in this predicament, I proceed to pull out my keys and tear open the net. While I bent down with my sharp object pointed at him and my other hand reaching toward the net, this little fledgeling bounces a little out of the way, much less frantic than its previous attempts to break loose. Needless to say he still flew out immediately. (I thought about trying to sing to get him to land on my finger, but that might have been overkill.)
This guy was not so fortunate.
One of the main sites to see in the Julesburg, CO rest stop consists of teepees and bronze buffalos that would make extremely good lawn statuary. But from my brother’s trip from the building to our dining teepee, he walks past this scene. I rush to catch a glimpse of his account. Judging by the direction of the lane and its organs, he was most likely run over from back to front, thereby burping out his organs before being squashed in his entirety. I know, I could be a CSI agent. If I knew whether or not there were motives behind this monstrosity (such as aim), I would have been a little more concerned with finding justice (or at least a burial) for this poor amphibian.
Regardless, I still find it fascinating.