go to fmylife.com
Don't say I didn't warn you
15 years ago
Well...
Things that have happened since I last posted:
Thanksgiving
Christmas
New Years
More terrible music from Britney Spears
10,000 more Rihanna singles
Tar Heels with another 20-win season already and 5 straight ACC wins
Obama becoming President
Clef getting on American Idol
Mom deciding another room of the house needs painting/wallpapering/etc
Dad getting presents will never use from his parents
Matt getting a job
Me getting a job (kind of)
Lease signed for our off-campus house next year
A growing addiction to fmylife.com (Go read it)
Dylan, Ryan, and mine's addiction to Heroes and Friday Night Lights
Classes canceled for snow
Panthers D-Coordinator
Things that have not changed since I last posted:
Duke fans (enough said)
State fans calling us 'unclassy' while they still regularly vandalize our campus
The amount of duct tape required to hold our couch together
Our suitemates' inability to clean the bathroom
Kanye's inability to make any good music anymore
Wake Forest thinking WF-UNC is a rivalry
Sarah Palin refusing to go away and actually govern her state
more to come soon. Ish.
Thanksgiving
Christmas
New Years
More terrible music from Britney Spears
10,000 more Rihanna singles
Tar Heels with another 20-win season already and 5 straight ACC wins
Obama becoming President
Clef getting on American Idol
Mom deciding another room of the house needs painting/wallpapering/etc
Dad getting presents will never use from his parents
Matt getting a job
Me getting a job (kind of)
Lease signed for our off-campus house next year
A growing addiction to fmylife.com (Go read it)
Dylan, Ryan, and mine's addiction to Heroes and Friday Night Lights
Classes canceled for snow
Panthers D-Coordinator
Things that have not changed since I last posted:
Duke fans (enough said)
State fans calling us 'unclassy' while they still regularly vandalize our campus
The amount of duct tape required to hold our couch together
Our suitemates' inability to clean the bathroom
Kanye's inability to make any good music anymore
Wake Forest thinking WF-UNC is a rivalry
Sarah Palin refusing to go away and actually govern her state
more to come soon. Ish.
misc
some other random thoughts from the hospital:
My friend and Confirmation mentor, Kevin (who may every well be the only person to read this post anytime soon) is the interim middle school youth director at my church, where for years he was a volunteer and my bible study leader. I couldn't imagine anyone more perfect for the job.
Our dorm couch smells. not horribly, but enough to be noticed.
Could my lesbian, far-left, slightly aging politics professor be any more stereotypical?
My mom and dad had the same Psych professor as me. Apparently time has not honed his ability to make any sense whatsoever.
It's incredibly strange to pack your things to move back into your house and room for a weekend.
The Panthers are finally playing to their potential, and, thankfully, the Tar Heels are playing well beyond theirs.
I miss macaroni and cheese in any form besides the microwavable bowl Easy Mac.
And baked potatoes.
And my car.
My friend and Confirmation mentor, Kevin (who may every well be the only person to read this post anytime soon) is the interim middle school youth director at my church, where for years he was a volunteer and my bible study leader. I couldn't imagine anyone more perfect for the job.
Our dorm couch smells. not horribly, but enough to be noticed.
Could my lesbian, far-left, slightly aging politics professor be any more stereotypical?
My mom and dad had the same Psych professor as me. Apparently time has not honed his ability to make any sense whatsoever.
It's incredibly strange to pack your things to move back into your house and room for a weekend.
The Panthers are finally playing to their potential, and, thankfully, the Tar Heels are playing well beyond theirs.
I miss macaroni and cheese in any form besides the microwavable bowl Easy Mac.
And baked potatoes.
And my car.
Beauty
It’s nine thirty on Halloween night, and I am sitting in room 534 of Cleveland Regional Hospital. The lights are off; my computer screen is providing the light for me to type with. The curtains are drawn, the door closed. Get-well balloons and flowers are silhouetted against the beige walls (the shade of beige that seems to adorn every other hospital in the country). My typing is slow and deliberate- not only because I still hunt-and-peck at eighteen years old (quickly at least), but also to keep the noise down. It’s been a long couple of days, and finally some much needed peace and quiet time has come. The only sound in the room is the methodical click-click-click-click-click-whirr of the IV dispenser over my shoulder, which, after spending about an hour with it, I can say with confidence whirs every ten seconds.
Why am I here? The answer is lying an arm’s length away from me and in the middle of some much-needed and well-deserved rest. My girlfriend of six weeks had her appendix removed last night and is slowly recovering. Being anemic and a petit 5’3’’ hardly makes her an ideal candidate for such a procedure. She stirs intermittently, unaware that she is soon to be the topic of a little-read blog post before she wakens. Her mother is stretched out on the couch, exhausted after being a caring and vigilant support for her daughter for more than 24 hours straight now.
When Alexandra Hollifield called me around eight this morning and told me that her recovery was not going as quickly as she had hoped, there was a plaintive strand in her tone. She would never admit it on her own, but she wanted me there. So I did what any good boyfriend would do: ask her if she wanted me to come until she said yes. An Italian quiz and politics recitation later, I was headed home to Winston to retrieve my car and then on the highway to Shelby.
Missing my first Halloween at UNC on Franklin Street was the easiest decision I have ever made. I methodically called friends to change plans, began listing in my head the things I should pack. The question was never if I would leave, but when. Sitting here in this surprisingly comfortable reclining chair, I feel overwhelmingly content and calm. Drunken revelry in costumes seems more and more like a tradition that isn’t exactly heartbreaking to miss.
I write this not to flaunt my actions or ability as a boyfriend, but rather as a tribute to the things God blesses us with when we need them most. For me, it was the almost-unconscious reaction within me that made my priorities clear and evident in my mind. I have been blessed beyond belief with friends, community , happiness, and joy in my life since getting to college, the latter two of which Alex has played no small part in. It still feels surreal to have found someone so incredibly compatible, compassionate, beautiful, and smart at such a young age. She is eight months younger than me, a fact I usually struggle to recall correctly because it is never evident when we are together. If you had told me that I would be dating a high-school senior who lived three hours from campus upon my arrival there, I would have laughed.
She has been one of the greatest and most undeserved blessings I have ever received, and coming to be with her instead of staying for Halloween was almost a reflex rather than a decision. Even though I may not always utilize them, I know the Lord has instilled clarity and perspective in my mind- and doubtlessly, the minds of countless others as well. I write in tribute and thanks to Him for this, and also to remind myself the next time such a choice arises.
A girl reading poetry in the quad earlier this week asked her audience what beauty was. I smiled as I walked past her, thinking to myself that she would never successfully find a complete answer. However, only days later I have an answer for her rhetorical musing. For me, beauty lies in a hospital bed with half-braided pigtails and a perfect smile that flashed as soon as I entered the room. Beauty rolls its eyes when I say it has never looked more gorgeous or prefect than it does right now. Beauty softly slips its IV-free hand in mine and intertwines its fingers. Beauty, currently, sleeps fitfully, the unknowing muse of a college boy who occasionally mistakes himself for a writer.
But in a larger sense, beauty is not only Alex but everything else in my life. My roommate and our two best friends. The amazing campus. My mother, who is just returned from a trip to Kenya to give aid to orphanages sponsored by the charity she works for. My brother, who is just old enough to be my role model and just young enough to be my friend. My father, who has led me to this point and still guides from home. Beauty is the gifts and abilities that the Lord has given me.
Most importantly, the truest beauty of all lies in the fact that I have done nothing to deserve any of it.
And I never will.
We have gained access by faith into this grace in which we now stand. And we rejoice in the hope of the glory of God.
Acts 5:2
Bold As Love monolouge
John's thoughts during the bridge/solo of 'Bold as Love'
Alright, So check it out right,
I've tried every approach to life, and I've tried it all. I haven't tried everything, but i've tried every approach. Sometimes you have to try everything but the approach is the same...but
I've tried it all, I've bought a bunch of stuff and went "Nahhhh I don't like that." I kinda came in and out of that a couple of times.
Thought i would shut myself off,thought maybe that's cool... maybe that's what you have to do to be a genius; you have to be mad. So if you get mad before the word genius, then maybe you could make Genius appear.
Right?
That doesn't work either.
And I'm, I'm in a good place, Paced myself pretty well at 30. I've seen some cool stuff, made a lot of stuff happen for myself. I made a lot of stuff happen, right? That's a really cool sentence when you're in your 20's. I mean, I made it happen for myself, right? But all that means is that I've somehow or other; found a way to synthesize love, synthesize soothing or, you can't get that.
And what I'm saying is that I've messed with all the approaches except for one.
And it's gonna sound really corny,
But that's just love, that's just LOVE.
I've done everything in my life that I wanna do,
except just give and feel love. For my living.
And i don't mean like, uhh Roman Candle Firework, Hollywood Hot Pink love,
I mean like, I-got-your-back-love.
I don't need to hear 'I Love You'
You guys love me, I love you; We got that down.
But some other people who would tell you that they love you, the same people who were the last to just have your back.
So I'm gonna experiment with this love thing-- giving love, feeling love...
I know it sounds really corny but it's the last thing i gotta check out.
Before I check out.
Alright, So check it out right,
I've tried every approach to life, and I've tried it all. I haven't tried everything, but i've tried every approach. Sometimes you have to try everything but the approach is the same...but
I've tried it all, I've bought a bunch of stuff and went "Nahhhh I don't like that." I kinda came in and out of that a couple of times.
Thought i would shut myself off,thought maybe that's cool... maybe that's what you have to do to be a genius; you have to be mad. So if you get mad before the word genius, then maybe you could make Genius appear.
Right?
That doesn't work either.
And I'm, I'm in a good place, Paced myself pretty well at 30. I've seen some cool stuff, made a lot of stuff happen for myself. I made a lot of stuff happen, right? That's a really cool sentence when you're in your 20's. I mean, I made it happen for myself, right? But all that means is that I've somehow or other; found a way to synthesize love, synthesize soothing or, you can't get that.
And what I'm saying is that I've messed with all the approaches except for one.
And it's gonna sound really corny,
But that's just love, that's just LOVE.
I've done everything in my life that I wanna do,
except just give and feel love. For my living.
And i don't mean like, uhh Roman Candle Firework, Hollywood Hot Pink love,
I mean like, I-got-your-back-love.
I don't need to hear 'I Love You'
You guys love me, I love you; We got that down.
But some other people who would tell you that they love you, the same people who were the last to just have your back.
So I'm gonna experiment with this love thing-- giving love, feeling love...
I know it sounds really corny but it's the last thing i gotta check out.
Before I check out.
Third-Act Climax
An ex-girlfriend once told me when we broke up that I needed to be more realistic. That relationships weren't like the ones in movies or books. "Be serious," she said, "and look around for once."
The all-too-common sentiment in the world today is that life will never truly be like we imagine. Hopes and dreams are a separate world from reality; rarely, some say, will they ever actually connect where you want them to. Chivalry is often overtaken by cynicism; fascination by trepidation; wonder by disenchantment. Fiction and cinema may provide several hours of escape, but when the credits roll or the last page turns the illusion is gone.
But if this is the case, where does the inspiration for such media even come from? How can playwrights, authors, and directors tell their stories if they have nothing to draw from? Granted, every romance may not follow the precedented script and resolve its conflict just in time for the climax of the third act, but the potential for transcendence exists nonetheless. If one does not find themself in a giddy, blissful, uplifting, euphoric, smile-on-your-face-as-you-fall-asleep kind of sentiment because of someone else at least once in their life, it is truly an unfortunate existence.
Granted, the males are generally much more to blame then our lovelier counterparts for the sad state of modern romance (in the older, broader sense as well as the accepted normal definition). However, for every group of shallow men driven by ego, lust, and compensation, there still remains at least one helpless romantic. One that really believes in that real connection, the overwhelming feeling of contentment and joy that she can introduce into his life whenever he finally finds her (whoever she may be).
Love? No. An eighteen-year-old doesn't write about love. He knows the love of family and friends, of camraderie and life, of Lord. But not that love-- not the one that may only come once in life. THE love. Maybe he finds it in weeks, or maybe not until his hair is white and his youth gone. But if he is one of the stalwarts, he believes he will find it.
There is a way to put some color in an oft-gray reality for those skeptics. Something that can put a spark back in their eye and a purpose in their step. To bring a quiet smile when there seems no logical reason for one. To lay awake at night if only to keep thinking-- but still sleeping to dream. To be the man they as a child wished they would grow up to be, even if only to one other person. To realize that stress is an unnecessary exercise and throw caution to the wind.
How? It's easy.
Just look around for once.
The all-too-common sentiment in the world today is that life will never truly be like we imagine. Hopes and dreams are a separate world from reality; rarely, some say, will they ever actually connect where you want them to. Chivalry is often overtaken by cynicism; fascination by trepidation; wonder by disenchantment. Fiction and cinema may provide several hours of escape, but when the credits roll or the last page turns the illusion is gone.
But if this is the case, where does the inspiration for such media even come from? How can playwrights, authors, and directors tell their stories if they have nothing to draw from? Granted, every romance may not follow the precedented script and resolve its conflict just in time for the climax of the third act, but the potential for transcendence exists nonetheless. If one does not find themself in a giddy, blissful, uplifting, euphoric, smile-on-your-face-as-you-fall-asleep kind of sentiment because of someone else at least once in their life, it is truly an unfortunate existence.
Granted, the males are generally much more to blame then our lovelier counterparts for the sad state of modern romance (in the older, broader sense as well as the accepted normal definition). However, for every group of shallow men driven by ego, lust, and compensation, there still remains at least one helpless romantic. One that really believes in that real connection, the overwhelming feeling of contentment and joy that she can introduce into his life whenever he finally finds her (whoever she may be).
Love? No. An eighteen-year-old doesn't write about love. He knows the love of family and friends, of camraderie and life, of Lord. But not that love-- not the one that may only come once in life. THE love. Maybe he finds it in weeks, or maybe not until his hair is white and his youth gone. But if he is one of the stalwarts, he believes he will find it.
There is a way to put some color in an oft-gray reality for those skeptics. Something that can put a spark back in their eye and a purpose in their step. To bring a quiet smile when there seems no logical reason for one. To lay awake at night if only to keep thinking-- but still sleeping to dream. To be the man they as a child wished they would grow up to be, even if only to one other person. To realize that stress is an unnecessary exercise and throw caution to the wind.
How? It's easy.
Just look around for once.
The face of Greatness
Since there are relatively few pictures around here at IR, we decided the most fitting would be a portrait of our good friend Carl Van Doren. Thanks to Google image search, we were able to turn up this dashing shot without learning any real information about him, except for his ethnicity and obvious sexiness.
Careful Ladies and Gentlemen...
new song from Ryan. I can't change the different-colored background and I am far too lazy to re-type it line by line into a new post. Enjoy regardless.
I'll miss you tonight
But I have for a while now
You say I'll find someone great
What makes you say I doubt?
I think I'm quite content
Where nothing matters
Nothing matters
I'm fighting the current
A battle I know I'll never win
Be my secret weapon
I need a secret weapon
Because I'm drowning here without you
Drowning in myself without you
Pull me inside out
Change my feelings about
The way things should be
Is this the way things should be?
If drinks are the answer
I'm asking the wrong question
Come home without him
Be my secret weapon
I need a secret weapon
I'm drowning here without you
Drowning in myself without you
Is this the way thing's should be?
Content where nothing matters
Never you mind...
As promised, here is my personal insight into "In Your Atmosphere," one of John Mayer's best acoustic productions to date.
Unrequited love. A feeling most anyone can relate to; the author is no exception. He (John) has become very taken by a girl-- her aura and essence have begun to drag him in like a gravitational force.
However, it's not going to work out. Maybe she's out of his league; maybe she already has someone else. Maybe she was just a stranger passing on the street. Whatever the case may be, he has to pull back. To steer away from the pull and burn up in her atmosphere before he lands- or crashes.
He still carries feelings for her but is separated by distance and other barriers untold. She live in L.A., he presumably elsewhere. So at least for now, at the time the song is written, he is still remorsefully longing from a distance. Watching her pretty life play out in pictures from afar.
The beauty of the song, besides the guitar work and vocals, is what isn't said. The situation is left very much to interpretation, yet as told it's easy to relate to. A framework of many true-life love stories left unwritten.
Unrequited love. A feeling most anyone can relate to; the author is no exception. He (John) has become very taken by a girl-- her aura and essence have begun to drag him in like a gravitational force.
However, it's not going to work out. Maybe she's out of his league; maybe she already has someone else. Maybe she was just a stranger passing on the street. Whatever the case may be, he has to pull back. To steer away from the pull and burn up in her atmosphere before he lands- or crashes.
He still carries feelings for her but is separated by distance and other barriers untold. She live in L.A., he presumably elsewhere. So at least for now, at the time the song is written, he is still remorsefully longing from a distance. Watching her pretty life play out in pictures from afar.
The beauty of the song, besides the guitar work and vocals, is what isn't said. The situation is left very much to interpretation, yet as told it's easy to relate to. A framework of many true-life love stories left unwritten.
Horton 303
College is amazing. The staff here at IR moved into our dorm Saturday and have been essentially pre-occupied at UNC ever since. This post is actually being written during POLI 100 (don't take it). Plenty of ridiculous stories to follow.
CVD Returns!
We* here at In Repair are thrilled to announce that Mr. Van Doren has returned with an additional contribution, as this thought of the week** is attributed to him. I still refuse to go look up CVD or anything about him besides what is listed under him on the ThinkExist quotation website. I will be sorely disappointed if any reader goes and ruins the fun by posting some snobby comment like "I can't believe you've never heard of Carl Van Doren, the greatest....etc." Your party-pooping injection will be promptly deleted and you will no longer be considered a valuable reader.
Anyways, Carl says that "the measure of the creator is the amount of life he puts into his work.”
*My good friend and roommate Ryan has agreed to sign on to the In Repair team so I can start posts with things like "We here." It is entirely unclear what his future contributions will be, but Carl and I gladly welcome him to the IR team.
**The thought of the week segment may very well turn into the thought of the month. Or semester. Or year. Or a one-time phenomenon that gives the illusion of some form of organization here.
Anyways, Carl says that "the measure of the creator is the amount of life he puts into his work.”
*My good friend and roommate Ryan has agreed to sign on to the In Repair team so I can start posts with things like "We here." It is entirely unclear what his future contributions will be, but Carl and I gladly welcome him to the IR team.
**The thought of the week segment may very well turn into the thought of the month. Or semester. Or year. Or a one-time phenomenon that gives the illusion of some form of organization here.
Watching Airplanes
Wisdom often comes when we least expect it, doesn’t it? A song on the radio has a line in it that sticks on your head. Someone makes a remark in a casual conversation that you can’t help but remember. God is always finding new places to speak from.
On a warm July night, I camped out with two of my good friends. We were sixteen and all counselors at the same camp looking for a relaxed night off. We built a fire as the sun went down and sat around talking for a long while- about girls, about faith, about school… whatever. Life was simple and easy.
As we all laid back on the grass and decided to give in to the eventual draw of sleep, my friend Spencer said one thing that I’ll never forget. An airplane traced its way through the sky above us, a late-night flight bound for some unknown destination. Spencer took in a breath like he was about to speak, then stopped and thought for a while. “Have you guys ever thought about the people on those planes? There’s a hundred people in that little dot with families and friends and lives. When they look down on us, we’re just specks down here, you know?”
I blinked, realizing that Spencer had said something deep and inspired. I gathered my thoughts and, determined to give him an adequate response that was equally insightful, I nodded my head and gave a profound “yeah, cool.”
I’ve thought about what Spencer said a lot, and I think I like it so much because it reminds me of how important perspective is. We’re told in Sunday school to try walking a mile in someone else’s shoes; we rarely try going through their daily lives in those same shoes. Too often we don’t realize what a person has been through when we take that cheap shot or slide that little insult at them; we don’t stop and really try and understand the other person in a heated argument. It holds true in politics, sports, and just about everything else- when it comes down to it, you’re right and they’re wrong.
I think God wants us to think about other perspectives more. To try and really and truly understand the people and the world around us. Diversity exists for a reason, and it’s not for differentiation or alienation. It’s for a fresh take on things; an undiscovered history or a new understanding. Everyone you meet has a story to tell- we just need to stop writing our own sometimes to hear what they have to say.
God’s perspective may be the most important one of all to try and comprehend. To me, God is, in elementary terms, like the man who loves a woman that doesn’t share his feelings. He does everything for her-- makes sacrifices, promises a perfect future and love, true love… and she turns away.
The woman, obviously, is you and me. God created the Earth for us; he blessed us with life and love and family. He promises us eternal life and happiness- even offered up the ultimate sacrifice in his Son and flesh- and we still turn our shoulder and opt for the earthy lust of Sin. God is patiently waiting for us to stop seeking selfish and shallow gratification through sin and realize that he’s been waiting all along with open arms.
Everyone has a chance to write the rest of their story.
What will yours say?
Coming Soon...
...As soon as I get the desire to re-type it (In my infinite wisdom as Editor-in-Chief, I wrote half of my editorials straight onto the layout in about a ten-minute period on deadline day), a piece on how the electoral college has become irrelevant and archaic in this modern era of politics.
It's clever, I promise.
The last line is something to the effect of "One thing is clear: it is time for America to graduate from the Electoral College."
(See? Told you so.)
It's clever, I promise.
The last line is something to the effect of "One thing is clear: it is time for America to graduate from the Electoral College."
(See? Told you so.)
UNC Application Essay
My essay for my UNC-Chapel Hill application. The prompt was to describe an interaction with someone of a different ethnicity or background and how it is special to you.
I used to think I had a small family. One brother, two cousins, a handful of aunts and uncles, a full set of grandparents… it wasn’t until a few years ago that I realized I had brothers and sisters from all walks of life and part of the world, more than I could have ever asked for or dreamed of.
My time spent working at the Vineyard Camp has helped me to forge amazing bonds of friendship and adopted family that I wouldn’t trade for anything in the world. With an international-friendly staff and atmosphere, I have been introduced to people from all over the world, from South Korea to Colombia. The most special relationships to me, besides those with my American friends, are the close friendships that I have with several Mexican college students in Puebla, Mexico, and the most significant of those with one of my best friends and true brothers, Alejandro Banda Munozcano.
Alejandro and I worked two summers together at camp, and for both I was fortunate enough to have him as my head counselor in the cabin. We lived together for a total of twelve weeks between the two summers, looking after kids and joking around together. From talks about girls to my laughable attempts at learning Spanish on the front porch, Ale and I have spent most of the last two summers in each other’s company.
Our interaction extended even further when our tenures at camp last summer ended. We took a vacation in Florida with Arturo Camacho, another brother. We stayed with close friends of ours and spent the week at the beach and in amusement parks, all the while enjoying everyone’s company and bringing us all closer together. I always look back at that trip when I need to put a smile on my face. I remember watching “Anchorman” with the guys on the trip down (and having to explain most of the jokes); playing Risk on the computer to try and pass the time between flights; learning how to hit on girls in Spanish—and subsequently failing when trying to apply said lessons to the Latino flight attendant.
Later in the year, I went to Mexico to spend New Years’ Eve with Alejandro and everyone in Puebla. The trip was indescribable; easily the best experience of my young life. Living in another country for a week with amazing people and scenery; becoming the guest rather than the host. We weren’t tourists, I and two other American friends from the camp. We were family coming home for the holidays. These two trips have become a staple of my life and I couldn’t imagine my year without them.
This relationship has taught me that true friendship knows no barriers. Distance, language, time...Alejandro and I have found ways to overcome all of these. Even if we can only e-mail each other for 9 months of the year, we are still able to keep close in spirit. We have yet to meet any true obstacles, only trials that make our friendship stronger. I have the pleasure and luxury of meeting up with him again in Mexico over the holidays, and even if we have to part ways after that he will always be my brother.
My family doesn’t seem so small anymore.
I used to think I had a small family. One brother, two cousins, a handful of aunts and uncles, a full set of grandparents… it wasn’t until a few years ago that I realized I had brothers and sisters from all walks of life and part of the world, more than I could have ever asked for or dreamed of.
My time spent working at the Vineyard Camp has helped me to forge amazing bonds of friendship and adopted family that I wouldn’t trade for anything in the world. With an international-friendly staff and atmosphere, I have been introduced to people from all over the world, from South Korea to Colombia. The most special relationships to me, besides those with my American friends, are the close friendships that I have with several Mexican college students in Puebla, Mexico, and the most significant of those with one of my best friends and true brothers, Alejandro Banda Munozcano.
Alejandro and I worked two summers together at camp, and for both I was fortunate enough to have him as my head counselor in the cabin. We lived together for a total of twelve weeks between the two summers, looking after kids and joking around together. From talks about girls to my laughable attempts at learning Spanish on the front porch, Ale and I have spent most of the last two summers in each other’s company.
Our interaction extended even further when our tenures at camp last summer ended. We took a vacation in Florida with Arturo Camacho, another brother. We stayed with close friends of ours and spent the week at the beach and in amusement parks, all the while enjoying everyone’s company and bringing us all closer together. I always look back at that trip when I need to put a smile on my face. I remember watching “Anchorman” with the guys on the trip down (and having to explain most of the jokes); playing Risk on the computer to try and pass the time between flights; learning how to hit on girls in Spanish—and subsequently failing when trying to apply said lessons to the Latino flight attendant.
Later in the year, I went to Mexico to spend New Years’ Eve with Alejandro and everyone in Puebla. The trip was indescribable; easily the best experience of my young life. Living in another country for a week with amazing people and scenery; becoming the guest rather than the host. We weren’t tourists, I and two other American friends from the camp. We were family coming home for the holidays. These two trips have become a staple of my life and I couldn’t imagine my year without them.
This relationship has taught me that true friendship knows no barriers. Distance, language, time...Alejandro and I have found ways to overcome all of these. Even if we can only e-mail each other for 9 months of the year, we are still able to keep close in spirit. We have yet to meet any true obstacles, only trials that make our friendship stronger. I have the pleasure and luxury of meeting up with him again in Mexico over the holidays, and even if we have to part ways after that he will always be my brother.
My family doesn’t seem so small anymore.
Still staring down the sun
Since my working blog title, as of this post, is from John Mayer and so is the only video posted to date, it's time for a little musical variety. Not much hidden meaning in "Blinded" by 3EB; a ton of hidden meaning in "Black Balloon." Both great songs. Let 'em play while you look around.
A Rose by Any Other Name...
A Christian, by definition, is someone of Christ. It's a strong word to use, if you really think about it. More than a name, it's a challenge. A reminder.
Maybe we aren't Christians yet. Accepting Christ as your Lord and Savior puts you on the path towards becoming one, and the things you do along the way are what truly make you a Christian. Maybe we are only truly Christians after we die and go to Heaven. It's a fairly undeveloped philosophy of mine. I like it; my pastor does not.
Maybe we aren't Christians yet. Accepting Christ as your Lord and Savior puts you on the path towards becoming one, and the things you do along the way are what truly make you a Christian. Maybe we are only truly Christians after we die and go to Heaven. It's a fairly undeveloped philosophy of mine. I like it; my pastor does not.
Pictures from Afar
"In Your Atmosphere", one of John's unreleased tracks that he plays in his newest live set. It took me a while to realize what the song was truly about, but once I did it added a lot more to the song. Listen to it a few times while you read and see if you can't figure it out. Sometime soon I'll get around to posting my take on it.
Apathy
(The Moses analogy below is adapted from Rob Bell's phenomenal book Velvet Elvis)
I don’t have any amazing stories about how I came to be a Christian. No miracles, no incredible testimony, no life-changing event that brought me to my Savior. I’ve been to church my whole life, as well as a Christian camp for the past decade, and I can recall giving my heart to God at least five or six different times on retreats or at camp. Don’t get me wrong-- those times were spiritual and very important to me, but they were temporary. A few faith-filled hours against a lifetime of sin, lies, failure, and apathy.
Apathy.
It eats away at a faith like mine. And yours. Just going to church every Sunday won’t get you any closer to God than watching football when you get home, a lesson I took more than a few years to learn. In my mind I would be proud that I was going instead of sleeping in; the gold star was certainly being put on my Heavenly attendance chart. I bowed my head during prayer, but the words just didn’t register. I listened to the sermon just long enough to have a sufficient answer when my parents asked us what we learned as we drove home.
The pattern extended through the rest of the week, too. Every day was the same as the last- school, practice, dinner, homework. Rinse and repeat. A prayer would be thrown in as I lay about to fall asleep at night- but hey, it’s the thought that counts, right? Since I was already a saved Christian, I spent a long time in this cycle, convincing my mind that everything was alright while my heart slowly fell apart from God and deteriorated. Satan’s strongest ally in the battle for your soul is your mind, and I was no exception.
I’ve come to realize now that truly having faith means finding ways to break the cycle. To be able to step away from the repetition and routine and really examine your life. To be willing to insert God into every aspect of your daily life rather than cramming Him into an hour-long slot on Sunday mornings. If you go to church only for peace of mind, you won’t find Him there.
Look for His presence shining through in everyday life. You don’t have to look far. When was the last time a stranger smiled at you, or that you told a friend you loved them? God puts beauty right in front of our face, and it’s so easy to forget to thank him for it. Appreciate the majesty in the world around you, and praise the Creator that put it here for us.
And most importantly, love. Christ’s command to us was to love others as ourselves, and true Love itself is a manifest of God. A hug, a smile, a kiss, a word of encouragement, a crying shoulder, a listening ear…there are many different kinds of love and even more ways to show them. Showing one visible sign of love to a person each day, and really meaning it, goes a much longer way than you think.
Moses passed the burning bush hundreds of times while tending to his flock before God spoke to him from it. A miracle sprung up through an ordinary detail of his everyday life, and when he realized it he took off his sandals and knelt in awe of the Lord. The reality is, those bushes are all around us. God is in every aspect of our lives, waiting for us to discover Him. When was the last time you found him?
Find ways to love and praise God in every part of the day.
Take off your sandals. He is here.
Editorial- Circa February, 2008
An editorial I wrote during my senior year as a co-EIC for the Mount Tabor Dorian Scroll on the Super Bowl, a staple of the portfolio that helped me win my journalism scholarship.
2007 was a year fraught with turmoil, conspiracy, deceit, scandal, and lies in the sporting world. Prominent figures fell from respectability; America’s pastime came under investigation by Congress; professional referees were caught gambling on the very games they officiated. Yet in a world where Jessica Simpson can allegedly cause the downfall of the Dallas Cowboys (twice) and where Tim Hardaway publicly denounces homosexuals, the New York Giants still managed, for at least one night, to create their own fairytale so inundated with feel-good stories to make Walt Disney green with envy.
The New England Patriots entered Sunday night with many more accolades than their scrappy opponents. Not only did they boast a perfect 18-0 record and the number one seed in the AFC, they were also led by league golden boy and MVP Tom Brady, who had recently broken one of the highest-regarded passing records: touchdowns thrown in a single season. His hot-handed receiving corps included Randy Moss, who caught nearly half of those touchdowns to set his own record, and his offensive line was anchored by three Pro Bowlers. Super Bowl XLII was advertised as a David versus Goliath match-up, as shown by the 12-point spread on the game, and Goliath was certainly not a team to be trifled with.
Yet after sixty minutes of football, it was not the giant that was left standing but rather the Giants who felled him. After three quarters of pressuring Brady into frustration with an energized pass rush, New York presented quarterback Eli Manning with a script more perfect than that of any classic sports movie. The young quarterback had been thrown under the bus by former teammates and the hometown media; father Archie had been a star at the same college where Eli played college ball (Ole Miss); older brother Peyton won the previous Super Bowl, earning MVP honors, and is one of the NFL’s most elite quarterbacks. The team was down by four with little more than two minutes remaining and little more than eighty yards to go.
One circus catch and several hurried plays later, Eli lofted a spiral to the left corner of the end zone, which top receiver Plaxico Burress hauled in with ease. The game would be over after thirty seconds’ worth of attempted Hail Mary’s and fade passes by New England, and the win was complete. In the most-watched Super Bowl telecast in history, the Giants pulled off an upset for the ages by standing in the way of perfection and, for at least one night, were able to illuminate a sporting world so mired in conflict.
Super Bowl XLII did little to change or alleviate the scandals that plague professional sports today. The Patriots return to Boston to enter a media storm surrounding the latest allegation that they videotaped opponents’ practices; depositions in the Congressional hearings on steroid use in baseball continued the next day; Tim Hardaway still hates gay people. What it did do was create a new classic game to look back on and prove that parity and competition are still alive and well-- key tenets of the game itself. A feel-good story has emerged unblemished from the tarnished world of professional sports, and given many a reason to keep watching:
the simple love of the game.
2007 was a year fraught with turmoil, conspiracy, deceit, scandal, and lies in the sporting world. Prominent figures fell from respectability; America’s pastime came under investigation by Congress; professional referees were caught gambling on the very games they officiated. Yet in a world where Jessica Simpson can allegedly cause the downfall of the Dallas Cowboys (twice) and where Tim Hardaway publicly denounces homosexuals, the New York Giants still managed, for at least one night, to create their own fairytale so inundated with feel-good stories to make Walt Disney green with envy.
The New England Patriots entered Sunday night with many more accolades than their scrappy opponents. Not only did they boast a perfect 18-0 record and the number one seed in the AFC, they were also led by league golden boy and MVP Tom Brady, who had recently broken one of the highest-regarded passing records: touchdowns thrown in a single season. His hot-handed receiving corps included Randy Moss, who caught nearly half of those touchdowns to set his own record, and his offensive line was anchored by three Pro Bowlers. Super Bowl XLII was advertised as a David versus Goliath match-up, as shown by the 12-point spread on the game, and Goliath was certainly not a team to be trifled with.
Yet after sixty minutes of football, it was not the giant that was left standing but rather the Giants who felled him. After three quarters of pressuring Brady into frustration with an energized pass rush, New York presented quarterback Eli Manning with a script more perfect than that of any classic sports movie. The young quarterback had been thrown under the bus by former teammates and the hometown media; father Archie had been a star at the same college where Eli played college ball (Ole Miss); older brother Peyton won the previous Super Bowl, earning MVP honors, and is one of the NFL’s most elite quarterbacks. The team was down by four with little more than two minutes remaining and little more than eighty yards to go.
One circus catch and several hurried plays later, Eli lofted a spiral to the left corner of the end zone, which top receiver Plaxico Burress hauled in with ease. The game would be over after thirty seconds’ worth of attempted Hail Mary’s and fade passes by New England, and the win was complete. In the most-watched Super Bowl telecast in history, the Giants pulled off an upset for the ages by standing in the way of perfection and, for at least one night, were able to illuminate a sporting world so mired in conflict.
Super Bowl XLII did little to change or alleviate the scandals that plague professional sports today. The Patriots return to Boston to enter a media storm surrounding the latest allegation that they videotaped opponents’ practices; depositions in the Congressional hearings on steroid use in baseball continued the next day; Tim Hardaway still hates gay people. What it did do was create a new classic game to look back on and prove that parity and competition are still alive and well-- key tenets of the game itself. A feel-good story has emerged unblemished from the tarnished world of professional sports, and given many a reason to keep watching:
the simple love of the game.
In Your Atmosphere
A blog is a dangerous thing for a bored 18-year old with a new laptop to have. Especially in the dead weeks before college starts. It needs a title; a banner; a layout and color scheme. But most importantly, it needs an author. It needs content. An identity.
Some things may be editorials or pieces I wrote for my high school paper. Some might be spiritual musings. Or simply song lyrics. Or a relatively insightful thought that occurred to me. The title and mood may change often-- Rhyme, reason, and cohesiveness are relatively overrated.
Carl Van Doren once said that "it's harder to write, but even harder not to." (I have no idea who Carl Van Doren is, so his future contributions may be minimal.)
Some things may be editorials or pieces I wrote for my high school paper. Some might be spiritual musings. Or simply song lyrics. Or a relatively insightful thought that occurred to me. The title and mood may change often-- Rhyme, reason, and cohesiveness are relatively overrated.
Carl Van Doren once said that "it's harder to write, but even harder not to." (I have no idea who Carl Van Doren is, so his future contributions may be minimal.)
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