For the Love

Tomorrow is the last day of the 40 Day Fast, and the organizer, Kat, has come up with a way to make a concrete difference in the lives of those who need it. She's named it Get a Goat, and she's asking all concerned bloggers to take about 5 minutes of their time and donate $1 toward the purchase of a goat (through World Vision) for a needy community. Here's more from Kat's blog:

It will only take 5 minutes and $1 to help a family in need by purchasing a goat for them through World Vision.

A goat nourishes a family with fresh milk, cheese, and yogurt, and can offer a much-needed income boost by providing offspring and extra dairy products for sale at the market.

There isn’t a person reading this who can’t afford 5 minutes and $1 dollar.

If you'd like to donate, all you have to do is follow this link: and scroll down to the Paypal button. You don't need a Paypal account to donate, as long as you have a debit or credit card. $75 will buy one goat, so if 75 people give a dollar, a need will be met. It's only a dollar. A dollar that can make a big difference.

I encourage all of my readers to also visit today's blogger in the 40 Day Fast, Tressa and to consider joining all of us bloggers in a fast tomorrow, July 31.

The complex where Stephen and I live has a pool, and we like to take advantage of it while we can since it is more likely than not that we won't ever have a pool again, and our times of swimming together have taught me something. People are rude in the pool. The following are a few simple guidelines, that if adopted, could make everyone's pool experience much more enjoyable. Read, ponder, embrace.

1. If you have small children at the pool and they are swimming, kindly ask them to refrain from making large jumps into the pool near other swimmers (and by near I mean within one foot of another person). This almost always results in an unwelcome dousing on the innocent bystanders, often in the facial region.

2. If you have small children at the pool and they are swimming, remind them that their friends/siblings are only a few inches from them and therefore shouting matches are not really necessary.

3. If the pool is crowded, it's probably best not to do laps across the pool, as this almost always results in innocent bystanders being hit by flailing limbs.

4. If the pool is crowded, playing catch at opposite ends of the pool is not really the greatest idea. This almost always results in innocent bystanders being hit by wayward water toys.

5. Wearing shoes like flip flops into the actual pool is never a good idea, as this almost always results in innocent bystanders having to wade through grass and dead bugs.


If you've guessed that the phrase "innocent bystanders" refers to Stephen or me, you guessed correctly. This however does not negate the validity of these guidelines. I encourage all of my readers to remember them next time you go to the pool.

In fact, it's probably just best to do nothing in the pool but stand there. :)

Ten years ago today, I became a Christian. In honor of this occasion, I thought I would share my testimony with my readers. If you read my Xanga, then this might be familiar to you, but I thought it worth duplicating over here, some two years later.

I wasn't too fond of God as a child, which is funny because I was raised in the Catholic church and we were there every week. God scared me, quite frankly. I just knew He was this very stern, white-bearded man looking down on everything I did with a frown, and when I messed up I dreaded having to go to the priest and say a billion Hail Marys to make up for hitting my brother or calling him names or whatever other horrendous act I'd committed. (I suppose it wasn't a billion Hail Marys, probably closer to 10 or so.) Church was boring to me, God was scary, and I was pretty much a good kid, so I didn't give God a whole lot of thought.

When I was ten my family went to see the passion play at Bellevue, and I was stunned by what I saw. I remember seeing Jesus hanging on that cross and being overwhelmed--overwhelmed by the pain He clearly experienced,by the feeling that I might like to know this Jesus person. I hadn't heard too much about Him, or if I had, I hadn't been paying attention. (The latter is probably true: I went to Parish Religious Education every Wednesday and learned everything under the sun about Catholicism and saints and the prayers we prayed and all that stuff, and I even had to do homework, but not much of it stuck. No wonder I didn't like church.) Anyway, that night the music minister talked about having a relationship with Jesus, and I thought that sounded pretty good and would keep me out of hell, and when my mom leaned over and asked me if I wanted to "receive Jesus in my heart" I thought, Why not?

But I didn't get it. Soon after that we stopped going to a Catholic church and joined a Baptist one, and I remember going to youth group and it all seemed so exciting and new, and I ate it up. I finally had my own Bible, and I read it a lot, and highlighted what I thought sounded important, even thought I didn't understand a lot of it. I just watched the other kids and did what they did, and figured that was enough. Occasionally during the service when the pastor would give the invitation and talk about a personal relationship with Jesus, I would wonder if I had that. I prayed some ("Please, God, let ____ like me! I want a boyfriend!)" and wrote in a journal and did everything the other kids did, though, so I thought I was covered. I'd prayed "the prayer," after all, and I was such a good kid. I didn't get into nearly as much trouble as my brother did, and I was definitely the teacher's pet every year, so how could I not be okay?

It was not until the summer after my freshman year in high school that I began having serious doubts about my salvation. I became really concerned about it, lying in bed and wondering if God was there, wondering why I still felt empty, wondering what to do about it. Everyone thought I was already a Christian, so what would they say if all of sudden I said I wasn't? They would call me a liar and laugh at me and I wouldn't have any friends. These irrational thoughts had kept me quiet for many years, but during youth camp that summer I felt that I would burst if I didn't confront this weight on my soul. So one night I talked to an older girl there and told her about my doubts, and she asked me if I remembered praying to God to save me, and I thought about it and that night at Bellevue, and I remember my mom asking me, but I don't remember what I did after that. I didn't feel as though I meant it. I didn't tell this to the girl, though. I was ashamed. That night as I was trying to go to sleep I asked God not to let me sleep if I wasn't His. I told Him I had to know, and He was the only person who could tell me. I don't remember sleeping much that night.

The next morning I went to breakfast feeling sick, knowing I needed Jesus but scared of what people would say. Then we met with our small groups to have a devotional time. I have no idea what it said, only that the beginning involved reading Jonah 1. I didn't get very far into it before I started crying. I sat there, thinking that I didn't want to miss out on Jesus just for the sake of having people like me and knowing that I'd rather spend eternity with Him than a lifetime without Him. So I told my group leader, and we talked about it, and I told him that I wasn't good and that I was a liar, and that I needed Jesus. He was so encouraging and excited, and we went back to the group and he filled them in on why the strange girl was crying over Jonah, and then he asked if anyone else wanted to know Jesus, and three other people confessed to having similar stories to mine, and we all prayed to become Christians together. (If anyone knows Ron Cooney, tell him I still remember him and how he helped me!)

I can't tell you the relief and joy I felt after that. I knew I wasn't alone, I knew that God wasn't scary (at least not in the monster-scary sense), and I knew He loved me enough to keep chasing me. And wouldn't you know it, none of my friends got mad at me or called me a liar. They celebrated with me, and it was amazing. HE is amazing.

But the story doesn't end there. It's still being written, and every day He writes a new chapter. There have been some very sad chapters (a long, hard battle with depression) and some very happy chapters (being accepted to Union and getting a scholarship, getting into grad school, falling in love and getting married) and some adventure-packed chapters (traveling to Honduras and Kenya and Thailand, falling in the Ocoee River), but even though each chapter is different, the Author is the same, and that's enough for me.

She was in 8th grade, and she liked Clay Aiken and Beyoncé and (strangely enough) Avalon. She also loved to "style" my hair, which usually resulted in my wearing a side ponytail and her giggling profusely. Her name was Erica, and she was my Little Sister. I met her through my roommate, who had worked with Erica through the Big Brothers Big Sisters program. When the program closed due to lack of funding, my roommate kept seeing Erica, and when she was getting ready to graduate, she asked if I would be a mentor to Erica. Eager to "make a difference," I said yes.

I had no idea what I was getting into.

Sometimes she'd talk about her family, but not often. What I did know saddened me. She lived with her mom and older brother in her grandmother's two-bedroom house in the "rough" part of town. Her dad had disappeared years ago. Sometimes he sent birthday cards, but most of the time he forgot. Her mom was rarely around, her brother often out of the house, and her grandmother quiet and distant.I would pick her up once a week and take her to the mall (her favorite store was the music store), or to the park (she liked walking the trail), or to my dorm, where we'd watch Disney movies and make cookies. Often I'd help her with her homework. ("No, Erica, I'm not writing that paper for you, but I will help you get started.") I wanted our time together to be fun and positive and encouraging.

Often it was just difficult.

Maybe it was because of her home life, or maybe because she missed her dad. Maybe she just enjoyed it, but for whatever reason, Erica liked lying. The first time we hung out, she told me that the night before her house had been raided by the cops, who were looking for a man who had murdered someone. Erica said they'd found his shirt in her room, and she was scared they thought she did something. After a panicked call to her mom, I found out the story was completely untrue. Not only that, but she'd told the same story to my roommate more than once. After a few meetings, I became a pro at deciphering which stories were true ("We had pizza in the cafeteria today.") and which were false ("We went on a field trip to the bowling alley.") What puzzled me is that most of her lies were not about serious things, like the cops raiding her house, but were about things like school field trips or parties or boys. At first I didn't no how to respond to her, but after a while I began calling her on her lies, then asking her to tell me what really happened at school. Soon she began calling me every day, sometimes multiple times. If I wasn't there, she'd leave a message, then call again 5 minutes later.

A few months into our relationship, I began crying out to God to help me with Erica. I was in over my head, and I was having a hard time loving her. How could I love someone who lied to me? How could I love someone who tried to shoplift in the mall when she was with me? How could I love someone so unlike me? The answer was easy:

"I tell you the truth, whatever you did for one of the least of these brothers of mine, you did for me." (Matthew 25:40)

"Jesus replied: 'Love the Lord your God with all your heart and with all your soul and with all your mind. This is the first and greatest commandment. And the second is like it: 'Love your neighbor as yourself.'" (Matthew 22:37-39)

As I began praying for Erica, praying that God would help me to love her I was reminded of God's love for me. How could Jesus love me, when I so often shunned Him? How could Jesus love me, when I often placed everything else in my life above Him? How could Jesus love me, when I was so completely unlovable? The answer is that Jesus is the Lover of the Unlovable. That includes me and Erica, and as I learned that, my love for Erica grew.

I wish I could say that at the end of our time together, Erica was a changed person. She wasn't, not completely. She still lied, but a lot less frequently. She'd ask me questions about God ( more than she asked me about sex), and we prayed together.
The last time I dropped her off, the day before I graduated from college, I said, "I love you, Erica." She smiled and said, "I know."

There are lots of girls and boys just like Erica, children that come from homes very different than the ones I imagine a lot of you did. And they need people in their lives to love them, to show them hope, to listen to them. Big Brothers Big Sisters is one way to become personally involved in the life of a boy or girl. The commitment is small, only one or two hours a week, but the potential for impact is huge. According to the BBBS web site, children who are in the program are:
* More confident in their schoolwork performance.
* Able to get along better with their families.
*46% less likely to begin using illegal drugs.
*27% less likely to begin using alcohol.
*52% less likely to skip school.
You can look for a Big Brothers Big Sisters program in your city, and if there is not one, there are other ways to find children who need mentors, whether it's through a church or a community organization. There are so many needs in the world, so many that often they seem overwhelming, but this is one need that you could meet, in your city, on your street, one child at a time.

There's a couple in Oregon getting married on Friday, and the groom arranged for them to head straight to Barnes & Noble after their reception, where they will be given the first spot in line to receive the new Harry Potter (why do I type "Pooter" every time?). That's very sweet and everything, but seriously? Reading Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows on the honeymoon? On the wedding night, no less? Sounds like mixed priorities, if you ask me. (Of course, I'm just glad Stephen and I got married June 2 so I wouldn't have to choose between honeymoon lovin' and Harry Potter. Not as if that would be a tough decision or anything.) I love you, honey! :)

Today I found out that one of my colleagues--no, one of my friends--in the English department died last Wednesday. She was only 51, and she died after a blood clot in her leg traveled to her lungs. I was completely stunned when I got the email. No way could it be true. Surely there was some sort of mistake; she couldn't be gone. But she is, and she's left behind a husband and two children and a new grandbaby who all love her and will miss her dearly.

I haven't had much experience with death; in my short 25 years of life, I can count on one hand the people I have known who have died. Nina Nell is one with whom I interacted on a fairly regular basis. We shared conversations in class, in Starbucks, in the departmental computer lab, and every time we talked I felt cheered by her kindness and her genuine warmth and concern. She spoke lovingly of her family, and she was so proud and excited when her grandson was born, excitedly showing me pictures and looking forward to visits she would make to see her family. Everyone who knew her at UT loved her; you couldn't help but do so. I'll always think of her with fondness.

Our lives, wrote James, are but vapors--here one moment, gone the next. I know that Nina Nell's was a life lived with love for her family and friends, and I pray she knew Jesus. My one regret is that I never bothered to ask. Learning of a death like this renews my appreciation for life and inspires me not to take for granted the ones I love. Cherish each moment--each laugh, each smile, each hug, each tear--for you do not know when it will be your last.

Longtime readers of my Xanga will be familiar with the famous caption contest. I recently realized I haven't held a caption contest in quite some time, so let's resurrect this fun little pastime, shall we? Submit your caption ideas for the picture below (as many entries as you'd like), and I'll narrow it down to my favorite 3, after which you, my beloved readers, will decide the winner! Here is the captionless picture:

My blogging has been woefully sporadic, and I can't make promises to be more consistent. I'm not sure what has inspired this dry spell I'm having, but while I remain inconsistent I encourage what few readers I have to visit the blogs listed to the right. Keep following along with the 40 Day Fast, and visit today's blogger, Susanne. If you missed yesterday's post, I recommend reading it. It's by a friend of mine, Steven, and it's a good reminder of the needs all around us, not just across the globe. Also check out Andrew Osenga's blog post for today, a moving entry about his daughter. Have fun exploring the blogosphere!

Dear Wal-Mart,

I've been a longtime shopper of yours, often in spite of a desire to go anywhere but Wal-Mart. Your low prices and one-stop-shop appeal, however, keep luring me back. However, I must say that if you wish to keep my business, I highly recommend attending to the following problems.

1. If you're going to have 8 so-called "Speedy Checkout" lanes, have the decency to have at least half of them open. I can't even count the number of times I have gone to your store for just a few items, only to find that my "speedy" trip has turned into a "near-eternal" wait because there are only 2 "Speedy Checkout" lanes open, both of which are occupied by patrons who have exceeded the 20-item limit. Which brings me to my next suggestion...

2. If you're going to have a sign at the "Speedy Checkout" lanes that says "20 items or less," have the decency to enforce said sign (and it wouldn't hurt to have it be a grammatically correct sign, one that says, "20 items or fewer"). Just today I was at dear ole Wally World in the "speedy" lane, and both people in front of me had well over 20 items in their carts. Yet nothing was said to these patrons, and people like me, who only have 5 items, are forced to wait behind these rule-breaking fiends. (Of course I could say something to the people in front of me, but confrontation is not my strong point, nor do I want to get into a brawling match over some items in a shopping cart. Plus, I resent the fact that your slack rule enforcement would put me in the position of having to do that. I just want to buy my 5 items in a timely, efficient manner, but it seems I am often unable to do so.

3. Please stop redesigning the layouts of the stores. It is highly frustrating to go to a Wal-Mart in another town, only to discover that I can't find that much-needed item because the section it is in cannot be found in the place I'm accustomed to finding it. I would think that having a universal layout for all the stores would be somewhat intuitive, but perhaps counter-intuitive is what you're aiming for. If so, you're doing a bang-up job. Keep up the good work.