Yes, yes, yes, yes. I understand that I have failed to post as often as some might wish. I send my apologies out to those who were hoping for something sooner than this post. I promise that I haven't forgotten, but now is a very busy time, so things might be slow for a little while yet. Until then, I will leave you with a thought from where else? Of course. The Bible. Happy Easter!!
"After the Sabbath, at dawn of the first day of the week, Mary Magdalene and the other Mary went to look at the tomb. There was a violent earthquake, for an angel of the Lord came down from heaven and, going to the tomb, rolled back the stone and sat on it. His appearance was like lightning, and his clothes were white as snow. The guards were so afraid of him that they shook and became like dead men. The angel said to the women, 'Do not be afraid, for I know that you are looking for Jesus, who was crucified. He is not here; he has risen, just as he said. Come and see the place where he lay. Then go quickly and tell his disciples: He has risen from the dead and is going ahead of you into Galilee. There you will see him. Now I have told you.' So the women hurried away from the tomb, afraid yet filled with joy, and ran to tell his disciples. Suddenly Jesus met them. 'Greetings,' he said. They came to him, clasped his feet and worshiped him. Then Jesus said to them, 'Do not be afraid. Go and tell my brothers to go to Galilee; there they will see me.'"
- Easter account from Matthew
Sunday, April 24, 2011
Sunday, April 10, 2011
20 Years Old And Still Kickin'
It was just before midnight. She had spent so much time in this room, and all of a sudden, through the pain, sweat, and tears, it was all over. A baby was crying nearby. Could it possibly be her fourth child? She held him in her arms, smiling down on what was her third son and what would one day grow into a tall, energetic 20-year-old with many gifts, even more problems, and a preference of no pickle, please.
Yes. Twenty years ago, on this exact day, I came into this world. The place? Olney, Illinois. The time? A couple of minutes before midnight. Of course I can't say that I remember anything about that night, but I'm told that I was quite a hassle. It seems that I did not want to abandon my warm, comfortable home for a world full of evil, deceit, and Cardinal fans. Can you blame me?
As anyone in my family will tell you, I spent the first ten years of my life crying. I was as much of an emotional nutcase as I am today, but back then, tears came with my everyday routine. There was always something that set me off. I wouldn't like how my older brothers would look at me. I didn't appreciate the way my older sister was talking to me. I didn't enjoy hearing my younger siblings fuss when they were babies and would join in with their cries of pain, fright, anger, and exhaustion. I was never very strong, and it showed. I was never the strongest guy on the team, the biggest guy in the lineup, or the roughest player on the field. Size and strength were not characteristics of mine.
But what I lacked in brute force I more than made up for with the power of imagination. Paired with my speed and intellect, I could be a pretty tough customer if the situation called for it. I would spend hours on end every day wandering around the yard, changing the grass into lava or the trees into evil soldiers that had to be defeated at any cost. The tree that I climbed every day became an irreplaceable monument in my life, and when I wasn't on the ground fighting off battalions of goblins, I was in the heights of the seemingly limitless world of branches, leaves, moss, and insects. That tree became my second home. I would spend my days climbing in all directions: up, down, backwards, diagonally... well you get the picture. It was quite a universe that I created, and every day brought new challenges, friends, enemies, and adventures.
But as history has taught us, all great empires eventually crumble. Not even my industrious kingdom, with all its power and glory, could survive the shattering explosion brought by the Great Move of the year 2000. This was the year my family decided to take a call to a little town called Galva in the northwest corner of Iowa. This was the time my parents decided to take me away from all that I had ever known. This was the fateful ending of an age that had seen me mature into a great warrior: an unstoppable hero whose power was boundless, his potential infinite. Yes, this is when I was forced to leave my world - a world of warmth, comfort, and hope - for something foreign, something unknown to me.
And yet through more tears, many fits of anger and frustration, countless fights, slammed doors, and hoarse voices, we all made it out the other side. Some of us were bruised and bloody, but we survived. The first few months were simply torture for me. I had never known what it was like to not have friends because I had been blessed with some really great ones back in Flora. Walking into that fourth grade classroom the day after Christmas break, I still remember all of those eyes staring at me, looking me up and down as if checking for weak spots. I still remember those awkward moments at recess, those many days spent alone at home, and those countless emotional battles that were constantly waging war inside and out.
But then came middle school, confirmation, my first crush, my first handful of friends, and sports. I was one of the most awkward kids in school, but I was no longer the "new kid." That label fled from me almost the second I stepped through those doors to start my fifth grade year. I had grown accustomed, somewhat, to how things were done in those parts. I was invited to a birthday party. I spent the night at some really amazing houses. I played some wicked dodgeball at recess. I was there for the birth of our first-class basketball team and was a key player as it grew stronger and more sure of itself.
And then came high school. Awkward freshman year, stupid sophomore year, but then glorious junior and senior years. Oh boy: two of the best years of my life, easily. I had the time of my life in concert band and somehow enjoyed myself even more in jazz band. I enjoyed playing an important role on our fantastic basketball team and powered through many tough moments to complete a successful career as a Pirate. I then shed my peg leg and hook for feathers and arrows to become a Brave for a Cherokee tennis team that added the terms "sub-state" and "state" to their vocabulary every year for three consecutive years.
Yet none of this compared to the group of friends I gained while winding my way through the maze of Galva-Holstein High School. The real reason the last two years of high school were so unforgettable for me was simply because of the time I spent with my amazing friends and the memories we created together. I became a runaway bandit for a night. I transformed into an unseen assassin when darkness fell and completed only the most daring missions (kidnapping, murder, and thievery were just a few of my successes). I climbed to the highest heights and gazed at the stars with the wisest of beings. I had rebuilt my shattered world, healing its wounds while adding a few new quirks along the way.
But yet again, my "untouchable" world was ruptured by another rite of passage: graduation. All of a sudden, it was over: the times spent discussing where we would meet the next night; the car rides spent talking about that girl who seemed just barely out of reach; those epic tennis matches that would last until the wee hours of the morning - all gone. Gone. Nothing but memories. Nothing but a tantalizing picture engraved on my mind that would always remind me of what had been. We all drove our separate ways, leaving the warmth and comfort of a world we knew for the fear and doubt of something we'd not yet experienced.
But did we allow this situation to pull us apart? Did we fall prey to the disadvantages of that word which strikes fear in the hearts of even the bravest, the most dedicated of souls: distance? No. I guess the world underestimated our ability to stay connected with each other. Where are we now? We're in Sioux City. We're in Decorah. We're in Ames, Spirit Lake, Indianola. Heck, I'm not even in Iowa anymore! We are Mustangs, Vikings, Cyclones, Lakers, Bulldogs. We're still united, and only getting stronger! Are we separated? Yes. But do we have the ability to overlook that separation and fight for those relationships that will benefit us for the rest of our lives? You better believe we do. And from that inspiration, we'll never waver.
So here I sit, twenty years old, and still an emotional nutjob that doesn't like pickles. I've withstood illness, maniacal drama, defeat, rejection, and salt poisoning. I've now entered my third decade of life. I'm stronger, faster, smarter, and more mature than ever, but at the same time, I'm still that awkward 10-year-old who wore the same sweatshirt every day of the week. A part of me thinks that I'll never get rid of that kid. Why? Because that was my first world - my first creation - and that small boy inside of me refuses to let that creation die. Will things ever go back to the way they were? Absolutely not. Time machines, while great in corny action movies, will never really exist on this earth. Yet what still exists, and something that will always remain, is the world that we live in right now. What we put into it is what makes it our own creation, and now that I have the knowledge that no world is untouchable, maybe I'll go about constructing this one a little differently. You know what they say: the third time's the charm.
Yes. Twenty years ago, on this exact day, I came into this world. The place? Olney, Illinois. The time? A couple of minutes before midnight. Of course I can't say that I remember anything about that night, but I'm told that I was quite a hassle. It seems that I did not want to abandon my warm, comfortable home for a world full of evil, deceit, and Cardinal fans. Can you blame me?
As anyone in my family will tell you, I spent the first ten years of my life crying. I was as much of an emotional nutcase as I am today, but back then, tears came with my everyday routine. There was always something that set me off. I wouldn't like how my older brothers would look at me. I didn't appreciate the way my older sister was talking to me. I didn't enjoy hearing my younger siblings fuss when they were babies and would join in with their cries of pain, fright, anger, and exhaustion. I was never very strong, and it showed. I was never the strongest guy on the team, the biggest guy in the lineup, or the roughest player on the field. Size and strength were not characteristics of mine.
But what I lacked in brute force I more than made up for with the power of imagination. Paired with my speed and intellect, I could be a pretty tough customer if the situation called for it. I would spend hours on end every day wandering around the yard, changing the grass into lava or the trees into evil soldiers that had to be defeated at any cost. The tree that I climbed every day became an irreplaceable monument in my life, and when I wasn't on the ground fighting off battalions of goblins, I was in the heights of the seemingly limitless world of branches, leaves, moss, and insects. That tree became my second home. I would spend my days climbing in all directions: up, down, backwards, diagonally... well you get the picture. It was quite a universe that I created, and every day brought new challenges, friends, enemies, and adventures.
But as history has taught us, all great empires eventually crumble. Not even my industrious kingdom, with all its power and glory, could survive the shattering explosion brought by the Great Move of the year 2000. This was the year my family decided to take a call to a little town called Galva in the northwest corner of Iowa. This was the time my parents decided to take me away from all that I had ever known. This was the fateful ending of an age that had seen me mature into a great warrior: an unstoppable hero whose power was boundless, his potential infinite. Yes, this is when I was forced to leave my world - a world of warmth, comfort, and hope - for something foreign, something unknown to me.
And yet through more tears, many fits of anger and frustration, countless fights, slammed doors, and hoarse voices, we all made it out the other side. Some of us were bruised and bloody, but we survived. The first few months were simply torture for me. I had never known what it was like to not have friends because I had been blessed with some really great ones back in Flora. Walking into that fourth grade classroom the day after Christmas break, I still remember all of those eyes staring at me, looking me up and down as if checking for weak spots. I still remember those awkward moments at recess, those many days spent alone at home, and those countless emotional battles that were constantly waging war inside and out.
But then came middle school, confirmation, my first crush, my first handful of friends, and sports. I was one of the most awkward kids in school, but I was no longer the "new kid." That label fled from me almost the second I stepped through those doors to start my fifth grade year. I had grown accustomed, somewhat, to how things were done in those parts. I was invited to a birthday party. I spent the night at some really amazing houses. I played some wicked dodgeball at recess. I was there for the birth of our first-class basketball team and was a key player as it grew stronger and more sure of itself.
And then came high school. Awkward freshman year, stupid sophomore year, but then glorious junior and senior years. Oh boy: two of the best years of my life, easily. I had the time of my life in concert band and somehow enjoyed myself even more in jazz band. I enjoyed playing an important role on our fantastic basketball team and powered through many tough moments to complete a successful career as a Pirate. I then shed my peg leg and hook for feathers and arrows to become a Brave for a Cherokee tennis team that added the terms "sub-state" and "state" to their vocabulary every year for three consecutive years.
Yet none of this compared to the group of friends I gained while winding my way through the maze of Galva-Holstein High School. The real reason the last two years of high school were so unforgettable for me was simply because of the time I spent with my amazing friends and the memories we created together. I became a runaway bandit for a night. I transformed into an unseen assassin when darkness fell and completed only the most daring missions (kidnapping, murder, and thievery were just a few of my successes). I climbed to the highest heights and gazed at the stars with the wisest of beings. I had rebuilt my shattered world, healing its wounds while adding a few new quirks along the way.
But yet again, my "untouchable" world was ruptured by another rite of passage: graduation. All of a sudden, it was over: the times spent discussing where we would meet the next night; the car rides spent talking about that girl who seemed just barely out of reach; those epic tennis matches that would last until the wee hours of the morning - all gone. Gone. Nothing but memories. Nothing but a tantalizing picture engraved on my mind that would always remind me of what had been. We all drove our separate ways, leaving the warmth and comfort of a world we knew for the fear and doubt of something we'd not yet experienced.
But did we allow this situation to pull us apart? Did we fall prey to the disadvantages of that word which strikes fear in the hearts of even the bravest, the most dedicated of souls: distance? No. I guess the world underestimated our ability to stay connected with each other. Where are we now? We're in Sioux City. We're in Decorah. We're in Ames, Spirit Lake, Indianola. Heck, I'm not even in Iowa anymore! We are Mustangs, Vikings, Cyclones, Lakers, Bulldogs. We're still united, and only getting stronger! Are we separated? Yes. But do we have the ability to overlook that separation and fight for those relationships that will benefit us for the rest of our lives? You better believe we do. And from that inspiration, we'll never waver.
So here I sit, twenty years old, and still an emotional nutjob that doesn't like pickles. I've withstood illness, maniacal drama, defeat, rejection, and salt poisoning. I've now entered my third decade of life. I'm stronger, faster, smarter, and more mature than ever, but at the same time, I'm still that awkward 10-year-old who wore the same sweatshirt every day of the week. A part of me thinks that I'll never get rid of that kid. Why? Because that was my first world - my first creation - and that small boy inside of me refuses to let that creation die. Will things ever go back to the way they were? Absolutely not. Time machines, while great in corny action movies, will never really exist on this earth. Yet what still exists, and something that will always remain, is the world that we live in right now. What we put into it is what makes it our own creation, and now that I have the knowledge that no world is untouchable, maybe I'll go about constructing this one a little differently. You know what they say: the third time's the charm.
Thursday, April 7, 2011
Words of Wisdom
It's now been over a week since my last blog post. I've been looking for inspiration, and sadly, nothing has blown my mind quite yet. But there are a few options that I am exploring, so don't give up hope. There may yet be another post sometime in the near future.
I tried uploading a video of me accompanying a fantastic saxophone player in the first ever performance in the new auditorium in Holstein, Iowa, but I guess blogspot can't take the fullest extent of it's awesome-ness. And then I tried uploading a simple picture of my family to introduce them to all of you who don't know them, but again, I'm not sure blogspot can take how amazing they all are. So for now, I will leave you with this Bible verse. This is my confirmation verse, among other things, and as such, it means a great deal to me.
"Be faithful, even to the point of death, and I will give you the crown of life."
- Revelation 2:10c
This calls us to stay strong in the Lord, even when threatened with death, and we will be rewarded with God's grace and His boundless love. Where death is concerned, I sometimes get a little afraid of what will happen to me, but all I have to do is revert back to this verse and it makes me feel much better. Maybe it will do the same for you.
I tried uploading a video of me accompanying a fantastic saxophone player in the first ever performance in the new auditorium in Holstein, Iowa, but I guess blogspot can't take the fullest extent of it's awesome-ness. And then I tried uploading a simple picture of my family to introduce them to all of you who don't know them, but again, I'm not sure blogspot can take how amazing they all are. So for now, I will leave you with this Bible verse. This is my confirmation verse, among other things, and as such, it means a great deal to me.
"Be faithful, even to the point of death, and I will give you the crown of life."
- Revelation 2:10c
This calls us to stay strong in the Lord, even when threatened with death, and we will be rewarded with God's grace and His boundless love. Where death is concerned, I sometimes get a little afraid of what will happen to me, but all I have to do is revert back to this verse and it makes me feel much better. Maybe it will do the same for you.
Saturday, March 26, 2011
The Strongest Person I've Ever Met
"Many people will walk in and out of your life, but only true friends will leave footprints on your heart."
-Eleanor Roosevelt
I met John sometime in fourth grade. We had just moved to Iowa. I was nine, foreign, and scared, and for a small child, that's a horrible combination. Ask anyone. I remember walking into that classroom for the first time after Christmas break. I could feel every pair of eyes in the room piercing right through my body and hitting the door behind me. The feeling wasn't pleasant, and neither were the many days I spent at home by myself, wishing I was back in Illinois.
This was about the time John came into my life. I vaguely remember running around in his yard while there was still snow on the ground, yet spring was clearly on its way in because we weren't wearing more than sweatshirts and pants. It was in fifth grade, however, when the fun really began to start.
John and I go to the same church, a.k.a. the best church in the world, which means we were in the same Confirmation class, which definitely means that you heard about us: we were the dynamic duo that never lost a single dartball match to anyone. We beat the "upperclassmen" when we were in fifth and sixth grade, and completely annihilated the "underclassmen" when we were in seventh and eighth grade. And after finally paying him back with the Mountain Dew that I had owed him for months, something began to "click."
But high school brought about a change. From the moment he stepped out onto the football field, John was meant to kick field goals. At that time, high school football didn't have much to say about extra point kickers, but a new age dawned when John kicked the first PAT of the season at Lawton-Bronson. It sailed through the uprights, almost perfectly in-between them as a matter of fact, and he jogged back to the sidelines, being swarmed by teammates of all shapes and sizes. This was before he started his huge lifting "project," so you can just imagine what it must've been like for a small freshman to be congratulated by 250-pound linemen. From that day on, John was something of a celebrity, being the smallest and youngest starter on the varsity squad.
Over the next few years John rose in popularity at Galva-Holstein high school. His many talents gained him many friends. I distinctly remember a certain jazz band saxophone solo that brought a roar of recognition and approval from the crowd our freshman year, bringing some of them to their feet as they applauded. It was the talk of the cafeteria for a couple days. And all the while our time in high school grew ever shorter.
And then came senior year. A year that brought us a certain Swede, saw the world power Galva-Holstein guy's basketball team lose a potential state birth game to Laurens-Marathon, and ushered out a class that included a rock star, a state track champion, an animal lover, and everything in between. This was the year of The Dark Knight. This was the year Roger Federer won one of the longest Wimbledon finals in history. This was the year that the first black president reigned over the United States of America. This is the year John Lorenzen became my best friend.
Looking back, I find that I was somewhat of a hermit all throughout school. I spent a lot of time at home and rarely talked much, or rather, rarely said anything worthwhile, at school. Yet John introduced me to something - a world previously unknown to me: a world of action. There was a time that we were chased by two deranged Hispanics around Holstein for at least half an hour until we finally lost them, breathing heavily and visibly shaking with adrenaline while we sat in my car and recovered. I climbed to the top of the Holstein elevator in the black of night and watched as the stars in the midnight sky smiled down upon us with their untold years of wisdom. I gained a sense of night vision due to the many games of Capture the Flag and hide and seek in the dark that regularly left participants bruised, bloody, and out of breath. I was introduced to the musical world of jazz band because of John, and as the trips got longer, we experienced nothing less than snowball fights, chocolate milk overdoses, first place finishes, and intense games of Hearts and 500. (Which, I'm happy to say, I won almost every time).
I've never had a friend like John. As it turns out, he's not the arrogant, self-centered know-it-all some believe him to be. And truth be told, he is capable of talking about things other than guns and Republicans being better than Democrats. Yes. John has feelings. He carries emotions with him wherever he goes, but doesn't show them often. Believe it or not, John has experienced heartbreak, loss, and rejection. So what do I like about him? Simple: the strength he shows through all of these experiences. The lessons he learns from each and every situation. He takes his mistakes, the few he ever commits, and turns them into stepping stones to making himself a better person. Instead of losing his head when things go wrong, he holds on tighter to what he knows and understands to be true and right. Sadness does not set up camp in John's mind. Instead, a willingness to help others rules over his life with a firm yet gentle grip. The smiles he has brought to this world, the tears of joy, the laughs of purest happiness - there are simply too many to count. Why? Because John believes in something that few others do: the general good that dwells within us all. He gives us a chance and then patiently pushes us to be the best that we can be. He gives us strength to achieve what we cannot accomplish on our own. His potential is boundless, but instead of keeping it all for himself, he gives us the drive to continue on. He shares that strength with everyone, and yet still has enough left over to take control of his own life. He's not just physically powerful. It's more than that. There is a need somewhere in there: a need to set an example of good in this world - to be a light in this dark age. His strength is what allows him to shine brighter than any other light I've known.
I've heard a saying that an object is only as strong as its weakest point. It was probably in physics. GROSS. But there's a certain truth in that. Our weaknesses are what define us. When it comes down to the wire, how we handle moments of crisis and unpredictability reveals the truth about our character. I wonder how the author of that statement would react if he or she met John. Does John have a weak point? I've not encountered one yet, and I don't expect to be finding any anytime soon.
For Christmas, John made me - no, he didn't give me, he made me - a cross that I now wear around my neck every single day. Mind you, this isn't some flimsy cross of plastic or wood. No no. Try steel. A welded cross of steel hangs around my neck every day, strengthening the bond that we already have and promising to only grow stronger as time goes on. Its presence mirrors the strength of its maker, reminding me of everything he's done, and will continue to do, for me. For everyone in his life. It's brought John's influence to a whole new level.
I guess true friends don't really leave footprints on our hearts. They do more than that. They shine as an ever-burning beacon of hope in a world of chaos and unrest. They create light in our darkness. So thank you, John, for walking with me through life's troubles. Thank you for giving hope when all else seemed lost. Thank you for shining stronger than any light in my life. You truly are the strongest person I've ever met.
-Eleanor Roosevelt
I met John sometime in fourth grade. We had just moved to Iowa. I was nine, foreign, and scared, and for a small child, that's a horrible combination. Ask anyone. I remember walking into that classroom for the first time after Christmas break. I could feel every pair of eyes in the room piercing right through my body and hitting the door behind me. The feeling wasn't pleasant, and neither were the many days I spent at home by myself, wishing I was back in Illinois.
This was about the time John came into my life. I vaguely remember running around in his yard while there was still snow on the ground, yet spring was clearly on its way in because we weren't wearing more than sweatshirts and pants. It was in fifth grade, however, when the fun really began to start.
John and I go to the same church, a.k.a. the best church in the world, which means we were in the same Confirmation class, which definitely means that you heard about us: we were the dynamic duo that never lost a single dartball match to anyone. We beat the "upperclassmen" when we were in fifth and sixth grade, and completely annihilated the "underclassmen" when we were in seventh and eighth grade. And after finally paying him back with the Mountain Dew that I had owed him for months, something began to "click."
But high school brought about a change. From the moment he stepped out onto the football field, John was meant to kick field goals. At that time, high school football didn't have much to say about extra point kickers, but a new age dawned when John kicked the first PAT of the season at Lawton-Bronson. It sailed through the uprights, almost perfectly in-between them as a matter of fact, and he jogged back to the sidelines, being swarmed by teammates of all shapes and sizes. This was before he started his huge lifting "project," so you can just imagine what it must've been like for a small freshman to be congratulated by 250-pound linemen. From that day on, John was something of a celebrity, being the smallest and youngest starter on the varsity squad.
Over the next few years John rose in popularity at Galva-Holstein high school. His many talents gained him many friends. I distinctly remember a certain jazz band saxophone solo that brought a roar of recognition and approval from the crowd our freshman year, bringing some of them to their feet as they applauded. It was the talk of the cafeteria for a couple days. And all the while our time in high school grew ever shorter.
And then came senior year. A year that brought us a certain Swede, saw the world power Galva-Holstein guy's basketball team lose a potential state birth game to Laurens-Marathon, and ushered out a class that included a rock star, a state track champion, an animal lover, and everything in between. This was the year of The Dark Knight. This was the year Roger Federer won one of the longest Wimbledon finals in history. This was the year that the first black president reigned over the United States of America. This is the year John Lorenzen became my best friend.
Looking back, I find that I was somewhat of a hermit all throughout school. I spent a lot of time at home and rarely talked much, or rather, rarely said anything worthwhile, at school. Yet John introduced me to something - a world previously unknown to me: a world of action. There was a time that we were chased by two deranged Hispanics around Holstein for at least half an hour until we finally lost them, breathing heavily and visibly shaking with adrenaline while we sat in my car and recovered. I climbed to the top of the Holstein elevator in the black of night and watched as the stars in the midnight sky smiled down upon us with their untold years of wisdom. I gained a sense of night vision due to the many games of Capture the Flag and hide and seek in the dark that regularly left participants bruised, bloody, and out of breath. I was introduced to the musical world of jazz band because of John, and as the trips got longer, we experienced nothing less than snowball fights, chocolate milk overdoses, first place finishes, and intense games of Hearts and 500. (Which, I'm happy to say, I won almost every time).
I've never had a friend like John. As it turns out, he's not the arrogant, self-centered know-it-all some believe him to be. And truth be told, he is capable of talking about things other than guns and Republicans being better than Democrats. Yes. John has feelings. He carries emotions with him wherever he goes, but doesn't show them often. Believe it or not, John has experienced heartbreak, loss, and rejection. So what do I like about him? Simple: the strength he shows through all of these experiences. The lessons he learns from each and every situation. He takes his mistakes, the few he ever commits, and turns them into stepping stones to making himself a better person. Instead of losing his head when things go wrong, he holds on tighter to what he knows and understands to be true and right. Sadness does not set up camp in John's mind. Instead, a willingness to help others rules over his life with a firm yet gentle grip. The smiles he has brought to this world, the tears of joy, the laughs of purest happiness - there are simply too many to count. Why? Because John believes in something that few others do: the general good that dwells within us all. He gives us a chance and then patiently pushes us to be the best that we can be. He gives us strength to achieve what we cannot accomplish on our own. His potential is boundless, but instead of keeping it all for himself, he gives us the drive to continue on. He shares that strength with everyone, and yet still has enough left over to take control of his own life. He's not just physically powerful. It's more than that. There is a need somewhere in there: a need to set an example of good in this world - to be a light in this dark age. His strength is what allows him to shine brighter than any other light I've known.
I've heard a saying that an object is only as strong as its weakest point. It was probably in physics. GROSS. But there's a certain truth in that. Our weaknesses are what define us. When it comes down to the wire, how we handle moments of crisis and unpredictability reveals the truth about our character. I wonder how the author of that statement would react if he or she met John. Does John have a weak point? I've not encountered one yet, and I don't expect to be finding any anytime soon.
For Christmas, John made me - no, he didn't give me, he made me - a cross that I now wear around my neck every single day. Mind you, this isn't some flimsy cross of plastic or wood. No no. Try steel. A welded cross of steel hangs around my neck every day, strengthening the bond that we already have and promising to only grow stronger as time goes on. Its presence mirrors the strength of its maker, reminding me of everything he's done, and will continue to do, for me. For everyone in his life. It's brought John's influence to a whole new level.
I guess true friends don't really leave footprints on our hearts. They do more than that. They shine as an ever-burning beacon of hope in a world of chaos and unrest. They create light in our darkness. So thank you, John, for walking with me through life's troubles. Thank you for giving hope when all else seemed lost. Thank you for shining stronger than any light in my life. You truly are the strongest person I've ever met.
Monday, March 21, 2011
Food For Thought
I've decided that I will not be able to post the next "Friend Post" today because of all the work that I've got to do. I am sincerely sorry for the few of you who wanted to read something new. I'm doing the best I can, but time is scarce right now. Hopefully after this week things will open up a little and I'll be able to put more time into getting this accomplished. Until then, ponder this:
"Not only so, but we also rejoice in our sufferings, because we know that suffering produces perseverance; perseverance, character; and character, hope. And hope does not disappoint us, because God has poured out his love into our hearts by the Holy Spirit, whom he has given us. [...] I consider that our present sufferings are not worth comparing with the glory that will be revealed in us. [...] And we know that in all things God works for the good of those who love him, who have been called according to his purpose."
-Romans 5:3-5 & Romans 8:18,28
"Not only so, but we also rejoice in our sufferings, because we know that suffering produces perseverance; perseverance, character; and character, hope. And hope does not disappoint us, because God has poured out his love into our hearts by the Holy Spirit, whom he has given us. [...] I consider that our present sufferings are not worth comparing with the glory that will be revealed in us. [...] And we know that in all things God works for the good of those who love him, who have been called according to his purpose."
-Romans 5:3-5 & Romans 8:18,28
Saturday, March 19, 2011
I've been working on a post for almost five days now, but it totally sucks so I might just start all over. I apologize to the few of you who follow this. I haven't been keeping up with it very well. Times are stressful right about now, but I will do my best to have a new post up at least by Monday. Until then, riddle me this: what has four legs, is green, and if it falls out of a tree, it kills you?
Thursday, March 10, 2011
A Bad First Impression?
So I haven't posted for a while.
I thought it would be kind of cool to devote a whole day, or rather a whole post in a day, for each of the close friends I am lucky enough to have in my life right now. I'm not sure any of them actually read this, so consider it a random act of kindness. After all, they've showered me with so many acts of kindness. It's the least I can do to repay them. I'll still post other random thoughts, but this is my project over the next few weeks. I hope I don't disappoint. Or forget.
* * *
I met Preston freshman year of college. I remember seeing him for the first time a ways off, and the first thought that came to mind was, "Holy crap, Roger Federer goes to my college!" Now for all of you who have no idea who that is, he is the best tennis player in the world and, therefore, my idol. Of course, I knew he wasn't really attending my college, but from a distance, Preston looked almost exactly like him.
Now, of course, you would think I would be able to contain myself when introducing myself for the first time. Boy, are you wrong. It was probably the most awkward minute or so of my life: "Hey, I'm Cole. I know you probably don't even know who I'm talking about, but I'm just letting you know that you look almost exactly like Roger Federer. He's my favorite tennis player."
You should've seen his face. It had, "You're a freak," written all over it. If memory serves correctly, he said something witty and then turned and walked briskly in the opposite direction.
Now here is where you would think I'd get some sense and go off to ruin more first impressions. Wrong again. Instead, I chased after Preston and continued to try and have a conversation with him for the next hour or so during The O Show. I was so excited that I was able to sit right next to him. I had realized that I had made a horrible first impression, but instead of letting it fade quietly, I blabbed nonstop throughout the whole show.
I didn't see him much after that. We lived on the same hall, but we barely said a word to one another. If we ever crossed paths, we might've nodded in acknowledgement, but that was it. "Friends" is not the word I would've used to describe us. At all. Until the fateful night of World War III.
For those of you who know my previous roommate, Ethan Hutton, you all realize that at times, he can be a little... eccentric. Especially when you've never met someone like him before. Well this was my first experience with Ethan's uniqueness, we'll call it, and at times, I'll admit I was a little scared. One night he suggested we go and play a little prank on Adam and Preston, and, being the wonderful, brilliant, and procrastinating freshman that I was, I didn't object. He told me to bring along my little video camera, and after making some pretty interesting arrangements, I knocked on their door. I shoved my way inside and went to the opposite wall, turned on my camera, and waited. Another knock soon came. Slightly confused at my forced entrance, Preston opened the door yet again to find Ethan standing there with a wicked grin on his face. He slowly walked into the room... and began his striptease. Yes, you heard me correctly: his striptease. You should've seen Preston's face. I used to have the video, but due to Ethan's pleading, I had to delete it. Preston was so shocked he didn't know what to say, think, or feel. It was hilarious.
Well, to cut this short, Ethan was chased out of the room. However, he came back, this time armed with stress-reliever Nerf brains. Preston and I barricaded ourselves in the bunk beds, Adam in his closet, and we battled until Ethan and Adam had their own little tug-of-war thing going with a belt. We decided to call it a draw. Preston's and my friendship had officially begun.
We began to hang out more and more. We studied Geography, raced in Mario Kart, and sort of tamed the thing they call Jake. In February, to my complete surprise and joy, Preston asked if I would room with him the next year. I was ecstatic. We finished out the semester and left our freshman year of college, excited to come back in the fall. The rest is history.
So what is so special about Preston? Where do I begin? Well, for starters, the biggest mistake people make when they meet Preston is assume that he's an arrogant pessimist who has no emotions and expresses no feelings. Not everyone makes this judgment error, but I've heard it from many. I'm here to set that record straight. Preston is not like that at all. If you're convinced that you have Preston figured out, you are horribly wrong. You obviously haven't taken the time to get to know him. Preston is a lot more complicated than you think. He knows the sadness of defeat. He's experienced the pain of loss. He's been through the agony of heartbreak. And what has all of this done to him? No, it hasn't hardened him into a heartless wretch. No, it hasn't turned him into a cynic who refuses to show emotion or feeling. On the contrary, it's formed him into a very mature young man, and this in itself is the quality that I admire most about him. The level of poise with which he handles the great amounts of stress in his life is second to none. The way he deals with tough and awkward situations is, dare I say it, artistic. And while his brush might quiver at times, his hand remains firm and focused. His articulate stroke he weaves throughout his life is simply one of genius and strength. The ability he has to juggle his family, his education, his presidency, and his friends all equally is simply unbelievable. I've never met someone who had so much pressure on them, yet handled that pressure so flawlessly. I'm sure it doesn't feel flawless to him, but that's another thing about Preston that is so unique: his unwillingness to burden others. To some, this may seem like arrogance to accept help. To me, it's attention to detail and a dogged determination to be the best person he can be. Of course, I've had the pleasure of rooming with Preston for seven months now, and will get that pleasure again for another school year, so not many people know him like I do. This is one of the many reasons I am thankful for Preston: he's put an unfaltering trust in me, a trust that few others have shown. It takes time to get to know Preston. But when you finally get there, it's well worth the wait.
So thank you, Preston, for giving me another chance. Through this whole process, I've learned that people really do get second chances. What we do with those chances decides whether we gain a friend or not. In our case, anyway. And I can say for certain that I've gained something more than just a friend. You're a part of me now, and whether you like it or not, you'll always remain an important piece of my life. More so than I think you can understand.
I thought it would be kind of cool to devote a whole day, or rather a whole post in a day, for each of the close friends I am lucky enough to have in my life right now. I'm not sure any of them actually read this, so consider it a random act of kindness. After all, they've showered me with so many acts of kindness. It's the least I can do to repay them. I'll still post other random thoughts, but this is my project over the next few weeks. I hope I don't disappoint. Or forget.
* * *
I met Preston freshman year of college. I remember seeing him for the first time a ways off, and the first thought that came to mind was, "Holy crap, Roger Federer goes to my college!" Now for all of you who have no idea who that is, he is the best tennis player in the world and, therefore, my idol. Of course, I knew he wasn't really attending my college, but from a distance, Preston looked almost exactly like him.
Now, of course, you would think I would be able to contain myself when introducing myself for the first time. Boy, are you wrong. It was probably the most awkward minute or so of my life: "Hey, I'm Cole. I know you probably don't even know who I'm talking about, but I'm just letting you know that you look almost exactly like Roger Federer. He's my favorite tennis player."
You should've seen his face. It had, "You're a freak," written all over it. If memory serves correctly, he said something witty and then turned and walked briskly in the opposite direction.
Now here is where you would think I'd get some sense and go off to ruin more first impressions. Wrong again. Instead, I chased after Preston and continued to try and have a conversation with him for the next hour or so during The O Show. I was so excited that I was able to sit right next to him. I had realized that I had made a horrible first impression, but instead of letting it fade quietly, I blabbed nonstop throughout the whole show.
I didn't see him much after that. We lived on the same hall, but we barely said a word to one another. If we ever crossed paths, we might've nodded in acknowledgement, but that was it. "Friends" is not the word I would've used to describe us. At all. Until the fateful night of World War III.
For those of you who know my previous roommate, Ethan Hutton, you all realize that at times, he can be a little... eccentric. Especially when you've never met someone like him before. Well this was my first experience with Ethan's uniqueness, we'll call it, and at times, I'll admit I was a little scared. One night he suggested we go and play a little prank on Adam and Preston, and, being the wonderful, brilliant, and procrastinating freshman that I was, I didn't object. He told me to bring along my little video camera, and after making some pretty interesting arrangements, I knocked on their door. I shoved my way inside and went to the opposite wall, turned on my camera, and waited. Another knock soon came. Slightly confused at my forced entrance, Preston opened the door yet again to find Ethan standing there with a wicked grin on his face. He slowly walked into the room... and began his striptease. Yes, you heard me correctly: his striptease. You should've seen Preston's face. I used to have the video, but due to Ethan's pleading, I had to delete it. Preston was so shocked he didn't know what to say, think, or feel. It was hilarious.
Well, to cut this short, Ethan was chased out of the room. However, he came back, this time armed with stress-reliever Nerf brains. Preston and I barricaded ourselves in the bunk beds, Adam in his closet, and we battled until Ethan and Adam had their own little tug-of-war thing going with a belt. We decided to call it a draw. Preston's and my friendship had officially begun.
We began to hang out more and more. We studied Geography, raced in Mario Kart, and sort of tamed the thing they call Jake. In February, to my complete surprise and joy, Preston asked if I would room with him the next year. I was ecstatic. We finished out the semester and left our freshman year of college, excited to come back in the fall. The rest is history.
So what is so special about Preston? Where do I begin? Well, for starters, the biggest mistake people make when they meet Preston is assume that he's an arrogant pessimist who has no emotions and expresses no feelings. Not everyone makes this judgment error, but I've heard it from many. I'm here to set that record straight. Preston is not like that at all. If you're convinced that you have Preston figured out, you are horribly wrong. You obviously haven't taken the time to get to know him. Preston is a lot more complicated than you think. He knows the sadness of defeat. He's experienced the pain of loss. He's been through the agony of heartbreak. And what has all of this done to him? No, it hasn't hardened him into a heartless wretch. No, it hasn't turned him into a cynic who refuses to show emotion or feeling. On the contrary, it's formed him into a very mature young man, and this in itself is the quality that I admire most about him. The level of poise with which he handles the great amounts of stress in his life is second to none. The way he deals with tough and awkward situations is, dare I say it, artistic. And while his brush might quiver at times, his hand remains firm and focused. His articulate stroke he weaves throughout his life is simply one of genius and strength. The ability he has to juggle his family, his education, his presidency, and his friends all equally is simply unbelievable. I've never met someone who had so much pressure on them, yet handled that pressure so flawlessly. I'm sure it doesn't feel flawless to him, but that's another thing about Preston that is so unique: his unwillingness to burden others. To some, this may seem like arrogance to accept help. To me, it's attention to detail and a dogged determination to be the best person he can be. Of course, I've had the pleasure of rooming with Preston for seven months now, and will get that pleasure again for another school year, so not many people know him like I do. This is one of the many reasons I am thankful for Preston: he's put an unfaltering trust in me, a trust that few others have shown. It takes time to get to know Preston. But when you finally get there, it's well worth the wait.
So thank you, Preston, for giving me another chance. Through this whole process, I've learned that people really do get second chances. What we do with those chances decides whether we gain a friend or not. In our case, anyway. And I can say for certain that I've gained something more than just a friend. You're a part of me now, and whether you like it or not, you'll always remain an important piece of my life. More so than I think you can understand.
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