tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-81749497394387822762024-03-05T11:29:58.380-08:00Living BlessedJessie Gablehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04312409715008734358noreply@blogger.comBlogger62125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8174949739438782276.post-35733146961783736112012-05-05T13:39:00.002-07:002012-05-05T21:15:06.247-07:00Reaching Wrists UpIf you reach wrists up at something scared, it will subconsciously know you won’t hurt it. That’s what body language experts say at least. I’ve learned a lot in the two years since I last wrote in here. I hope you don’t read any of my senior year foolishness. I was a dummy then. I’m a dummy now. I’ve learned a few things about how to relate to people, but I’m still learning daily. In a recent conversation, I tried to explain my daily theology about how I think of people, and quite frankly, I butchered it completely. I do better with words on paper than I do with talking. I always have.
Here’s what I’ve learned. Here’s what I strive for. I fail daily. I fail hourly.<br />
<br />
I want to make my home, my life, my heart and my reporter’s notebook a safe place for people to land. People are scared of other people. We’re cynical and we’re broken. Reach at people wrists up. Show them you’re not scared of getting hurt.
It is not, nor will it ever be, my job to fix everything.<br />
<br />
When someone does let you into their little world, you have a simple task: Magnify the good, minimize the hurt and treat past wounds with care. You won’t fix them. You can’t fix them. You can only be cautious and patient as time heals them.<br />
<br />
If you can’t take away their pain, bear it with them. A few weeks ago I had ringworm. I got it from a little girl I teach ballet to. My arm was disgusting, but I secretly loved it. It didn’t make her pain any less, but for a little while, I knew how she felt. There are few painful situations I can relate to. I’ve been blessed. I’ve never been hungry. But I’ve had ringworm. It itches. She itches. I still look at my arm where I had it.<br />
<br />
Have a warm bed for the tired to rest. Have at least one meal you can fix for the hungry to eat.<br />
<br />
Always carry enough cash to give a homeless person a meal. (Sorry about messing that one up today, homeless man I met in Chattanooga. You'll be fed, but you're going to have to get it off of the dollar menu.)<br />
<br />
Don’t change anyone. They’re that way for a reason. It’s not your place to figure out why.<br />
<br />
Remember the little things that people like. If they tell you their favorite color, remember it. If they tell you a TV show they love, remember it. You’ll need to pull on those little bits of information if you want to love on them.<br />
<br />
Buy presents first, figure out how to pay for them later. I have no idea how I’m going to pay for my first semester of grad school. No clue. I spent too much on ballet costumes, gifts, cards and mail. It was irresponsible, but I wouldn’t do it any differently if I could start over. Act first then figure out the details later.<br />
<br />
Send cards.<br />
<br />
My Daddy always said to be ten-feet-tall and bulletproof. I’m more sure of that now than I ever was. I don’t think he means to not let anyone hurt you, I just think it means to heal fast. In all, I matter less than you. And you. I’ll be fine. I heal fast. I have a good doctor. I’m grounded in family and Alabama roots. If I get hurt helping someone else, it doesn’t matter. If there’s one thing I’ve learned above all else, it’s that I’ll be OK. Now let’s make you OK.<br />
<br />
Maybe I’m being too emotional. Maybe I’m being passive aggressive. Isn’t everyone with a blog secretly being passive aggressive? I should just tell people I want to know this so they can keep me accountable. This is a list of goals, not a list of accomplishments. Maybe I’ll keep them better here than in a running list in my head.Jessie Gablehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04312409715008734358noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8174949739438782276.post-12843325273335756682010-06-14T22:12:00.000-07:002010-06-14T22:24:12.460-07:00Hey, insomnia.It's back. I swear, I didn't sleep in college. I expected to come home, get ready, complete this massive to-do list of catching up I had accumulated over the past four years, and sleep. All I came home to was kitten sheets and a homemade quilt. And, that's where I have been for the past few weeks. I think it's healing, really, to camp out under the hand-sewn girls with colored bonnets that cover little girls' quilts. There's something about going back to your room, not your apartment, but your own little room with your first furniture and those pictures from forever ago with the only real friends you still have that just...heals.<br /><br />This room hasn't changed much, and really, neither have I. I think coming home before moving to Chattanooga may be one of the smartest ideas I've ever had. You just remember who you were, who you are, and the reason you went to college in the first place.<br /><br />Something should be said about the massive amount of Disney Princess stuff in this room. It wasn't from when I was a little girl, though. I got all of that in highschool when the Left Side (our "gang") still believed in making wishes and Prince Charmings. I still ahve the pictures of us outside Dave and Busters that first time. It was the spring of my freshmen year, and we had all had possibly the hardest previous year that we will ever endure. Still, that's my favorite picture. Above it is one from one of my 13 birthday parties at Rosie's. Aside from Farrell not being in it, that picture is close to perfect. Next is the Tea Party picture from when I was Alice, Kari was the March Hare, and Stephanie was the Mad Hatter. What else. My rhinestoned point shoes are on the top of my shelf from when I was Cinderella and needed glass slippers. <br /><br />I still have pictures from Winterfest, DMA, Disney World, Dave Phillips and every single "Left Side Pretty Picture" from picture week.<br /><br />I think this has been good. To come home, to remember where you came from, and to remember the ones that are going to keep in touch no matter where you go.<br /><br />Yea, it's cliche. But they have to be cliches for a reason. They're almost always true.<br /><br />And so, it is valid to say that there is something healing between kitten sheets and homemade quilts.Jessie Gablehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04312409715008734358noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8174949739438782276.post-65038627536498315972010-06-12T14:44:00.000-07:002010-06-12T14:59:05.036-07:0027 pairs of stillettos.I just got home from the Southern Christian Writer's Conference, and it was one of the most blessed experiences of my life. I have never had anything so inspiring and I met so many wonderful people.<br /><br />Part of it was learning to write every day, so here I sit, ready to write. As I was resting (not packing), someone knocked on my door. It was a black girl with braces and tattoos. Something or some person on her left forearm. I couldn't tell. She wanted to sell me magazines. I have no money. I couldn't invite her in because I'm in the middle of packing and there are TONS of clothes everywhere. I cannot tell someone I don't have money when there are currently 79 pairs of heels, 27 pairs of stilettos, sitting in the floor of my apartment. So, we sat outside while she gave me the song and dance about the books and magazines I couldn't afford. In all honesty, I couldn't afford them. I'm constantly in trouble for overdrafting, and I know there is not an extra $48 in the bank right now to buy 3 years of Woman's Day. <br /><br />Jerk. I felt like a jerk. <br /><br />We made a deal. I gave them all the change I had, plus green tea and my last two Weight Watcher's icecream if I didn't have to feel bad. They asked me if I smoked. I don't. I would never. By this time another girl came to talk. She had tattoos, too, and her dress was far too little. <br /><br />I thought about going into a lecture about how God didn't want them to dress like that and how he didn't want them to drink or smoke. I didn't. I'm not good at that. I have never been good at talking about God. I choke every time. I suppose that's why he made me a writer. <br /><br />So, I sit here, spiritually exhausted from the weekend and feeling like a jerk for not buying a Spanish cookbook. One of them told me her mother died of breast cancer. I wonder sometimes if that's not what I bring God. I have a room full of skills that I have gotten over the years. All the lessons and ideas, all the community service "I should do" things, all the letters I should write, all the phone calls I should make, and all I can afford is a cup of tea and 70-calorie raspberry icecream. <br /><br />Packing in general has been humbling. So often I wonder why I have been chosen to have such a wonderful life: potentially the world's best parents, the best friends, an amazing family, the opportunities, the freedom. Putting all that I own in the open has made me realize, once again, how blessed I am to have parents that will give me anything I want (within reason. 27 pairs of stilettos are reasonable-ish). Did I really need two poor girls to hit it home, God? Obviously, I did.Jessie Gablehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04312409715008734358noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8174949739438782276.post-67469574618956448762010-04-26T15:10:00.000-07:002010-04-26T15:29:49.048-07:00100.My great grandmother just died at 100 years old. 100. I can't even be sad, because after 100 years, she deserves a break.<br /><br />It's made me think: Where will I be in 100 years? Where will this world be in 100 years? <br /><br />Sometimes, I wish I were Amish. There's something about that lifestyle that attracts me. The simplicity, the faith. Yea, I think they might have it all right. But, I have been called the 100% opposite way. Still, I have no idea why. <br /><br />Some proof:<br /><br />I've often made deals with God. I've heard it's not how you're supposed to work, but it works in our relationship. I dedicate a set amount of time to a project, and he follows through on the end. Example: I promised to keep the faith, keep our relationship, not drink, not party, not get involved in anything I'm not supposed to, go to church, go on missions, and work hard for four years. God was supposed to provide a job at the end of it. <br /><br />About a month ago, I got frustrated because I didn't have a job offer. <br /><br />Then, even in this economy, I got six job offers in six wonderful places. I think God was showing off a little, but hey, when you create the world, you can do that.<br /><br />I got into a grad program in Springfield, IL. that only takes 18 students a year.<br />I got offers in Huntsville, Beaumont, Shreveport, upstate NY, and Chattanooga.<br /><br />I've never been special, and I'm still not. That's why this story works out to His glory. And, I haven't even graduated yet.<br /><br />I feel like I end so many of these posts saying, "I can not ask for more," and I probably do overuse that. It's just so true. <br /><br />I'm moving to Chattanooga in two months. I use "I" so much in these posts, which is funny because they are never about me.<br /><br />The bottom line is that I think this whole thing is funny. I wish I were Amish. I think it's the coolest life imaginable. And, I've been called to work in the worldliest part of the earth with the wildest people. I think it's going to be ok, though, the whole "little girl heading out alone" thing. If the same God that holds salvation and can conquer death and this job market has His eye on me, I'll be ok.<br /><br />Grace and Peace,<br />JG<br /><br />PS: This has been my verse throughout all of college:<br /><br />"I have fought a good fight, I have finished my course, I have kept the faith:<br /><br /> 8 Henceforth there is laid up for me a crown of righteousness, which the Lord, the righteous judge, shall give me at that day: and not to me only, but unto all them also that love his appearing." 2 Timothy 4:7-8. Perfect, isn't it?Jessie Gablehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04312409715008734358noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8174949739438782276.post-75633836503740164932010-03-29T18:52:00.000-07:002010-03-29T21:41:33.642-07:00Finally.I'm finally doing it. I'm finally going home to interview my grandmother and get the one love story I want to hear. I've told it on here before, but this time, I'm going to write it for real.<br /><br />The other story I'm working on is the history of Bryce through the eyes of the Partlow children who lived there when they were growing up. The PR director at the Department of Mental Health told me nobody had ever done this angle of Bryce before. I'm pumped. <br /><br />What now?<br /><br />What next?Jessie Gablehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04312409715008734358noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8174949739438782276.post-16132960713237735072010-03-10T15:33:00.000-08:002010-03-10T15:34:37.114-08:00Trying my hand at fiction.This is what I wrote for a Creative Writing class: <br /><br />They call me Mister Jones. My momma stuck one little bit of respect in my name because she never thought I would earn it on my own. I won’t, either. She left the little note tucked into the folds of my blanket before she put me on the steps of the Presbyterian church, knocked on the door and ran away.<br /><br />That’s how I got my start, as one big game of ding-dong ditch. Hell, I don’t even know if that note that said “Mister” was supposed to be my name. Maybe that whore that birthed me was just trying to get a man’s attention like she was always doing. <br /><br />There’s something fun about growing up a whore’s child. All the nuns in the orphanage give you that look where their eyes change shape all together. I swear it’s true. Those eyes turn into teardrops that look like they’re going to fall off the sides of their face when they look at a whore’s child. I was passed around from foster home to foster home, but I figured you could guess as much. That first lady I lived with, Shirley Thompson, I think, man she was a nice lady. But man, I hated living there. She lived in one of those big antebellum houses that folks had died in during the wars and stuff. Once, one of the housekeepers told me that a man had shot himself in the upper room where I slept. You just can’t find any sweet dreams in a room where some soldier blew his brains out. I swear it. <br /><br />I moved around a lot, but it wasn’t so bad. Nobody ever laid a hand on me, but few God-fearing Baptist women do dare lay a hand on a 6’7 black boy whose mother had to get rid of him before she went out to turn tricks for the night. There was this other lady, Joan something, we called her Miss Joan even though she was married. It takes a special person to take in a foster kid, but I swear sometimes some of them are as crazy as a Bessie bug. So this Miss Joan, she used to pray for the demons to release my poor soul every time I acted up in school. I could hear her through the vents that connected her room to mine. She hadn’t figured out this vent thing, so one day I got bored and decided it was time for those demons to start talking back. I don’t know what demons sound like, but luckily, neither did Miss Joan. Anyways, I started talking in a real low, scary voice and convinced Miss Joan that the demons were actually coming down to earth to talk to her. She must have talked to those demons for more than an hour. Then I had to start wrapping up the conversation because the maid would be calling for dinner soon and I don’t think that demons take the same kind of dinner hours that we do. Maybe they do, but I doubt it. I swear, for almost three months after that, she would try to sprinkle me with a little holy water that she got from a missionary that came to speak at the Little Gethsemane House of Prayer last August. <br /><br />I always get to this part of the story and people ask me when I started playing football. I have never touched a football in my life and I never plan on it. So they ask me when I started rapping. Rapping? Really? I don’t rap. <br /><br />What have I done with my life then? (people who have done more always like to ask that question just so they can tell you what they’ve done.)<br /><br />I survived. <br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br />For now.Jessie Gablehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04312409715008734358noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8174949739438782276.post-8264987389685322852010-03-02T06:19:00.001-08:002010-03-02T06:24:57.195-08:00Xander.I was up all night writing about a little boy, Xander, who had been adopted from Ukraine. It started off as a happy story about an adopted babies. I've changed the angle to be a story about how Down syndrome children are not wanted in Eastern Europe because they're still considered to be Mongoloids. I've hated every minute of this research. I found Facebook groups against DS people. It has made me sick. In trying to do the children justice, I've just begun to hate their biological parents. <br /><br />Here's the lede: <br /><br />The child weighed 16 pounds on his fourth birthday. He had never seen a toy because his keepers thought toys would give children with Down syndrome heart attacks. He had never smelled like Johnson & Johnson because baby powder was considered too much of a luxury at the orphanage in Artemivsk, Ukraine. The only taste he knew was vegetable broth out of an infant’s bottle and the only home he knew was a closet where he lived with five other children. He stared at the ceiling for 23 hours out of the day and for one hour he was put in a cage on the front lawn just so he would not forget what the sun looked like.<br />Still, he was one of the lucky ones. His hands and feet were not bound to his bed by leather straps.<br />There were six metal beds in that closet. Each bed contained a small child that was unable to leave unless it was at the hands of their keepers. <br />They did not want to hurt him, so they didn’t touch him. The six damaged children at the orphanage were kept in one little room where they were safe, and the other children were safe from them and their diseases.<br />The child laid in the bed and rocked from side to side for endless hours. With each movement, the skin on his back would rub away leaving bedsores on his undiapered bottom. They will never heal. <br />With every motion, a little piece of his neediness would rub off with his skin. With every sway he would replace the need to be touched and held by a human with the sensation of the threadbare sheet against his skin. He would later be diagnosed with autism, and would struggle with different sensations as he tries to find some touch and pressure that is satisfying. There was no one to hold him in the orphanage, no one to touch his face. All he had was the pressure of the bed against his back and the sight of the shadow creatures on the ceiling. <br />On the day he was born, the doctor that delivered him told his parents that he looked different from the other children. He had little arcs under his eyes and his toes pointed in the wrong direction. No tests were done, but because of those signs that he was not like the other children, they left him there. His birthday and the day he was abandoned became one, and it would be a thousand nights before he had clean pajamas again.<br /> He never heard a lullaby and he will never know what it means to belong to someone who shares his eyes. To his biological parents, he was just another one of God’s mistakes. <br />He was a bundle of hopelessness, wrapped up in a cheap blanket and left to be picked up by whomever got the task of driving to the hospital that day. He was condemned by an extra chromosome, and the sentence was carried out by the ignorance of the Ukrainian people. In Eastern Europe, they still think Down syndrome children are damaged goods. Nobody wants a mongoloid child. <br /><br /><br />I hate this, but I'm glad I'm writing the story. I don't think Professor Bragg will like it because it's just a student scratching the surface on what could be a major break in the fight for human rights, but I'll keep this around. I'll see if anyone wants it, and the one day, I'll do this story right. <br /><br />jgJessie Gablehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04312409715008734358noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8174949739438782276.post-24134061304416432322010-03-01T11:17:00.001-08:002010-03-02T06:19:02.581-08:00Three strikes?I will never understand protests. Never.<br /><br />In the history of anything, has any policy ever changed because of a protest? Did any congressman change his mind because of people standing on the courthouse steps? no. It's a good thought, I suppose. Everyone ganging together to stand in the road. <br /><br />This isn't long. I hope someone will read it and explain to me why people like to protest stuff. <br /><br />jgJessie Gablehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04312409715008734358noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8174949739438782276.post-4766496055102894502010-02-28T08:53:00.000-08:002010-02-28T08:59:04.354-08:00Oh, I've got to get one of these.I'm working on a story about a Down Syndrome orphan that was adopted out of Ukraine. After hours and hours of research (procrastination) on reecesrainbow.com, I've decided I'm going to get me one of those babies one day. I have to. I highly recommend you go to that web site. There are 12 families in Tuscaloosa adopting internationally right now. Their blogs put mine to shame. I suppose Momma's just have the best words for describing their children. <br /><br />Also, it's stories like these that remind me how much we take for granted in the U.S. The kid, Xander, was 16 pounds on his fourth birthday. He lived in a closet with five other children. I'll spare you the tears, and there will be tears when you hear the whole story, but we forget that babies live through that. <br /><br />I have to get me one of those babies one day. One day after I've worked hard, of course. <br /><br />I'll post the story on here later. It's going to be a profile on this child's life almost told through his eyes. He's had Down syndrome and autism, but I'm going to try my best to put things in his terms. <br /><br />Suggestions welcomed.Jessie Gablehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04312409715008734358noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8174949739438782276.post-25688697929589980812010-02-28T08:49:00.000-08:002010-02-28T08:53:37.873-08:00Your poker face.I'm so tired of hearing about gambling in Alabama. <br /><br />There are some stories I can hear for days and never get tired, but I never want to hear about electronic bingo again. So, I'm weighing in. <br /><br />One hand: It's in our constitution that it's illegal. End. Shut them down, put them in jail, capital punishment, whatever you want to do. Just do something.<br /><br />Other hand: It could help our economy. Let's vote on it. What could that hurt? <br /><br />DO SOMETHING.<br /><br />I'm on a few hyper-conservative email lists and I keep getting email that say "Sister Grace met ill fated words at the steps of the courthouse." <br /><br />Maybe Sister Grace shouldn't have been damning people on the steps of the courthouse. Let's get to the bottom of this. I'm sure Sister Grace is a lovely woman, but nobody is just going to randomly spit on a good Christian woman. <br /><br />Just, do something Alabama.Jessie Gablehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04312409715008734358noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8174949739438782276.post-69437075461853766312010-02-26T18:52:00.001-08:002010-02-26T19:02:21.483-08:00Awe-struck.I'm stressed. Real stressed. But the thing is, I could not ask for more right now. I'm stressed about these amazing opportunities I've been giving. No more complaining. The stories will get done on time, the research will be done, I have a post-grad job in case nothing else opens up. I have family and friends who will drop anything when I need them.<br /><br />I've been blessed. <br /><br />We're supposed to keep a blog about newsworthy things, I suppose. I try, but I'm not good at that. I don't want to judge people. I want to write about them, but I always feel like I'm shooting my opinion in when I write blogs. Hm. <br /><br />I was writing a story the other day and asked God this, 'How do you see these people?' That's what I want to capture. I want to describe how the creator sees them. He knows we aren't perfect. But what characteristics does he see when he looks at us? <br /><br />Something I read in The Shack was God saying that nothing bad ever comes from Him. We think he 'let us go through it to teach us a lesson,' but I don't think it's like that. We screw up. Other people screw up. We do go through it by His grace, but he didn't cause it. <br /><br />I've been blessed. I just needed to take a minute to realize that today. <br /><br />Sometimes, it just can't get any better. <br /><br />jgJessie Gablehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04312409715008734358noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8174949739438782276.post-83754365843591557342009-11-21T17:24:00.000-08:002009-11-22T19:22:11.451-08:00Wear Sunscreen.Someone asked me the other day what to expect during their years at UA. So, here's my list. Here's what I've learned. <br /><br />Expect to learn things..the hard way. <br />Expect to make mistakes. <br />Expect to learn more about football than anyone outside of the SEC.<br />Expect to fall in love.<br />Expect to have a broken heart.<br />Expect to break a few hearts, too.<br />Expect to look back and praise Him for the "dodged bullets."<br />Expect to grow up, then grow down, then grow back up again.<br />Expect to look back at the end of four years and still not feel really grown up.<br />Expect to conquer your biggest fear. Whether it's public speaking, trains or failure, you'll look it in the eyes here.<br />Expect to meet G-d on the quad on a spring day when you realize just how little you are.<br />Expect to scream louder, cry harder, and cheer longer at football than you will at your own child's birth.<br />Expect to watch your friends make mistakes.<br />Expect to keep your mouth shut during these mistakes for your first two years, then you start telling them.<br />Expect to send a text message you'll regret at least once. OK, twice.<br />Expect to find a cause you love.<br />Expect to wake up one day and realize you've been living off Starbucks for the past week.<br />Expect to realize that your "dedication" isn't on your own volition, it's just the hand of G-d calling you into your place in His work. <br />Expect to study too hard, and sometimes to little.<br />Expect to love your family more.<br />Around your senior year, expect to realize you're turning into your mother.<br />Be happy about that, she's pretty amazing.<br /><br />So, here's my advice:<br />Learn from your teachers. Not just the facts, but about life. Sit down in their office. I don't know how many times I've sat with Don Brown and just listened to his stories about the glory days of journalism. <br />Take a trip you'll never have the chance to do again. I went to Panama twice. I'll never hold a dying baby again (I pray). I'll never have the chance to stand at the edge of a river in Central America and watch 11 people be baptized. It's ok, though, because I'll never, NEVER, forget the way their faces looked when the came out of the water.<br />Be nice to the weird kid, but be nice to the kid that's cooler than you too. You're here as one of the ones called by Jesus Christ himself. He didn't say to only minister to the outcasts, because the popular kids need Him just as much.<br />Be the light of the world. Be the light of the campus. Practice reflecting His glory in all that you do. <br />Somedays, you'll lose. You won't win. Pray harder. Call your best friend, and praise Him that you have the freedom to fall apart and be put back together.<br />When you find that one person that doesn't like you, smile at them. Proverbs 25:22<br />Don't think you have to drink to have "the college experience." Adopt a down syndrome puppy, make your own way, do something, but don't blame bad behavior on college. <br />Keep it classy. Really. Have good manners. Send thank you's to your bosses and I love you's to your grandmothers. <br /><br />I feel like I should end this with a "wear sunscreen" or something. It's not eloquent, it's not even wise. This is just what I've learned. Be tough. You're tougher than you think. Don't run away from problems, but run as fast as you can from bad situations. <br /><br />You'll come out better. You'll come out stronger. Don't lose faith, you'll be ok.<br /><br />Grace and Peace,<br />jgJessie Gablehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04312409715008734358noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8174949739438782276.post-28106853665438479892009-11-16T20:59:00.000-08:002009-11-16T21:08:42.651-08:00Rammer Jammer, Yellow HammerMy last football game is coming up this Saturday. I'm so sad. <br /><br />These past 4 years have turned me into a die hard Bama fan, and I'll take that to my deathbed. I won't ever miss another game. I'll still sing Rammer Jammer at the end of every victory. I'll know our players, our coaches and our plays. No matter where I end up, I'll always talk about "the bear," wear houndstooth and yell "roll tide." Alabama football is part of who I am now. <br /><br />But as I was sitting here, getting sad, I started to think...the best has yet to come. <br /><br />Right now Alabama Football is all that matters. I love it. But in a few years I'll have a family. How much greater than football will that be? I can't wait. I can't wait.<br /><br />I've been promised so much, and G-d has been faithful. Just looking at everything in the next few months takes my breath away. Finishing this semester strong, working at the Huntsville Times over the break, trip to DC to intern, research project, journal article, conference paper when I come home, working as a TA in the spring, taking Rick Bragg's class.<br /><br />My G-d is faithful. His promises can be seen each and every day in my life. <br /><br />So, the best has yet to come. Praise Him.<br /><br />Grace and Peace,<br />jgJessie Gablehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04312409715008734358noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8174949739438782276.post-56010990396709764302009-10-26T20:09:00.000-07:002009-11-04T11:41:08.577-08:00Jesse B and the woman who tamed him.I've been wanting to write this story for a long time now. My dream is to one day turn it into a book, but there's no need to hesitate on the basics. I'm afraid most of the details are long lost behind the disease that now plagues my grandmother, but I'll recount the story I've been hearing all my life.<br /><br />This all started Saturday when I met a woman in Tuscaloosa who had worked with my grandmother on the Arsenal. She said, "Oh yes, she was a little woman but she could command a room full of men like no other." It's true. She was all fire. She always had been. So now, here's the way I heard it all...<br /><br />It was one of those Alabama summers in Oxford. You know, the ones where you're miserable from June to September. Doris was set to be married to a man, a Roman Catholic man. This was back in the late 1940s when good little Church of Christ girls didn't marry the Catholics. Actually, good little Church of Christ girls still don't marry the Catholics, but that's another story for another day. She was set to be a young bride, but as she told me when I was about 17 and nursing my first broken heart, "He had lost interest and I wasn't about to live with that forever." So, she left him. She left him at the alter from what I understand. She left him and moved to Huntsville with one of her friends.<br /><br />In Huntsville, she started the life of a single woman. Again, this rarely happens in the Church now, much less back then. One day, while walking down the street, she ran into a sailor. Literally, she bumped into him. To this day all the women in my family have a weakness for sailors. Especially in those nice white uniforms. They dated for two weeks then eloped. Now, if you knew my great grandmother, this is where the story gets funny. She's an "anti." That's what the Church calls those old school people who damn everyone to hell and tell people the only ones who go to heaven are the Church of Christ members. That's not true. I think hearing this was the first time I ever thought of my grandmother as a rebel. She never even had the pretty white wedding dress, just a suit and a courthouse. <br /><br />The day after the elopement, Jesse B, my grandfather, was shipped off to Korea for 6 months. They had no contact. She didn't know if he was alive. She barely even knew what he looked like, as she later told me, "I flew out to meet him in California. I was so scared that I wouldn't know what he looked like. I never really remembered, I think I just went home with the first sailor who grabbed me off that airplane." <br /><br />They were married until he died sometimes in the 80s. I don't know what year, all I know is that it was before '88. I never met Jesse B. I never got to see the man I'm named after, even though I've heard he would have loved to have a little granddaughter. <br /><br />I love this story. Every single detail. I love hearing and telling it. It never gets old. My grandmother wasn't meek. She wasn't the weak little woman that was the norm back then. My grandmother has guts. She was on fire. She worked at the Arsenal for years, no college education, but from what I've heard, she could handle any soldier of any rank without batting an eye. Her life wasn't perfect; but through those bumps and turns, she used it to glorify God. <br /><br />I come from some good, God-fearing, Southern women. I think they're made of stone. I hope I don't let them down.Jessie Gablehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04312409715008734358noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8174949739438782276.post-2573164380668867372009-10-21T08:45:00.000-07:002009-10-21T08:52:20.198-07:00Joy for the morning.I'm so happy. It's going to be a good day.<br /><br />Two things worth mentioning:<br />1. Last night at our Girls' Bible study, some of the little 10th grade girls talked about how they were only buying second hand clothes for an entire year. Amazing. How are they so young and so wise at the same time? One of the girls had gone to Baja, Mexico and decided that if they weren't getting new clothes, she shouldn't be either. I've been to Mexico, but I've never thought of doing that. They were so cute. Man, they have quite a few years worth of wisdom on me. They spoke about how we are called to help the poor--not just the poor in spirit, but the actual, physical poor. <br /><br />Those little ones are going to change the world.<br /><br />2. This morning in my Latin American Politics class, the professor showed a slide of an awfully old rope bridge suspended across the Amazon river (which is full of all God's scary creatures). He asked, "who would walk across that?" and without a second of hesitation two soldiers in the back raised their hands. I love soldiers. I love knowing that there are still men willing to die for our country. How blessed are we? <br /><br />It's going to be a good day. <br /><br />Grace and Peace,<br />-jgJessie Gablehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04312409715008734358noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8174949739438782276.post-14337607811803555922009-10-20T09:59:00.000-07:002009-10-20T10:12:22.845-07:00Where the Wild Things Are.I know where the wild things are. They find me. They follow me. They flood my Facebook, Twitter, text message inbox, email, and comment box with messages. I know where the wild things are, they're at UA.<br /><br />I attract creepy people. I attract the wild things. I get overwhelmed when I hear a "you're supposed to be a Christian" when I turn someone down for a date. I stress when I know the right thing, the honest thing, is going to hurt a wild thing. I hurt for and with the wild things as I see their hopelessness. I cringe as wild things try to make sense of the word of G-d without accepting Him into their hearts. Wild things think it's all about forgiveness.<br /><br />I'm heart broken when a wild thing curses me. My heart aches for them. Secretly I long to show my heart to the wild things, but I know the wild things aren't ready to see and understand that. If you're going to talk to a wild thing, you've got to modify your grammar a little. Wild things don't understand King James. <br /><br />The wild things want me to fail. They want to see a Christian dead to joy. They want to see the world's problems affect me. I pass the wild things every day. I see their atheist sidewalk chalk, and I pray for the wild things.<br /><br />I grow weary talking to the wild things. I grow impatient trying to be Christ-like in a world of wild things. Some days, the wild things get the best of me.<br /><br />Then I remember that the wild things can't hurt me. My joy isn't contingent on the wild things.<br />Jesus lived among the wild things, and the wild things rejected Him. And if Jesus was rejected by the wild things, I want to be rejected by them, too.<br /><br />G-d bless the wild things.<br /><br />-jg<br /><br />1 Thessalonian 5:16 Be joyful always; pray continually; give thanks in all circumstances, for this is God's will for you in Christ Jesus.Jessie Gablehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04312409715008734358noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8174949739438782276.post-680254646679106572009-10-19T15:34:00.000-07:002009-10-19T16:01:44.808-07:00Attractive.I'm sitting here in jeans, Chacos, a Hanes white tee and my new Patagonia pull over. It's probably the most comfortable I've been in ages. I'm dressed up 90% of the time: heels, tights, skirt, shirt tucked in, pearls, hair curled, makeup on, matching purse, accessories, nails perfectly manicured. I was dressed like that all day. But now, now I'm comfortable.<br /><br />All of this makes me think: what really makes someone attractive? Now, my poor mother is probably getting nervous while reading this because of the little freak out I had on her earlier today. Don't worry, Momma, this is not about how I attract creepy guys.<br /><br />Really, what makes someone attractive? What makes you drawn to some people? More so, are like people attracted to each other? Wait, no, opposites attract, right? I don't know.<br /><br />I don't believe in that "opposites attract" nonsense. I've never been attracted to anyone that wasn't like me in most ways. I like the preppy boys. Clean cut, well dressed, straight laced...just like me.<br /><br />Here's my other question: if I only attract J.Crew model wannabes, how am I supposed to be His hands and feet?<br /><br />"It is not those who are well that need a physician, but those who are sick." Luke 5:31<br /><br />If I'm well, and people like me are well, then why are we just being doctors to each other? If people like me have the Joy and Strength of G-d, then we've got it made. Our problems are small because we know they'll end in just a few short years and we'll spend eternity in heaven. But those other people, their problems are huge and they're hopeless. Maybe we should stop worrying so much about putting Band-aids on our little cuts and start worrying more about performing some open heart surgeries.<br /><br />I'm attractive to people just like me. You'll recognize my shoes as BCBG, my Coach bag, and you'll even notice when I don't swear. People like me will recognize when I stop myself from gossiping, too. But what about the sick? What about the homeless? What about the lost?<br /><br />I'm probably far from attractive to them. I probably look stuck up. I've been blessed so much more than I'll ever deserve. I probably look like I'm trying to be "holier than thou." That's not the case. I'm just trying to be holier than I was the day before.<br /><br />Humility. Is that what's attractive? There's fine line to walk between false humility and knowing that you were created only for glory of G-d. I blur these occasionally. That's usually when I fall. Hard.<br />Integrity? Important, yes. Attractive? Eh. Not so much.<br />Cleanliness? Now we're probably more on track.<br />Happiness? yes.<br />Joyfulness? yes.<br />Strength? yes.<br /><br />I wish I had all the answers. I wish the Bible were longer. I wish it covered every topic, every situation and told me what to do at every minute. I don't like free will. Sometimes, I pray it would go away. I wish He had told us exactly how to act to attract everyone all the time.<br /><br />Grace and Peace,<br />jgJessie Gablehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04312409715008734358noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8174949739438782276.post-58227394960997212182009-10-18T16:44:00.000-07:002009-10-18T17:14:05.109-07:00Makes me happy.<span style="font-family: arial;">1. A few weeks ago, the Alabama Atheists tried to chalk on the sidewalk. It got washed off for being in the wrong place. Funny, because the Christian clubs mark on the same place and never get washed off.</span><br /><span style="font-family: arial;">2. I loved watching people get the little Gideon's Bibles last week. I love getting those. </span><br /><span style="font-family: arial;">3. Tom Tom. </span><br /><span style="font-family: arial;">4. Freezing to death last night with 20 of the most amazing people on earth. RTR.</span><br /><span style="font-family: arial;">5. Peacoat weather. Scarves, gloves, mittens, looking perfectly pulled together in jeans, heels, a good coat, a brooch, scarf and curled hair. I love that look.</span><br /><span style="font-family: arial;">6. My preacher quoted A.W. Tozer this morning!!!!</span><br /><span style="font-family: arial;">7. Ok, this could go on forever.</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family: arial;">I'm so happy these days. Actually, happy fails as a word. I'm joyful. It's comforting to think of the power of G-d when things are going bad. It's nice to remember that he's in control when you obviously aren't. But, I hardly ever think about Him being in control with things are going well. You know what I mean? My accomplishments aren't my own. I am nothing. How great is it to think that the Lord who takes away our pain is also the one who gives us joy and peace? His power has been displayed so much in my life recently. I only want to reflect it. </span><br /><br /><span style="font-family: arial;">In Mere Christianity, C.S. Lewis writes, "</span><span style="font-family: arial;font-size:100%;" >G</span><span class="text" style="font-size:100%;"><span style="font-family:Verdana, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><span style="font-family: arial;">od will make the feeblest and filthiest of us into a god or a goddess, a dazzling, radiant, immortal creature, pulsating all through with such energy and joy and wisdom and love as we cannot now imagine, a bright stainless mirror which reflects back to God perfectly…His own boundless power and delight and goodness"</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family: arial;">Perfect. The perfect quotation for how I feel right now. Only, the thing is, I want to be a mirror right now. </span><br /><br /><span style="font-family: arial;">I think my ban on negative Web sites and ungraceful words has helped me a lot. No saying these words: crap, screwed, sucks, pissed ect. I've stopped with the words that could be bad such as "put him through Hell" or "she was bitching" No textsfromlastnight, no fmylife, no Sex and the City. Not even a "we just beat the ... out of you." Even as I write them, I'm becoming ashamed that I ever let those words come out of my mouth. </span><br /><br /><span style="font-family: arial;">So what has this changed? My thoughts are purer. I'm beginning to see people how Christ sees them. I'm beginning to despise some characteristics both in myself and in others. Dishonesty is a big one. I've stopped all exaggerations, that's just lying. I've become more separated from the world I'm involved with, but more in touch with the Church and my church family. My sense of discernment has grown tremendously. I'm drawn so much to some people, and pulled away from others. At some points, there have even been people that I run from. It's not a fear thing, though. I can just hear Him telling me to run from evil. I'm surrounded by enough unholy things in my career. I think these little disciplines are going to be imperative in my self preservation. Like Billie Holliday said, "I ain't misbehavin, savin all my love for you." </span><br /><br /><span style="font-family: arial;">On another note, one of the characteristics I've grown to hate in myself is that I focus too much on myself. Ironic sentence. Me me me me me me. Gross. I don't talk about other people, so I fall into the habit of only talking about me. Make sense? When I was in high school, I started telling embarrassing stories about myself whenever I wanted to gossip. There must be more graceful, joyful things to discuss. I have to find those. </span><br /><br /><span style="font-family: arial;">It's going to be a wonderful week. </span><br /><span style="font-family: arial;">G-d Bless all who read this.</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family: arial;">Grace and Peace, </span><br /><span style="font-family: arial;">jg</span><br /></span></span>Jessie Gablehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04312409715008734358noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8174949739438782276.post-62728791139946902182009-10-15T18:21:00.001-07:002009-10-15T18:38:46.213-07:00Hallelujah.I've been thinking a lot about that word Hallelujah since my last post. First, let me say that my week has been so filled with blessings that I can not even begin to make a list. I can't begin that list tonight because I know I will never finish it. That's how much the Lord has revealed His power to me this past week.<br /><br />Tonight, after another God-filled day, I found the only thing I could tell God was "hallelujah." I drove home saying this praise word. It resonated in my head as I walked through Target.<br /><br />Hallelujah Lord, you are so great.<br /><br />I saw an old friend post something on Facebook about God the other day. Get this, he wrote G-d. I love it. I'm stealing it. From now on, I will reserve the Holy of Holies just as they did in the days of covenants and the old law.<br /><br />I've been questioning my career choice lately. Not really MY career choice, but rather the one He chose for me. Then I remembered how it all started...<br /><br />I used to sit at this Starbucks every day when I went to UAH. I sat there and I read my Bible every single day. I covered the entire New Testament and most of the old that year. And before I came to UA, I gave my life to Him once again.<br /><br />The first time was when I was 12. Daddy took me to the church and baptized me. This time I gave my professional life over to Him. The deal was this- I would go and work as hard as I could, do as much as I could, keep the faith, and study hard, and God would put me where he needed me in four years. Now that I'm starting to gain momentum on all of this, I'm just figuring out that this is just His plan playing out. I'm just here to be used by Him. I'm out of control. Amen.<br /><br />I'm going to DC in January. I'm coming home to work on a bunch of research that most undergrads don't get the chance to. I'll have the byline (with my professor) on a conference paper and a journal article. Resume boost? yes.<br /><br />I'll be spending the night in His word.<br /><br />Glory, glory, Hallelujah, G-d.<br /><br />Grace and Peace,<br />jgJessie Gablehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04312409715008734358noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8174949739438782276.post-18216790838592627372009-10-13T15:30:00.000-07:002009-10-13T15:54:33.843-07:00Baffled King composing Hallelujah.I'm completely in love with the song "Hallelujah" right now by Leonard Cohen.<br /><br />Well I heard there was a secret chord<br />That David played, and it pleased the Lord<br />But you don't really care for music, do ya?<br />Well it goes like this<br />The fourth, the fifth<br />The minor fall and the major lift<br />The baffled king composing Hallelujah<br />Hallelujah<br />Hallelujah<br />Hallelujah<br />Hallelujah<br /><br />Well Your faith was strong but you needed proof<br />You saw her bathing on the roof<br />Her beauty and the moonlight overthrew you<br />she tied you to her kitchen chair<br />And she broke your throne and she cut your hair <br />And from your lips she drew the Hallelujah<br />Hallelujah<br />Hallelujah<br />Hallelujah<br />Hallelujah<br /><br />Well baby I've been here before<br />I've seen this room and I've walked this floor<br />I used to live alone before I knew ya<br />I've seen your flag on the marble arch<br />Love is not a victory march <br />It's a cold and it's a broken Hallelujah<br />Hallelujah<br />Hallelujah<br />Hallelujah<br />Hallelujah<br /><br />Well there was a time when you let me know<br />What's really going on below<br />But now you never show that to me do you?<br />And remember when I moved in you?<br />And the holy dove was moving too<br />And every breath we drew was Hallelujah<br />Hallelujah<br />Hallelujah<br />Hallelujah<br />Hallelujah<br /><br />Well maybe there's a God above<br />But all I've ever learned from love<br />Was how to shoot somebody who'd OUT DREW YA<br />And it's not a cry that you hear at night<br />It's not somebody who's seen in the light<br />It's a cold and it's a broken Hallelujah<br />Hallelujah<br /><br />Sound familiar? It's the story of King David. Also, it's probably one of the most beautiful songs ever written. I was writing a bio for myself for a magazine I'm writing for last night, and one of the questions was "who is your favorite Bible character?" I love David. The story is amazing. No author can come up with this. Everything from his start conquering Goliath to the Psalms...I love it. I relate to him as he writes what we all really think in Psalms. On the days I feel like a walking, talking disaster, I feel like David. As a writer, I envy his talent with words. That's a God-given talent. When you read them, you know He's here. You just know.<br /><br />My favorite verse in this song is "the baffled king composing hallelujah" because that's how I feel on any given day. I'm confused. I don't know why I've been called to journalism when other little CoC girls are called to nursing, education and things like that. But, whatever I write, whatever words I pull together...I want them to be hallelujah. I want the final product to scream of His glory. I want those 750 words to be God-filled, God-inspired and God-glorifying. I want my final composition to be a shout of praise, thanksgiving or even a cry out to Him. I want Him to use my brokenness, awkwardness and clumsiness to work for Him.<br /><br />Hallelujah.Jessie Gablehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04312409715008734358noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8174949739438782276.post-77365718579486493632009-10-05T16:53:00.001-07:002009-10-05T16:58:11.324-07:00Splendid.Today has been splendid. This semester has been splendid.<br /><br />Today, I made a list of people that bless my life on a daily basis:<br />My momma<br />My grandmomma, especially days when she sends me letters. THOSE ARE THE BEST.<br />The ladies I work with<br />Doris Flora- the sweetest adjunct God ever created. She always likes my shoes. I bet she was a looker back in the day<br />Kat, the janitor at Reese Phifer who helps me open the door every morning. Why can't I get that door open? I have keys to most of that building, but I still have to get her to help me. She makes me happy.<br />Achielles' daddy. I don't know his name, Aaron maybe? He's just so cute. Little boy cute. I'm sure he'd appreciate me saying that.<br />The guy who rides his bike to work at University Village. He used to scare me, but now he's harmless. He likes Daisy. Once, he told me he had a cat named Daisy.<br />Anyone/everyone who works at Chik-fil-a. They're just so nice!<br />My church family<br /><br />I'm too blessed to be stressed out.<br /><br />-jgJessie Gablehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04312409715008734358noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8174949739438782276.post-29810613559446292462009-10-04T16:47:00.000-07:002009-10-04T16:53:43.501-07:00You betta shape up.Remember that line from Grease? You betta shape up, cause I need a hand.<br /><br />Again, I've been trying to get rid of somethings in my life. Today is the first day that I can actually say I've done a good job. My list even grew this morning as I was reading my Bible.<br /><br />So, we've got:<br />textsfromlastnight.com<br />fmylife.com<br />Crap, Suck<br />any other questionable word like "bitching" because that one is on the borderline of being a bad word in some instances. You know, like "he was bitching at me" isn't really bad. Anyways, I'm doing away with that.<br />Dane Cook-I deleted all of him off my iPod today<br />Typing "wtf" which I don't really do anymore, but I used to. Only typing, though. I never said it.<br />Saying things like "that's retarded" or "that's gay"<br /><br />It feels good! I think that abandoning these things is really going to be good for me.<br /><br />Grace and Peace,<br />jgJessie Gablehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04312409715008734358noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8174949739438782276.post-68296797948295080362009-10-03T17:51:00.000-07:002009-10-03T18:01:13.812-07:00I should so be studying.I don't think I've mentioned this before, but I've been trying desperately hard lately to stop looking at textsfromlastnight.com, fmylife.com and saying the words "suck" and "crap."<br /><br />I'm failing miserably.<br /><br />Usually, I'll slip up and say something "sucks" then catch myself and say "crap" out of aggravation. Sad cycle, don't you think?<br /><br />I have two massive Spanish tests Tuesday. Then, I get to go home and get back to my roots for a little while. I'm so tired of studying Spanish. I'm not interested in it. I don't like the language. I don't like anything about it- but the babies. I love hispanic babies. I keep looking at my pictures from Panama, Mexico, Houston and my baby I sponsor and I'm trying to stay motivated.<br /><br />One day, I want to adopt a hispanic little girl. It's always been on my list. I may not even have a baby, just adopt one. Then I'll use my Spanish.<br /><br />There's so much to be happy about these days. I'm surrounded by amazing people that are sincerely focused on glorifying the Lord as much as I am. I have the sweetest dog that ever lived. I feel more liberated than I ever have before. In 8 months, I'll have the option to do whatever I want, wherever I want and make this world whatever I want it to be. My apartment is immaculate. I love being a perfectionist. I'm finally learning to be quiet and hear God speak. I have the coolest internship, and I'm slowly learning that hearing my editors tell me that something football-related that I did was good is possibly the best feeling.<br /><br />There's no deep meaning to this post. I'm just happy. I'm at peace with everything He has given me. I'm excited for my future.<br /><br />I need to study.<br /><br />Grace and Peace,<br />jgJessie Gablehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04312409715008734358noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8174949739438782276.post-40455073455262058962009-10-01T17:47:00.000-07:002009-10-01T18:13:08.137-07:00On the Old South and being spoiled.I had lunch with an old friend today. You know, one of those people who knows your roots and reminds you when you forget. We used words like "Old Money" and "cotillion" and I figured out why Tuscaloosa boys have been such a disappointment. <div><br /></div><div>Our Mayfair boys spoiled us. </div><div><br /></div><div>I blame them for all of it. Keep in mind that I was 20 before I dated a boy who cursed in my presence. I blame the Mayfair boys. I blame them for seeing us as sisters in Christ first. I blame them for luring us into believing that every boy would see us with the same respect that they did. I blame them for not preparing us to have a boy swear in our presence. I blame them for being some of the most beautiful people, for being the toughest boys I've ever known, and for making me think every man would cry when he had to leave a little baby in Mexico. I blame them for looking so adorable playing football on mission trips, for being able to make a baby stop crying, and for having perfect manners. I blame them for letting me think that every man would be able to pray on the drop of a hat, would stand up for his country, and knew to stand up when a lady came into the room. </div><div><br /></div><div>Remember, we're from the Old South. </div><div><br /></div><div>And as we added up traits and characteristics of the boys we grew up with, I realized something: just because the boys at the University of Alabama look and talk like they walked straight out of a Faulkner novel, they are not gentlemen. </div><div><br /></div><div>They are not gentlemen. </div><div><br /></div><div>They will never have the self control to not swear. They don't respect girls enough. Ladies, we don't demand that enough anymore. They will never have the strength to let a girl cry into their shoulder on a mission trip or after the good Lord has called them to repent. That strength doesn't exist in these boys. </div><div><br /></div><div>I have to extend this, though, to all the boys of the Churches of Christ. Those Vaughn Park, College Hills, Landmark, University and Brentwood Hills boys are just the same. They have the same battle scars from jumping off something, and the same big muscles from picking up little kids to play airplane in the inner cities. They have those same eyes that remind you that they've seen the world the way you see it, too. </div><div><br /></div><div>Now girls, if you're reading this and you think you have found a boy that fits this- you don't. Because until you have cried on one of their shoulders or been scared to death with on a mission trip with a true man after God's own heart, you will never know what this is. </div><div><br /></div><div>I praise Him so much for spoiling me with these boys. The idea that they exist reminds me to be a lady. It reminds me that my only test to see if a boy is worthy should be that he finds my heart while trying to find God. Maya Angelou said, "<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: arial; font-size: 13px; "><em style=""><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-style: normal;">A woman's heart should be</span></em> so hidden in God that a man has to seek Him just to find her.'</span> How true that is. </div><div><br /></div><div>Grace, Hope and Peace.</div><div>-jg</div>Jessie Gablehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04312409715008734358noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8174949739438782276.post-49281035969387443182009-09-29T05:44:00.000-07:002009-09-29T09:20:09.693-07:00Face to face when all is done.I remember the first time I heard the song "There's a stirring." It was in Atlanta, at Burnt Hickory Church of Christ for my uncle's funeral. There must have been two hundred people in that room, because I remember it being so incredibly hot. At one point, one of his friends quoted him in saying the apostles were "pretty cool dudes." Ha, I come from good people. That's not the point. The point is that since then I've always loved that song. We started singing it some at my home church after that, but I still think of that funeral every time I hear it.<br /><br />There's a stirring deep within me,<br />Could it be my time has come?<br />When I see my gracious Savior,<br />face to face when all is done.<br /><br />Is that His voice I am hearing,<br />Come away my precious one.<br />Is he calling me?<br />Is he calling me?<br /><br />I will rise up, rise up<br />and bow down<br />and lay my crown<br />at his wounded feet.<br /><table bgcolor="#ffffff" border="0" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" width="770"><tbody><tr></tr><tr><td width="20"><br /></td> <td align="left" valign="top" width="580"><br /></td></tr></tbody></table><br />I've always thought that the stirring was at the end of your life. I always thought it was talking about death, right? That's why we sang it at a funeral, right? Now, I'm just not so sure.<br /><br />I've been thinking a lot about what I'm going to do after graduation, and the one thing that keeps nagging at me is that I have to find something to blend the talent of writing with mission work. Also, I know this isn't in Alabama. My question is this: Am I just wanting an adventure, or is this a stirring?<br /><br />I've only been called a few times in my life. I was called to Houston, Texas, to fall in love with the hispanic babies. I was called into the Darien rainforest. I was called into journalism. Now I just wonder, am I being called to serve far away? I always promised God that I would go if he sent me a husband that wanted to go; but after this year, I've learned that I don't need a husband in order to answer His call. If this is truly my calling, I'm going to have to at least start it alone. Am I being called to another country? Or is this just my post-grad adventure speaking? I wouldn't be the first one to backpack through Europe after graduation, but maybe I could be one of the ones who settle in a small town and work for His glory? I suppose only time will tell.<br /><br />Grace and Peace,<br />-jgJessie Gablehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04312409715008734358noreply@blogger.com0