I've been packing up the apartment all day.
I have 5 pairs of unworn cowboy boots.
Actually, the breakdown of apartment contents is like so:
59 sundresses. Not winter dresses, sundresses.
76 pairs of shoes (only 3 of which were flip flops)
5 pairs of cowboy boots
6 denim skirts
12 pairs of jeans
45 post it notes
3 tennis rackets (I don't play tennis)
3 full books of stamps (apparently I don't mail either)
17 belts
11 pea coats
27 solid white t shirts, oh they really like me.
41 camisoles
That equals 13 of the large moving boxes, 12 under the bed boxes, one packed-full garment bag, 3 mesh laundry bags, and 3 laundry baskets full. PLUS whatever is still in my chest of drawers and all my hanging clothes (a double door closet with a double bar full)
Goodness.
But as I pack all of this up, I can't help but look back on how much I've done in college. I mean, this apartment is the only place I've ever lived outside of my house.
There's the Express skirt and heels I wore on my first day of my Tuscaloosa News internship where I had to run so far in the rain for my first story on the one millionth CrimsonRide rider.
An assortment of cocktail dresses I've worn to banquets during my "I'm only going to date soon-to-be-rich buisnessmen" phase. The parties were fun, but the conversation was terribly boring.
The completely safe blue polo dress that everyone has.
My fail-proof outfit of black top, jeans, black stilettos (those BCBG ones that everyone got in 2005. I've had them resoled twice, but they were completely worth it) and pearls. This outfit hangs together all the time in case I need it in a hurry.
A mola that was handmade for me in the middle of the Darien Rainforest by a Kuna indian woman. Reminder from the best trip of my life. It still smells like Panama. I love to see it every morning hanging in my closet.
A black strapless dress that Reba would say "was known for teaching lessons."
The J. Crew skirt I wore to my Crimson White interview. You never go wrong with J.Crew. Mark my words. Never.
A pair of brown hotpants and a brown/pink sports bra that I used to wear to competition classes.
The Coach wallet and bag that sweet Ms. Parsons brought be back from the China Olympics after I helped her for a semester with ASPA.
A child's yellow Dickies button-down that I got from Johnny in Playona. He ran a little store where he sold clothes that US Missionaries had brought down. It was his only source of income, but he gave us these so we wouldn't get bitten by redbugs in the jungle. Precious.
The free people stuff from when I went through my "I want to be the lead singer of A Fine Frenzy" phase. You know, the pretty red headed Swedish girl that sings "Goodbye my almost lover.."
I wonder what I'll be packing up in 3 more years? And who will be helping me? And where will I be moving? Will my dreams work out? Will I move to Nashville and marry a cowboy? (I already have the outfit).
It's today for which we're responsible. God still owns tomorrow.- Elisabeth Elliot
-jg
Wednesday, July 22, 2009
Tuesday, July 21, 2009
Dump trucks.
Today, I was walking Daisy up the back stairs of my apartment. If you know Daisy, you know she's a little "special." Honestly, I think she's mentally handicapped. It's a lot like living with a handicapped child, but I just love her so much.
Well, today Daisy wanted to watch the dump trucks drive from our apartment complex to the road. I fought her and fought her yelling "I don't have time for this." I was mad and she was stubborn. The sad thing is that I wasn't really that busy. It was a perfect day and I had ample time before I had to be at work.
So, I gave in. For about 15 minutes, we sat on the back stairs and watched the dump trucks drive into and out of University Village.
I'm not usually a "stop and smell the roses" person, but I think I'll try to take a little more time to pause from now on. Like C.S. Lewis said in Surprised by Joy, "It is not settled happiness that glorifies the past, but momentary joy."
Today, Daisy and I had a little momentary joy.
God is good and the blessings outweigh the problems these days.
Who could ask for more?
Grace and Peace,
jg
Well, today Daisy wanted to watch the dump trucks drive from our apartment complex to the road. I fought her and fought her yelling "I don't have time for this." I was mad and she was stubborn. The sad thing is that I wasn't really that busy. It was a perfect day and I had ample time before I had to be at work.
So, I gave in. For about 15 minutes, we sat on the back stairs and watched the dump trucks drive into and out of University Village.
I'm not usually a "stop and smell the roses" person, but I think I'll try to take a little more time to pause from now on. Like C.S. Lewis said in Surprised by Joy, "It is not settled happiness that glorifies the past, but momentary joy."
Today, Daisy and I had a little momentary joy.
God is good and the blessings outweigh the problems these days.
Who could ask for more?
Grace and Peace,
jg
Monday, July 20, 2009
The Third Paragraph boys.
I often write about boys, but the thing is, every other aspect of my life has been so richly blessed. You have to understand- I have been given more things than any one person should ever have. Family, friends, a good upbringing, unshakable faith, the opportunity to go into the world and see His creation, opportunities to study and work and do something I love every single day, His forgiveness daily, hope of glory, ect. I think complaining at all would be a sin for me, but my craziness in dating at least gives me a conversation topic. I'm positive this is how God continually reminds me of my full dependence on Him. So, amid my gratefulness, I am reminded to come daily to Him with any and all of my concerns.
So every night, I write a letter to God. I mean a real letter. In a moleskin notebook (someone wise once told me those were the best and it's true). Each letter is signed and dated with appropriate greetings and closings. Very proper. Sometimes I think that if Hemmingway or Faulkner were going to write letters to God, they would do them this way. I like to think that at least. Each one has a specific layout, too. If you're going to write the keeper of your soul, you should probably have good penmenship, too. We don't want any typos.
Paragraph 1: Thanksgiving. A reminder that the problems in the rest of the letter will always always always come after my gratitude for salvation and the daily blessing of enjoying His creation. This paragraph also includes a little bit about my day..incase He missed something. Or sometimes the things I'm most excited about that day. Like Paul used to open up his letters, first there was the little greeting to those in Corinth, ect., then there was the meat and bones of the matter. The good stuff.
Paragraph 2: Personal stuff. Things I'd like to change about myself. Things I've done wrong in the past 24 hours. (You'd be amazed how much this is!) Usually includes patience, gracefulness and a prayer for Jesus Christ himself to come put his hand over my mouth when I should stop talking. Wouldn't that be nice? Or a little reminder when my redheaded temper flares up again. That in itsself keeps me in all kinds of trouble.
Paragraph 3:Friends. Here's where my third paragraph boys come in. As I was writing yesterday, I realized that every third paragraph looks the same.
"Father, please be with (boy I'm currently dating at the time's name) and let him come to know you. Help him to be the man you want him to be.I know he can be better, Lord, if he just calls to you."
Every single time.
Of course these third paragraph boys never work out. I know going into it that they won't. If hanging around a Sunday-morning Christian is the best I can do, well, I'd rather be in the mission field alone. After all, mission dating NEVER works.
It makes me wonder, if I can look back on all my old entries and be so happy that whatever I was praying for didn't come true (think that old country song "Unanswered Prayers" type stuff) will I look back on this and be happy? Will I one day meet someone that doesn't fall into the third paragraph? That maybe even makes it to the first paragraph because of his undying faith? Or that is so driven to serve the Lord that I have to follow? I think so. Or at least I'm not giving up yet.
So, until the day that a find myself writing to God about someone in the first paragraph, it's just random happenings. It'll be worth it, though. I'm a die-hard realist, but I'm not giving up hope here.
Right now, it's just a few more weary days and then, I'll fly away. I still love that song.
No more cold iron shackles on my feet...
Grace and Peace,
jg
So every night, I write a letter to God. I mean a real letter. In a moleskin notebook (someone wise once told me those were the best and it's true). Each letter is signed and dated with appropriate greetings and closings. Very proper. Sometimes I think that if Hemmingway or Faulkner were going to write letters to God, they would do them this way. I like to think that at least. Each one has a specific layout, too. If you're going to write the keeper of your soul, you should probably have good penmenship, too. We don't want any typos.
Paragraph 1: Thanksgiving. A reminder that the problems in the rest of the letter will always always always come after my gratitude for salvation and the daily blessing of enjoying His creation. This paragraph also includes a little bit about my day..incase He missed something. Or sometimes the things I'm most excited about that day. Like Paul used to open up his letters, first there was the little greeting to those in Corinth, ect., then there was the meat and bones of the matter. The good stuff.
Paragraph 2: Personal stuff. Things I'd like to change about myself. Things I've done wrong in the past 24 hours. (You'd be amazed how much this is!) Usually includes patience, gracefulness and a prayer for Jesus Christ himself to come put his hand over my mouth when I should stop talking. Wouldn't that be nice? Or a little reminder when my redheaded temper flares up again. That in itsself keeps me in all kinds of trouble.
Paragraph 3:Friends. Here's where my third paragraph boys come in. As I was writing yesterday, I realized that every third paragraph looks the same.
"Father, please be with (boy I'm currently dating at the time's name) and let him come to know you. Help him to be the man you want him to be.I know he can be better, Lord, if he just calls to you."
Every single time.
Of course these third paragraph boys never work out. I know going into it that they won't. If hanging around a Sunday-morning Christian is the best I can do, well, I'd rather be in the mission field alone. After all, mission dating NEVER works.
It makes me wonder, if I can look back on all my old entries and be so happy that whatever I was praying for didn't come true (think that old country song "Unanswered Prayers" type stuff) will I look back on this and be happy? Will I one day meet someone that doesn't fall into the third paragraph? That maybe even makes it to the first paragraph because of his undying faith? Or that is so driven to serve the Lord that I have to follow? I think so. Or at least I'm not giving up yet.
So, until the day that a find myself writing to God about someone in the first paragraph, it's just random happenings. It'll be worth it, though. I'm a die-hard realist, but I'm not giving up hope here.
Right now, it's just a few more weary days and then, I'll fly away. I still love that song.
No more cold iron shackles on my feet...
Grace and Peace,
jg
Sunday, July 19, 2009
In queso emergency...
Every editor keeps telling me I need to blog more. So, here goes.
When I was about 15, I made this promise to break the stereotype of the "good girl." I mean, I loved dancing on stage in next-to-nothing. I loved the rhinestones, the wild songs, the dark tans, tons of makeup, and that just doesn't fit into what a good little Church of Christ girl looked like. (Are we even allowed to dance?) So, I decided to break that. Now, some girls do the same thing but they try all that black makeup "I dont' care what anyone else thinks" look. No, no. That wasn't me either.
I have a few things I will fight for.
1. I'm going to be a virgin when I get married. This has lead to heartache after heartache. I knew that. I know it more, now. I expect to hear "Really? You don't look like a virgin" on every third date. It doesn't make dating easier, but it's simply not up for debate. Consequently, I'm incredibly comfortable talking about it.
2. I didn't drink until I was 21. I will not be getting drunk (on purpose) with anyone anytime soon. I'm just not. Don't ask. It's not ladylike.
3. I'm a die-hard conservative. I'm pro-life, probably more than anyone else you know. I don't believe in gay marriage. I support our troops and whatever they have to do to save our country. America first. If you mess with the land our grandfathers made, I want to shoot you. If you don't like that, I don't care. Church, too. I do think women should keep silent. I think they should be submissive. I want to be independent, self-sufficient, and driven, but when I get married...my husband will have the final say. (If you read that passage, you know that good men love their wives enough to make them happy no matter what). I don't think it's best to argue with the keeper of our souls.
4. If I swear, you better know I'm mad.
5. I'm not afraid of global warming. God told us he wouldn't destroy the world with water again, so why are all these Christians afraid of flooding? I generally don't like environmentalists. I think it's silly.
6. Jesus Christ saved my soul. I might not look like the typical knee-length-skirt wearing good girl, but I've seen Him face-to-face and there is no turning back now. I've held dying babies in Panama. I've held a little girl during her last day on earth. I've talked to 12 year olds that have been raped by their uncles. I've held hands with the homeless.
So, that brings me back to my goal: to break the stereotype of the good girl. Of all my many blessings- they outnumber what any human should ever have- I thank God for my friends. A set of girls that are so beautiful and passionate in everything they do, that it reminds me daily that being a good girl doesn't have to be confined to tankinis, fake kindness, and all-girl movie nights. We go back, all the way back to the SVS days when our dance teachers taught us to "walk into everything like we know what we're doing," and made us walk endlessly up and down the halls in 4 inch heels until we could walk without falling. (This was in middleschool, too!)
THese girls remind me that:
1. Being a girl is a lost art. Sitting with your ankles crossed, hands folded in your lap, and making eye-contact is powerful. Pearls are perfect in all situations. A southern accent will get you out of so so so many troubles.
2. BCBG Stilettos are what I'm most comfortable in. People always say "wear what makes you comfortable," and they're usually talking about an excuse to wear something weird. But maybe I'm more comfortable in a floral dress and heels? Or a good pair of Levis and a lacy top and pearls. Heels make your butt look better, they just do. And I'm talking no less than 4 inches or why bother? Looks do matter. It's how the world sees you. So make that work in your advantage.
3. They don't agree with me on everything. Especially the political stuff, but they remind me daily to fight for whatever it is that I do believe. I encourage them to do the same. This world wasn't cut out for the wishy-washy. Mark my words, if you don't stand for something, you'll fall for anything.
4. They're the leaders of tough-love. They're the ones that will hit me or send me a text message saying "run" if I'm on a weird date. They're always right, too. Always. One day, I'll meet a boy that Kari likes and I'll probably do anything to keep him. She'll know, I bet. To date: she hasn't liked one yet.
5 They remind me that different isn't really good. That fake-nice isn't what being a good girl is really about. Loyalty is. Trustworthiness is. Wholesomeness is. When I become obsessed with an idea: wholesomeness, for example, they're the ones that go with it whole-heartedly.
6. They're the ones that remind me to have standards. Our mothers raised us to be well-rounded, driven, independent women and lowering my standards is like a slap in the face. They remind me to not accept text messages over phone calls, to not forgive drunken conversations, and to be picky. They remind me not to fall in love, because they know I'll let that get in my way. They know my past and remind me of all my many many mistakes that happened when I settled for less than what I deserved. THey remind me that I'm not going to change anyone. That "mission dating" isn't worth it, and that someone's place in heaven isn't dependent on me. If it's not good, if you're not happy, you will never be happy. It will not work. Cry for one night, then move on.
As I keep on my mission, I'll undoubtedly learn more. Maybe I'll finally learn to stop competing with people for no reason other than just to win. Maybe I'll learn to keep my mouth shut. Maybe not. Either way, I know those girls will be the ones to remind me that I'm tougher than I thought. They're prettier than your friends, I guarantee. They can walk better in heels, and have probably flirted with your boyfriend. In one year, I'll be chasing down some crazy dream. I'll be moving, and those girls, the closest things I've ever had to sisters, will be the only ones following. I'll forget about the college friends; I won't remember the bad dates.
Left Side will stay. Just watch.
I've been blessed with family, and I hope I remind them to "walk the walk" too.
Grace and Peace,
jg
When I was about 15, I made this promise to break the stereotype of the "good girl." I mean, I loved dancing on stage in next-to-nothing. I loved the rhinestones, the wild songs, the dark tans, tons of makeup, and that just doesn't fit into what a good little Church of Christ girl looked like. (Are we even allowed to dance?) So, I decided to break that. Now, some girls do the same thing but they try all that black makeup "I dont' care what anyone else thinks" look. No, no. That wasn't me either.
I have a few things I will fight for.
1. I'm going to be a virgin when I get married. This has lead to heartache after heartache. I knew that. I know it more, now. I expect to hear "Really? You don't look like a virgin" on every third date. It doesn't make dating easier, but it's simply not up for debate. Consequently, I'm incredibly comfortable talking about it.
2. I didn't drink until I was 21. I will not be getting drunk (on purpose) with anyone anytime soon. I'm just not. Don't ask. It's not ladylike.
3. I'm a die-hard conservative. I'm pro-life, probably more than anyone else you know. I don't believe in gay marriage. I support our troops and whatever they have to do to save our country. America first. If you mess with the land our grandfathers made, I want to shoot you. If you don't like that, I don't care. Church, too. I do think women should keep silent. I think they should be submissive. I want to be independent, self-sufficient, and driven, but when I get married...my husband will have the final say. (If you read that passage, you know that good men love their wives enough to make them happy no matter what). I don't think it's best to argue with the keeper of our souls.
4. If I swear, you better know I'm mad.
5. I'm not afraid of global warming. God told us he wouldn't destroy the world with water again, so why are all these Christians afraid of flooding? I generally don't like environmentalists. I think it's silly.
6. Jesus Christ saved my soul. I might not look like the typical knee-length-skirt wearing good girl, but I've seen Him face-to-face and there is no turning back now. I've held dying babies in Panama. I've held a little girl during her last day on earth. I've talked to 12 year olds that have been raped by their uncles. I've held hands with the homeless.
So, that brings me back to my goal: to break the stereotype of the good girl. Of all my many blessings- they outnumber what any human should ever have- I thank God for my friends. A set of girls that are so beautiful and passionate in everything they do, that it reminds me daily that being a good girl doesn't have to be confined to tankinis, fake kindness, and all-girl movie nights. We go back, all the way back to the SVS days when our dance teachers taught us to "walk into everything like we know what we're doing," and made us walk endlessly up and down the halls in 4 inch heels until we could walk without falling. (This was in middleschool, too!)
THese girls remind me that:
1. Being a girl is a lost art. Sitting with your ankles crossed, hands folded in your lap, and making eye-contact is powerful. Pearls are perfect in all situations. A southern accent will get you out of so so so many troubles.
2. BCBG Stilettos are what I'm most comfortable in. People always say "wear what makes you comfortable," and they're usually talking about an excuse to wear something weird. But maybe I'm more comfortable in a floral dress and heels? Or a good pair of Levis and a lacy top and pearls. Heels make your butt look better, they just do. And I'm talking no less than 4 inches or why bother? Looks do matter. It's how the world sees you. So make that work in your advantage.
3. They don't agree with me on everything. Especially the political stuff, but they remind me daily to fight for whatever it is that I do believe. I encourage them to do the same. This world wasn't cut out for the wishy-washy. Mark my words, if you don't stand for something, you'll fall for anything.
4. They're the leaders of tough-love. They're the ones that will hit me or send me a text message saying "run" if I'm on a weird date. They're always right, too. Always. One day, I'll meet a boy that Kari likes and I'll probably do anything to keep him. She'll know, I bet. To date: she hasn't liked one yet.
5 They remind me that different isn't really good. That fake-nice isn't what being a good girl is really about. Loyalty is. Trustworthiness is. Wholesomeness is. When I become obsessed with an idea: wholesomeness, for example, they're the ones that go with it whole-heartedly.
6. They're the ones that remind me to have standards. Our mothers raised us to be well-rounded, driven, independent women and lowering my standards is like a slap in the face. They remind me to not accept text messages over phone calls, to not forgive drunken conversations, and to be picky. They remind me not to fall in love, because they know I'll let that get in my way. They know my past and remind me of all my many many mistakes that happened when I settled for less than what I deserved. THey remind me that I'm not going to change anyone. That "mission dating" isn't worth it, and that someone's place in heaven isn't dependent on me. If it's not good, if you're not happy, you will never be happy. It will not work. Cry for one night, then move on.
As I keep on my mission, I'll undoubtedly learn more. Maybe I'll finally learn to stop competing with people for no reason other than just to win. Maybe I'll learn to keep my mouth shut. Maybe not. Either way, I know those girls will be the ones to remind me that I'm tougher than I thought. They're prettier than your friends, I guarantee. They can walk better in heels, and have probably flirted with your boyfriend. In one year, I'll be chasing down some crazy dream. I'll be moving, and those girls, the closest things I've ever had to sisters, will be the only ones following. I'll forget about the college friends; I won't remember the bad dates.
Left Side will stay. Just watch.
I've been blessed with family, and I hope I remind them to "walk the walk" too.
Grace and Peace,
jg
Sunday, April 26, 2009
Community Service.
This past weekend, I had the joy of going to Miracle Baseball league in Moody, Ala., to actually participate in one of the service projects that I mentioned in my story. It was amazing. There was a little girl who's leg was basically put on backwards by God. Another boy had the worst case of autism I've ever seen. He continued to beat himself on the head as hard as he could over and over again. I found one little boy who was precious then found out he had tried to throw a knife at his sister earlier that morning. One little girl was handicapped only because her father had beaten her so badly as a baby. Another boy was born into his mothers blue jeans because she was so maxed out on crack she didn't even know she was pregnant.
The stories will go on and on. These are the places you see the world, the out of Tuscaloosa world. This is where you meet God face-to-face and he tells you how it is.
I've fallen in love with the underdog, so to speak. I want to write for the voiceless. I've been blessed so much in being able to do mission work in Mexico, Houston, Huntsville and Panama. I've held dying babies. I've talked to 12 year old little girls about how their uncles rape them. I've held hands with the homeless, and I've prayed with drug addicts. I want to show the world these people, and more, I want those of us who have been blessed to go out and help these people. My experiences have made me who I am today. Every tear cried in Panama has just made me stronger. I've seen it, now it's your turn.
The other day, someone told me I wasn't in touch with reality. Here's the thing: I'm more in touch with reality than most people. You want to know what the secret to life is? That none of this matters. Blogs, websites, newspapers, none of it. That's why I chose these stories. I want you to go to sleep at night and feel good. I want you to work hard at a homeless shelter, and go to bed knowing you've fallen in love with them. I want the people of the world to mess with you, turn your way of thinking upside down, then let God himself put you together in something that resembles Him more.
All my stories tie into this. I want to comfort you. I want to write words like my grandmother's house. I want you to feel so comfortable with who you are and the world around you that you go to sleep knowing that good is all around you. I want it to be like homecooked food or long talks with friends. I want to write so that you feel God around you. I want to be His voice telling you, "Hush, child, it's going to be ok. I'm here." I want to bring the angels on earth to you. If that means writing stories about community service opportunites, then I'll do that all day every day. Maybe you're inspired to help them, maybe you're touched by one of my sources. Either way, if you read my story, you saw a little bit of Heaven in the people that are helping.
The stories will go on and on. These are the places you see the world, the out of Tuscaloosa world. This is where you meet God face-to-face and he tells you how it is.
I've fallen in love with the underdog, so to speak. I want to write for the voiceless. I've been blessed so much in being able to do mission work in Mexico, Houston, Huntsville and Panama. I've held dying babies. I've talked to 12 year old little girls about how their uncles rape them. I've held hands with the homeless, and I've prayed with drug addicts. I want to show the world these people, and more, I want those of us who have been blessed to go out and help these people. My experiences have made me who I am today. Every tear cried in Panama has just made me stronger. I've seen it, now it's your turn.
The other day, someone told me I wasn't in touch with reality. Here's the thing: I'm more in touch with reality than most people. You want to know what the secret to life is? That none of this matters. Blogs, websites, newspapers, none of it. That's why I chose these stories. I want you to go to sleep at night and feel good. I want you to work hard at a homeless shelter, and go to bed knowing you've fallen in love with them. I want the people of the world to mess with you, turn your way of thinking upside down, then let God himself put you together in something that resembles Him more.
All my stories tie into this. I want to comfort you. I want to write words like my grandmother's house. I want you to feel so comfortable with who you are and the world around you that you go to sleep knowing that good is all around you. I want it to be like homecooked food or long talks with friends. I want to write so that you feel God around you. I want to be His voice telling you, "Hush, child, it's going to be ok. I'm here." I want to bring the angels on earth to you. If that means writing stories about community service opportunites, then I'll do that all day every day. Maybe you're inspired to help them, maybe you're touched by one of my sources. Either way, if you read my story, you saw a little bit of Heaven in the people that are helping.
Friday, April 24, 2009
Dogs
I wrote the story on homeless animals with my own little ragamuffin, Daisy, sitting in my lap. I love that dog. She's my buddy and has nursed me through more heartaches in the past year than I ever thought I would encounter.
I couldn't really say that, you know, that I think everyone needs a pet. But, I do. The world is too hard to go at it alone. Your friends will ultimately turn on you at some point and you will be lonely. Those are the days you need a Daisy.
She's a mess. She's scared of her own shadow but watches Law and Order:SVU every night. When I need to clear my head, she's always ready to go on a walk. So, I walk and walk and pray and pray at night and I talk to her and I talk to God. You know, everything is better after that.
This year, I had awful Tuesdays. Work 8-9, Spanish Civ class 9-11, Geology 11-12:30, Geology Lab 1-3, TCF 112 6-9. Every Tuesday when I got home Daisy was there to run and sit in my lap. That's true love.
I wanted to write a story about these puppies because they've been abused and neglected. Daisy was and I saw how much it affected her. She hates to make me unhappy. So, I wrote for the underdog. I wrote for those puppies on the really sad ASPCA commercial.
This is what I love doing, and this is what I'll continue to do. Writing for the underdog, the people (or animals) that can't speak for themselves.
God is good.
I couldn't really say that, you know, that I think everyone needs a pet. But, I do. The world is too hard to go at it alone. Your friends will ultimately turn on you at some point and you will be lonely. Those are the days you need a Daisy.
She's a mess. She's scared of her own shadow but watches Law and Order:SVU every night. When I need to clear my head, she's always ready to go on a walk. So, I walk and walk and pray and pray at night and I talk to her and I talk to God. You know, everything is better after that.
This year, I had awful Tuesdays. Work 8-9, Spanish Civ class 9-11, Geology 11-12:30, Geology Lab 1-3, TCF 112 6-9. Every Tuesday when I got home Daisy was there to run and sit in my lap. That's true love.
I wanted to write a story about these puppies because they've been abused and neglected. Daisy was and I saw how much it affected her. She hates to make me unhappy. So, I wrote for the underdog. I wrote for those puppies on the really sad ASPCA commercial.
This is what I love doing, and this is what I'll continue to do. Writing for the underdog, the people (or animals) that can't speak for themselves.
God is good.
Monday, April 6, 2009
Cleanliness is next to godliness.
I love this picture. It's the view of a baby in Panama taking a bath outside of the church building in Las Garzas. She had a bucket of water and a bar of soap and stood outside washing off for at least 30 minutes. Precious.
I miss this more and more each day.
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