Lady at the Drive-thru: "Welcome to Zaxby's. May I take your order?
Mom: "I just need two chicken plates, to go"
-- created @ yadayadayo.blogspot.com --
Saturday, December 26, 2009
Thursday, December 17, 2009
That Noisy Air...
I know that I am not a lone in my struggle to listen to God, so I wanted to share this simple story.
I was taking mom to work this morning. It was cold so we had the heat on full blast. At the same time I was listening to a Cd (the new desperation band Cd, it's good by the way) and there are a few instrumental sections in some of the songs that just feel like "soaking" music.
So as I was driving back home, one of the instrumental parts came on. I was just listening to the song and then I decided to turn the air off since it was getting a little stuffy. So I turned it off and the second I did so it struck me how much more of the music I could hear. The instruments and beats were so much more defined with out the rushing air drowning it out.
It's so frustrating sometimes waiting for God to speak. Anyone that knows me knows that I have a hard time sitting still and waiting. I know that if I could just turn the 'Air' off (all the voices and thoughts going through my head) I could hear Him. Like I need to hear Him. Like I long to hear Him.
Just take this for what it's worth.
-- created @ yadayadayo.blogspot.com --
I was taking mom to work this morning. It was cold so we had the heat on full blast. At the same time I was listening to a Cd (the new desperation band Cd, it's good by the way) and there are a few instrumental sections in some of the songs that just feel like "soaking" music.
So as I was driving back home, one of the instrumental parts came on. I was just listening to the song and then I decided to turn the air off since it was getting a little stuffy. So I turned it off and the second I did so it struck me how much more of the music I could hear. The instruments and beats were so much more defined with out the rushing air drowning it out.
It's so frustrating sometimes waiting for God to speak. Anyone that knows me knows that I have a hard time sitting still and waiting. I know that if I could just turn the 'Air' off (all the voices and thoughts going through my head) I could hear Him. Like I need to hear Him. Like I long to hear Him.
Just take this for what it's worth.
-- created @ yadayadayo.blogspot.com --
Monday, December 7, 2009
Momma always taught me to share....
This is a narrative that I wrote for my English class this semester. I just really love it and wanted to share it.
(Some names have been changed to protect the innocent)
When I was in first grade my teacher was Mrs. King. She was the oldest teacher at St. Patrick’s Elementary school, and probably a few years short of ancient. She was a petite woman: with a hump back and gray hair. She would always sit in this blue plastic chair while she taught our class. I have to say I do not have a lot of vivid memories about Mrs. King; however, the one that I do have is one of the most memorable moments of my childhood. At the time I thought I would never get over it.
It was the first day of first of school, and there was a new boy in our class. “This is Wesley Doe, and he has just moved to Lake Providence from Washington,” announced Mrs. King to the class. He was the cutest boy that I had ever seen, and I knew from the moment that I saw him I was in love.
Wes had this very light, almost white, blonde hair. It was cut short with a cowlick in the front. He had eyes the color of the sky on a clear day, and when he smiled it was enough to make me melt into a big puddle of soupy goo. I sat in the front right corner of the class, and he sat two rows over all the way in the back next to the bathroom. It was hard to see him while sitting in class, but I would watch him out on the playground. He would run around and play ball with all the other boys, and he was always the fastest one. In class he was just as smart as he was fast. He got things very quickly. He always seemed to have the right answers.
The further into the school year that I went, the more I was sure of one thing. Wes Doe was the boy that I wanted to marry. One day the class had just come in from recess, and I had gotten up enough courage to ask. I got out a piece of paper from my blue folder, got out my pencil, and wrote my letter. It was short and sweet; written so carefully as if I was the only girl in history to have ever written a love note.
“Dear Wes will you marry me? Love Kristen.” Ended with two check boxes, one for no and one for yes. I folded up the note as neatly as I could with every corner lining up. Finishing it off with a “To: Wes” on the front of the note.
Now, I just had to figure how I was going to give it to him. I couldn’t just go up to him, give him the note, and demand an answer. These decisions take time and that just was not my style. Then the idea came to me. I would pretend that I needed to go to the bathroom, and on my way I would drop the note on his desk. “He would have plenty of time to answer while I ‘go to the bathroom’,” I thought to myself.
With that I made my way to the back where Wes sat, getting more nervous with every desk that I passed. I finally made it to Wes’ desk. He looked at me, and I looked at him. Then I quickly placed the note on his desk, and darted for the bathroom behind him.
Once in the bathroom all I could think about was that note and what Wes would say. My future happiness was on the line. I had stepped out on a limb, and I was hoping that the limb would not snap. I waited in the bathroom for an eternity. Then when I thought that I had given him enough time, I came out of the bathroom. As I was passing his desk again he handed the note back to me and I made my way back to my seat.
I don’t know when she saw me or how she saw me. All I know is that when I started my way back up the row, Mrs. King clamped her eyes on me. She watched me all the way up the aisle and before I even had a chance to read the note, she held out her hand for me to give her the note. I was tempted to open the note first, but I knew that I was already in trouble and I didn’t want to test my luck. I had no idea what Mrs. King was thinking as she told me to sit back down. She walked back to her chair at the front of the room and sat down. Next, to my horror she began to open the note.
Didn’t Mrs. King know this was a private note? This was a link between me and my one true love, and I didn’t even know what Wes’ answer had been. However, what happened next was the worst thing that she could have done. She read the note out loud, in front of the whole class. I couldn’t believe it. My heart began to beat out of my chest. I wanted to run out of the class, and never come back but I could not. I had to stay right there while she threw my heart open for everyone to see. As she read the note I remembered that his answer was still a mystery. Then with all my heart I started to pray that she would not read it out loud. If she only knew the punishment that I had already endured she would not have wanted to read anything else. Snap! The limb broke, and I came crashing down. He had checked no.
Looking back on it, I think that part of me at the time thought that if Mrs. King hadn’t read that note out loud it would have somehow changed Wes’ response to that letter. He could have said yes and a childhood romance might have blossomed. Who knows? I might have become Mrs. Wesley Doe. It could have happened. In any case it didn’t quite happen the way many seven-year-old girl’s dream when they find their first love. I still have to say I wasn’t scarred for life. I didn’t swear off boys. I don’t even hate Mrs. King. It was just one of those things that builds a girl’s life, gives them stories to tell and memories to write. Just like this.
-- created @ yadayadayo.blogspot.com --
(Some names have been changed to protect the innocent)
When I was in first grade my teacher was Mrs. King. She was the oldest teacher at St. Patrick’s Elementary school, and probably a few years short of ancient. She was a petite woman: with a hump back and gray hair. She would always sit in this blue plastic chair while she taught our class. I have to say I do not have a lot of vivid memories about Mrs. King; however, the one that I do have is one of the most memorable moments of my childhood. At the time I thought I would never get over it.
It was the first day of first of school, and there was a new boy in our class. “This is Wesley Doe, and he has just moved to Lake Providence from Washington,” announced Mrs. King to the class. He was the cutest boy that I had ever seen, and I knew from the moment that I saw him I was in love.
Wes had this very light, almost white, blonde hair. It was cut short with a cowlick in the front. He had eyes the color of the sky on a clear day, and when he smiled it was enough to make me melt into a big puddle of soupy goo. I sat in the front right corner of the class, and he sat two rows over all the way in the back next to the bathroom. It was hard to see him while sitting in class, but I would watch him out on the playground. He would run around and play ball with all the other boys, and he was always the fastest one. In class he was just as smart as he was fast. He got things very quickly. He always seemed to have the right answers.
The further into the school year that I went, the more I was sure of one thing. Wes Doe was the boy that I wanted to marry. One day the class had just come in from recess, and I had gotten up enough courage to ask. I got out a piece of paper from my blue folder, got out my pencil, and wrote my letter. It was short and sweet; written so carefully as if I was the only girl in history to have ever written a love note.
“Dear Wes will you marry me? Love Kristen.” Ended with two check boxes, one for no and one for yes. I folded up the note as neatly as I could with every corner lining up. Finishing it off with a “To: Wes” on the front of the note.
Now, I just had to figure how I was going to give it to him. I couldn’t just go up to him, give him the note, and demand an answer. These decisions take time and that just was not my style. Then the idea came to me. I would pretend that I needed to go to the bathroom, and on my way I would drop the note on his desk. “He would have plenty of time to answer while I ‘go to the bathroom’,” I thought to myself.
With that I made my way to the back where Wes sat, getting more nervous with every desk that I passed. I finally made it to Wes’ desk. He looked at me, and I looked at him. Then I quickly placed the note on his desk, and darted for the bathroom behind him.
Once in the bathroom all I could think about was that note and what Wes would say. My future happiness was on the line. I had stepped out on a limb, and I was hoping that the limb would not snap. I waited in the bathroom for an eternity. Then when I thought that I had given him enough time, I came out of the bathroom. As I was passing his desk again he handed the note back to me and I made my way back to my seat.
I don’t know when she saw me or how she saw me. All I know is that when I started my way back up the row, Mrs. King clamped her eyes on me. She watched me all the way up the aisle and before I even had a chance to read the note, she held out her hand for me to give her the note. I was tempted to open the note first, but I knew that I was already in trouble and I didn’t want to test my luck. I had no idea what Mrs. King was thinking as she told me to sit back down. She walked back to her chair at the front of the room and sat down. Next, to my horror she began to open the note.
Didn’t Mrs. King know this was a private note? This was a link between me and my one true love, and I didn’t even know what Wes’ answer had been. However, what happened next was the worst thing that she could have done. She read the note out loud, in front of the whole class. I couldn’t believe it. My heart began to beat out of my chest. I wanted to run out of the class, and never come back but I could not. I had to stay right there while she threw my heart open for everyone to see. As she read the note I remembered that his answer was still a mystery. Then with all my heart I started to pray that she would not read it out loud. If she only knew the punishment that I had already endured she would not have wanted to read anything else. Snap! The limb broke, and I came crashing down. He had checked no.
Looking back on it, I think that part of me at the time thought that if Mrs. King hadn’t read that note out loud it would have somehow changed Wes’ response to that letter. He could have said yes and a childhood romance might have blossomed. Who knows? I might have become Mrs. Wesley Doe. It could have happened. In any case it didn’t quite happen the way many seven-year-old girl’s dream when they find their first love. I still have to say I wasn’t scarred for life. I didn’t swear off boys. I don’t even hate Mrs. King. It was just one of those things that builds a girl’s life, gives them stories to tell and memories to write. Just like this.
-- created @ yadayadayo.blogspot.com --
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