Family Adventures

           Bloggety blog blog bloggen. It is blog season again! My schedule is delightfully lacking in stress and I have a fair few adventures to relate. The trouble is deciding what order to tell my fabulous tales in. This time, I believe I will share the daring escapades of the Bice family on Sunday afternoon. It is a perilous story of damsels in distress and valiant heroes. I do hope you enjoy.

            Your average Sunday in my house is just that: average. We begin the day with pancakes and church. The afternoon consists of lunch and nap-a-thons. Lately we have been plagued with NBA tournaments, which are tolerated because they facilitate family time. All in all, Sundays are great, just not too eventful.

            This particular Sunday was no such day. Brostuff decided to take Parents and me to Mackenzie Lake. Tour Guide Brostuff hiked us all around to check out the lake’s current state. As kids, we spent hours and days and weeks of time splashing around in our lake. Skiing, tubing, and star-gazing were major chunks of my childhood and Mackenzie Lake was the playground. Unfortunately, West Texas has been very thirsty the past few years. The drought has been devastating at Mackenzie. The water level has plummeted. Today’s hike would have been a swim just one year ago.

            And so we began, pancakes and church finished, we packed up water bottles and headed out. Dad, in camo shorts and ridiculous hat, insisted on bringing a hoe for snakes. The trouble was, he kept poking around in bushes and under rocks, asking for trouble. Luckily, that is not what made the day interesting.

            Fast-forward to the last half of the trip. Mackenzie is set inside a canyon, so the walls make up cliffs around the perimeter. In earlier days, a rounded section in the wall made a sort of open cave with a trickling waterfall. We used to jump off the rocks into the water below. Wanting to check out the almost empty cave, we began a trek down the steep canyon wall to the water below. It was a bit difficult to work our way down the unreliable rocks, but worth the trip. The cave was cool and refreshing after the day’s heat. We even found a paddle we lost years ago. After a while, it was time to head back up.

…….......................................................................

            Well you see…It just so happens…that Princess Mom is deathly afraid of heights. It took convincing to get her down the slope in the first place. As we made our way back up, it struck. Complete panic. Brostuff tried to explain where to place her feet, but she seemed to be at a standstill. Close behind her, I watched her half crawl up the slope. We were about 6 feet from the water at this point. The higher we went, the higher her hysteria grew.  Please understand, folks, that up until this point in history Princess Mom has been the picture of poise. The woman does not crack easily under pressure. And here she is, falling to pieces on the side of a canyon. This is, without a doubt, the most entertaining moment of my life.

            Almost at the top, Brostuff circled around giving advice, Dad pulled Princess up the last steps, and I followed closely behind. By this time, Princess Mom had sunk into fretful whimpers. At the end of the climb, there was a bit of tricky terrain between us and the car, but essentially a short walk. Princess, panting, informed us that she could not breathe. This was understandable, as she had spent most of her oxygen on the whimpers of distress I just mentioned. On a bit further, she sat down, apparently unable to see clearly. Dad, quite possibly in jest, asked if she wanted to be carried. Joke or not, she did. He came to her rescue, attempting to put her on his back. When he told her to jump, he got a wispy, “I can’t.” And so, as shining knights will do, he scooped her up and carried her to safety.

            We later sat in the marina, eating ice cream and laughing about the afternoon. We explored the lake map and talked about the changes in our beloved lake. Suddenly, Princess broke into tears. At our surprise she said, “I thought I was gonna die!”

            She will not appreciate this story on the internet. I certainly hope you do, because I am utterly convinced that nothing more hilarious has ever happened to me. I realize that this post is getting a bit long. I have also thought to myself that some of my blogs ought to give the Jesus angle a rest. And yet, I find it impossible to see any situation of my life without him. Evidence of God is inescapable.  Analogies of his character, his love, and his story are everywhere. He did not fail to show up during the Panic of Mackenzie Lake.

            I could not help but think of the Trinity. I certainly do not endeavor to compare myself or my family to God, I use us only as analogies. In her distress, Mom had three things: a helper, a shepherd, and the father. Though my role was limited, I stood behind her the whole time. I was reminded of the Holy Spirit. God will never leave us. Brostuff mapped out the way. He led her along the path like a good shepherd. Jesus looked on us with compassion, like sheep without a shepherd. His sinless life guides the way, showing us the steps to take. Best of all, the father came to lift her up, carrying her when she was weak. Seeing our inability to save ourselves, God sent his only son to rescue us from the perils of sin. As a side note, as Father’s Day approaches, I am so grateful for a father who consistently shows me examples of the love my heavenly father has for his children.

            I’d better wrap this up or I’ll lose you. Be on the lookout for more posts this summer! Glad to be back!

               

               

Ring By Spring or Your Money Back!

   This is my first article for The Trailblazer, Wayland's newspaper. Enjoy!

         The day is fast approaching. One single day of the year that determines whether “Dun dun dundun” means “Here Comes the Bride” or signals the arrival of the Grim Reaper. Valentine’s Day is both celebrated and dreaded. At a school called Wedding Bells University, the feelings are only magnified. The question is, what does it take? To what lengths does a belle go to make sure the bells ring? Just how does she get her ring by spring?

            Fear not, ladies. Here are step-by-step instructions, never before seen in print. The Wayland Wedding How-to is practically foolproof.

            First, it is essential that you become one of two majors: religion or education. Why? Because preacher boys come with a mission, that’s why. Religion classes put you in direct contact with said boys. Proximity is everything. Education is a close second because the walk to Van Howeling gives the perfect opportunity for him to see a nice hair flip before class.

            About hair, you need some. Lots of it.There’s nothing like long, luscious locks to catch a man. You may need to invest in an alarm clock. The I-just-rolled-out-of-bed look works in the movies, but not so much for our purposes.

            Spending time in the Caf is another fundamental part of acquiring your ring by spring. Think of it as a proverbial watering hole. That is where the action is, my friends. You might even employ the strategy of carrying too many plates at one time. This is, however, a bit of a risk because while it might attract the attention of a suave Samaritan, it has to potential to go downhill fast.

Caf time is not only vital for face-to-face communication with Mr. Ring, but an indispensable source for your next step: the add. Online social networking is key. Every ring-seeking sister must master stalking before going in for the flirt.

After gaining success in all these areas, some find themselves caught in wedding bell blues. They found the man, their Pinterest board is filling up, and yet no ring in sight. Press on my dears, it can be done. The most valuable tool at Wedding Bells is peer pressure. The months following December and May graduation offer a smorgasbord of matrimonial examples. It won’t be long before Mr. Dragging His Feet gets the hint.

The next step on your ring by spring road is to DISREGARD THESE INSTRUCTIONS. There is no foolproof way to snag a husband and the truth is, it is unnecessary. God has a plan for every young man and woman at Wayland Baptist University. When the time is right, that plan may lead into the most beautiful love story ever seen on campus. Until then, college is about finding yourself, not someone else. Embrace yourself, try new things, make new friends, and learn all you can. Toss out that change of major form and take a lesson from our very own Miss Wayland: No hair, don’t care. Beauty comes in many forms and mostly from the inside.You do not need Mr. Right to be the person you were made to be and you do not need to have an admirer to be admirable. Spend Valentine’s Day and every day knowing that ring or no ring, you are worth celebrating.

Yippee!!

     WBU recently had an essay contest to hear about what students love most about their school. Finalists were chosen from every campus to win a $200 gift certificate to the bookstore. The essay the finalists wrote are posted on Wayland Baptist University's Facebook page and are awaiting your votes! The finalist whose essay gets the most votes wins an iPad2! The finalists were released today and guess what! That's right, I'm a finalist. While I would be so appreciative of your votes, I also wanted to share my essay with my non-Facebooking readers. I wrote it for the contest, but I absolutely mean every word. So here it is!

Since I was very young, I felt God’s call on my life to attend Wayland Baptist University. Growing up in Lockney, Texas, I had no doubt that this was the school I wanted to attend. During high school at Plainview Christian Academy, I had the opportunity to take concurrent classes through Wayland. I am now a sophomore studying sociology and Spanish. After Wayland, I hope to pursue a Master’s degree and serve the elderly as a social worker. Wayland has been a wonderful place to reach both my short-term and long-term goals.

Higher education is a privilege that I value very much. I am thankful for the opportunity to better myself in order to help others in the future. For me, Wayland Baptist University is the perfect place to begin my journey. There are many reasons that I chose and continue to love Wayland, but almost all of them boil down to the people. Those who I live, work, and learn with every day have made up my Wayland story and have helped me become the person I am today.

 My fellow Wayland students have welcomed, encouraged, and inspired me throughout my time here. Through Koinonia I began to meet people with similar interests and goals. Dorm life has helped me make lasting friendships with individuals who sincerely care about me. I am continually inspired by my peers. Aside from their great attitudes, so many of our students have extraordinary talents. Through sports, music, art, and so many other venues, Wayland students express the gifts God has given them. I am so proud to count myself among these young men and women and so happy to call them my friends.

 Wayland’s work-study program has helped me not only to pay for school, but also to meet the staff who keep the university going. I have worked in the Office of the Registrar since my first semester at Wayland. It is great to feel that the things I do at work are necessary and valuable. It is even better to work with people who appreciate my help. My work environment reflects the “Wayland family” mentality. We complete our tasks, but we enjoy each other as we do so. My coworkers care about me and support me in and out of the office. My contact with other offices has given me a similar impression. I feel that the staff at Wayland are proud of what they do and happy to help students do their best.

 When others ask me about why I chose Wayland, I often point them to the professors. Wayland’s teachers are a terrific asset to the university. Regardless of department, I have encountered professors who love their jobs and love their students. My teachers know my name and pay attention to my goals and needs. Wayland’s faculty consistently builds relationships with students to help them achieve their fullest potential. The counsel I have received from teachers has given me the knowledge and the confidence to pursue my goals. I appreciate the effort each educator gives to ensuring that their students succeed both in class and in life.

 My Wayland story has many twists and turns and is not yet complete. I have experienced joys and sorrows, successes and failures, good times and bad. Through each of these times, the people of Wayland Baptist University have helped me to laugh, grow, and learn. As I continue my educational journey, I know that I can count on the students, staff, and faculty of Wayland to pick me up when I fall and cheer me on when I succeed. I am so thankful that God has made me a member of this family. I look forward to growing closer to the people who have made Wayland the right choice for me and welcoming new additions as the Wayland family grows.


I am overflowing with more post ideas, dear readers. However, I am not overflowing with time to get them down. In the meantime, check out Wayland's newspaper The Trailblazer (attached to the end of the electronic Baptist Standard). I'm excited to inform you that I'll be writing a few articles this semester!

E'ryday I'm Wasslin'

Sometime between birth and the nursing home, we humans do this cool thing called“growing up”. Some of us get jobs, some grow mustaches, and some run away to the circus. Growing up is tricky business. I count myself among the lucky ones who had siblings to make the process more complicated. My siblings may not know what a big deal they are to me. How could I sleep if there wasn’t someone poking my face?

            I have found that leaving home has been one of the best things that ever happened to my sibling relationships. Nowadays, Brostuff is the coolest kid I know. I save his texts, I tolerate the NBA to spend time with him, and a hug in public makes me feel like a rockstar. I’m so proud of who he is and I don’t even know when it happened.

            Getting to know Seesther again after graduating from our grouchy teenage years has been like gaining a new best friend. This year I became the Seesther-in-law of her terrific husband. Even though he’s a New Mexican, he gets a pass for being the perfect new addition to our family and Seesther’s life. Wedding planning gave Seesther and me the most time we’ve had together in years. We shop together. We laugh together because we are turning into Mom. We cry together when our medication is off. I’ve always felt that she is someone to look up to and someone I never felt pressure to live up to.

            Seesther just moved into a hideous house. I mean hideous. The stenciled shutters make you want to cry before you even enter. Last week, we packed up the car with all the paint that would fit in the trunk and made our way to the Land of Enchantment to see what we could do. The situation was difficult to describe. The best I can say is that this home was painted by a..gardener?...garden fairy?....a garden fairy on acid. Baby blue kitchen cabinets led into a laundry room with a border of clothes pins around the whole room. Underneath the pins was a hand-painted pattern of little people hanging up clothes on a line. Great. If you’re 87 and not looking. The master bath was the color of butter from a mad cow with a hand painted picket fence all around the bottom. The real treat was the hall bathroom.  You’ve probably seen the wooden trellises used outdoors to grow vines and such. The acid fairy decided to paint one teal and screw it to the ceiling. The absurdities of this house could go on and on.

            Lucky for Seesther, her folks know a thing or two about making a house a home. After buckets and buckets of paint, a few nights on the floor, and plenty of goo gone, we left that place in pretty terrific shape. It would be neat if I could give you some home improvement tips, like a step-by-step on how to fill a hole in the wall. However, I mostly stuck to the monkey jobs like priming and, well priming. I’m also pretty good at priming.

            I do think I'm fairly good at bringing a little comic effect to the renovation process. I was, however, topped by the New Mexican on one particular night. Seesther, suffering from the after-effects of Christmas music, explained to all of us that she was "wassling". I believe that in this millenium, the phrase is "Here we come a caroling", but to each her own. My music savvy readers should appreciate the following conversation. It went a bit like this:
M: I'm wassling.
K: You're what?
M: Wassling.
K:Every day you're what?
M: Wassling.

            Whether your house is featured on HGTV or you had a visit from the acid fairy, I hope that in this new year you are able to appreciate each person who makes your house into a home. Humor the ones you need to tell things to seven times before they remember. Do a couple loads of laundry. Maybe you’re getting ready to move back in with a less than delightful roommate. Maybe there are things you can do to be easier to live with. Whatever your situation, remember the ones who got you here. As you make and break your personal resolutions, take time to be a member of your home team.  Remember that home is always inside a hug.

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Don't Call Me Shirley

            I just giggled from happiness. WBU is quiet and cold. My roommates and friends have all gone home leaving me with a few glorious days alone. Surrounded by a fuzzy blanket, pillows, and books I am having an absolutely superb evening. This Christmas break has big plans and I am excited to spend it with the people I love. But for the moment, this is perfect.

        I have scribbled out several blog ideas over the past few weeks, but I always run into a problem: I think a lot of things about a lot of things. I suppose I could fill volumes with the things I have to say. Some of them would be riveting and clever; others would have the entertainment equivalent of oatmeal. Lately, my mind zips around from theology to dessert recipes to the mood phenomena of college students during December and perhaps ending with my wild anticipation of the new Channing Tatum movie. I’ve been dying to snatch a wise man from someone’s yard (they weren’t there, look it up), I finished the second Hunger Games book today, and I showed my Spanish final who’s boss.

            As this is my adventure blog, I suppose it is appropriate to talk about my latest quest. Next stop: Macedonia. I planned to take this mission trip last year, but the Israel tour was sort of a once in a lifetime opportunity. This trip will be different because the focus is missions instead of study, although we will get to visit Philippi, Kavala, Neapolis, and Thessaloniki. We will be teaching English and building relationships with Muslims. I am jumping up and down, and the trip isn’t until August 2012 (if you are even under the impression that we will have an August 2012).

 I’ve got to admit that growing up in West Texas has not afforded me a lot of contact with Muslims. Most of the people I know associate them with terrorists and wife-beaters. I have tried to form a more educated view. I don’t want people basing their ideas about Christians on the Crusades. As best I can tell without knowing any, I love Muslims. They are hospitable people who hold high standards in a world that doesn’t respect absolutes. I disagree with them and have such heartbreak about the deception they live under, but I admire them. The mosques we visited in Israel were breathtakingly beautiful. They train their children to be experts in theology. It inspires me to dig deep in the truth of the Bible and know what I’m talking about. It also reminds me how important prayer is. I read that the god of Islam is impersonal and detached. I want so desperately to introduce these people to the merciful God who went out of his way to suffer and die for a relationship with his beloved children. I want women to know the freedom and dignity that is in Christ. I can’t tell people about a God I don’t communicate with.

My decision to go on this trip didn’t really surprise anyone but me. I felt that the responsible thing to do this year would be to stay home. I didn’t want to put any financial strain on my family and I felt that I could do some service with the youth events that go on in the summer. But really, all I’ve wanted to do since sixth grade was to go. At G.A. camp, bewildered at the thought that there could be people in the world who had never heard of Jesus, I decided that I wanted to be a missionary. As I got older and pretend-wiser, I qualified my earlier statements. I decided that surely God had intended that I live a mission-minded life here in the states. Surely he did not intend for my get-married-have-8-babies years to be spent in a grass hut. Surely, I would do something more normal…Well, God’s name is not Shirley.

The day after I sent the email to Dr. Shaw asking to be put on the Macedonia team, we had Mission Chapel. Super, God, I’m on the right track, thanks! But there was more. Dr. Shaw began to speak about a friend he made during his extensive time in Macedonia. His friend was the mayor of a town that had recently had an influx of radical Muslim missionaries. This man was a Christian and was deeply concerned about the youth in his community. He begged Dr. Shaw to find just one missionary who could stay with them permanently. After chapel, we all went to lunch like every other Wednesday, but I couldn’t really shake it off like everyone else. Days later, I was ironing and thinking about what went on in chapel, what went on inside me. All of a sudden it was like some part of my heart did that thing your dog does when it hears something and his ears get all lopsided. And then I just knew. I don’t know when, or how, but someday I’m going somewhere as a missionary. I don’t know if I will be there for 4 months or 40 years, but somewhere in the plan for me are foreign missions. God wasn’t misleading me in the sixth grade and he will never lead me in the wrong direction now.

Perhaps someday I’ll reach my bucket list goal of being trilingual. On the other hand, maybe I’ll just learn a lot of different ways to say bathroom.  I don’t think I’ll surprise my grandma, who watched my brother and me play “African Village” instead of house. Maybe I’ll email the computer teacher who let me to a powerpoint about Lottie Moon instead of a sports star like the rest of the class. Whatever happens, wherever I end up, I know that I am in capable hands. As far as spending my marriageable years in a far-off land, I direct you to Figure 1. My Father who knit me together knowing who I would be and how he would use me never leaves my side. He has a carefully constructed plan for my life. I can only hope that he doesn’t send me to some place where I have to survive on pop-tarts. Dear merciful God, no more hummus!

Puffed Up

                Puffed. Puffed is the way every one of us feels. Puffed is the word my brother once used to describe being a step beyond full. Puffed means you threw off the bonds of normal human eating and ascended to new heights of fattyhood. Puffed means my grandma and mom are culinary geniuses (genii?). Puffed means my home is warm, full of laughter, and perfect in every imperfect way. I am thankful to be so miserable on Thanksgiving.

                Poor blog, you have been so ignored. This summer took me on a lovely trip to Glorietta, New Mexico. This month took me to Las Vegas to marry off my favorite seesther. There is a new puppy at home and he and I are basically in love.  This post isn’t about any of those things. Instead, I will be committing a bit of university blasphemy by talking about class during a break.

                One could fill volumes with the knowledge that college students could benefit from in real life. These are not the time-management and get plenty of sleep lessons you get in University Life class. They are the realistic, probably irresponsible secrets to making it work. One of these facts is that your introductory class for your major WILL be boring. You will find it excruciating. You will despair at the idea of spending the next 3 years probably surrounded by these morons. You will freak out about your major, your life choices, and the major essay you put off because you couldn’t bear the thought of creating it. Fear not! This is normal. Life will go on. You will make friends with similar interests and occasionally learn something.

                Just the other day, one of these shining moments took place. My professor showed a video about discrimination. Maybe you’ve heard of Jane Elliot, a clever woman from Riceville, Iowa. Mrs. Elliot taught 3^rd grade in the 70s. Today’s fun fact is that MLK Jr was assassinated in 1968. Mrs. Elliot was not impressed with her country’s response. She found that white reporters reacted with questions like, “What are your people going to do now?” Mrs. Elliot hadn’t seen any progress between the times when “the only good injun was a dead injun” and “modern day”.  How could civilized people commit such atrocities against one another? More pressing, Mrs. Elliot wondered how she could teach her students the truth about discrimination. Mrs. Elliot came up with a plan.

                Mrs. Elliot talked a little with her class (of white, protestant, middle-class students) about discrimination. Her students knew about the civil rights movement and the prejudices that caused it. She asked them if they wanted to do an experiment to see how they would feel if they were discriminated against. Like any good group of small children, they gladly accepted. Mrs. Elliot explained that the students would be in 2 groups for the next few days, blue-eyed and brown-eyed. The first day favored the blue-eyed people. Mrs. Elliot told the class that blue-eyed people were smarter, cleaner, and better than brown-eyed people. Brown-eyed people would not be allowed to use the water fountain, they had to use cups. Brown-eyed people had to stay in 5 extra minutes before recess. Furthermore, brown-eyed people must wear knit collars around their necks. The next day, the experiment flipped. Brown-eyed students took their collars and placed them on the neck of a blue-eyed student and the cycle started over.

                The results of this experiment were astounding. Mrs. Elliot said she watched good, kind children turn hateful and cruel. The group in collars was ostracized and mocked. Two boys had a fist fight on the playground because one had called the other “Brown Eyes”. Students in collars were visibly discouraged and even angry. Mrs. Elliot gave simple spelling or math tests before, during, and after the experiment. Amazingly, students did significantly worse on these tests while they were in the collar group.

                I encourage you to check this thing out. I was shocked at how profound the responses of 8 and 9-year-old children were. They were deeply affected by the exercise. The students were forever changed by their first-hand experience of being considered less than someone else. Mrs. Elliot discussed with them afterwards that you should never judge a person based on what you see on the outside. After delivering some wisdom that could only come from children, they proceeded to destroy the hated collars. One little boy even ripped his up with his teeth.

                So I got to thinkin’, as the thinkers will do. Thinking about how impressed I was that children so young could understand such difficult concepts. Thinking about the devastating effects on a person who is repeatedly made less than someone else. Thinking about the dreadful ignorance of someone who deludes himself into believing he is superior. Thinking about how much this post reminds me of the Holocaust Museum one. But now I’m thinking about something else. I’m thinking of the idea that you judge a person by what’s inside, not outside. Which sounds lovely. Is it? Is it okay to judge someone by their insides?

                I heard once that judgment means assuming you know why a person is the way they are. How arrogant. I can’t even know what a person had for breakfast, much less if your mom gave you enough hugs. Can some people be better than others?  What makes a person valuable? I profess to believe that a person has worth because they are a person. Every human being is made in the image of a creator who was so crazy about them that he would kill his own son just to be with them. My head hangs a little as I think about the reality of my behavior. My actions sometimes say people have value based on how happy they make me. My worst offense is judging people on their vocabularies. When will I learn that feeling like the smartest person in the room is not WWJD? I think it’s time some of us rethought the logic that you judge a person by their inside. Maybe it’s time to realize that even if a person’s insides are nine kinds of nasty, they are still a person.

                Think about it. Hop around YouTube videos of Jane Elliot. Finish your pie and for heaven’s sake take up Cyber Monday you crazies. I’m off to wallow in the joys of weight gain. Leave me a comment and pass the pepcid  :)

Sometimes We Accidentally Learn In School

                My electronic devices all inform me that this is October. I find this hard to believe as it feels as though only yesterday I started another year at Best Place on Earth University. Since my last post, I am no longer homeless *touchdown dance* and am having lots of fun learning to be domestic. Future husband, whoever you are, you owe housing a big hug for arranging that I practice all these skills before you get here. So far I have successfully fixed a toilet, prepared meals, and squished all the spiders that my vegetarian roommate wasn’t around to rescue.

               In the meantime, I find that the further I get into my degree plan, the more interesting my subjects become. Who knew I could study things I actually care about? A surprising course this semester has been World Literature. I am aware that this sounds like one of the most painfully boring classes a person might be unlucky enough to take, and for a while it lived up to that entirely. My notebook contains more pictures than anything useful. For example, this is what I know about the Epic of Gilgamesh:

                In the midst of such excruciating boredom, some things started to get my attention. All of these stories, works that are considered essential to any educated person’s repertoire, have something peculiar in common. They all have some element similar to the Bible. The Epic of Gilgamesh has a flood story; Plato’s The Apology sounds incredibly similar to how Peter and John answer the Sanhedrin in Acts 4; The Aneied mentions an event when the primarily male city of Rome attacks the Sabines to carry off women as their brides. This parallels the Judges 21 story of the tribe of Benjamin snatching up wives out of a vineyard. These are just a few shallow examples. I’m sure that people have made lifelong studies of the similarities between the Bible and the world’s major literature.

                I find that this can be a little disconcerting. Was the Bible…cheating? Is the author of the universe a plagiarist? It only took a moment before the pimp hand of faith dealt with that. If anything, these similarities only validate the truth of the Bible. Romans tells us that the truth is written on man’s heart, whether he acknowledges it or not. Anything valuable, anything worth reading gets ideas from the best source: the truth. In the beginning was the Word. Was, is, will be. How beautiful that our God is a skilled wordsmith. How empowering that the words of our God endure forever. How interesting that the truth of our God shows up wherever we find man looking for something worthwhile.

                Classes are certainly not the main reason I go to college. In fact, I think college would be much easier without classes. I’m having a hard time convincing administration of this idea.  Either way, campus activities are terrific ways to avoid homework and make friends. I get pretty excited when Wayland students do things like this: I Am Second WBU. I look forward to more videos and more stories, all different but all the same. One redeemer, lots of redeemed. I think it’s fantastic. But I’m having some trouble. You see my thought when I watched was what my own I Am Second might look like. Of course I have a testimony. There was BC and now we’re rocking AD with JC. What God did for me is beautiful and real and worth sharing. But it’s…fuzzy. God has been consistently good, I have been consistently pathetic. I have grown and served and been blessed but all along I’ve failed and stumbled and strayed. What’s the theme of my Christ story? Which parts are clear and relatable? How do I deal with times when I’m not sure where I am or what God is doing? Times like…now.

                I don’t have an answer. I don’t have the answer to a lot of things. But I know this:

                I write, but I know The Writer. My name is Katie Jo and I am second.