R.O.U.S.

Last night, one of my friends and I wanted an adventure.  We tossed around ideas for a while before we landed on spontaneous tattoos.  Or, at least, as spontaneous as I can be.  

After a quick Google search for a parlor that accepted walk-ins, there was a longer search for something we might want permanently inked in our skin. For indecisive people, I felt like we made timely decisions.  Anyway, we were at the parlor by 7:30...and they were already busy.

We entertained the idea of finding another tattoo parlor in the nearest city, but didn’t really feel like going to a sketchy area.  Who really wants to get abducted when they’re trying to some art on their body, am I right? Ultimately, we turned around en route to a diner instead.

Just outside said diner, however, we spotted something moving in the road. A small raccoon? An opossum? Good grief! It was a rat, roughly the size of a small cat!  Needless to say, we were appalled and instantly decided that a rat could only get that large if it consistently ate diner food...so we didn’t go to the diner.

Out of sheer amazed disgust, we also decided to pull over and observe the R.O.U.S. Who knew Westley really was wrong! Rodents of unusual size do exist!  But as we watched, the scene intensified.  The rat waddled around a curve in the street. Joanna and I gasped. Car Number One caught the rat’s tail with a rear wheel.  Joanna and I screamed. Car Number Two pummeled the rat squarely into the asphalt with both sets of tires. 

I regret to inform anyone who reads this that as the poor rat began his death throws, we laughed. Gales or horrified laughter shook us until our sides ached.  I even peed my pants a little bit.  I couldn’t help it! 

After that, we went to the grocery store.  That’s all there is. There isn’t anymore.

Two Things

There are some things I will never become accustomed to, no matter how often I experience them. Like receiving a gift just because, or becoming violently ill. Both of these happened since my last post, by the way. Just thought I’d clarify.

The gifts came first.

One of the girls on my floor is pretty sensitive to people with dietary needs.  Her fiancé has a fairly limited diet, so that paired with her own struggles leaves her with a tender heart.  We shared concerns and tricks of the special food trade late into the night recently.  A few days after our talk, I came back to my room to find two cartons of berries on my desk. No note, no explanation, until another girl told me who had left them. It made my day.

The week turned into the weekend.  Saturday morning, Bekah, my roommate, asks, “Have you checked your mailbox recently?”

“No. Should I?”

“You should probably do that.”

Now, I don’t know if you have ever heard of the Giving Keys, but they’re a charitable organization that seeks to provide work for homeless men. A few people at school have the key necklaces they make.  Each key is unique, engraved with a word that is significant to you.  The cool part? When you meet someone who needs your word more than you do, you give it to them.

I wanted one. A lot. Specifically, a gold one with the word “abide” engraved in it.  Because abiding is so much more than just staying or living.  It’s actively choosing to stand in something, to continuously dwell. For me, it carries the weight of daily deciding to rest in God’s love, contentedly defined by Him. Anyway, the keys aren’t cheap and like the penny pincher I am, I didn’t buy one.

But Bekah did.  And it was waiting in my mailbox.  I’ll let you imagine my water works.

All of this gave way to violent illness this morning. I mean, violent. It was reminiscent of food poisoning in the Philippines—you know, that time I ate faux-hamburger and nearly died, then ate it again just to make sure and experienced the whole thing for a second time.  Well either Denny’s did me a dirty or I had a killer stomach virus.

Even in this sickness, though, I’m content. A couple of my friends have taken turns stopping in. Gracie and I got to talk on the phone. I slept more today than I’ve slept in weeks. And I’m okay with it.

Snow Days

Just some sights I saw this morning.

Red Eyes

I think I’ve written something by this title before. If you don’t mind, would you go back and check for me? Please and thank you.  If  I did, this is Red Eyes 2.0.

My desire today is to be honest without contention. (Is that the word I want?) The point is, I don’t want to be a whiner. You feel me?

Red eyes for two reasons. Or, rather, two facets of one reason. My stomach is in full rebellion, so I have red eyes from no sleep and red eyes from the horrible, terrible, awful, lingering gas that refuses to stay in my stomach. It’s clear the room gas.  It’s please kill me now gas.

But I guess nothing breaks the ice like a good fart, eh? These farts literally melt glacial planes. “If you smell something, it’s me.” “Oh it’s fine....OH MAN! IS THAT YOU?”

This is the part where I should have an object lesson. You know, when I say something about what God is teaching me through this and it’s funny but also healthy, embarrassing growing pains. Maybe humility? Or lay off the pistachios or canned pineapple or bananas or whatever did this to me? Excess of anything will ruin my guts for days, so remember moderation? Nah, it’s probably humility.

Until next time, humans.

Feel the Burn

When I took biology the first time I went through college, we learned about lactic build up in muscles.  For those of you who might not know (though I assume pretty much everyone knows this), that build up is what creates the burning sensation in exerted muscles.  According to Ms. Laberti the burn isn’t even good for you!  Her advice was, when you feel the burn, step back till it subsides, then continue.  Working out that way is supposedly better for your body.

But who listens to their biology teacher, right? So I do my best to push through the burn every day.  When I feel like I can’t take the burn anymore, I force myself to go another ten seconds. I’m proud of myself in the moment... 

(Hang with me. I have a point at the end of this.)

Then I get to the stairs. Four flights of them. And all I want to do is complain about my aching butt.  There I was, forcing my shaking legs up the stairs this morning, and the same thought that has been haunting me all week rose up in my mind:

How often do I complain just because it’s convenient or relatable? Is that really how I want people to relate to me? Because we have vent sessions every time we talk? Or do I want to let that die as Christ lives in me? Because God’s joy should be evident in every part of this crazy, busy life. Especially through the burn.