Seems shady

I got my first ever filling today. They numbed my mouth area around that tooth, and then they proceed to scrape and scratch until I feel pain. That's actually what the dentist told me after I reacted to actually feeling something in my numb tooth. Great.

Anyway, the doctor told me I have a small mouth. Then he kept talking to me about getting a wisdom tooth pulled, commenting on how hard it will be to do with my small mouth. Since it doesn't really hurt me, it doesn't make the prospect of getting it taken out very high on my priority list, now does it?

Speaking of which, clearly a small mouth makes me more amorous, right?

This is aggravating

So, I was messing around some with Flickr today, and actually tried to log into my account, which I haven't done in a long long long time. In particular, my standard ID wasn't taken, so I got confused and tried to create it again. Well, that didn't work because of the following error:

>>If you are trying to access your spocktongue Flickr account, please sign in to Yahoo! again with your skadefoso Yahoo! ID.<<

Why would I do this to myself?

For what it's worth, the skadefoso sign in was the right one. *sigh*

I need a life

We have finally found a skill that Shawn has--rock paper scissors!

Facebook (of the devil) has an RPS application, and it's a fun way to waste some time. Plus, I'm 23 games over .500, so apparently I'm not horrible at it. But, it's nice to have a little bit of fame. :)

Any clearer?

So, day after my diatribe and little conversation with God, and I have everything solved and figured out.

HA!

Ok, seriously now, I probably am more confused than yesterday. I allowed myself some "me" time today, some "sin" time, and I think it killed a little bit of my momentum from last night and this morning. Some points of clarity, though, that I have reached at this point:

The first point comes from the last sentence of a little packet I read through today: The difference between hearing God's voice and not hearing it is the difference between having a relationshiop with God and just having a religion. I want to hear God's voice. No, I need to hear God's voice. Not that I'm ignoring Him or anything, I'm just not very actual pursuing it. There's that word again--pursue. Not very passive.

Speaking of not passive, prayer group at Sullivan was pretty small today (it'll get to the not passive part soon, I promise). So, I basically brough my guitar and did some singing, and then led the praying. Now, I've been ceding to the more assertive HSers in the group for the most part, keeping it as their group in a lot of ways, but today I couldn't. In particular, most of you probably know how I feel about singing in front of people, especially with no strong vocal to support me (aka Stephanie in Btown). Well, I had to lead, and it went really well. I was on key (gasp) and pretty strong, even on Holy Spirit Rain Down, which was requested since it's currently my favorite song. It was such a blessing, because to sing that song you need a really strong voice to pull it off (preferably female, but I can't really pull that off), and I really felt the Spirit moving while I was singing it. I wonder if the kids noticed?

All that to say, I need to be willing to risk for God. To step out in faith. I have so little of it....I believe, God, help my unbelief. I am so concerned about things like what others think, what my future holds, if I'm prepared enough, how things may affect my life. Things that, ultimately, do not matter. I can be safe, or I can be a man, be a disciple, be a son of God.

Why do I do this when I'm sleepy?

Today the Cubs won, I hit a 270-yard drive, and all I can think about it the mess inside my head right now. God spoke to me a lot at small group tonight, and then some more through my good buddy who was leading it and who also seems to be going through a lot of the same stuff. I need to try to sort some of it out before I go to bed, so lucky you...

I want to be a man. A real, true man. A God-fearing man. How does one become such a person? I don't really think it's by anything we do, and yet it's completely determined by what we do. Getting married doesn't make me a man. Abstaining from pre-marital sex doesn't make me a man. Having an awesome youth ministry doesn't make me a man. Leading a home church doesn't make me a man. Impacting tons of people (whatever "tons" means) doesn't make me a man. It's something more intrinsic, more basic. Something about the relationship with God. Something about what God is doing in you. Something about what you are willing to do when asked by God.

(lack of segue here) I love Thomas. He's my favorite disciple. I think I can relate to him on a lot of levels. Without delving into a sermon, I'll focus on one incident that I love and God brought back to me tonight. Thomas said, "Unless I see the scars, I won't believe." Jesus showed him the scars. And Thomas responded with: My LORD and my God. How freaking great a response is that!?! He didn't shrug it off, try to save face, go sulk in the back because he was embarrassed, or even shot out a "Praise God!" I think his response was even better than that. I feel like I'm in the "Praise God!" stage right now, which is a good stage, but there's something more. It's too passive, while Thomas' response feels much more proactive/assertive. I want that assertiveness. Being bold, being assertive, even with respect to God, doesn't make me a man. But, a man of God is both of those things.

(ditto the segue thing) I don't like "religion." It seems fake. It is fake. Religion, to me, is a lot of rules and regulations, expectations and being fake/putting on a good face. (editors note: before anyone starts arguing this point with me, make sure you understand what I mean by religion, if it's not clear from what I'm saying so far) I tend to rebel against those kinds of expectations somewhat (some may argue not enough). At least, I feel like I do. But, I can do the same thing to myself. I can put expectations on what it takes me for me to a "good" Christian, to have an appropriate "quiet time," to be a "man of God." In doing so, I'm just creating for myself the same thing that frustrates me.

(segue, take three) I have so much ministry potential right now, so many places where I can impact people. I have so many unanswered questions on my life, ranging from churches (where, how, with whom) to women (who, when) to school. Somehow I need to wade through all the crap, all my expectations for myself, for God, and get rid of it all. Clear it all away and say, "God, it's up to you. I can't do this. You need to give me the direction, and you need to give me the faith to follow that direction, and you need to give me the strength/wisdom/courage/power/etc. to succeed." And somehow, in all of that, I think there's some real masculinity.

(segue four) I'm going to bed.

Golf is....

...let's go with fickle. Yesterday I hated golf. I went to the driving range and was horrible. I stunk. It was really pathetic. I almost left halfway through the bucket of balls because I was swinging so poorly. Today, golf is pretty cool. I played fairly well, shooting a +2 37 at the Sullivan Elks, our home course for the high school. I made some really nice contact, and didn't really truly mishit any shot. So, guesses on what tomorrow's round is going to look like?

On much less exciting news, I picked up my laptop today, which means that technically I should get started on beginning of the year stuff. Of course, I conveniently left a lot of that stuff in my file cabinet at school....I guess that will buy me a couple of days, right?

Funeral and such

The funeral for Arthur was really nice, in particular the luncheon afterwards. After eating, we spent almost an hour listening to a bunch of old people who knew him years and years (like 70-90 years) ago tell stories. For those who don't know him, some of these may not seem that cute, but if you did, they are great--I just wanted to get them down.

Arthur came from an interesting family--they were very neat people. In particular, Arthur's mom made sure the driveway of the farm was always clean. The gravel driveway. She actually would sweep the driveway all the time. For instance, if someone was mowing the lawn, she followed the mower, making sure the grass clippings stayed off the driveway. Art's dad was just as fanatical about weeds in the field. If they saw a weed, it got picked. Immediately. If Art or his dad saw a weed in the field, and they were wearing a suit, they would climb the fence, walk out in the field, and pick the weed. All in their suits. This apparently happened frequently, because if you know Art, he always wore a suit, even when at my family's lake cottages.

Arthur was very simple, and didn't desire amenities for the sake of having them. In particular, for the longest time none of their tractors had a cab on them--why do you need that added expense. Well, at one point they needed to get their tractor fixed, and so the tractor store lent them a tractor until they got the old one back. This new tractor had a cab. With air-conditioning. Sure enough, when he got off, a friend asked Art about the new tractor. His response? "You know, I think I might have to get me one of those."

While at Purdue in college, a long time ago, Art had a job at a Kroger. He got paid $3 a week. Rather, that's what he should have gotten paid, but he made a deal with his boss. Instead of the money, he received four boxes of candy bars. He then proceeded to go the frats, selling each candy bar for $.05. The end result? An income of $4.80, a meager return on his investment of 60%.

But, probably my favorite story...

Arthur, in his older years (he was in his mid-80s), learned how to send email. Well, kind of. Using eudora, he could read email and reply to email. He couldn't close an email, though. Eventually, after opening enough emails, the computer gives out, and Art would have to call over a guy from IWU to "fix" the computer. The computer guy didn't mind it, though--his grandfather grew up across the road from Art's family's farm, so he would fix the computer (click on the "x" a bunch of times) in 2 minutes and they would talk for the next 40. Well, Arthur felt bad about continuing to call him over, so one particular Saturday Arthur insisted on paying him for his effort. He helper refused, insisting that he enjoyed the trip and it was really no problem--no money was required. Arthur would not relent, though, and opened his billfold. Now, the worker got a little worried, because Arthur tended to keep a few hundreds in his wallet. Arthur immediately pulls out....$2. Two stinkin' singles. And asks, "Is that fair?" Chuckling to himself, the helper guy reiterates, saying "Really, anything you pay me is more than enough--it's not a problem at all." So Arthur took a buck back, and then insisted on the guy take it. He left Art's condo $1 richer. :)

So, in case you've made it through this essay (really a collection of short stories), I do have a question for you, and that is this: how bad of a fashion faux pas did I commit at the funeral? (I would like to add that it's really fun to use the word faux pas in a sentence) I forgot that dressing up for a funeral is not shirt and tie, like it normally is for me, but rather a suit. My suit was left in Terre Haute. So, while the other 5 pallbearers (two words? hyphened?) were all wearing black suits with white shirts, I was wearing a black shirt with gray slacks. I felt a little self-conscious, especially since my parents weren't present and so I was the eldest representative of my family (my younger brother was also there, in a black suit with a white shirt).

I think this post may crash the blogspot system...

The sacrifice fly

As the Cubs are playing the best baseball in the Majors (at least, until I wrote that) and only 3.5 games behind the division-leading Brewers, in the dead of the summer with no other sports going on, you have to indulge the quirkiness of this great game.

So here you go. I think my favorite part is that Mickey Mantle has 47 career sacrifice flies, while Neifi Perez have 46 career sacrifice flies. How crazy is that?

My fishies and my bees

My fishies did not make it. After some deliberation, a friend suggested they may have suffocated (???), so I tried again with a four fish yesterday and my generator circulating the water. The result?

Umm....not sure. As it turns out, there are currently no fish in the pond. I can't find them anywhere. The pond isn't very big, and there's not really any place to hide. So how do four fish completely disappear?

Also, I spent some more time building up the "dam" in the ditch, and as I was walking back and forth some, I got stung. Twice. Once in each leg. So now I have swollen legs that itch like crazy (that means they're healing, right?). Is there anything you can do to make them feel better and/or heal better?

Wiped Out

Word of advice for any of you out there crazy enough to think about doing this: if you want to play 18 holes of golf, work on your yard for about 4 hours in the afternoon, and play 4 games of basketball at open gym, don't. I am exhausted. And hungry. And tired. And sore. And I have no energy.

So, of course, I'm going to open gym again tonight. :)

But, on the positive side of things, the little pond behind my house is now really really clean. So clean, in fact, that I put a few fishies in there, just to see what'll happen. I've always wanted an aquarium, and now I (kind of) have one. We'll see if I'm actually able to sustain their population, and if there's enough algae in there to support the algae-eater. I love fishies.

Interesting stuff

What an interesting weekend. It started on Saturday on my way to Yorktown, where I passed an SUV with a sticker that said "Get Off the Phone." So, of course, you know what the driver was doing--talking on her car phone.

Saturday night was a surprise party for Dave and Lisa, and "hosts" of the home church I attend. It was all kinds of fun, and we did all kinds of stupid things, including dancing (swing and other). I do not recommend dancing on warped, sagging, wooden decks with lots of levels, corners, and tables.

Sunday came, and after a morning/afternoon of just chilling, reading Red Horizon, and getting lots of sun. It was my first Sunday back "home" in over a month (due to vacations and basketball camps), and I sorely missed it. Good things were said, and it was interesting to line up people saying they thought of me and prayed for me with my struggles and times with God (because, let's face it, none of us can (and should we?) really go that long away from Church and not struggle in some way).

A very interesting (at least to me) comment from this list came from Dave, who's been going through some different things on his own. However, at one point, God started listing off to him the "core group" at Yorktown--the foundational, consistent group that makes up that church--and certain things to be praying about for each of that group. Anyway, God included me on that list. I find this very interesting. To me, that's kind of always been a question--how "big" of a part of that body am I? I am called to that group, for sure (at least for now), but I don't live in Yorktown/Muncie, and I never have. Due to my location, I can't attend or participate in a lot stuff that happens there. But apparently, I still have a strong connection there. Whether it be some part of my heart, or my mission, or my spiritual make-up, or something else altogether (where is it, bum?), God considers me a core part of that group. So, what does this ultimately mean? I don't know, but it's interesting nonetheless... Interesting.

I love summer

It's wonderful to be a teacher during the summer. Especially this week, because we're not allowed to meet with any athletes, so there's not even open gym or anything like that. I was totally able to drive to Btown on Tuesday, crash at a friend's place, help her do calculus, then go to another friend's and play poker (I netted $4) and eat hot dogs, and then eat Dragon and go to another friend's place to hang and watch a movie. And there were no issues with it. I could just go, get back when I got back (after midnight--which is especially annoying when you have to wait on a train literally 400 meters from my house), sleep in as late as I wanted this morning (9am), and finally start being productive here around 1pm. But, being productive isn't that big a deal, because there's only about three things that need to happen today, and they're all pretty small. Oh, and none of this involved golf, which is one of the best summer activities I could partake. Just don't bug me another month from now... :)

Woohoo!

So, it's amazing how quickly you get into the groove of coaching. Very quickly, like after a game or two, you really feel like you belong. Now, I'm not saying I'm as good or see everything that our other coaches do (let's face it--they've been doing it a lot longer), but I'm picking up a lot of the right things. Plus, I like the kids I've got right now--there's some fight in them that's fun to work with.

Plus, when you finish with a couple of really fairly well-played, exciting games during the tournament portion of the camp, that helps put you on an up-beat. The first game of the tournament, we won on a buzzer-beater in OT after some poor officiating cost us the regulation win, and then we played a good team really, really close, losing when our game-tying 3 at the end of regulation fell just a little short.

Oh yeah, and I get cool stuff for coaching at the tournament. Yeah free stuff!