updating

I've had so many moments of oh-wow-that-would-make-a-great-blog-post-but-I-can't-post-it-right-now-because-I'm-busy

and when I have actually had the chance to post something, I'm too tired to post anything good.

Ah well, c'est la vie.

We'll catch up soon.

Also: my toes are bright orange. 


I also just made a purple paper crane. 
Impressive, no? 


I thought you might like to know that. That is all. 

Looking at classes...

I think I'm taking calculus next semester.
Ugh.

...not as ugh as English. English is not a fun subject for me.
Writing things?
Things that will be judged and read by others?
Oh dear, I might need to quell the butterflies in my stomach.
English is coming though.
It seems silly that I would complain about writing via a writing method. 

And maybe (hopefully!) there will be some science thrown in there.
I'm crossing my fingers.

The sciences are the best subjects. Though I bemoaned Physics, deep down, I loved it. I admit, crazy as it sounds, that Physics (though torturous) made my brain grow in a good way.

Myths about Introvertedness

Sometimes, I really need to contemplate.
Contemplate what?
Oh, life, events, everything.


Self-analysis is a healthy thing, I do think.


The way I get my self-analysis in is via running. I havent run in what feels like ages, but today, I knew I had to run.


I am so glad that I did.
For one, I was able to absorb the beauty of my surroundings. Even in just running in my neighborhood, I saw some lovely things. 


For example, I saw a massive owl swoop in front of my path. He was gorgeous. He then proceeded to "hide" in a tree and stare down at me questioningly.
We held eye contact for a few minutes. I tried to get a picture, but he was sneaky and blended in well with his surroundings.


I had a couple of deer cross my path, and they too then stopped and stared back at me. I thought they were starting to come back towards me, (or maybe they were stopping to see if I wanted to run with them, haha) but a car came and they bounded off.


The rain fell through the trees.


A breeze blew.


It was lovely.


I was able to think without distractions. I was able to come to a conclusion about myself:
 I am introverted yet I am outgoing.


One friend told me that there is no way I'm an introvert, what with the way I blog. 

But you must understand, I'm comfortable with typing into this little box. It's a different kind of outgoingness that doesn't necessarily mean extrovertedness.

Usually when people hear the word "introvert", a mental image of a super-smart shy bookish person comes to mind. Or a computer nerd. Or maybe you think about the person who excludes themselves. 


Buuuuut, that's not what an introvert is. I thought this guy's top ten myths was an interesting take on introverts. I mostly agree with what he says: 

Myth #1 – Introverts don’t like to talk.
This is not true. Introverts just don’t talk unless they have something to say. They hate small talk. Get an introvert talking about something they are interested in, and they won’t shut up for days. (true, true. If someone talks about a subject that peaks my interest, watch out!)

Myth #2 – Introverts are shy.
Shyness has nothing to do with being an Introvert. Introverts are not necessarily afraid of people. What they need is a reason to interact. They don’t interact for the sake of interacting. If you want to talk to an Introvert, just start talking. Don’t worry about being polite. (I think politeness is STILL important...)

Myth #3 – Introverts are rude.
Introverts often don’t see a reason for beating around the bush with social pleasantries. They want everyone to just be real and honest. Unfortunately, this is not acceptable in most settings, so Introverts can feel a lot of pressure to fit in, which they find exhausting. (I don't really agree with this...honesty is best, but niceness is good. And fitting in is exhausting)

Myth #4 – Introverts don’t like people.
On the contrary, Introverts intensely value the few friends they have. They can count their close friends on one hand. If you are lucky enough for an introvert to consider you a friend, you probably have a loyal ally for life. Once you have earned their respect as being a person of substance, you’re in. 

Myth #5 – Introverts don’t like to go out in public.
Nonsense. Introverts just don’t like to go out in public FOR AS LONG. They also like to avoid the complications that are involved in public activities. 

They take in data and experiences very quickly, and as a result, don’t need to be there for long to “get it.” 

They’re ready to go home, recharge, and process it all. In fact, recharging is absolutely crucial for Introverts.

Myth #6 – Introverts always want to be alone.
Introverts are perfectly comfortable with their own thoughts. 

They think a lot. 

They daydream. 

They like to have problems to work on, puzzles to solve. 

But they can also get incredibly lonely if they don’t have anyone to share their discoveries with. They crave an authentic and sincere connection with ONE PERSON at a time.

Myth #7 – Introverts are weird.
Introverts are often individualists. 

They don’t follow the crowd. 

They’d prefer to be valued for their novel ways of living. 

They think for themselves and because of that, they often challenge the norm. They don’t make most decisions based on what is popular or trendy. (Umm, this is so true of me)

Myth #8 – Introverts are aloof nerds.
Introverts are people who primarily look inward, paying close attention to their thoughts and emotions. It’s not that they are incapable of paying attention to what is going on around them, it’s just that their inner world is much more stimulating and rewarding to them. (this might explain why I'm never bored...)

Myth #9 – Introverts don’t know how to relax and have fun.
Introverts typically relax at home or in nature, not in busy public places. Introverts are not thrill seekers and adrenaline junkies.

 If there is too much talking and noise going on, they shut down. Their brains are too sensitive to the neurotransmitter called Dopamine. Introverts and Extroverts have different dominant neuro-pathways. Just look it up. (I looove soaking up nature. And recharging in a quiet place is crucial. I love my alone time. BUT I like doing "daring" things that pump my adrenaline.)

Myth #10 – Introverts can fix themselves and become Extroverts.
A world without Introverts would be a world with few scientists, musicians, artists, poets, filmmakers, doctors, mathematicians, writers, and philosophers. That being said, there are still plenty of techniques an Extrovert can learn in order to interact with Introverts. (Yes, I reversed these two terms on purpose to show you how biased our society is.) Introverts cannot “fix themselves” and deserve respect for their natural temperament and contributions to the human race. In fact, one study (Silverman, 1986) showed that the percentage of Introverts increases with IQ. (Uhh, yeah, of course introvert=good IQ. Juuuuuust kidding.)

What made my day

I was flattered the other day. Like, this totally made my day.

I was checking out my referring traffic sources as I do from time to time, and one of them was from another blog.

Intrigued (of course), I clicked on the url.
It took me to a cute little blog written by a 15-year-old homeschooler. (you can see the blog here)

and I saw that the writer listed me as one of her favorite blogs.


Say whaaat?!?

I mean, she listed me with The Pioneer Woman.
Pretty fantabulous, if you ask me.

bouncing thoughts

I so love being a "mom/big sister" to my cabin.
My co-counselor and I were talking about how fun it is, and how fantastic the week has been. I mean, God has seriously been answering some prayers!

I can't believe it's FRIDAY. I am going to be so sad to see this group of sweet girls go. We have had good times.

You know what else?
I love love love sushi. (AND THEY NOW MAKE GLUTEN FREE SOY SAUCE. Happy day!) I was able to go by the best little sushi dive today and get some to-go volcano rolls for me and my mom. The people at that place are amazingly nice and the fish is fintastic. (I'm making myself roll my own eyes at that one, so sorry)

Also, I have discovered that 8 year olds love tootsie pops above other candies. Even over starbursts. (chocolate gets too melty in the heat at camp. Sadness)
True story.

I also have discovered that I love tootsie pops too, and that it actually is possible to get to the center of a tootsie pop without crunching (it takes a LOT of willpower.)

Also, 8 year olds love bubbles. Strangely enough, so do I. Bubble machines are the best (thankyoutarget)

That is all for now.

Sleep sounds great.

Head knowledge vs. heart knowledge

Eyy Blog.

What a fantastic week it has been so far! I've had the great fun of counseling 8 little girls during the day. Plus, my cabin assistant? She has red hair, just like me.
 My cabin has had such a good time together. I am thrilled that my girls all get along. (That is such a praise to be thankful for!)

This week has been exhausting, I felt like I was plunged into the week with little foreknowledge of what exactly was going on.
Monday was... intense. I had the feeling I was trying to learn too many things at once. Everything felt new to me. It was fantastic, don't get me wrong, but just overwhelming with the load of new information.
I came home, and all I wanted to do was sleep.
Sleep, sleep, sleep.
Like, I couldn't keep my eyes open when I was watching one of my favorite TV shows.
Yes, that kind of sleep. Old people kind of sleep.

Yesterday, I was almost equally sleepy.

I am really loving that activity. Sleeeep.

I always underrate it and put it off for later. Because there are books to read, things to do, people to text, blogs to write...

But sometimes ones body knows best and shuts it all down. I mean, right now, I feel like I've been up for ages (if you can call 6:30 a.m. ages) and I can sense that my body is about to conk out from the days events.

I love having this kind of tired.
The kind of tired when you can just let your head hit the pillow and you are out cold until the alarm sounds in the morning.
Absolutely fantastic. No such thing as insomnia for me!

At day camp, the schedule is such that the girls shouldn't get bored at all. We spend a short time on each activity, so it's like rush, rush, rush, hither and thither.
But it's perfect, because these girls have short attention spans.
>>>>>>

So, I have to tell you about something so super mind-blowing.

The other day, I was supposed to be heading for camp for the first day of daycamp. I was getting ready and all of that good stuff; grabbing all sorts of last minute items. I had a running list of things to be done going in my head. I was ever-so-slightly afraid of being late.

Then, as I dashed about, I remembered that I needed to have a good solid quiet time to start my day right.

I was thinking, "I really don't have the time to do this, I really really don't. 
I am going to be so late if I sit down and have some focused prayer and devotion right now. Maybe I should do it later."

Yet, I felt very convicted.
Like I had the feeling that I had to do that thing right then.
Who was I kidding? There is no way, with the kind of schedule I have during the day, to really get some good quality quiet time during day camp.

Plus, that the whole point of me going to share Christ's love with these kids would be totally WASTED if I wasn't in tune with God. How could I be loving if I hadn't been filled up with Love?

Can it get any plainer than that?


Anywho, I sat myself down, glanced at my watch somewhat worriedly, and flipped open my prayer journal and Bible. I prayed, Okay, Lord, I feel like this is the right thing to do, so please bless this time with you. 
Oh boy He did.
I read and read, getting lost in the beauty of the passages.
I gleaned knowledge about true humility and the proper way of loving others.
I got a good eternal perspective on my day.
I prayed, bringing my requests to God unconscious of the time.
I felt really good about the time I had spent with Him exclusively. Sure I may pray through the day, but it's not meditation/ full attention on just Him and me.

Afterwards, I felt totally refreshed and clean. It's a hard thing to describe, the scrubbing of the soul and the knowledge that there is Someone who knows you (and not just knows of you), who wants to be with you, who can fill you with an intense burning love like no other.
Feeling that kind of love is...is...just indescribable.

And even though I experienced all of that, it didn't take that much time. I wasn't rushing, really.

I started out feeling like I didn't have enough time to have a quiet time, let alone get all of the tasks I wanted accomplished completed, but get this: after my quiet time, I was able to get all of the things I was "stressing over" done without any stress, and I still left my house with plenty of time to spare.
Normally, I would have been rushing out the door in a tizzy. Not so this time.

God is amazing. That was just a small (big to me) way that He showed He is totally faithful when I prioritize and put Him first.
I knew this (head knowledge), but it is so fantastic to me to be reminded in such a way.

It's times like these when I think I would love being a schoolteacher. I LOVE organization, creativity, putting things together, school supplies, fun decor, and teaching (I have been a know-it-all at times) I also don't think working with kids counts as "work". It's just fun.

Why am I not pursuing elementary Ed as a major? Good question...maybe I feel like I need a 'brainy' major. Whatever that is. Yet, I think there may be nothing brainier than feeding young minds.

Did you know that my great-grandmother was a teacher, my mimi (on the other side) was one and *then* my mom was a teacher? It runs in the family, this is for sure. (there's probably a greater legacy I don't know about yet)


Oh, I don't know. How does one figure out their life's direction? Oh, that's right, I have all wisdom right here a prayer away. I am so thankful. :)

Also, this must look like one immense paragraph. Silly text-to-blog feature quirks. It's handy, but it doesn't always work out so well.(I put in paragraphs, I promise)

I'm realizing a majority of my clothes have come from resale shopping. I love this fact.

I have roots in the South.
Generations upon generations.
I truly really do.

I also love parodies of the south. Growing up in the culture, I've learned to laugh and poke fun at it (and myself in the process)

Tonight, I'm going to see these guys:



Oh. My. Goodness.
They make me laugh.
So hard.

When I first found them, I was chuckling for hours.

I know that tonight's going to be a good good night!

Sly, erm, shy Comments

You know what? Posting a comment always feels like a big deal to me.

When I read other people's blogs/notes/tweets/tumblrs/fill-in-the-blanks, I like it. I love to read what's on other people's minds, to get a glimpse of how they think and tick.

I might agree with what they say; I might even laugh at their humor.

I might find what they say encouraging, thoughtful, or (occasionally) have a question about a post that I would like clarified.

This is the reason they've invented the comment box.

But do I take the time to type some response out?
Ummm, usually...
...to be honest...
no.

I've been wondering because I don't totally understand why I am so reserved, because I know I love love love love love getting feedback from people.

Even (sigh) the critical kind. Sure, it might hurt my ego, but in the end, it's good for me.
My favorite comments go like this:

"Wow, you are smarter than the average bear, mildly humorous, and I like your blog!
What a rare find! I think I should send you money just for being so amazing. Do you take pay pal?" 

Now that is a gooood comment.

Here are the reasons I have come up with for my lack of interaction concerning commentating:

• I don't feel comfortable. Sometimes, if it's a distant friend's blog, I feel silly for commenting. I mean, I don't even know the person that well, what if they think I'm a creep? What if they're annoyed at my interest in what they say? 

• What if I start a crazy debate with my comment? Internet debates are usually heated and lame.

• I'm afraid of sounding stupid in my comment, especially if the post-er doesn't know me that well. Text can easily be misinterpreted. Self-explanatory, right? 

• My eloquence leaves me. It must be Murphy's Law in action, because when I have the need to write a well-crafted response, I just can't. 

• The capacha code makes the process feel too long. I have to really want to post a comment to go through all of the mumbo-jumbo. I type something, click "post" and THEN I get redirected to the funny little capacha (I like that word, don't you?)  It's even worse when the site makes you sign up for their website just so you can comment. And after you sign up, they delete your comment so you have to recreate your response. Soooo lame. 

• I feel like enough has been said in the post and that I can't really add anything.  I could post an "amen!" or "right on!" but that falls under the laaame comment category. (therefore, I have decided to use the "instant feedback" option. Click a box and you're good to go!)

And now that I have the perspective of a blogger who enjoys feedback, I see that all of these reasons are dumb. 

YET, I am still a shy commenter. 

I'm going to try to work on this. 

What are your reasons for not commenting? 

(It feels funny to ask you to comment with your reasons for not commenting. but we're taking baby steps here. You can become a engaged reader, I know you can! I've made it easy, you can be anonymous annnnd there's no capacha!)

Also, I'm typing this on a different computer, and I don't like it. It has a terrible keyboard I'm not used to, and typos have been made. I'm sorry if I didn't catch them all...

my car and such

I have some deep thoughts that I'm mulling over, but I am still too scatterbrained to type them out clearly.

My allergies have been terrible the past few days. 

Therefore, I have been high on benadryl. 

On a 1/4 dose of benadryl, people. A 1/4 dose!

What can I say? 

So, tomorrow, I am venturing out on an interesting endeavor. 

I'm taking a road trip.

I feel like a road trip is a rite-of-passage. I feel like this will be fun. 

Me. 3 1/2 hours. A long highway. My car. My camera at pit stops. My tunes. 

Not a crazy long road trip, but it will still be the longest trip that I've taken in one stretch in my beautiful stick-shift car: 

It's not bad for a first car, not bad at all. 

I positively love driving it. I'm about to the point where it feels like an extension of me. I'm still a wee bit jerky when I start from a dead stop, but I'm working on it...

Today, I realized that the summer was slipping on by. 

I realized that I wanted to visit my Mimi. 

I realized that I didn't have any solid plans for this week.

I remembered that I had a car...

and the thoughts came together in an instant. Faster than it took you to read all of that. 

Like, boom, boom. Two seconds and it all came together. 

It was on impulse that I asked my parents what they thought of my proposition. 

Happily, they agreed that it was a good idea. (of course they've made sure to go over some safety issues/procedures, and all of those things that loving parents do to make sure I'm cared for. Their worry makes me feel loved.) 

So as the idea hit me that I should go for a road trip, Dad told me I should make sure all was right with the car. 

Meaning, I needed to check fluid levels, tires, and other things that fall under "tune-up" (I really like that word, it sounds like I actually did some sort of tweaking of the engine). 

That first part wasn't hard, though it was a bit dirty under the hood. 

The part that was hard was when I decided to wash my car (the isuzu needs a name. I'm working on it. Suggestions? I'm thinking something crazy like Vendela or Esmé or...I think it's the benadryl talking...)

 Not only that, I was going to wax my car, too. 

I had a mental image of my gleaming car, ready to roll down the road in the morning, thanks to my waxing compound and nice buffing job.

Oh the insanity. 

Let's just say...I'm not going to try to be an overachiever anymore. 

Washing the car was easy, but waxing that thing took ages. 

This car is about 15 years old, so the paint isn't exactly glossy. In fact, I might go so far as to say that the paint is on the porous side of things.

I think that the car actually looks worse after my attempt at waxing. The wax got stuck in every nick (and this baby has its share of nicks) I buffed and buffed. 

My arms felt like they were going to fall off, but the wax/compound remained. IT WOULD NOT GO AWAY! I spent about three hours in total washing and waxing and tuning-up. The waxing took 75% of that time. 

Finally, I got most of the compound off, but every scratch is now blaring.

I feel like I have accomplished nothing. All of that blood (figurative, pumping through my body of course), sweat (literally, literally, for rizzle), and tears (of frustration held back for dignity's sake) for naught. 

Ah, c'est la vie. 

Wish me luck! Or better yet, pray for me. Pray that I don't die or kill anyone. Wow, that sounds morbid. Moving along. 

Posting in this state of mind is going to be interesting to look back on... 

Benadryl, it's what you do to me

I have posted about this plenty, but I'm at that place again:
ALLERGIES.
I was allergy tested, and I am allergic to the dumbest things. Gluten, mold, animals, a few different weeds/trees, and DUST.
Like, I am sooo allergic to dust, it's crazy.

I take it to mean that I am meant to be rich and have others clean for me. I'm supposed to be a princess, don't you know.
Orr, it means I'm supposed to be OCD in my cleaning.
Ummm, I'll go with the princess angle.

Well, there is one drug I have found to actually alleviate my allergies.
Benadryl.
It's the stuff that really works for me. Every time.

But guess what?
It makes me loopy. It makes me, well, I guess you'd call it a high of sorts. 
I am rather sensitive to Diphenhydramine. So sensitive that I take 1/4 of a dose and it still knocks me out.   

15 minutes after popping a benadryl, I get sleepy. My mind starts thinking in very basic terms. Like, the ceiling becomes fascinating. I couldn't care less about anything. I feel a mental numb.

Also, I get hungry. Very hungry to munch on something.

My talking is slow (usually I talk quickly) and I have a bad short term memory. Puns and dumb jokes are hilarious when I'm in this mental state.

Everything feels fuzzy, and I'm pretty sure that my brain starts to float away.

But I'm not sneezing, my eyes are no longer watering, and most importantly, I don't feel miserable.

When I get to the point with allergies that I would like nothing more than to curl up in a fetal position and cry, I know to take that pill.

If you have allergies, you can sympathize, I'm sure.

If you don't, well, it's like this:
You start sneezing without productivity. I'm taking 25 sneezes in a row, and you still keep on sneezing. (Sneezing is an amazing ab workout, though. Maybe I should start a sneeze-workout class)
Your eyes get itchy and watery. They turn red and puff up in a most unattractive manner. It becomes hard to see  (But you know, the red brings out the green in my eyes)
You start coughing and wheezing (if it's bad enough)
Your skin itches. Your nose turns red. (get ready for the rudolph jokes, darlin', because they will come)

It feels like there is nowhere you can go to get relief.

You get cranky due to the frustrations you're dealing with. No one else around is having trouble with their overeager immune system.

That's when I find my bottle of benadryl.
It's like magic.
...magic with a price of course.

French (braiding, that is)

I love the fact that I've finally figured out how to french braid my hair.
It took me a good while to get it down pat. I never really tried to learn it in the past, but now with my hair getting long, it's a necessity.

The other day, my hair was really getting on my nerves. It's not like I have an abnormally huge mass of hair or anything...

before I continue, I'll tell you this: I've just never really had what would be called "long" hair.
Really.
I've decided to change this. I've decided to grow my hair out longer than it has ever been. Not a insurmountable goal, to say the least. 

When I was growing up, I just never really felt like having it long.
I liked having shortish hair that was easy to comb and fix. I was an active kid, and I hated having to spend time brushing and fixing my hair.
If it was in a cute bob or just shoulder length, there were no worries! I never had tangles. A few times, I even went so far as to get a pixie cut. Now that was an easy haircut to deal with.

Plus, it takes my hair a loooooong time to grow out.
Growing out is a patient process for normal people, because you have to deal with that awkward "in-between-styles" phase. For me, with my abnormally slow hair growth, it's like torture.
In the past, when that phase would hit, I'd tell my mom I just wanted it all cut off.

Well, I've finally reached a point where I really want to have longer hair.
I have been patient.
I have had it barely trimmed. I have suffered. A few times, I've thought about cutting it. My mom knows about my goal, and she has helped to talk me down.

Finally, I'm noticing results. Yay!

But with the extra happy comes extra work.
Longer (my hair is still nothing to write home about) hair is a real pain. When my hair was shorter, I never had a need to brush it thoroughly. I'd put a bit of product in it and dash out the door.

Now if I don't brush and smooth and put good smelling funky stuff in it, I get snarls and frizz. I'm realizing this. It makes me sad.

When my hair was shorter, I didn't have to worry about it getting in my way when I tried to do things. {Like eating, for example. It's a funny thing to see. Don't watch me eat.}

Now, I have to put my hair up in order to get things done.

Don't get me wrong, I love having the "longer" hair, but it is making me become more conscious of my hair and appearance.

I have to actually spend time making it look good. (and even then...ha)

Like today, I had spent time smoothing, brushing, tousling, and blow-drying my hair.
I'd say I felt pretty good about the style.

Guess what happened? Well, I fixed my hair because I was going out into a public place.

Right as I was driving and almost at my destination, it started raining.  Like, a torrential downpour is what I'm talking about. I had to dash about a block (I didn't know it was going to rain, so no umbrella) in the floodwater-like rain.

All of that time I had spent with my hair?
GONE. Down the drain.
Hah.
Vanity gets me nowhere, apparently. My hair started frizzing out, oh boy.
I should have just left it alone after my shower for all the good the work did me.

Not that it really mattered, but I felt annoyed that I had taken the time and the time was utterly wasted in a matter of two minutes.

Also, my hair used to be straight as a stick. Like ZERO curls. Now, I'm getting *some* curls, and my hair has a greater propensity to frizz. Can anyone explain this?

So, what I was saying:
I am so so so thankful for the french braid.
With my shorter hair, I could just put it in a messy bun.

With longer hair, my messy bun is 1) messy in a real sense 2) heavier on my head/like a lump.
Plus, the french braid has improved my running.
I HATE running with my hair in a ponytail. The fwap-fwap on the back of my neck from the ponytail as I run is so annoying to me.
Also, gravity does not help matters. When running, ponytails come out within ten minutes of fixing them (unless they're really tight...ouch!)

The french braid keeps all of my hair out of the way. It's not heavy, and it makes my hair orderly.
Revolutionary, I know.

I'm sure you're riveted by this post, eh?
It was a lot of writing that really said nothing...ooh! I should be a textbook writer! Or maybe I'll write scholarly articles. *wink-wink*

Don't worry, I have some thoughts, interesting thoughts, I'm chewing on.
They aren't quite ready to be shared yet.

Of romance and camels

Ohh readers.
You made my day.
You also gave me insight.

After I posted about camp crushes, I got so many page views in a very short time.
I am sure, if you read the post, you were expecting something else.

I bet that you were a bit bummed out to read that the post was not about interpersonal relationships and my romantic life.

Apparently, that is what my readers want to see.
Romance.
You guys want the juicy scoop. I can understand, because, well, I'm the same way. Don't tell anyone, though.

I would much rather read about beauty and crushes than benadryl highs and running.

Yesterday, I was on a psychology website. Guess what the top articles were about?
Beauty. Dating. Beauty. Romance.

As humans, we're hardwired to appreciate such things.

We love it when the hero gets the girl.
We smile at sweet love stories.
We cheer when we witness a proposal of marriage.
We wonder at the complexities of relationships.
When we see two people who are über-compatible, we wait with bated breath, willing them to be together.
Sometimes we even mentally pair people up. A silent-matchmaker (though you'd never admit it)

Perhaps you specifically don't do these things, but I'm just generalizing (and from the looks of my blogger stats, there's a good chance that you do do these things)

~~~~~~
Though some details are left to the imagination, the story of Isaac and Rebekah is so sweet. You know the premise, right?

So, back when the nation of Israel consisted of one family...in Genesis 24:
Abraham
(he's a pretty big figure in history. Not Lincoln...the other one. The one who started the nation of Israel)
is Issac's dad. Isaac is old enough to be married.
Abraham sends out his old trusted servant to find a wife for his son.
That sounds weird, since we don't really do that nowadays, but hang on. Even though the culture has changed, the basic premise has not.

So the servant goes out to find a wife for Isaac. That had to be a nerve-wracking experience. I mean, he's picking the lady who is going to be with Isaac 'till death they do part.
What if's must have flooded that servant's mind.
He brought some of his concerns to his master.

Abraham assured him that the Angel of the Lord was going before him. Reassuring, but still. This servant is going to trek for hundreds of miles to find a girl. I bet it felt like finding a needle in a haystack. An insurmountable task. How will he know when he finds the one? (sooo many people wonder that...it's a timeless question)

So the servant travels to the land from whence Abraham came with ten camels and gifts in tow.
He comes to a well. He rests.
So what does the servant do next?
He prays for guidance. The perfect solution!
He also prays for a qualifier so he knows it's the right girl for Isaac.
I'm betting you've heard this story...

Anywho, he prays that as he rests by this well (with his entourage of camels) that a girl will come along to draw water. He will ask her for water, and she will give him some. Not only that, she will offer to draw water for all of his camels too.

Because that is what a quality girl looks like.

A girl who is willing to go above and beyond her call.

The servant could have waited ages for such a girl, but (awesome!) God is so in control.

God sent the girl (Rebekah), before the servant was even done praying.  She was exactly what the servant was looking for. She was Isaac's match.

She came up. She drew her water. The servant asked if he could have a drink.
She gave him water, and then informed him that she would water his camels. The servant didn't have to even hint or ask.
(Camels drink a lot of water in one sitting. This girl must have been a strong person)

It wasn't like this:

Servant: "Hi there! How's it going? ...wow, it's really hot out here, huh?"  

Rebekah: "Hi! Yep, sure is. Pretty sweltering heat." 

Servant: "Well, you know, I sure am sweating. It's easy to get dehydrated out here. You know what would be really great is some water. *pointedly looks at well* May I get a cup, please? 

Rebekah: "Sure, but, you should have brought something to draw water with. That's a deep well, you know." 

Servant: "I see. Well, my camels, oh man, my camels are so thirsty. Just look at the poor things. It'd be really great to have some water. For the camels...look at their sad faces...AHEM." 

Rebekah: "Aww, poor things...I hope you brought a jar with you! I'm having a hard enough time as it is. You're a man, you take care of your camels."

There was none of that. It was totally God-ordained. She took initiative and served, no questions asked. It wasn't like she was a flirt either. It's not like some handsome man came up to her. It was an old servant guy with ten thirsty camels.

After she waters the camels, the servant tells her that he was looking for a wife for his master's son (Surprise!), he claps expensive bracelets on her and gives her a nose ring, and says if Rebekah is willing, she can come to marry Isaac.

Long story short, he tells her family, they realize it's God-ordained, and eventually the servant and Rebekah head back.

Now here is the part that I love.
They travel back to Abraham's camp, and Isaac is out in the field meditating.
Rebekah notices him. I'm pretty sure he notices her, too.
It might have been a *SHAZAM!* moment.
Instant connection.

I say this because as they were approaching, she saw Isaac, and asked who the man was, signaling her interest. She found out, "hey! It's the guy I'm going to marry!" 
Then she veiled herself. She stayed modest and appropriate.

Their relationship was a God-thing-- Genesis 24 says that Isaac loved Rebekah deeply.

Also, this girl was blessed for her servant-heart.
Seriously blessed monetarily. I mean, Abraham had been extravagantly blessed by God in every way, and he left everything to Isaac.

Moral of the story: God is in control.
Moral of the story: Don't fret over the future.
Moral of the story: water old guy's camels. You never know... *wink*

I want to be like Rebekah.
She was friendly, beautiful, outgoing, modest, servant-hearted, and open to God's calling. She was just living and serving where she was.
Of course she was human and had flaws, but in this area, she showed a fantastic example.

I hope someday I have a sweet story in that same vein.

When I do, maybe I'll share it and it won't be a misleading post like that other one.

What makes me a fuddy-duddy part 3: malls

Oh dear.
This could be a long post.

As you may well know, there are a few things about me that are not exactly following the norm, and therefore my sisters call me an old lady for it.

One such area: I am not a fan of the mall.
Ew, that place is gross.
No, really, it is.

Have you even been to one?
If you're an American, I'm going to bet that the answer is yes.

They you know what I'm talking about, right?
Riiiight?
Come on, who in their right mind actually enjoys the mall? Every so often, I admit, it's fun to peruse the stores. Every so often. Like, once every few months.

The mall is a place where people just throw money around. It's sickening.

There is no such thing as true frugality at the mall. Sometimes, every blue moon, you might hit an epic sale and really get some deals.

Such things are far and few between, sadly.

Stores and salespeople are out there to convince you that you cannot live without their product, whether it be clothes or fancy gadgets.

They try to pressure you into signing up for credit cards with insane interest rates.

They play to your emotions and the frenzy that comes when there is a so called "once in a lifetime offer".
Hah.

Oh materialism.

Do you realize how much markup there is on the majority of things at the mall?


Coffee is five bucks for a few ounces. What a rip-off!

A regular t-shirt can easily be $20. I've found the exact same shirt "on sale" a week later for $5. If that doesn't bother you, I don't know what to say.

That's only the tip of the iceberg.

The mall will disorient you and make you forget the time. You can go in when it's bright and sunny outside, stay for what you think is an hour, and go outside to a setting sun.

Then there are the masses of humanity. Masses of people are not my favorite. *shudder*

There are too many strollers. Just way too many. Why do moms want to expose their little ones to such a place? Maybe when I'm a mom, I'll understand.

Then there's the groups of moseying teenagers.
There are many sub categories to this group. I'm not going into it. I'm sure you know what I'm talking about.

I could go on ranting.

But one thing that is good about the mall is that when you go, you get a taste of general humanity.
The mall draws a wide, vast crowd.

The mall is a place for people to find temporary fulfillment.
After one makes a big purchase, one will get a rush. One feels elated. It's true. there have been studies on how shopping influences the mind. I've experienced it.


"During a shopping experience, the human brain apparently releases the chemical dopamine, a kind of natural messenger which is essential to the normal functioning of the brain, and which has a role in our ability to experience pleasure or pain. It appears also to have a role in addictive behavior. Simply put, if an action makes us feel good we want to repeat it."
~CBS News 

But these people keep coming back because the dopamine doesn't last and they want to be happy.
Their purchases go out of style, wear out. The feeling of cool fades.

The mall is a fantastic place to shine the light of Jesus. There are so many people there hungry for fulfillment and acceptance.

You can tell just by watching them. 

They're looking for something more than that sweater or gadget. Sometimes, there will be an opportunity to witness/connect. 

When such an opportunity comes to make a connection with someone, I don't mind the mall so very much. 

Also, I read these verses, and I felt that it was something I desperately need to keep in mind:

Be wise in the way you act toward outsiders; make the most of every opportunity. Let your conversation be always full of grace, seasoned with salt, so that you may know how to answer everyone.  

~ Colossians 4:5-6 

Camp Crushes

So at camp, there was this guy.

All of the girls would talk about him adoringly.

 He was considered the cutest guy at camp.
I have to admit, he was adorable.

Dark and handsome is how he would be described.

Camp isn't the place for such things though, right?  ...I mean, I'm supposed to be a role model here. 

So, it turned out that he had a thing for me.

He really pursued me.
I mean really sought me out.

When he saw me, he would make a beeline for me (in so many words).

I think he just liked being around me.

Well, this could get sketchy, but bear with me...

I should confess something:

He would visit me at night while I sat on my cabin porch.

We would sit together as I unwound from the busy camp day. He loved for me to massage his head while he sat close to me.
I know, I know, boys aren't allowed to hang out around girl cabins...


He hated it when I had to leave.
At the end of the week, it was a bittersweet farewell.

I told him we would meet again.

Oh camp crushes.

.....

I even have documentation of him.

ready?

Here he is:

Is he not the cutest?
I didn't get good pictures since he would usually only come around at night, but he was maybe a month or so old...and so soft, cuddly, and fuzzy.
He was a wonderful companion as I sat and attempted to read.

What makes me a fuddy-duddy part 2: movies

As I said before, there are a few things about me that makes my sisters call me an old lady. I've decided to delve into these topics. 

Movies:

I hate horror movies. I also hate gory movies. 

Gory horror movies are the worst. 

I find absolutely no pleasure in watching mass murders/people running from torture. 

I don't mind suspenseful thrillers, just not those movies that give the viewer nightmares or makes their stomachs feel flip-floppy. 

Because, oh boy, I have a imagination that likes to run all over. 

I'm audio-visual, you see, so whatever I see or hear is going to stick with me for a long time. 

I'm pretty sure I could write a plot for a horror movie in about five minutes. 

So here we go: 

Plot 1: Misunderstood freak who frequently alienates himself from peers finally turns on his supposed torturous classmates. 

He goes haywire seeking revenge. 

It gets gory and disgusting. 

He picks people off one by one until the viewers are just waiting to see who is going to get whacked next. The viewers will eventually become bored. Everyone eventually dies. The end. 

Plot 2: Location: Old abandoned mineshaft. 

Indian folklore warns people not to mess with mine because the previous diggers found something and strangely died. 

A large group of stupid explorers ignore warnings. They go and poke around said mine. 

They awaken the mysterious beast. 

They are then trapped underground. 

One by one, most of them die. They die in a suspenseful manner. 

It takes a conjoined effort between two long-standing enemies, but the evil is finally quelled (after more massacre) and relative peace is restored. 

The two enemies (now best friends) are the only survivors that escape the mine. The evil thing follows them and destroys the town. Everyone turns into zombies. The end.

See how simple it is? I hate hate hate movies like that. 

And people don't understand why I say no to such things. 

Can someone please tell me why horror movies are so popular? 

It's just watching scared people die at the hands of an evil thing. 

I mean, really. 

I'm going to stop thinking about that stuff now. 

Did you know that I love office supplies? I don't really understand why, but I do. I bought a mongo pack of post-it notes on clearance. Girls have this thing about sales, more so than guys. 

If it says "sale!" I'll check it out. I find so many good deals. 

ALTHOUGH a few stores will say "SALE!" and the markdown is only a few cents. (Yes, Target, I am looking at you.) 

La-a-me.

  

I'm pretty stoked about these post-it notes though, because now, well, the possibilites are endless! (so far as note-taking goes) 

What makes me a fuddy-duddy part 1: music

Sooo, I have a few qualities that make my younger sisters call me an old lady. I can't argue. 

Auto-tuned recyclation (new word!) of classics or songs with just a beat and boring lyrics about getting down/painting the town or going out all night/life's alright or whatever just do not cut it for me. Every line doesn't have to rhyme. 

Also, I dislike the fact that grammar goes out the window with these dance songs.

There is no such thing as logic in these songs. I guess the "songwriter" (if they can be called that) thinks that you'll be so into the tune that you won't notice the obvious flaws. 

In fact, I could write a pop song in about five minutes. 

Let's see. 

This is going to be fun. 

I present to you my song written in five minutes (with tips as to how to write a good song): 

CHORUS

I'm dancing on the floor  (state the obvious) 

Da-da-da-dancing on the floor (stuttering is an important trend) 

Don't you dare shut that door (mention irrelevant actions during your song) 

'cause we be dancing on the floor (note: and not on the ceiling) 

Some people they like to groove  (don't try to win any sort of accolades lyrically) 

Others like to move  (remember who you are singing to. These people might learn)

I prefer the shake and bake (Show your relevancy by mentioning dance moves)

So baby don't you take take take (repeat to add emphasis. Baby is an all important word to use) 

My music and my rhythm

from me.         (finally, throw in some non-rhyming words)

O-o-o-O-o-o

I'm dancing on the floor  

Da-da-da-dancing on the floor 

Don't you dare shut that door 

'cause we be dancing on the floor

This beat goes one-two-three (a math lesson in a song? You are going to get a grammy)

Simple as can be (not simpler than these lyrics)

Like the cha-cha-slide 

In you I will confide (I don't know how the cha-cha relates to confiding...)

that I be dancing on the floor. (Dancing on the floor is now a secret) 

I'm dancing on the floor  

Da-da-da-dancing on the floor 

Don't you dare shut that door 

'cause we be dancing on the floor 

When you move your feet

You better get lost in that beat

Your feet they can't get sore

when you be dancing on the floor. (Sound, sound logic)

I'm dancing on the floor  

Da-da-da-dancing on the floor 

Don't you dare shut that door 

'cause we be dancing on the floor  

REPEAT CHORUS 

REPEAT, REPEAT, REPEAT

**crazy beat ad infinitum**

As the beat finally slows: 

When you be dancing...on...the floor. (dramatic slow singing of the few main words of the song with lots of oooh's) 

NOTE: Rapping fits in there somewhere. 

Stuff you hear on the dance station doesn't usually showcase all of the above qualities.

I think I am going to be a lyricist.