Confessions (for a lack of a more orginal title)

This morning I am on my way to Peoria to finish Christmas shopping, sipping on a vanilla latte made from my Black Friday issued espresso maker, drowning in self-loathing because I'm not on my way to Kansas City, when I realize how egocentric I really am. I don't know if you've ever had what Mrs. Young would like to call a "Come to Jesus moment," but somewhere between Jingle Bell Rock and something foreign by Josh Groban, I remember that I am not what Christmas is all about. Christmas is more than any of the errands to be accomplish, presents to be wrapped, oil to be changed, being home for a wedding, ect. ect. Christmas is about God becoming man- God in flesh, who dwelt among humanity. Who am I, living in God's economy, to think that Christmas is all of those things I previously listed? I know this is in my head, but I so desperately desire to believe this in my heart of hearts.

As someone brilliant penned centuries ago, "He knows our need. To our weakness He is no stranger."

This is my weakness- to be selfish-yet God chose to personally see me and my need. How completely selfless of Him.

Three beautifully deep, eclectic thoughts.

1. Oswald Chambers wrote, "Beware of refusing to go to the funeral for your own independence."

2. I found this in an old journal entry, which I wrote January 23, 2006, "Do you think that some friendships fade away because they have already accomplished their purpose in your life?" I haven't come up with a definitive conclusion-perhaps you can.

3. Always remember to wait for the second marshmallow. I think I've received it.

"I would walk right back through the rain, back to every broken heart on the day that it was breaking."

Today, for some reason, I skimthrough some of my previous blogs keeping in mind that I never proofread anything and find a horrific number of semi-embarrassing spelling and grammatical errors, so to you few who read this: I am dutifully sorry and I cannot and will not say it won't happen again.


Now there once was this place in time when the coolest, most addictive thing was called Xanga. I haven't bothered to look at it in awhile, but today I did. My last post was over two years ago, on the same day that my pet fish Ferdinand (named after Shakespeare's The Tempest) died. I realize that I have many of the same hopes and dreams as I did when I opened the thing many years ago. I want to run a mararthon, open a coffee shop, and attend the London olympics in 2012. I don't feel any closer to those dreams than I did in 2006. I've played golf though. And as I documented my last memories of Calvary on this page, Xanga posted my first thoughts of how dorm life had forever changed me. I realize too that I had forgot a lot of good times too: Chucky, Taco Bell family, the best Valentine's day ever, burning hams, and the list goes on. I notice how completely egocentric I am.

Disappointingly I haven't met a real Matt Kingsley- somedays I think I have.
And no one has ever taken me on a picnic to the center of an outfield either.
Dreams are still dreams.


Zach Grienke is still my favorite pitcher. Fall may be my favorite season. And I do love Josh Groban. From the highschool-ish Xanga to the more adult and sophiticated Blogspot, not many things have changed at all.


Have I ever mentioned that my pet peeve is people who talk too loud in libraries?