The City of Brotherly Shove:

Good ol' BBC - gotta love it... It's almost like we're our own little town up on the hill of Sussex, New Brunswick... No one really has any reason to leave the campus... so most don't... some don't even leave their rooms... creepy.

Today's blog deals with the issue of trying to help some of our residents develop social graces that they lacked before coming to Bethany and well... still don't have. In the process of this blog, I have to sincerely commend a certain anonymous person (named Jon Billings) for tolerating and surviving a whole semester under certain circumstances. I'd give him a Purple Heart or Iron Cross or something like that for bravery in the line of duty, but truth is, I don't have any to give.

This subject came up at lunch as Wiedmaier presented one of his conundrums with the group (Luke, Billings, Wied, Jets, and myself.... all later joined by K8).

(Insert Seattle accent)

"Why is it that certain people in leadership positions can come down hard on people for a unique hair style/ length of hair, and forgetting to take off a hat in a 'forbidden zone', yet not confront someone for not bathing for an extended... by extended I mean 2 months... period of time? That isn't gel in his hair! That?s two months worth of grease... It shines dude!"

As we sat and pondered this, Jets disguntally informed us that he woke up to that smell this morning! This disturbs me because the perpetrator's room is 2 doors down from his and mine is 2 away from Jets'!

Ladies and Gentlemen, something needs to be done!

I suggested that a couple of bottles of Febreez might take care of it, but never truly understood the severity of the situation. It was then that I received the shocking news that no, it had been tried... the estimated presence of the Febreez was about 10 minutes until the smell of "fass" (thanks for the word Jetchick . Fass = foot and ..... you can guess the rest) returned in power.

So here is my conundrum, ladies and gentlemen:

How do you tell someone, in brotherly love, that they stink worse than a backed up septic system in a mortuary? How do you let them know, in brotherly love, that "Crisco" was never an appropriate or attractive hair style? How do you let them know that if their roommate died from the stink in the room, no one could tell the difference between the smells? How do you let them know the importance and proper use of showers and laundry facilities? How do you let them know all this in love? Do you tie them up, throw them in a shower, and pour shampoo and soap in? Do you break into the room and do their laundry and change their sheets? Do you Febreebomb the room twice a day? How do you do all of this in genuine brotherly love and concern for them and other residents?

No Sugar Coating:

Alright everyone. Tonight I lay it all out on the line. I hope that you are not offended by any extreme pessimism or sarcasm or blunt truth. I'm not having a good day...check that... I'm not having a good week... today is just the crescendo of it all.

It starts out with the simple fact that this week has followed valentine's day, which has caused a number around me to hook up.... mind you I say around me. For everyone out there, I hope you understand me and know that I am not one of those patheticly people who are desperate for that relationship to give meaning to an otherwise void life. I have a life, a relationship would be nice, but I'm picky, thoughtful, and prayerful, so therefore it will probably never happen to me... Anyways, the run-around makes me sick. I'm talking that type of vomitous sick... I hate it. I don't like the rollercoaster of the run-around....

"Stop the ride, I wanna get off!"

As a result of this week as well as the pressure and combinations of stupidity, one of my very good friends from home cannot get it through her thick head that a relationship without God in the center...with a guy that's after her for her body...IS NOT FREAKIN' COOL! (I'm sorry for blogging this Samantha, but if you're reading this... have some sense already and get OUT ... I know you're not dumb) This has Damien INFURIATED. I realize it is a personal choice, but honestly, don't complain to me if you're not gunna stand up for yourself and stop being a peice of meat.

"Stop the ride, I wanna get off!"

Today in Historical Books I learned how to get an F on a Branscombe inductive. Here are the step by step instructions.

1. Spend half your Christmas break working on your rough notes
2. Lose sleep over more rough notes and formulating an outline
3. Set you're margins to the appropriate BBC standard
4. Lose more sleep on your essay paper
5. Put together in a plastic folder

Leave in the professor's office for 20 days on 18C and wait to discover:

1. You've wasted your Christmas break
2. You've lost sleep needlessly
3. You're margins are off by a fraction of a millimeter and you are docked grades
4. The second page of your essay went missing
5. That you ACTUALLY get you're nifty plastic folder back

You'll discover that despite your efforts and trying to reason with the professor and Academic Dean that you will receive an F..... right before you write a midterm on Acts.

"Stop the ride, I wanna get off!"

This series of random events makes me hate my life and everything around it. If you were looking for something funny or posative... you're not gunna find it tonight. There is no sugar coating my situation or any cliche that is gunna make me feel any better...

"I've got a funny feeling that we're all born to lose. I've got a funny feeling that this life ain't worth living!" - "Cheer Up!" by Reel Big Fish

The Invasion:

This time really annoys me. That's right, open dorm nights. I do not mind the fairer sex coming to see our lack of home, but I do mind that this is the time when people act like raving idiots.... right outside your door. It doesn't matter that you have a headache, the madness will not stop. If I am sounding slightly annoyed and cheesed off, it is probably because I am. I'm sitting here with the door open in hopes to get some visiters that I actually wouldn't mind having in my room. Seems like all the wrong people come by though (if you came by and are reading this, it has no baring on you... it's the other people that annoy me) I am in a REALLY crappy mood right now. If you feel like giving me a cliche, please don't... I don't want it right now.

I want two tylenol and 5 minutes to beat the living crap out of a few people. You must earn the right to pick on me. On crappy days, you must have the latter and some guts. I can take a joke, but when it is a homosexual crack from someone who knows jack about me. .... I want to say some very mean, nasty things right now, but because of my Christian standing... I will refrain. Again... I will not open my blog up to slander... So Mr. I-Can't-Take-A-Hint..... I am a patient person, but today you have crossed the line of tolerence...yes you are my brother in Christ, but I wish I could claim sibling rivalry and have 5 minutes with you....

(Disclaimer: this is not a threat, it is just my pathetic attempt to vent a high level of frustration... btw - I'm not a violent person, I just have creative ways of using my words)

"hi this is kate - Hi to me!!! how are you.. oh good you are great!! See you in the mirror!!" (Katie was in my room and decided to type on my blog. You rock socks Katie... thanks for hearing out my frustration and keep on rockin' the Two-in-One Mouthwash/Toothpaste)

Growing pains:

This is going to sound crazy, but I think I'm growing. I know I'm growing in the spiritual sense, but I'm talking physically growth.... my knees and legs are aching for no reason and I'm a little scared. Right now, I'm at the towering height of 6' 3" (with matching size 14 feet and freaking huge hands) and I feel a little awkward about getting any taller. I mean, honestly, how many girls want a guy who is thrice their size? I'm already uncomfortable being this big, growing any won't help my situation out any.

Have I mentioned yet my awkwardness?

I'm one of those people that A) doesn't realize how big I am and end up hurting themselves or B) once they realize their size, are very self-conscious and uncomfortable in themselves. I know that my identity has nothing to do with that... which while we're on the subject, let's open up that can of worms...

I have this terrible tendency, because of my insecurities, to adapt the personalities of the people that I hang around with. I think I do this mostly to fit in. Again, because of past hurts and present insecurities, I've adapted this as a defense mechanism. It's one of those thing that if someone makes fun of me I can turn around and say "Look in the mirror, my friend, and see who you're really laughing at." I find it hard to be myself - moreover hard to find acceptance when I am myself. All this thought brings me to the question: "If I was being myself, would I know it and would other people accept it"? I know that my identity is found in Christ and that is all that matters, so why do I continue to emulate others? I really don't know.

I guess this all leads me back to my other stage of growth: Day #4 of Damien's Personal Journey has learned that God loves us so much to give us an identity with HIm and be referred to as a child of God.

A Tribute to A Fallen Hero:

All of you reading know and love and terribly miss our friend Derrick. So this blog will be a tribute to him.

For those of you who are not aware of who Derrick is, I will tell you. Derrick Lareva is a good friend of mine that, in the process of traveling home for Christmas break, was in a serious car accident. I am glad to say that though he is not fully recovered, Derrick is alive and fighting! From what I'm gathering, all his memories are intact and he is starting to try to speak. He has a letter board that he uses mostly to communicate, but is working on talking. Dori tells me that his personality is back to his old self... for those of you who know, we can laugh until we mess our pants, and for those who don't... tough. Anyway, I guess during one of his speech of physical therapy appointments, he said "I'm a retard" (he was joking because his voice sounded like it)

Derrick lived when all odds were against him. I strongly believe that he is alive today because of the weeks and months of constant petition in prayer. God has an awesome plant for Derrick's life.

Derrick, our fallen and recovering brother, we miss you. More than words can express right now, I say that I miss you too. Keep up the fighting! I know that you'll be back someday and when you are, remind me to tell you how much your friendship has meant to me.

For all of us, this is a lesson. Don't wait until tomorrow to tell someone how much you appreciate them, because they might not have tomorrow. On second thought, neither might you.


(On a side note in response to an earlier blog: Day 3 of "Damien's quest to understand love" has passed and it seems that every day I'm learning something new. The first two days were things that jumped out of the scriptures at me and the other, a dear [by dear I attach no string etc., that is for you who may take this term of endearment the wrong way] friend showed me...thanks for being the messenger Liz)

The Best Medicine:

Yes, today's topic comes from the old cliché, laughter is the best medicine. If you believe this, I'm sure you'll find a good place that people put this into practice is at an asylum. There are people there that must be REALLY well. (I?m sorry if my sarcasm has offended anyone)

I love to laugh. I'm not sure that I know anyone who doesn't. I do, however, know a lot of people who LOOK like they never smile or laugh, but we all know it's there somewhere.

I find myself laughing a lot and having many people staring at me because of nothing being said. I remember random things in the course of the day that bring joy to my life and weird looks from others. If they have a problem with it, they'll just hafta deal with it. What can I say, I enjoy being happy.

I am not one of those people that walks around with a disgustingly wide smile, nor do I laugh at everything. I have my bad days, my just don't wanna smile days, but there is always something or someone that can make me laugh.

God has a sense of humor, too. I'm sure we're all heard that before. If you don't think He does, just look at the platypus (my apologies to all the Platypus Activists out there) and also ear lobes. Earlobes are some of the funniest things that I've seen! Oh come on, you know you laugh at them too! Ok, maybe not.

One of my favorite forms of humor would have to be sarcasm. Have you ever used it' It is addictive! Wow! It's some great stuff. With that, I leave you with my personal insight for the day:

If laughter is the best medicine, sarcasm is it's addictive ingredient.

This week's profunctory:

Ever have one of those days where you second guess yourself? Not a day where you question everything you do, but where someone makes a comment, not even intended for impact, and you spend the rest of the day thinking on it. Well, you guessed it. I am the day's victim.

The statement which provoked the day's procunctory (if it isn't a word, it should be. It means: a statement which causes one to have an epiphony, a deep thought on an unconsidered matter) was during a prayer: "...and help those who do not know how to love to love you and know that any other form of love will come from You..." (complete paraphrase. God forgive me for not memorizing his prayer and writing a book on it.)

This statement, though simple and well based causes me to question myself and be completely transparent with myself, God, and you readers. I'm not sure if I know how to love. I have spent the whole afternoon mulling over this and have realized that maybe I don't. I've had some pretty shifty things happen to me in my life. I'm not using it as a crutch or an excuse, but baring the roots of the problem. It is no fault of parents or anything like that. It has been only within the past 2 and a half years that I've really learned to start trusting people again (Thank you Ryan and crew for teaching me again). I looking back, I asked myself how many close friends that promised never to leave or turn their backs on me because they "loved me too much" or that significant other that claimed to love me "always and forever". I have managed in the time since that if that is what love is then it is cheap and worthless, therefore, I didn't want it.

I know the definition of love. I know what it means to love God. I can recited to you the attributes of love from 1st Corinthians 13. I know that I have recieved genuine love, but I don't know if I can recognize it if I was face to face with it.

What I have gained from all of this is a starting place. My starting place is with God. My compass points in the direction of Jesus Christ and my parchment blank, to map the course. Though my destination is right by my side, love is something to be seached out and explored in God. I do not know where this road will take me, but I do know that He is the author and perfector of love. If I can know His love so well to recognize it, then I will be able to see and know the different aspects of love. It is with this that I leave an all too fitting poem for my present state of thinking.

The Road Not Taken:

TWO roads diverged in a yellow wood,
And sorry I could not travel both
And be one traveler, long I stood
And looked down one as far as I could
To where it bent in the undergrowth;
   
Then took the other, as just as fair,
And having perhaps the better claim,
Because it was grassy and wanted wear;
Though as for that the passing there
Had worn them really about the same,
   
And both that morning equally lay
In leaves no step had trodden black.
Oh, I kept the first for another day!
Yet knowing how way leads on to way,
I doubted if I should ever come back.
   
I shall be telling this with a sigh
Somewhere ages and ages hence:
Two roads diverged in a wood, and I -
I took the one less traveled by,
And that has made all the difference.

- Robert Frost