By Henry Wadsworth Longfellow
Tell me not in mournful numbers,
Life is but an empty dream!
For the soul is dead that slumbers,
And things are not what they seem.
Life is real! Life is earnest!
And the grave is not its goal;
Dust thou are, to dust thou returnest,
Was not spoken of the soul.
Not enjoyment, and not sorrow,
Is our destined end or way;
But to act, that each tomorrow
Find us farther than today.
Art is long, and Time is fleeting,
And our hearts, though stout and brave,
Still, like muffled drums, are beating
Funeral marches to the grave.
In the world's broad field of battle,
In the bivouac of Life,
Be not like dumb, driven cattle!
Be a hero in the strife!
Trust no Future, howe'er pleasant!
Let the dead Past bury its dead!
Act, - act in the living Present!
Heart within, and God o'erhead!
Lives of great men all remind us
We can make our lives sublime,
And, departing, leave behind us
Footprints on the sand of time;
Footprints, that perhaps another,
Sailing o'er life's solemn main,
A forlorn and shipwrecked brother,
Seeing, shall take heart again.
Let us then be up and doing,
With a heart for any fate;
Still achieving, still pursuing,
Learn to labor and to wait.
Wednesday, January 12, 2011
Friday, January 7, 2011
This isn't Awkward at All
I was in a garage/warehouse area yesterday at a place where I volunteer. I was quietly taking an inventory of some products in a room when a door opened and in walked a young lady, maybe a couple years older than me. She didn’t notice me. This wasn’t a large, expansive warehouse. It was a room the size of a home’s living room, and we were the only two in there, annnd I was the only one of the two who was privy to this information.
This lady was putting some things in a refrigerator with her back turned to me. About ten seconds passed, and she still hadn’t noticed the tall, noticeable guy 10 feet behind her. At this point I realized I had a few options: I could say hello (but it was far too long into the situation for that option), I could make a small noise that would hopefully make my presence known, or I could hope that she was so deep in thought that she wouldn’t even see me as she turned and left.
Time was passing, and I continued wasting precious seconds thinking about my least-creepy strategy, when my fate was sealed for me as I must've made a small noise with my foot scraping along the ground. This young lady (we’ll call her Gertrude*) casually turned around at the sound of the noise, only to see a nervous man not-so-casually staring at her. I was obviously focused on her because a potentially uncomfortable problem had been created, and my mind was racing to find a solution. My solution seemed to have been the idea that staring at Gertrude would make me seem much less unusual when I flashed a goofy grin and said “Hello!” I figured that normality could not be achieved at this point, so why try? She was trying not to laugh, which pleased me, since we both had an understanding of the awkwardness that had quickly saturated the air.
Fortunately, my quick thinking did save the day in the end when, after the formality of exchanging names, I remembered that someone I had met a few days earlier knew a Gertrude that worked where I volunteered. We were able to create some common ground, and had a brief, civilized conversation.
I usually desire to create awkward situations (and have great success), but when they are forced on me, I view it as a very special gift to brighten my day.
*Names have been changed to protect identity.
This lady was putting some things in a refrigerator with her back turned to me. About ten seconds passed, and she still hadn’t noticed the tall, noticeable guy 10 feet behind her. At this point I realized I had a few options: I could say hello (but it was far too long into the situation for that option), I could make a small noise that would hopefully make my presence known, or I could hope that she was so deep in thought that she wouldn’t even see me as she turned and left.
Time was passing, and I continued wasting precious seconds thinking about my least-creepy strategy, when my fate was sealed for me as I must've made a small noise with my foot scraping along the ground. This young lady (we’ll call her Gertrude*) casually turned around at the sound of the noise, only to see a nervous man not-so-casually staring at her. I was obviously focused on her because a potentially uncomfortable problem had been created, and my mind was racing to find a solution. My solution seemed to have been the idea that staring at Gertrude would make me seem much less unusual when I flashed a goofy grin and said “Hello!” I figured that normality could not be achieved at this point, so why try? She was trying not to laugh, which pleased me, since we both had an understanding of the awkwardness that had quickly saturated the air.
Fortunately, my quick thinking did save the day in the end when, after the formality of exchanging names, I remembered that someone I had met a few days earlier knew a Gertrude that worked where I volunteered. We were able to create some common ground, and had a brief, civilized conversation.
I usually desire to create awkward situations (and have great success), but when they are forced on me, I view it as a very special gift to brighten my day.
*Names have been changed to protect identity.
Wednesday, January 5, 2011
10 Things I Want To Do In My Life
Another unearthed high school writing project. This one is really amazing to me. The immaturity of some of my goals, and the shock that some of these have actually been realized. God is good. This is embarrassing in many ways, but it most certainly makes me smile when I read it. I'd like to edit some of the grammar and statements, but I will try to refrain. Aside from my family, nobody I keep in touch with anymore knew the Jonathan Stockeland that wrote this. God is good.
10. Drive route 66 with a bunch of friends in red 1960 Corvette Convertibles with white trim and white leather seats. Just cruisin' from Chicago to San Diego with my best friends, jammin' to the oldies. The people I'd take with has changed.
9. No more outer space. Far too unrealistic. I would still like to be sitting on top of Mt. Everest someday. Maybe they could just set me up there with a helicopter to save some time.
8. Acquire a pilot's license. Probably for leisure and not as a career. But who knows? This summer my brother let me fly and airplane for a while and it was one of the most awesome experiences of my life. Really, really, cool.
(way to use non-descriptive, cliche words, 17 yr. old Jonathan..)
7. See the Twins, Vikings, and Pacers all win national championships before I die. This dream has dropped a few spots in the last year. I'm still the same sports fanatic, though. Even more so. Yes, it is possible. Twins are out of the playoffs this year, but I didn't cry. Pacers won't win the NBA Finals this year. However, my beloved Vikings are going to win their first Super Bowl ever this year!! It is about time! I can't take another playoff loss anyway.
(sports teams losing was the apex of emotional turmoil in my childhood. I was known to cry from time to time.)
6. If I could own any sports team, I would want the Vikings. I bleed purple and gold. I live and die every week in the fall. Fortunately, the first 7 weeks of this season have been all living for me. That's right, the Vikes are 6-0. Last time they started this well was 3 years ago when they were eventually walloped in the playoffs by the Giants. Things are different this year. I can feel it.
(Things weren't different that year, and I found out that I actually bleed red.)
5. I want to attend college and graduate. Emphasis on graduate. Right now I'd like a major in U.S. History or Criminal Justice.
(The most achievable goal on my list, and 5 majors and 4 colleges later, I'm still chasing it.)
4. (This one is so very sad and materialistic) Along with that stock 2004 Viper of mine, I have added a new dream car to my fleet. A custom black '96 Impala SS. I'm limo tintint the windows, putting 20 inch spinnin' blades on the wheels, dropping the frame 6 inches, and installing hydraulics. On the inside you will see two 7 inch LCD screens in the headrest and a 10 inch LCD on the dash right above my DVD compatible audio deck. The interior sound will be provided by 6 mids and 4 tweeters. The trunk will hold three 14 inch subs (unless I can fit larger) and two amps, all encased in acoustic plexiglass.
(Okay, I have to remove the last two sentences. It got out of control. The word 'heezie' was used.. I wouldn't take this car if it was given to me.)
3. I'd like to spend the majority of my lifetime in the North Dakota or Minnesota area. It's some of the most beautiful land in the world. And I have a lot of family in that area, which is VERY important to me.
(Okay, majority is pushin' it, but I'm surprised #3 has been moderately realized.)
2. I'd like to get married and have kids. This has jumped a few spots in the last year. It's not like I know how many kids I want and have all their names picked out. I just know I want to have a family with a wonderful wife.
(..Said the boy who hadn't even been on date.)
1. I want to live for God. I am a Christian and I am positive I will be going to heaven when I die. But I know I don't always live like a Christian should live and act like a Christian should act. I want to live for God in my life and do everything for his glory. I don't want to do anything self-pleasing if it's not pleasing to God.
10. Drive route 66 with a bunch of friends in red 1960 Corvette Convertibles with white trim and white leather seats. Just cruisin' from Chicago to San Diego with my best friends, jammin' to the oldies. The people I'd take with has changed.
9. No more outer space. Far too unrealistic. I would still like to be sitting on top of Mt. Everest someday. Maybe they could just set me up there with a helicopter to save some time.
8. Acquire a pilot's license. Probably for leisure and not as a career. But who knows? This summer my brother let me fly and airplane for a while and it was one of the most awesome experiences of my life. Really, really, cool.
(way to use non-descriptive, cliche words, 17 yr. old Jonathan..)
7. See the Twins, Vikings, and Pacers all win national championships before I die. This dream has dropped a few spots in the last year. I'm still the same sports fanatic, though. Even more so. Yes, it is possible. Twins are out of the playoffs this year, but I didn't cry. Pacers won't win the NBA Finals this year. However, my beloved Vikings are going to win their first Super Bowl ever this year!! It is about time! I can't take another playoff loss anyway.
(sports teams losing was the apex of emotional turmoil in my childhood. I was known to cry from time to time.)
6. If I could own any sports team, I would want the Vikings. I bleed purple and gold. I live and die every week in the fall. Fortunately, the first 7 weeks of this season have been all living for me. That's right, the Vikes are 6-0. Last time they started this well was 3 years ago when they were eventually walloped in the playoffs by the Giants. Things are different this year. I can feel it.
(Things weren't different that year, and I found out that I actually bleed red.)
5. I want to attend college and graduate. Emphasis on graduate. Right now I'd like a major in U.S. History or Criminal Justice.
(The most achievable goal on my list, and 5 majors and 4 colleges later, I'm still chasing it.)
4. (This one is so very sad and materialistic) Along with that stock 2004 Viper of mine, I have added a new dream car to my fleet. A custom black '96 Impala SS. I'm limo tintint the windows, putting 20 inch spinnin' blades on the wheels, dropping the frame 6 inches, and installing hydraulics. On the inside you will see two 7 inch LCD screens in the headrest and a 10 inch LCD on the dash right above my DVD compatible audio deck. The interior sound will be provided by 6 mids and 4 tweeters. The trunk will hold three 14 inch subs (unless I can fit larger) and two amps, all encased in acoustic plexiglass.
(Okay, I have to remove the last two sentences. It got out of control. The word 'heezie' was used.. I wouldn't take this car if it was given to me.)
3. I'd like to spend the majority of my lifetime in the North Dakota or Minnesota area. It's some of the most beautiful land in the world. And I have a lot of family in that area, which is VERY important to me.
(Okay, majority is pushin' it, but I'm surprised #3 has been moderately realized.)
2. I'd like to get married and have kids. This has jumped a few spots in the last year. It's not like I know how many kids I want and have all their names picked out. I just know I want to have a family with a wonderful wife.
(..Said the boy who hadn't even been on date.)
1. I want to live for God. I am a Christian and I am positive I will be going to heaven when I die. But I know I don't always live like a Christian should live and act like a Christian should act. I want to live for God in my life and do everything for his glory. I don't want to do anything self-pleasing if it's not pleasing to God.
A few of my favorite things. (abstract edition)
Peeling an entire orange with one, long, continuous peel.
Peeling the stickers cleanly off of computers, appliances, and other shiny objects that should not have stickers on them.
Turning over the last page on a book and setting it on my lap.
Finding an old photograph that I haven't seen in years.
Separating the egg white from the yolk.
Waking up on less than 3 hours of sleep with no perceived fatigue. Gonna be a good day.
Eating string cheese at room temperature, when it is at its' stringiest.
Laughing out loud.. by myself. Or with other people, I suppose.
You know the blue film that protects chrome and stainless steel? So great. To peel off, that is.
Removing a stain. from clothes, carpet, a countertop, you name it.
The texture of tapioca pudding.
Hammer-ons and hammer-offs on the guitar.
Slipping on ice, but preventing a fall.
The last minute of a run.
A ball point pen that rolls well.
Top Ten lists of anything. I miss ECP 5..
An empty sink.
Muscle failure.
Top speed on my scooter.
Any speed on my scooter.
My scooter.
Kneeling.
Avoiding the initial cold stream of water from the shower head.
Wearing my apron in the kitchen.
A tight spiral on a football. kicking or throwing.
A strong rebound in basketball.
A fluid 6-4-3 double play. Tinker to Evers to Chance.
Alleyways.
Mixing up scripture references.
Unexpected phone calls (..all phone calls).
Realizations about God's love that blindside me.
3x5 cards.
Praying on the phone.
Manual transmissions.
Double-headers.
Streakless windshield wipers.
Tucking in on a bicycle.
Watching bad memories become good.
Acting. Like, in a play.
When other people intercede for the desires of my heart.
To be continued..
Peeling the stickers cleanly off of computers, appliances, and other shiny objects that should not have stickers on them.
Turning over the last page on a book and setting it on my lap.
Finding an old photograph that I haven't seen in years.
Separating the egg white from the yolk.
Waking up on less than 3 hours of sleep with no perceived fatigue. Gonna be a good day.
Eating string cheese at room temperature, when it is at its' stringiest.
Laughing out loud.. by myself. Or with other people, I suppose.
You know the blue film that protects chrome and stainless steel? So great. To peel off, that is.
Removing a stain. from clothes, carpet, a countertop, you name it.
The texture of tapioca pudding.
Hammer-ons and hammer-offs on the guitar.
Slipping on ice, but preventing a fall.
The last minute of a run.
A ball point pen that rolls well.
Top Ten lists of anything. I miss ECP 5..
An empty sink.
Muscle failure.
Top speed on my scooter.
Any speed on my scooter.
My scooter.
Kneeling.
Avoiding the initial cold stream of water from the shower head.
Wearing my apron in the kitchen.
A tight spiral on a football. kicking or throwing.
A strong rebound in basketball.
A fluid 6-4-3 double play. Tinker to Evers to Chance.
Alleyways.
Mixing up scripture references.
Unexpected phone calls (..all phone calls).
Realizations about God's love that blindside me.
3x5 cards.
Praying on the phone.
Manual transmissions.
Double-headers.
Streakless windshield wipers.
Tucking in on a bicycle.
Watching bad memories become good.
Acting. Like, in a play.
When other people intercede for the desires of my heart.
To be continued..
Saturday, January 1, 2011
SKI-U-MAH
November 27, 2010
A day to remember.
Iowa Hawkeyes vs. Minnesota Gophers
Who hates Iowa? WE hate Iowa.
For normal people, this was just the Saturday after Thanksgiving. A day most likely spent with family, maybe decorating for Christmas. I'm not normal. I am a proud inaugural member of the new Minnesota Golden Gophers Rooter Club. I'll be honest, it sounds as lame as it is.
I received an email in the first week of the school semester, advertising this new cheering section that would receive prime seating at Gopher football games. I already owned season tickets, and I figured that this would be a good way to ensure that I would have good seats. So I applied, was accepted, and began attending Gopher games. By myself.
The Gophers have a dismal football team. Bad enough that I think I could even have a shot at making the team. That's a bad team. Going into the final game, we had two wins, both coming on the road. We didn't have a home win since the previous year, it was 20 degrees out, our opponents were ranked #24 in the nation, and I was staring down the barrel of a 13 hour night-shift followed by a Sunday at church. After considering all of that, I still decided that I needed to remain faithful to my new school and see the season through to the bitter end.
I donned my ridiculous attire, smiled, and began the walk to the stadium. I arrived about an hour early. The student section had maybe 20 fans. I posted myself at my front row seat (although I never sit during the game) and tried to stay warm. By this point I was beginning my weekly ritual of working myself into the delusion that the Gophers maybe stood a chance of winning. I think it was the fog from the fog machines going to my head. It was crazy to think that way. Regardless, before every game, I would scream myself hoarse, pounding on the player's helmets as they ran out of the tunnel and onto the field. I know, I'm supposed to be an adult, and act like it, but need I remind you I am not normal? Adulthood is boring and comfortable.
As the game began I added a second layer of gloves, immediately regretting slapping helmets in the bitter cold. My fingers hurt. This was it. The final game. The last nail in the season's coffin. The Gophers received the first kickoff. They scored. A touchdown. It wasn't uncommon for the Gophers to tease me like this, so I screamed wildly, but in a subdued sorta way. The Gophers then kicked off. Generally in the first quarter of a game, you do a regular kickoff. The Gophers tried an onside kick and recovered the kick. At this point I immediately abandoned all subtlety and threw all of my emotional capacities into the game. The louder I screamed, the warmer I became, so that was only an encouragement. This is when my delusional thoughts of a victory reached their peak for the season. The Gophers had nothing to lose, and they were playing like it. That's a dangerous team to play, no matter how pathetic they are.
At the end of the first half, the Gophers held a slim lead. This wasn't uncommon, as they always play exponentially worse in the second half. I spent halftime walking through the concourse, trying to bring feeling back to my toes. I also received a lot of odd looks due to my socially unacceptable clothing choices. The third quarter was scoreless. the final fourth quarter began. (As I'm typing this there's an epic movie score playing on Pandora. It's very fitting. And funny. Just pause for a moment and imagine some deep, pulsating bass sounds with flowing strings and increasingly louder brass. Now that the mood is set, back to the story.) The Gophers scored, increasing their lead. Then, as it inevitably happens when I predict tragic events, the Iowa Hawkeyes returned the ensuing kickoff for a touchdown. This also was not an uncommon practice for opposing teams to do. Iowa then scored again, taking the lead in the game for the first time, with only minutes remaining. The Gophers received the kickoff, and with the help of some acrobatic plays, drove down the field for a touchdown, regaining the lead. Usually when the Gophers score, I give bear hugs to everyone around me, whether I've seen them before or not. By this point, our hugs were not wild, crazy celebrations, but instead emotion-filled hopeful embraces, hoping beyond all hope that our misery was possibly over. But we had to kick the ball to Iowa again. They had a couple minutes, which is plenty of time for a team like Iowa to score, dashing our hopes once again, and retaining Floyd of Rosedale, a bronze pig we have been fighting over since 1935, I believe. On the second play of their drive, their running back found a hole and was running toward open field. But we are gophers. And we are sneaky fast. From the running back's blind left side came a Gopher who lowered his head (poor fundamental tackling) and speared the football loose. Fumble. I still remember watching the referee signal that the ball was going in the opposite direction. Gophers recover. If we can get one or two first downs we can run out the clock. My screams would have been primal at this point, but I had lost my voice quite a while earlier, so I sounded more like squealing brakes. I turned to the guy next to me and in the manliest way possible at this point, we embraced, trembling that victory was within our grasp.
The Gophers ran the ball several times. Iowa used their timeouts to stop the clock, leaving one remaining. The Gophers gained a first down. Victory was ours. Victory. Running out the clock was a mere formality. On the next play, as long as Iowa didn't needlessly use their final timeout, the clock would run out and the Gophers would be victorious. I braced myself, leaning against the front railing that separated me from the field. Extra security and police officers were positioned around the field. I did not care. At all. As the quarterback kneeled down, I vaulted myself over the railing and down to the field level, somehow without injuring myself. I shot a few of my trademark furious glances at the security guards, and they moved out of the way. I was on the field sprinting toward the team. When I was near the 50-yard line, the referee came on the sound system and said, "Iowa has used their final timeout." Lame. Scaling the wall back to my seat wasn't an option, so I sprinted to the sidelines and tried to blend in with the football team as best a guy with striped overalls and an aviator helmet could. The quarterback kneeled the ball a second time, and mayhem ensued.
A mad dash for Iowa's sidelines to recover our precious Floyd of Rosedale was the first order of business. The field goal post was lowered so that the students wouldn't tear it down. We would have. I was amidst the football team as we ran the pig over to the student section and band, where a hearty rendition of the fight song was screamed. (Ski-U-Mah is a Sioux Indian war-cry, and part of the fight song. Now you know.) The mass of people wound around the stadium, growing in number. A number of people would hit me on the helmet and yell, "Thank you!!" To which I would reply, "I'm not on the team, but you're welcome!!" What fun. As the mass dispersed after 10 minutes or so, it re-formed by the band section again for the traditional singing of the Minnesota state hymn after each game. The fight song was heartily performed again, followed by the solemn hymn, with all of the players and fans putting their arms around each other. I put my arm around a police officer on my right and the closest person to my left, The Gophers head coach. As the crowd stumbled through the lyrics, I leaned over to him and said, "You know, if we win more games, I bet we'll learn the lyrics." After this song the players returned to the locker room and I climbed back into the stands, practically skipping home to change clothes for work. I had a great night at work. I wasn't tired at all in church.
Who beat Iowa? WE beat Iowa.
A day to remember.
Iowa Hawkeyes vs. Minnesota Gophers
Who hates Iowa? WE hate Iowa.
For normal people, this was just the Saturday after Thanksgiving. A day most likely spent with family, maybe decorating for Christmas. I'm not normal. I am a proud inaugural member of the new Minnesota Golden Gophers Rooter Club. I'll be honest, it sounds as lame as it is.
I received an email in the first week of the school semester, advertising this new cheering section that would receive prime seating at Gopher football games. I already owned season tickets, and I figured that this would be a good way to ensure that I would have good seats. So I applied, was accepted, and began attending Gopher games. By myself.
The Gophers have a dismal football team. Bad enough that I think I could even have a shot at making the team. That's a bad team. Going into the final game, we had two wins, both coming on the road. We didn't have a home win since the previous year, it was 20 degrees out, our opponents were ranked #24 in the nation, and I was staring down the barrel of a 13 hour night-shift followed by a Sunday at church. After considering all of that, I still decided that I needed to remain faithful to my new school and see the season through to the bitter end.
I donned my ridiculous attire, smiled, and began the walk to the stadium. I arrived about an hour early. The student section had maybe 20 fans. I posted myself at my front row seat (although I never sit during the game) and tried to stay warm. By this point I was beginning my weekly ritual of working myself into the delusion that the Gophers maybe stood a chance of winning. I think it was the fog from the fog machines going to my head. It was crazy to think that way. Regardless, before every game, I would scream myself hoarse, pounding on the player's helmets as they ran out of the tunnel and onto the field. I know, I'm supposed to be an adult, and act like it, but need I remind you I am not normal? Adulthood is boring and comfortable.
As the game began I added a second layer of gloves, immediately regretting slapping helmets in the bitter cold. My fingers hurt. This was it. The final game. The last nail in the season's coffin. The Gophers received the first kickoff. They scored. A touchdown. It wasn't uncommon for the Gophers to tease me like this, so I screamed wildly, but in a subdued sorta way. The Gophers then kicked off. Generally in the first quarter of a game, you do a regular kickoff. The Gophers tried an onside kick and recovered the kick. At this point I immediately abandoned all subtlety and threw all of my emotional capacities into the game. The louder I screamed, the warmer I became, so that was only an encouragement. This is when my delusional thoughts of a victory reached their peak for the season. The Gophers had nothing to lose, and they were playing like it. That's a dangerous team to play, no matter how pathetic they are.
At the end of the first half, the Gophers held a slim lead. This wasn't uncommon, as they always play exponentially worse in the second half. I spent halftime walking through the concourse, trying to bring feeling back to my toes. I also received a lot of odd looks due to my socially unacceptable clothing choices. The third quarter was scoreless. the final fourth quarter began. (As I'm typing this there's an epic movie score playing on Pandora. It's very fitting. And funny. Just pause for a moment and imagine some deep, pulsating bass sounds with flowing strings and increasingly louder brass. Now that the mood is set, back to the story.) The Gophers scored, increasing their lead. Then, as it inevitably happens when I predict tragic events, the Iowa Hawkeyes returned the ensuing kickoff for a touchdown. This also was not an uncommon practice for opposing teams to do. Iowa then scored again, taking the lead in the game for the first time, with only minutes remaining. The Gophers received the kickoff, and with the help of some acrobatic plays, drove down the field for a touchdown, regaining the lead. Usually when the Gophers score, I give bear hugs to everyone around me, whether I've seen them before or not. By this point, our hugs were not wild, crazy celebrations, but instead emotion-filled hopeful embraces, hoping beyond all hope that our misery was possibly over. But we had to kick the ball to Iowa again. They had a couple minutes, which is plenty of time for a team like Iowa to score, dashing our hopes once again, and retaining Floyd of Rosedale, a bronze pig we have been fighting over since 1935, I believe. On the second play of their drive, their running back found a hole and was running toward open field. But we are gophers. And we are sneaky fast. From the running back's blind left side came a Gopher who lowered his head (poor fundamental tackling) and speared the football loose. Fumble. I still remember watching the referee signal that the ball was going in the opposite direction. Gophers recover. If we can get one or two first downs we can run out the clock. My screams would have been primal at this point, but I had lost my voice quite a while earlier, so I sounded more like squealing brakes. I turned to the guy next to me and in the manliest way possible at this point, we embraced, trembling that victory was within our grasp.
The Gophers ran the ball several times. Iowa used their timeouts to stop the clock, leaving one remaining. The Gophers gained a first down. Victory was ours. Victory. Running out the clock was a mere formality. On the next play, as long as Iowa didn't needlessly use their final timeout, the clock would run out and the Gophers would be victorious. I braced myself, leaning against the front railing that separated me from the field. Extra security and police officers were positioned around the field. I did not care. At all. As the quarterback kneeled down, I vaulted myself over the railing and down to the field level, somehow without injuring myself. I shot a few of my trademark furious glances at the security guards, and they moved out of the way. I was on the field sprinting toward the team. When I was near the 50-yard line, the referee came on the sound system and said, "Iowa has used their final timeout." Lame. Scaling the wall back to my seat wasn't an option, so I sprinted to the sidelines and tried to blend in with the football team as best a guy with striped overalls and an aviator helmet could. The quarterback kneeled the ball a second time, and mayhem ensued.
A mad dash for Iowa's sidelines to recover our precious Floyd of Rosedale was the first order of business. The field goal post was lowered so that the students wouldn't tear it down. We would have. I was amidst the football team as we ran the pig over to the student section and band, where a hearty rendition of the fight song was screamed. (Ski-U-Mah is a Sioux Indian war-cry, and part of the fight song. Now you know.) The mass of people wound around the stadium, growing in number. A number of people would hit me on the helmet and yell, "Thank you!!" To which I would reply, "I'm not on the team, but you're welcome!!" What fun. As the mass dispersed after 10 minutes or so, it re-formed by the band section again for the traditional singing of the Minnesota state hymn after each game. The fight song was heartily performed again, followed by the solemn hymn, with all of the players and fans putting their arms around each other. I put my arm around a police officer on my right and the closest person to my left, The Gophers head coach. As the crowd stumbled through the lyrics, I leaned over to him and said, "You know, if we win more games, I bet we'll learn the lyrics." After this song the players returned to the locker room and I climbed back into the stands, practically skipping home to change clothes for work. I had a great night at work. I wasn't tired at all in church.
Who beat Iowa? WE beat Iowa.
Monday, December 13, 2010
Love is Letting Go.
Thelma has yet to disappoint me. For those who are not aware of a major part of my life, Thelma is my scooter. She is also an instrument of evangelism and spreading Christ's love to others, which is why I have committed to love her. As a result, yesterday I made the difficult decision to retire her for the winter, selflessly surrendering the joy and adventure that she could have provided, and deciding instead to bring her into the safety and comfort of my apartment to rest up for the big summer we have ahead of us, Lord willing. Before her hibernation, though, she did a few things that blew me away one last time.
On December 2, I took Thelma out because she was begging get out and stretch a little. so I ran her over to the Desiring God headquarters, which delighted both rider and scooter alike. I put her up again, waiting for another sunny day when she may want to run around. I would say hi to her and ask her how she was doing whenever I would walk past her (seriously), and I would sometimes start her, just to warm her up and keep her battery charged. If it would snow, I would brush the snow off of her and make sure her engine wasn't buried at all.
But then came this weekend, when the Minneapolis area received 17 inches of snow.
On Sunday I was shoveling for my landlord as all of my neighbors were digging themselves out of their houses. When paths were dug to the doors and cars, I took to the task of rescuing thelma. She was up to her handlebars in a snow drift. I frantically shoveled around her until her engine was clear and hopefully inserted her key and pressed the start button. I was expecting silence, but she gave a few quiet coughs! (my heart rate is definitely picking up as I'm recalling this) I dropped to my knees and began furiously clearing snow and wildly kicking a path to the alleyway where I could set her up. I put her kickstand up and began tugging on the back of her frame, falling and rising again and again, getting closer and closer to the freedom of the alley. Finally I broke through the last bit of packed snow and quickly set her up on her stand, pained that I ever let her get so buried.
I put her key in the ignition one more time and, holding my breath, pressed the starter button. She gave a few more quiet coughs. I held down the starter, audibly encouraging her to turn over. Finally, her coughs grew into a faint, steady combustion of 49 unwavering cc's of loving service. I began laughing very hard and jumping and spinning in the air. When other people's garaged motorcycles had died months earlier, my little Thelma was giving it all she had, and never coming up short.
I held Thelma as she rolled under her own strength to gain some energy. I could tell she was itching to explore this winter wonderland. I spread salt on the sidewalks, glancing back at her as her headlights shone brighter and the color began returning to her. When I was finished, I gently sat in the Honda embossed seat and rocked her forward, off of her stand. I applied a little gas. She died. That's normal. I started her up again and was slower with the turning of the throttle. This time she was ready to react, and let me know she was ready to really go. This was the first time for either of us on snow, so it wasn't very coordinated looking. I decided to get comfortable with a few runs. I did wipe out quickly at the beginning in my parking lot, but I took the damage and protected her. After a few runs in the alley, she and I both began eyeing a snowbank at the end of the alley that opened up into the street. I nursed the throttle until we were going as fast as I could in the back alley, with both feet planted for stability. As we approached the snowbank, neighbors began to stop shoveling to see what this lunatic on the scooter was doing. Just then, I blasted through the snowbank in a flurry of snow into the wide open expanse of the street! I unintentionally spun around two complete rotations before beginning my haphazard careening down the street, with shovelers stopping their work to cheer and holler. (I'm not making any of this up) I zoomed around the neighborhood for a few minutes before doing a few more tight circles and powering through the snowbank one more time, back into my alleyway.
It was at this point that I decided there could not be a better way to end the riding season with Thelma. I quickly laid some towels out in my apartment and propped the doors open. I lifted Thelma up the stairs into the building and carefully guided her down the stairs into my apartment, parking her right by my door. She has now dried off completely, the towels have been removed, and a tarp has been placed over engine to provide some added warmth and to keep her blessed fragrance from filling my rooms. It pains me to know that she will be unrideable until the spring thaw, but I am confident that I made the most love-influenced decision for her, and that is my comfort in these winter months. And whenever I want now, I can play some sappy 80's love ballads on itunes and gaze at her resting there. (already done it.)
Post-script: please don't think I'm making light of love. I take the commitment, action, and cost of love very seriously, and write this merely because it makes me smile. And I truly do rejoice and thank God for the blessing that Thelma has been. I'm also serious that she is a great instrument for sharing the gospel and starting conversations. Lord willing there will be many more opportunities to work with her for His Kingdom.
Tuesday, November 30, 2010
Stayin' alive
I am in class. I am tired. I haven't slept in 25 hours. We're discussing mind-numbing legal cases. I'm fading in and out of consciousness. This is an attempt to stay awake and not drool on my desk. Vice President is down there in the front row. Mondale. That one. How does a lowly man boast in his exaltation? Whqt does it mean to be under grace, rather thqn under the law? Would you be bothered if you knew the government was tqpping your phone? I should go for a run. I set up my little Christmas tree on Thanksgiving. ..pulling out all the stops for Christmas this year, I guess. It was reqlly warm yesterday. Thelma insisted we go for a ride. I need to do more social experiments. Hard to do without my co-researcher, Nick. I miss Nick. I hope to see him ssjfofoalsfa Woah.. I wonder if the dark night of the soul is legitimate, or just a mystics met idea.. The St. John of the Cross version, anyway. Love. Love is commitment, action, and costly. I have a cut on my left index finger, making it difficult to play certain chords on the guitar. Praise the Lord I'm beginning to get the hang of bar chords. There's mud on my linoleum that I need to clean up when I get home. I like tea. I think i prefer tea over hot chocolate because it's healthier and it's easier to clean up. Saturday night was so much fun. I haven't gone bowling in a while. I need to do my bus ride sometime. I want to meet some homeless guys. I miss Mel Trotter mission. And the camp. Other than people, what do i miss most about Michigan? ... Bible college..reed's lake..oh..the airport overlook.. The j.w. Marriott top floor..having a master key to my college..but I'm so glad im here. Mondale just dropped his lapel mike. That was loud. These folks know so much about politics. How does one not accidentally shoot someone? Practice gun safety and don't aim guns at people. Ever. EVER. Roger Youderian. I like that name. I'm struggling... It really grinds my gears when people start packing up before class is over. It really, truly irritates me. I'm usually pretty passive. But now the rustle is beginning, and my blood pressure is rising. I like my tie. I wore it in Sarah's wedding. I have survived the class period. I have a heated blanket.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)