What do you call...
What do you call
talking with a good friend for the first time in too long?
What do you call
sipping black coffee when it's almost too hot?
What do you call
laughing with relatives at Christmas time and realizing that you are one of the big people?
What do you call
listening to your sister play piano and missing her already?
What do you call
a tight hug around the leg and "I uvv you Be-cca."?
What do you call
a compassionate expression from someone who you love?
What do you call
singing God's Word until it stirs your soul to overflowing at the windows?
What do you call
a tight and reassuring hug from a friend?
What do you call
a blessing from a 95-year-old great-grandmother?
What do you call
a note found on your bed from a beloved brother: "Becca, don't fail college... I love you."?
What do you call
a sleeping garden full of hope?
What do you call
finally coming to love the very writing class you've hated?
What do you call
cherishing wisdom as if you were about to leave on a journey with your own ring to concur?
What do you call
whispers and hushed laughter at a far between sleep over?
What do you call
a phone call from a cousin who's 4 days, 20 hours, and thirty minutes older than you?
What do you call
a Savior of the world in a feeding troth?
What do you call
a soul moving from earth to Heaven?
What do you call
a people freed from sin?
honor once lost
In todays culture girls wear pants too. We cut our hair short, and claim that we are as good as boys in basically everything (maybe even better.) The trouble is that it's not the way it's supposed to be. I know several girls who would read this and disagree with me, but I'm going to take a stab at what at least some girls really appreciates, and maybe it will help guys understand.
Despite the feminest movement, this girl is flattered when the door is held open for her. There is nothing so sweet, and in our culture unexpected, as a boy waiting a couple seconds because a girl a few yards away is coming towards the door and he has decided to hold it open for her. At Marian guys don't hold the door open for every girl. The sporty ones give the vibe that they would rather open it themselves, and maybe that is their loss and they regret it I don't know, but the girls who dress like girls, and have a feminine attitude the guys will treat them like girls. Maybe it goes beyond what we wear to what we expect. This semester I have been honored by a few guys who take the time to courteously wait for me to walk through the open door, and I really appreciate it.
Guys will struggle with whether they would offend a girl by holding the door open, and I can understand their confusion because a lot of girls take their thoughtfulness as an insult. They think, "what!? Just because I'm a girl you think you have to hold the door open? No sir, I can get it thanks."
I just wanted to say thanks to the gentlemen out there who repect girls, and try to honor them with little gestures of courtesy. It used to be expected, now it's a pleasant surprise. Thanks to all you guys who open the door, carry the heavy box, get the luggage, carry the food tray, take out the trash, stir the too-hard-to-mix cookie dough, warm up the car. All those little things are a token of your respect and care for the girls you know and love. We really appreciate it.
Intermission: Christmas Break
Semesters are like long acts in a play. You wear the same comstume, and do the same basic routine everyday. Then comes Christmas break, and though everyone calls it break, it's like an intermission. Yes, the audience may think that intermission is a bit relaxing and restful, but the actors are rushing around back stage not even able to catch their breath. They get ready for the next act and then the play continues.
Christmas break is not much a break. Everyday is packed with people to meet with and projects to get done. I'm glad we have a break, because otherwise next semester won't be possible, but at the same time it's almost like I will need a break from break. =)
What if she's always known Him?
A girl in a light jacket stands chilled on the street corner. She holds a stack of tracks in one hand, while warming the other in her pocket. The traffic light turns green and dozens of Christmasly minded people walk her way. She passes out the leaflets hoping that someone will stop to talk with her. The crowd takes the papers without much more than an inquisitive glance and a mumbled "thanks." When the last stragglers had gone she sighed heavily and thought, "America is too busy for the Gospel today." A strange voice interrupted her, "what are you handing out there?" She turned around quickly and her heart beat faster. The man stood with a cigarette held to his mouth, and a puzzled look on his face. She wondered if his question was prompted by pity, considering he had been standing there while the crowd dusted her efforts. "Well, these are tracks explaining the Gospel sir." He looked at her, "I'm a Marine miss, and I my Mamma would be so proud of you standing out here like this. Do you do it because you want to, or does someone make you come?" The girl smiled, there were a couple ways she could answer that. If it were up to her alone there would be no way in the world standing downtown for 3 hours to share the Gospel would appeal in the least. Yet, she was not her own. She was saved, and the Holy Spirit had her out here tonight. There was no where else she'd rather be. "I want to be here sir." He glanced up curious at her determination. "I'm a Christian sir, and people need to hear about what Jesus has done to save the lost..." He cut in, "oh, I think it's great. I grew up Methodist, and I go to church every time I'm home. See I'm a Marine. I just got home this month, and my Mamma was really upset to hear that I don't attend church in Iraq or even pray." The girl looked up sincerely, "I want to thank you for your service. I really appreciate it." He shifted his feet uncomfortably. She wondered if anyone had ever thanked him before. Than she caught his hazel eyes again, "Why didn't you pray in Iraq?" He tossed the unfinished cigarette butt away as if to symbolize some excuse for leaving the scene. "I wanted to do it alone." She thought he was still talking about praying, "Well, I would tend to agree that a forced prayer isn't of much value." "No, I wanted to do Iraq alone." His voice was proud, and, perhaps regretful. "When I'm ready, I won't be a Methodist Christian. They're just so watered down." This man had spent some time thinking about religion, but it didn't save his soul, and he knew it. She wondered aloud, “When will you be ready?” He shrugged his shoulders, “sometime I guess.” He then courteously asked about her church, and why she liked it so much. He asked about the differences between most denominations and Presbyterian. Finally, after a brief overview he looked up from the side walk where his eyes were fixed on a lonely crushed leaf, "Miss, have you been a Christian all your life?" What should she say, the time was short, he was about to leave, and the answer was so crucial. "Well, I've known about Jesus since I can remember because my parents were eager to teach me, but I wasn't born a Christian; in fact I was born a sinner deserving of Hell. I am a Christian now, and I'm forever thankful for Christ’s work on the cross." He looked almost jealous, and a bit sorrowful, then anger and apathy took over and he tried to casually say, "well, I've got friends inside. Nice talking with you Rebekah."
"Thanks Brett. You too."
*Sigh* It wasn't the first time she had received a raised eyebrow when sharing her testimony. She can tell that most are thinking, "yeah, she just doesn't know any different. Just wait till she gets out, of course her parents can brainwash her now, but there will be a day when she'll wake up." This guy didn't seem too different. There was a bit of discouragement in her voice as she began to pass out the tracks again. Then she remembered Him. She remembered how awesome it is to be His, and to not remember anything different. A smile leapt on her lips as she squeezed her eyes shut tight and whispered, "Thank you Jesus. Thank you so much."
Picking out a Christmas tree can be very fun with my family.
"Alright Jerusha smile."
"Jerusha keep your eyes OPEN!!!!!!"
"OK, Becca." lol
Anna and Sam.
Yes there are more pictures, but I should be working on school now.
"Bec-caaaaaa!"
"Becca, Becca, Bec-caaaaaa!" Says Kez as she comes running towards me. Her arms open wide and she smiles with excitement. As I wrap her in a hug she lays her head instinctively on my shoulder, and I rock her for a moment. A glance at the clock makes my heart sink. I have to be at class. I have to leave now. "*Sigh* Kez, Beccca has to go to school." She looks up at me. Her finger lodged in her mouth (something she does for comfort.) "I know. I'll miss you too. Here, go to Anna." Keziah reluctantly is passed to Anna's waiting arms, and I grab my keys. Her cries are too hard to ignore. I dash back in the room, "Hey, I love you, and I'll be back soon." Tears stream down her little face, "ggec-caaa *sob*" I pick her up quickly, and whisper in her precious ear, "What are you going to do when I really leave baby? I won't be here for much longer." As if to comprehend the pain of our semi-permanent parting her grip tightened around my neck. "I've got to go Darling." Anna tried to console her, as I walked out to the car. Tears filled my eyes as I slipped the keys into the ignition. "Saying goodbye is so hard Jesus." He knew what I meant. He knew that He needed to hold me as I imagined the pain moving out next year.
Last night after I got home from school and babysitting Keziah was already in bed. I decided that I would slip into my PJ's and sleep right in-between her and Jerusha on their double bed. I'm sure it won't be the last time I snuggle up beside my baby sisters and rest in the knowledge of God's perfect plan.
