Twitter Tombstones

I joined twitter. When I created my account, I was encouraged to start following 10 people immediately, so that I would begin to have the ultimate Twitter experience. I tried to think of all of my favorite authors, speakers, anyone that might have something interesting or meaningful to say other than, "my socks are blue" or "I just wiped a booger on my sister". As I was searching,  I got distracted by all of the options twitter gave me for people I might want to follow based on the two people I had already begun following.  What I noticed was the personal description of each person or "tweeter", if you will. When you sign up, you write a blurb about who you are and that becomes the summary of you and your twitter existence. As I kept reading these mini bios, they started sounding like epitaphs on a tombstone. Once that point of view set in, that was the only way I could read each person's account of themselves. I began to size of each person's life based on their twitter mini bio.  A lot of them were tombstone worthy (much better than 2 dates separated by a dash); any family member of the said deceased person would have felt a joy and thankfulness for knowing their loved one. Some however, were just depressing. One guy's read "bored all the time". I will not be following him; he needs to get a life.

Below are some of my twitter mini bio finds. There are friends, strangers, and famous people. As I share, I'm going to be thinking about what I want my twitter bio and my tombstone to read.  Would your mini bio be an accurate representation of your life?



Max Lucado: Minister. Author. Husband. Dad. Counting on heaven to make sense of this earth.

Derek Webb: singer/songwriter/producer/remixer/agitator

Jeff Probst: Survivor, Live For The Moment

Josh Melton: Entrepeneur with a daydreaming problem. I own an office cleaning co. & insurance agency; My wife & I have a really cute baby boy. I love my family & community.

Erwin Mcmanus: L A is home. Mosaic my tribe. Temple Bags our fashion Co. Boy and Rocket our Production Co. Awaken Humanity our gift. Kim, Aaron, Mariah, Patti- my family

Andrew Peterson: Singer/Songwriter/Author/Maker of Fine Soups

David Baddiel: Jew

Jenny McCarthy: Mommy warrior and cellulite killer.


Tiffany Forrester: Graphic Designer, Student, Jesus follower, Music Lover. Generally crafty.

Jenny S: i'm a lovely young lady with a flare for the retarded side of life. i can promise to almost never hurt your feelings. i like to go swimming!


Lindsey G: Clay in the Potter’s hands. RN. Southeastern University Grad Student. Wife. Sister. Daughter. Granddaughter. Longleaf's Groups Director & Sable's Best Friend.

Dan Harmon: Low ranking dealer of mass opiate for West Coast Peacocks. Distribution rating: 1.9. Weakness: unbelievable back acne

Shane Sullards: I dream big

Bobbi Newman: Professionally passionate about the digital divide, transliteracy, libraries & tech issues. Personally on a never-ending quest for the perfect pair of shoes. 





 

China Via Uganda

Somehow in the fall of 2009 I landed myself on a trip to Africa with a group of people who's average age was somewhere around 65. I remember sitting in the meetings that led up to our departure wondering what I had gotten myself into. I knew one person, Ken, and he was the one who helped get me on this trip in the first place. I think Ken is 45 or something and that made him the person who was the closest to my age, 29. 


During one of our last team meetings, a girl who looked to be my age, drove from Buckhead (that hip little corner of downtown Atlanta)  to Chestnut Mountain (an unicorporated tiny town in N. GA) to attend our last gathering. At first glance, it looked as if the only thing we would have in common was our age. She was stylish, fixed up, and hip. I, dressed in my ripped jeans and v-neck t-shirt from target, was not. I don't think we even spoke to each other that day. Not because we were being rude, I think we were both "deer in the headlights" stunned at what we were about to embark on.  

It was in the Amsterdam airport that Kasey and I became friends. We scarfed down  $20 hamburgers from McDonalds and chatted about how this will probably be our last good meal for the next 10 days. During this Uganda trip, I learned Kasey's story and she learned mine. Turns out we have a ton in common,  (travel, adventure, sarcastic wit, love for orphans and missions.) Neither of us was very sure how we actually ended up on this particular adventure, but we were both glad we came. I'm pretty sure it had something to do with God being gracious enough to be involved in our lives and knowing our hearts and stuff like that...

                  

I don't know when it happened, whether it was while we snapped pictures of the kids at Busia School for sponsorship bios, or on one of our sneaking away outings with a few other trip members to find a cold coke or on a bumpy van ride to pray over a potential sight for the Village of Eden (Dr. K's vision for the orphans of Busia). But somewhere along the way we talked about China and the special needs orphans that live their too and how I knew of a place that will let us come hang out with the kids and love on them for a while. And we decided to go. 


Most of the time the plans people make of how they are going to live and what they are going to do after a mission trip rarely pans out. Everyday life and busyness usually takes over. But, God didn't let me or Kasey forget that we said we were going to China. And so it was through a book by Donald Miller (surprise surprise), the loss of a good friend, a new understanding of abandonment and a new slight, very small understanding of the heart of an orphan, the need to see the face of God, the longing for adventure, and a hunger to taste real Kung Pao chicken again turned our conversation of going to China into a reality. In June 2010, Kasey, her friend Brooke, and I arrived at Shepherd's Field Children's Village. And I finally had the opportunity to meet in person one of the orphans I had been sponsoring.  

        This is Avery, the one I was sponsoring!

That was a really long way to say, that's what makes sponsoring a child at Shepherd's Field so cool. You can go. You can meet them. And I'll take you (on your dime of course). 

                        Me and Kasey in China!

Sam and Tiffany (Stories from Shepherd's Field)

Sam was the first kid I picked to support from Shepherd's Field. I picked him because my grandad's name was Sam. Sam was adopted only a few months after I began supporting him. I was just a small part of his life for a very brief amount of time. But I feel privileged to have had the opportunity to play a role in his story. If I had a picture of Sam, I'd post it here, but he was mine before this computer was, which means, no picture of him. I wonder what he's up to now?

After Sam was adopted, they gave me Tiffany.  She was my second special needs orphan and I have to say, quite possibly my favorite. I don't know if favorite is the right word. Its just that even though I never met her, I somehow felt like I knew her personally. I prayed for Tiffany more than any of the others, so perhaps that's why i felt a deeper connection. Tiffany had an inoperable heart condition. I guess I knew from day one that Tiffany wasn't going to be mine for long. I prayed that she would find a home at Shepherd's field and that she would be happy, and experience the love and joy of God during her short life. No doubt she did. Tiffany met her Heavenly Father in November of 2009. How cool to be a part of a life when they get to meet the one who connected us in the first place.


If you want to support a kid from Shepherd's Field. You can visit their website at www.chinaorphans.org or you can contact me and I can give you information that you can hold in your hand.

No Many Many

When my students in China needed to express a number of more than a few in English, they would say "many, many, many". This always cracked me up, b/c I could think of several (tons, lots, gobs...) other terms to express that I needed a lot of something... But when you are a Chinese person or any of my Japanese students (especially Yuto); the term to communicate more than a few is "many many many".  I used the phrase "many many", many many times in China to get anything from extra ice in my coke to telling a taxi driver my destination is many many streets down from here... This phrase is still a regular part of my vocabulary and it always makes me smile when I say it. Yes, I brought some Chinglish home with me and I proudly incorporate it into my everyday life.

"No Many Many" is also a popular phrase used to communicate needing less of something. And in this case, what I need is "no many many", 5 to be exact. Five people to join in a story that involves some special needs Chinese orphans, a foster home, a medical clinic, some nannies, and a few Americans in the city of Tianjin, China.

Shepherd's Field Childrens' Village is a Foster home in Tianjin, near Beijing. I got connected with them through a seemingly random late night Internet search after I returned from China in 2006. Since stumbling upon this ministry, they have had my heart! Through this organization, I've had opportunity to support 3 different orphans and I'm soon to get my fourth. Two of my kids found forever families with folks here in the U.S. and one found her forever family in the arms of her Heavenly Father. The point of today's blog is to ask for folks to join me in financially supporting some of the children at Shepherd's Field. The sponsorship coordinator has contacted sponsors to see if we will recruit 5 people to support 1 orphan each. That's my few, 5 people for 5 orphans. As of right now, Shepherd's Field is not able to take in any new orphans until the kids who are currently living there are fully supported. The cost of living in China has risen very high, which means the number of sponsors needed for each child has risen from 10 to 15. When each orphan that currently resides at the Village is sponsored, they can begin again to take in new special needs orphans and provide the love, medical care, and stability these kids desperately need.

There is so much I could tell you about this place. For now, I'm going to let their website do the talking so you can get a feel what they are all about. What I can tell you is that I have been praying for God to speak to 5 hearts concerning the kids at Shepherd's Field. All I can do is relay the message to the hearts that He has already been working on. So consider this the message relayed.



Here's the 5 kids they gave to me to find sponsors for...

                           Long Wang "Seth"       Birthdate: August 11, 1995

                             Du Xinyong "Tristan"  Birthdate: November 1, 2007 

                      Shi Haixing "Zechariah" Birthdate: February 14, 2009

                                 Song Jiayuan "Noel"    Birthdate: May 1, 2003

                               Fu Dawei "Henry"     Birthdate: January 2, 2006

Pull the Trigger

New Years Eve 2010

In all honesty, I hadn't given much thought to the new year. I had been busy with work and my brain was also occupied with anticipation of my trip to Lynn Haven, FL to visit my best friend! I rarely see her anymore b/c she lives in Texas with her new husband, so I was beyond excited to make the trip to the gulf. Penny texted a few days before, to finalize times of arrival and she mentioned the plan of her dad taking us all out to the shooting range to fire some guns. These plans kind of made me a bit nervous since I have an unhealthy fear of firearms and I hate loud noises. So putting the two together in one outing had the potential to put me over the edge. But, I made plans to jet out of town a few hours earlier than originally planned so I could be a part of the gun shooting festivities.

As usual, I was rushing around to leave by my personally set 8:00 am eastern standard departure time and ended up throwing the last of my luggage in at about 9:00 am. I wondered if I, in fear, subconsciously delayed my leaving so I could potentially miss making it to Florida in time for the gun firing activities. But then I remembered that I'm perpetually late and have very little concept of elapsed time (kind of like a dog I guess) and congratulated myself for leaving by 8:00am central standard time, since that was the time zone I was driving to anyway.


As I drove to Florida, to get my mind off of my irrational fears of a gun spontaneously combusting w/o me even touching it, I popped in an audio book by Donald Miller that I had I borrowed from the used bookstore I work at. This book was a God-send. It came in about 3 days before I left and God must of known I'd need some entertainment on my drive, plus I am half way through reading this book, which made it even better, now i can drive and read. Two birds, one stone. This book, Through Painted Deserts, did the trick of transporting my mind away from my weaponry fears and reigniting my crush on Donald Miller. I imagined him in my car driving to Florida with me and rambling on in person to me, like he rambles on in his books. And then I imagined, how awkward I would be and how I would fumble over my words to him, b/c I'd be so nervous and intimidated by him that I would say something stupid or inappropriate like "will you marry me?" Either way, I would've been happy to have his company, and he seems nice enough and like he's said enough dumb stuff in his life to the opposite sex, that he would probably shrug off my conversational awkwardness and find a way to redeem the moment w/o me feeling like a total tard. At least, that's how I imagine it would go. I could also see him, making fun of me about it too.

The drive down went by pretty quickly and as soon as I arrived Mr. P was loading up the guns into the car and Mrs. P was doing her thing of pulling left overs out of the fridge so I could quickly stuff my face before heading back out the door to hold guns and shoot them and stuff. I suppose we all exchanged hugs and said hello and talked about how good it was to all be in the same place together (me, Penny, Charlie, Bobi, Mr. P, Mrs. P) but I think my fears must of blocked out all of that. I was still stuffing leftover Christmas candy in my mouth as we crammed into the car and backed out of the driveway. And before I knew it, I was at the point of no return. I was going to shoot a gun today, whether I liked it or not; no turning back now. There was definitely no way I was going to chicken out and watch everyone else fire bullets at paper assailants. I was going to take down a fake criminal too.

Being the only one in the car who had not shot a gun before Mr. P focused his attention on me and gave me a quick tutorial on gun safety and handling while we drove out to the range. He made Charlie open the glove compartment and pull out a small .38 for me to hold. This alone made my muscles tense up and my face lose its color. I didn't want to touch it, but I had to, and I held it flat in the palms of my hand, barrel facing the window. I was afraid that any slight movement would make this bullet-less gun magically create a bullet, fire itself and shatter the window in our car and the car next to us and possibly take out a stray dog.

                                 Earmuffs 

At the range I was relieved to find out there were ear muffs (i'm sure they are called something manlier and tougher than that) to quiet the bang of the guns. We all donned our new head pieces and glasses and Mr. P continued to teach us gun safety and how to handle the weapons and how to fire. He called me out first and with much reluctance and I think some protest, he said I was up first. I really wanted to see and hear one being shot first, so I could get an idea of the sound and what it would look like. But I was not given the option. Mr. P stood beside me the whole time explaining each detail, where to put my hands, fingers, thumbs; which eye to close to aim and how to gently pull the trigger back and shoot. I was all ready to go, gun aimed at target, right eye closed, finger on trigger. It was a .22, which I learned was easiest to shoot. Mr. P gave the go ahead and all I had to do was pull the trigger. Much easier said than done. I couldn't stand there all day; I had to do it. And so with both eyes shut I'm pretty sure, I did it. My brain somehow overcame my utter terror and told my index finger to pull the trigger, and bang, I hit the target! It felt good. I would've been satisfied with that one shot in the moment, but much like the day had gone, I was encouraged to go a littler further beyond what I thought capable and told to fire a few more rounds. Then out of nervous excitement mixed with some remaining fear, I handed the gun over and said I'm done for now. My friends cheered, and I felt proud of myself. 

       Mr. P coaching me and in general making me feel better about shooting guns.

A hint of confidence began to settle over me as everyone else took a turn at the .22. Then Mr. P said it was time to move up to something more powerful. The same emotions of fear, the same encouragements to shoot, and the same pride happened again as I shot a .38 special. After that, we moved up to a .40 caliber. Holy moly, talk about power; I was not a fan of this one. I couldn't hit the paper target to save my life. Literally, we kept moving closer and closer to the target. To say I was bad at shooting this one would be a gross understatement. At the very end of the day, Mr. P pulled out a mama jama gun, a 500 magnum. Apparently this is the largest hand gun in the world. Charlie wanted to shoot it. And while he shot, Penny decided she needed a piece, and then b/c I'm competitive and everyone else is doing it, I decided to give it a go too. I walked out to Mr. P who was holding the big gun. He asked me if I was sure I wanted to fire this one, and I said, not really, but I wanted to anyway, if he didn't mind. He handed it over, coached me through holding it (this thing was heavy). It had a scope on it (I think its called a scope), and when I looked through it, all I saw was black, but as soon as I caught a glimpse of the red on the target, I braced myself and fired. I nailed the paper perpetrator in the head! That was an intense gun to fire. And with that, I ended my firearms day. Mr. P just chuckled and told me that its not normal for a person who had never shot a gun before go from a .22 to a 500 magnum in one day. I figured "when in Rome". 

                            That's the huge mama jama gun!

Later that night I reflected on my day and how nervous I was to start off with and how much fun I had once I finally pulled the trigger. And it made me think about how in life, I have moments to "pull the trigger" and how sometimes I get overly fearful about it too. And once my brain finally communicates with the rest of me and I just go for it, I realize my fear could have prevented me from experiencing something amazing, fun, adventurous, or life changing... I also wondered about the times I let fear take control and I don't "pull the trigger", and instead I sink into my safe life, doing my safe things and not trusting my God enough with my life and the outcome of my choices when I do decide to make a bold decision and go for something bigger than me. And how unfortunate it would be to miss out on something amazing, fun, adventurous, or life changing.

                                            Charlie and his sis Bobi

           Penny and Charlie. I can't believe they've been married a year already!

                                   Me and Penny 

Irrational Hope and The Braves

Glove ✓
Braves hat ✓
J. Hey t-shirt ✓
99¢ roasted peanuts from Publix ✓
Foam finger ✓
Field Level Tickets ✓
Irrational hope of winning and making the next round of playoffs ✓ ✓ and ✓



I’m used to going to a braves game and watching the Southeast’s beloved team win. I don’t know why, but I’ve always been lucky that way. Even when the braves were notoriously bad, and lost more games than they won, I managed to somehow show up when fate was smiling down on them and Angels were perhaps truly in the outfield invisibly causing a Bravo outfielder to make reaches and catches that on any normal day, he wouldn’t have a shot at. This year however, my luck must of ran out. Or maybe it was because in 3 out of the 5 games I went to, I was with my sister, who has about as much good luck as a 3 leaf clover who can’t find his rabbit foot after a black cat just crossed his path. Bad luck seems to follow her, bless her unlucky little heart. Unfortunately, the power of bad luck seems to outweigh the power of good luck b/c not only did we lose all 3 games we went to together. We got destroyed in 2 out of the 3.

However, Kelly and I kept going back. We had hope. We had hope that our luck would change, that bad luck would run its course and that we would see our boys pull through in miraculous, heaven raining down homeruns and brilliant double plays kinds of ways. So with our freshly washed Heyward shirts on and our cheap roasted peanuts we proudly and confidently enter Turner Field, grab our free foam Tomahawks and make our way to our Field Level seats for Game 4 against the Giants in the first round of the post season. Heyward has had zero hits this series and I HOPE that he’s going to bring that .000 batting average up a few points. Brooks Conrad has almost single handedly cost the Braves 2 games in this series and I HOPE that Bobby does not start him in the field. Matty Diaz is just a cool dude, so I HOPE to see him yards away filling the left field position. At one point I even hoped that Bobby Cox would glance my way and see that I brought my glove and that I grew up on the ball field, that I can hardly remember a weekend when I wasn’t in cleats and carrying around a bat bag and checking out tournament brackets. I hope he knows that in between games, I was keeping my skills alive by playing cup ball with 10 of my closest ball park friends. And I hoped that he would know that I could probably make just as good of a second baseman as Brooks Conrad, and start me in game 4 against the Giants. I hoped he would know that I have my lucky glove, the one I’ve had since middle school, the one that has caught game winning fly balls and blocked line drives from careening me in the face while pitching. The one that has been at every Braves game even when sitting in the nosebleeds, hoping that a foul ball might find it’s way into the old worn out leather. I hoped that he would spot my ridiculously long skinny arms flailing around (I also hoped he could see past the skinniness and notice how deceptively strong I am) in the air trying to get his attention and that he would just give me a shot. I hoped that he would make the at&t call to section 122 and put Lindsey Howard at 2nd base. Irrational? Yes. But hope, nonetheless.

The game went on and my hopes remained. Heyward got a hit. Bobby didn’t start Conrad. And Diaz took the left field position yards away from me. Bobby never made the at&t call to section 122 and the braves lost. BUT, the game ends up being the most fun I’ve had at any Braves game ever. And I didn’t even hope for that. Me and my sister jumped up and down and tomahawk chopped Bobby Cox into retirement, and we laughed and we were free and we didn’t care if anyone else thought we were nuts for our wild antics. I didn’t hope for that, but hope got me to the position to experience the best Braves experience ever and to a closer bond with my sister. Having hope didn’t necessarily get me what I wanted, but it got me something different, possibly even better than what I went in hoping for. In fact, I’m positive the outcome was better than what I hoped for.

That’s why hope is so important and vital to life. Without it, we’re doomed. Ask anyone who’s ever given up hope... if they survived. When hope is absent, you have nothing to live for. I think it is a place of being completely destitute. The hope I have for life has nothing to do with luck. My hope is real, it’s true, it’s rock solid. My hope is in Jesus Christ and His redeeming love. I hope for God to do a lot of things in my life and I hope that He will give me some of what I want. But I also hope that if He doesn’t, that what He has instead, is better in the long run. I have hope that even if my life from this point on only goes down hill, that the spiral ride downward will somehow have an impact in the unseen, eternal story of God. Irrational? I'm sure it looks that way, but God has a way of getting a hold of a person and instilling foolish, unashamed, recklessly abandoned hope in Himself.

I’ve had a great life with many highs and lows and in betweens. My life isn’t currently spiraling into doom, but if it does, I hope that I still have hope. And if I run out, someone remind me that I need to keep hoping in God Almighty and His plan and His Shepherding ways and in Jesus Christ crucified and His redeeming power. And if the walls of your life are crashing down all around you and the bottom is falling out (heck, maybe life is just boring and normal and you’ve had enough of that), know that He is near, He is HOPE, He will respond when we call to Him in our worn out, fragile state of mind; He will respond. Even if hope in an unseen God feels as irrational as my hope that Bobby Cox would put me in the game, try Him out anyway. Give Jesus a chance to prove you wrong or right. I truly believe that if you seek for and turn to the Living God, He will not let you down, He will rescue you, He will reveal His truth and give you life. What do you have to lose by testing him out? It all starts with hope. I hope He gives you hope.

Fall Festival Failure

Eight month pregnant Stephanie and I pulled into the Ingles parking lot after a long day of failed attempts of Festival going. By this point, we had decided that whatever attempt we made at doing anything, was going to be unsuccessful or met with some sort of obstacle. After driving through North Ga most of the day and finally making it back into the greater Gainesville area, why would we expect anything less than the odd luck of the first part of day to continue?

So back to the nearly empty Ingles parking lot. I pull the car down an aisle and I’m turning into a parking space so we can run (I use run loosely, you know with the very pregnant Stephanie and all) quickly into Ingles and grab bread and gravy for the pot roast. The pot roast the we believe will actually be ruined due to some freak happening like Namche, her dog, getting famished during the day and diving into the crock pot for a treat; or Kaden her 2 year old, sneaking away from Dad Shane and somehow climbing onto the counter and dumping an entire bottle of Tabasco sauce or a bucket of saw dust from outside into the pot. But we were stopping anyway and getting our gravy and bread on the off chance that the roast will in fact be tasty and delicious and not ruined.

Anyhow, as I’m pulling into the Ingles parking space, a truck is pulling into the space that is connected to mine from the other aisle. I think nothing of it at first, I figure, he’ll just stay in his space and not do the pull straight through thing b/c I’m currently pulling into that space. And I’ll stay in my space and not do the straight through thing b/c that was the plan and I know how to reverse out of a parking space. Mr. Old guy, however, in his decades old F-150 apparently had different plans. He had his mind made up that he was not, under any circumstance about to have to back out of a parking space after his Ingles shopping experience and decides that even if he has to push me and my Ford Escape out of the way with his front bumper, he’s pulling through and taking my spot. I just stopped and stared at him in awe (our eyes actually met) and with a feeling of “of course, why would something bizarre not be happening” coming over me, I had no choice but to put my sap covered, worn out from driving all day Escape into reverse and take another parking space. It was quite funny and ironic and very fitting of how our weekend was going. And really, the perfect way to end our adventure of Fall Festival Fiascos 2010. Oh wait, did I say end of fall festival fiascos? no no, we decided to give it another shot on Sunday at Mule camp in 90 degree, October weather. What were we thinking? Maybe we refuse to believe that we can experience such weird luck for another day in a row. Maybe we’re just the kind of people that have hope that things will eventually go as planned and that there must be some explanation to all the seeming randomness of the past 2 days. At least I know Steph feels that way, b/c on our long drive back from Failed Festival #1, she was coming up with spiritual and life lessons to be learned from our 2 previous days together. And to prove that she always has some positive spin on everything she said as we walked into Ingles “maybe the old guy’s old truck’s reverse gear doesn’t work”.

I wonder could it all be providence? Could the traffic, failed Apple Festival attempts, blockaded roads, friends who get sick and you can’t hang out, 90 degree October weather, and old guy’s parking preferences be part of a bigger plan, a weaving together of seemingly random incidences ordained by God to create a story that we can’t see today or possibly ever this side of eternity, but is necessary to creating the life that He actually has planned for us? I like to think so. So I’ll take Steph’s perspective, “the old guy’s truck probably doesn’t go into reverse”. And I’ll take these occurances as they come and do my best to trust the Author of my story with each seemingly random circumstance that comes my way.