1. EVERYTHING is green. Seriously, there are trees everywhere and they mow the grass like every two days because it grows that fast.
2. Every night between 9 and 9:30 the fireflies come out. There is a big field in the middle of the campus and all the buildings line up around it. There are bushes and trees and lots of places to sit and such, and if you go out at the right time you will see all the fireflies. Hundreds. Seriously. I am not kidding. It's like late-night glittery grass. Beautiful.
3.Chik-fil-a, Cracker Barrel, and Shake 'n shake.
4. There are some great "characters" here as Caleb likes to call them. It makes driving down the road an humorous adventure every time.
5. It's hot here. Everyday is hot. I really like hot. It's a blessing.
6. THERE IS A SIX FLAGS HERE!
7. THERE IS ALSO A SWEET ZOO!
More to come later...
Tuesday, June 23, 2009
Thursday, June 11, 2009
Wood Ticks and "Phsycic Freaks"
Two Sunday's ago I noticed that I had a mole on my back that I hadn't previously had. Then I realized - it was a TICK; the first tick I have ever had. I utterly detest ticks. Anything that can stick it's head in your flesh and suck your blood for long periods of time is absolutely abominable to me. ICK. With the help of my husband I dug every last piece of the tick out of my back. I then spent the rest of the day informing anyone who would listen about my traumatic experience (as an attempt to heal the emotional scar this experience had left, of course). One person I told via email was my twelve-year old brother. I just received his response:
"You got a tick?!! That is so cool!!! Is the place where you got it turning red or are you feeling woozy? If you are you will become Tick Woman and you would have to spend the rest of your life saving the citizens of New York City!!! I hope that doesn't happen. But if it does you have to tell me!!! Because then I could spend the rest of my life being a phsycic freak that knows everything! ( I don't know how to spell Phsycic so if you know, tell me.) Good By Rebekah!!! I love you and miss you and can't wait to see you again!!! Bye!
P.S. Do not show our parents this."
Tuesday, June 2, 2009
Get Directions or Get Adventure
When you have an adventurous spirit, it's always good to get directions first. Even if you think you know the general direction you are headed, it typically doesn't do you much good. As a matter of fact, even with directions it's possible to still get lost. Not comprehending these three facts is one of my greatest weaknesses.
Here are just two incidents where I should have been prepared before heading to me desired location. In one case, I had never been to the place I was seeking and in the other case, I had.
Two weeks ago my sister-in-law, Katie, and I went to Florida to surprise-visit my family. Our flights landed in Orlando at about 11:30 in the morning and my parent's flight (they were traveling with us) didn't land until 4:30 in the afternoon. This gave us about five hours to kill - and I did not want to spend them in the airport.
Excitedly and sporadically, I came up with the idea that we should spend our time in Downtown Orlando seeing fun urban-y sites. While looking for the public transportation in the airport (which was somewhat difficult to find), it started to rain. Once we had finally secured a seat on a bus we began our travels towards the heart of Orlando - at the mercy of our very crabby bus driver. We weren't quite sure which stop to get off on, but we figured it would be pretty hard to miss downtown Orlando.
After about twenty minutes of travel, we realized we were still in the middle of nowhere. We began to wonder, hoping that we were not on the wrong bus and riding to our doom. Nervously, we began to question our surroundings and look for the first coffee shop we saw to unload at where we could wait for my parents to arrive and rescue us. I began to regret my lack of planning.
Just as we saw a coffee shop, the bus driver pulled over to let someone on. Immediately and confidently (even though I wasn't confident at all, I just wanted Katie to think I was confident), I declared it was time for us to get off the bus. As I started to stand and move towards the door, the crabby bus lady started yelling at me. Alarmed, I quietly informed her that we were getting off the bus. She yelled at me again, this time because I didn't pull the cord to let her know we wanted to get off. So I sat back down. She then looked at me in the rearview mirror and told me to get off the bus. Katie quickly and timidly followed.
So, there we were, luggage and all, in a strange back part of Orlando in the rain (although it wasn't raining too hard at his point).
Not quite sure what to do, Katie suggested that we continue on the path the bus was taking, just to see if we could find anything (the previously sited coffee shop was way behind us now, because she drove while she was yelling at me). After walking uphill about a block we saw a beautiful sight: Downtown Orlando - five or six miles away. So on we walked, laughing at my stupidity for not getting directions.
But the fun does not stop there. With every regretful step we took, the rain began to fall harder and harder. After about 45 minutes of walking in the now tropical-storm-like rain, soaked to the bone, we stumbled upon a Panera.
Upon entering, we were met with many gazes and laughs as we were dripping from head to toe all over the floor. Explaining our appearance to two or three dining citizens, a guy in the food line in front of me, and two or three employees, I finally got some coffee and began to warm up. Still, the most exciting part of our adventure had yet to take place.
Sitting a couple tables over was a gray haired man in his late 50's/early 60's. He was one of the dining citizens that had inquired about our drenched state of existence. He would not stop staring at us. Somewhat awkwardly, I continued a broken conversation with him, hoping that he would mind his own business. Unfortunately I asked a seemingly harmless - yet very wrong - question.
"What do you do for a living?"
He rose from his table and joined us at ours. "I'm an artist," he replied. For the next half hour we heard all about his life experiences and artistic fame in Orlando. Right when we thought he was wrapping up he noticed that Katie had her laptop out and was connected to the internet. He then proceeded to go on Katie's computer and show us all his artwork.
We began "Ooo-ing and Aahh-ing" because there were some really beautiful paintings. I began to think that it wasn't as bad as I initially thought, and that maybe I had found some sort of artistic jewel. But then he took it a step further. He went into his hotmail email account to show us his most recent paintings. I don't know how else to say this, so I will just say it: they were exotic paintings of half-dressed women. There were about five of them. Even more strangely, he pointed out a specific painting for which he had used a model named Rebecca.
By this point in time, Katie and I were entirely creeped out. Between awkward glances and subtle hints that we were both feeling quite uncomfortable, I began to formulate a plan to get this man to leave. Thankfully, before I had to execute it, he left Panera on his own. He made us "promise" to keep in touch via email, and although we both smiled nodded our heads we secretly knew we would certainly not.
As good of a story as this is to tell, I'm somewhat embarrassed that it could have been entirely avoided had I spent five minutes on mapquest.com.
I am dictating this blog to Katie right now as we drive (it seems she - luckily :) - happens to be with me when I get lost). We are on our way back to Fargo from Enderlin with my mother - or we should be anyways. Actually, we are on our way back from the South Dakota border. Oops. I didn't know I was supposed to get off at the Kindred exit. Another two hours wasted because I was too lazy to look up directions. Don't worry though, we are going to try and get to Enderlin again on Thursday. I will look up directions this time, and my mom said she would too.
Here are just two incidents where I should have been prepared before heading to me desired location. In one case, I had never been to the place I was seeking and in the other case, I had.
Two weeks ago my sister-in-law, Katie, and I went to Florida to surprise-visit my family. Our flights landed in Orlando at about 11:30 in the morning and my parent's flight (they were traveling with us) didn't land until 4:30 in the afternoon. This gave us about five hours to kill - and I did not want to spend them in the airport.
Excitedly and sporadically, I came up with the idea that we should spend our time in Downtown Orlando seeing fun urban-y sites. While looking for the public transportation in the airport (which was somewhat difficult to find), it started to rain. Once we had finally secured a seat on a bus we began our travels towards the heart of Orlando - at the mercy of our very crabby bus driver. We weren't quite sure which stop to get off on, but we figured it would be pretty hard to miss downtown Orlando.
After about twenty minutes of travel, we realized we were still in the middle of nowhere. We began to wonder, hoping that we were not on the wrong bus and riding to our doom. Nervously, we began to question our surroundings and look for the first coffee shop we saw to unload at where we could wait for my parents to arrive and rescue us. I began to regret my lack of planning.
Just as we saw a coffee shop, the bus driver pulled over to let someone on. Immediately and confidently (even though I wasn't confident at all, I just wanted Katie to think I was confident), I declared it was time for us to get off the bus. As I started to stand and move towards the door, the crabby bus lady started yelling at me. Alarmed, I quietly informed her that we were getting off the bus. She yelled at me again, this time because I didn't pull the cord to let her know we wanted to get off. So I sat back down. She then looked at me in the rearview mirror and told me to get off the bus. Katie quickly and timidly followed.
So, there we were, luggage and all, in a strange back part of Orlando in the rain (although it wasn't raining too hard at his point).
Not quite sure what to do, Katie suggested that we continue on the path the bus was taking, just to see if we could find anything (the previously sited coffee shop was way behind us now, because she drove while she was yelling at me). After walking uphill about a block we saw a beautiful sight: Downtown Orlando - five or six miles away. So on we walked, laughing at my stupidity for not getting directions.
But the fun does not stop there. With every regretful step we took, the rain began to fall harder and harder. After about 45 minutes of walking in the now tropical-storm-like rain, soaked to the bone, we stumbled upon a Panera.
Upon entering, we were met with many gazes and laughs as we were dripping from head to toe all over the floor. Explaining our appearance to two or three dining citizens, a guy in the food line in front of me, and two or three employees, I finally got some coffee and began to warm up. Still, the most exciting part of our adventure had yet to take place.
Sitting a couple tables over was a gray haired man in his late 50's/early 60's. He was one of the dining citizens that had inquired about our drenched state of existence. He would not stop staring at us. Somewhat awkwardly, I continued a broken conversation with him, hoping that he would mind his own business. Unfortunately I asked a seemingly harmless - yet very wrong - question.
"What do you do for a living?"
He rose from his table and joined us at ours. "I'm an artist," he replied. For the next half hour we heard all about his life experiences and artistic fame in Orlando. Right when we thought he was wrapping up he noticed that Katie had her laptop out and was connected to the internet. He then proceeded to go on Katie's computer and show us all his artwork.
We began "Ooo-ing and Aahh-ing" because there were some really beautiful paintings. I began to think that it wasn't as bad as I initially thought, and that maybe I had found some sort of artistic jewel. But then he took it a step further. He went into his hotmail email account to show us his most recent paintings. I don't know how else to say this, so I will just say it: they were exotic paintings of half-dressed women. There were about five of them. Even more strangely, he pointed out a specific painting for which he had used a model named Rebecca.
By this point in time, Katie and I were entirely creeped out. Between awkward glances and subtle hints that we were both feeling quite uncomfortable, I began to formulate a plan to get this man to leave. Thankfully, before I had to execute it, he left Panera on his own. He made us "promise" to keep in touch via email, and although we both smiled nodded our heads we secretly knew we would certainly not.
As good of a story as this is to tell, I'm somewhat embarrassed that it could have been entirely avoided had I spent five minutes on mapquest.com.
I am dictating this blog to Katie right now as we drive (it seems she - luckily :) - happens to be with me when I get lost). We are on our way back to Fargo from Enderlin with my mother - or we should be anyways. Actually, we are on our way back from the South Dakota border. Oops. I didn't know I was supposed to get off at the Kindred exit. Another two hours wasted because I was too lazy to look up directions. Don't worry though, we are going to try and get to Enderlin again on Thursday. I will look up directions this time, and my mom said she would too.
Thursday, May 21, 2009
Old Rugged Cross
I am in Florida for the week so I picked a hymn that reminds me of my childhood here. This hymn was written in 1913 by George Bennard. He wrote this hymn after experiencing some sort of trial, reflecting on Paul's teachings about suffering. He was convinced (and rightly so) that the cross was not merely a religious symbol, but the heart of the gospel.
The Old Rugged Cross
Text & Music: George Bennard
On a hill far away stood an old rugged cross,
The emblem of suffering and shame;
And I love that old cross where the dearest and best
For a world of lost sinners was slain.
So I’ll cherish the old rugged cross,
Till my trophies at last I lay down;
I will cling to the old rugged cross,
And exchange it some day for a crown.
O that old rugged cross, so despised by the world,
Has a wondrous attraction for me;
For the dear Lamb of God left His glory above
To bear it to dark Calvary.
So I’ll cherish the old rugged cross,
Till my trophies at last I lay down;
I will cling to the old rugged cross,
And exchange it some day for a crown.
In that old rugged cross, stained with blood so divine,
A wondrous beauty I see,
For ’twas on that old cross Jesus suffered and died,
To pardon and sanctify me.
So I’ll cherish the old rugged cross,
Till my trophies at last I lay down;
I will cling to the old rugged cross,
And exchange it some day for a crown.
To the old rugged cross I will ever be true;
Its shame and reproach gladly bear;
Then He’ll call me some day to my home far away,
Where His glory forever I’ll share.
The Old Rugged Cross
Text & Music: George Bennard
On a hill far away stood an old rugged cross,
The emblem of suffering and shame;
And I love that old cross where the dearest and best
For a world of lost sinners was slain.
So I’ll cherish the old rugged cross,
Till my trophies at last I lay down;
I will cling to the old rugged cross,
And exchange it some day for a crown.
O that old rugged cross, so despised by the world,
Has a wondrous attraction for me;
For the dear Lamb of God left His glory above
To bear it to dark Calvary.
So I’ll cherish the old rugged cross,
Till my trophies at last I lay down;
I will cling to the old rugged cross,
And exchange it some day for a crown.
In that old rugged cross, stained with blood so divine,
A wondrous beauty I see,
For ’twas on that old cross Jesus suffered and died,
To pardon and sanctify me.
So I’ll cherish the old rugged cross,
Till my trophies at last I lay down;
I will cling to the old rugged cross,
And exchange it some day for a crown.
To the old rugged cross I will ever be true;
Its shame and reproach gladly bear;
Then He’ll call me some day to my home far away,
Where His glory forever I’ll share.
Thursday, May 14, 2009
He Hideth My Soul
When I was a little girl (I don't remember how little...5th or 6th grade?) my father had a Fanny Crosby night at church one Sunday evening. I don't remember why he did this, and I don't remember much about it. I just remember thinking that Fanny Crosby was a funny name for a girl and wondering if she was in any way related to Bill (but then I learned his last name was Cosby, not Crosby). Every time I sing a hymn by Fanny Crosby these are the things that first come to mind.
Since then, I have become more and more thankful for Fanny (her real name was Frances) Crosby. She became blind when she was only six weeks old. She lived to be 94, almost 95 years old. She was married when she was 37, and only had one child whom died in infancy. You can read more about Fanny Crosby here.
The hymn of the week is written by Fanny.
He Hideth My Soul
Text: Frances J. Crosby
Music: William J. Kirkpatrick
A wonderful Savior is Jesus my Lord,
A wonderful Savior to me;
He hideth my soul in the cleft of the rock,
Where rivers of pleasure I see.
He hideth my soul in the cleft of the rock,
That shadows a dry, thirsty land;
He hideth my life in the depths of His love,
And covers me there with His hand,
And covers me there with His hand.
A wonderful Savior is Jesus my Lord,
He taketh my burden away,
He holdeth me up and I shall not be moved,
He giveth me strength as my day.
He hideth my soul in the cleft of the rock,
That shadows a dry, thirsty land;
He hideth my life in the depths of His love,
And covers me there with His hand,
And covers me there with His hand.
With numberless blessings each moment He crowns,
And filled with His fullness divine,
I sing in my rapture, oh, glory to God!
For such a Redeemer as mine.
He hideth my soul in the cleft of the rock,
That shadows a dry, thirsty land;
He hideth my life in the depths of His love,
And covers me there with His hand,
And covers me there with His hand.
When clothed with His brightness transported I rise
To meet Him in clouds of the sky,
His perfect salvation, His wonderful love,
I'll shout with the millions on high.
Since then, I have become more and more thankful for Fanny (her real name was Frances) Crosby. She became blind when she was only six weeks old. She lived to be 94, almost 95 years old. She was married when she was 37, and only had one child whom died in infancy. You can read more about Fanny Crosby here.
The hymn of the week is written by Fanny.
He Hideth My Soul
Text: Frances J. Crosby
Music: William J. Kirkpatrick
A wonderful Savior is Jesus my Lord,
A wonderful Savior to me;
He hideth my soul in the cleft of the rock,
Where rivers of pleasure I see.
He hideth my soul in the cleft of the rock,
That shadows a dry, thirsty land;
He hideth my life in the depths of His love,
And covers me there with His hand,
And covers me there with His hand.
A wonderful Savior is Jesus my Lord,
He taketh my burden away,
He holdeth me up and I shall not be moved,
He giveth me strength as my day.
He hideth my soul in the cleft of the rock,
That shadows a dry, thirsty land;
He hideth my life in the depths of His love,
And covers me there with His hand,
And covers me there with His hand.
With numberless blessings each moment He crowns,
And filled with His fullness divine,
I sing in my rapture, oh, glory to God!
For such a Redeemer as mine.
He hideth my soul in the cleft of the rock,
That shadows a dry, thirsty land;
He hideth my life in the depths of His love,
And covers me there with His hand,
And covers me there with His hand.
When clothed with His brightness transported I rise
To meet Him in clouds of the sky,
His perfect salvation, His wonderful love,
I'll shout with the millions on high.
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