I watched "Almost Famous" last night...such a good movie! If you haven't seen it, its definitely one you should check out. The movie is about William Miller, a very uncool 15 year old who writes for Rolling Stone Magazine, and his love for a girl named Penny Lane. Even though its a typical, coming-of-age story, I am always inspired.
I have often sat starring at my laptop, watching the little black line, affectionately known as a cursor, rapidly appear, disappear and reappear again. This incessant flashing greatly intimidates me. It is my responsibility to write the words that will fill up the page. However, inspiration always comes; sometimes from the music on my Ipod, other times from great writers like Faulkner or Hemingway, even Nicholas Sparks, or my father. With inspiration, the words come too, sometimes more easily than others. I have no problem writing a research paper on Victorian novels, but when I am faced with the task of writing about my dreams and goals for life, I am somewhat flustered. I am not concerned but inspired, for I know that I am my biggest critic. Therefore, I am taking this opportunity to truly delve into myself and discover what my goals and dreams really are.
I dream of being significant. In today’s society, the mass media has become an overwhelmingly significant influence. American youth no longer look to their parents for direction; instead they turn to television, magazines, music, and the internet to dictate how they live their lives. It is my hope to attend graduate school for journalism, and to use my education and ability to positively influence young adults. Each generation is becoming increasingly hungry for something genuine, relevant, and creative. It is my goal to develop and launch a magazine for young adults that will promote individuality, leadership and morality in such a way. My dream is big and my goals are intimidating, but I believe. My belief is not in myself, but in the cause. I believe that in order to change our world it is necessary to impact our future in a radical way. My dream is to be a part of the change. ______________________________________________________
Here's something I wrote in my creative writing class. We were instructed to write about our first memory...
The cold January air seemed to burn my face as I opened my eyes to see that I had been displaced from the seat of my father’s pick-up and was now lying on the floor, surrounded by pieces of shattered glass. I was frightened and confused; however normal and appropriate a response crying would’ve been for a three year old child, I could not seem to shed a tear. I looked up into the seat where just a few minutes earlier I had been seated between my father and older brother. My brother and I had often made the 3 mile trip from our farm into town with our Dad. We loved riding in his truck. On this particular day, the dirt road took control of the tires and the small white pick-up went off the road into a field. My eyes went searching for my father, the one who always made everything better, but he was nowhere to be found. I saw my brother halfway out the window and called to him for help. He assisted me in crawling out the window. The field seemed to go on forever. I could hear my brother talking to me, but his words were muted and unrecognizable. I felt a calmness that I didn’t understand as my brother and I started walking toward our home. We saw him lying face up covered in blood, unconscious and not moving. The tall grass seemed to envelop his limp body and even though I was only three years old, I somehow knew that my daddy was dead.
The next thing I remember is sitting in the hospital with my grandma. Miraculously, both my brother and I were unscathed. My father was flown to a hospital several hours away and was not expected to survive the flight, but he did. I don’t remember much else from this time, other than the day my father came home from the hospital. What a wonderful day. I’m not sure why this is the only memory I have of my early childhood. Perhaps it is because it was such a traumatic experience, or because I was overwhelmed with emotion. Whatever the reason, I will never forget the day I almost lost my dad.
Napoleon Dynamite has been one of the majorly hot topics on campus this semester. At pretty much any point during the day, there is a good possibility that you will hear someone quoting part of the movie. It's just freakin' hilarious. If you're one of the few people in America who haven't subjected yourself to countless hours of meaningless stupidity...you must! Also, even if you have seen the movie, you need to watch the deleted scenes and bonus features on the dvd. After the credits run, there is a hilarious wedding scene between Kip and Lafawnda, during which Kip sings a love song. In this song Kip talks about how much he loves technology. Most days, I would have to agree with Kip. Technology is amazing. We don't even realize how much we use technology throughout the day. However, today is a different story. Today I hate technology. Everything in the technology world seems to be teaming up against me in an evil plot to ruin my life. The rough draft of my short story disappeared from my word files, and then the floppy that I had saved it on decided it would quit working. So that's pretty much the end of that story (pun intended). Also, my digital camera randomly shut off while I was using it and now it won't turn on. My laptop keeps freezing up, the batter to my ipod ran out just when I need to listen to some tunes to help me chill out. So to say the least this has been "the worst day of my life...what do you think?" (random napoleon quote). So even though I'm posing as a technology hater for the time being, here's a link to a few napolean soundboards, etc. that will aid you in wasting your time online while you should be doing work, it certainly has worked for me!
We can assign a number to almost everything in our lives...
22...hours until the weekend
38...dollars in my wallet
7...hours away from home
2731...songs on my ipod
10...months until my brothers wedding
57...credits left after this semester
396...po box number
41...guys that share a bathroom with me
One thing that cannot be counted or measured is God's love and forgiveness. Tonight at FCA, I was overwhelmed with thankfulness as I sang words that are hundreds of years old, "Amazing grace how sweet the sound that saved a wretch like me". Oh what a wretched man am I...so undeserving of mercy and grace. I have failed so many times and yet God always finds me at my lowest point, completely covered with the ugliness of my sin, picks me up, washes me clean, and sets my feet back on solid ground. I don't think I will ever be able to comprehend this miracle of grace, a grace based soley upon love. A love that is unconditional and sacrificial. I wear a ring everyday engraved with the beautiful desription of love found in 1 Corinthians 13. Love is so many things that I fear I will never be. Love is so many things that I fear I will never understand. Yet love is something that I want to know. I want to LIVE and BREATHE and BE this kind of love that is beyond my human understanding.
"The world moves for love. It kneels before it in awe."
This quote from "The Village" leaves me speechless. Think on these powerful words today.