Galatians 2:20a
I am crucified with Christ: nevertheless I live; yet not i, but Christ liveth in me:
My Life Verse

Ephesians 6:6

Not with eyeservice, as men pleasers; but as the servants of Christ, doing the will of God from the heart;

Friday, June 19, 2009

Scoring TRIP!!!!

We had a blast! Everyone was able to go but Johnny.
First we headed straight to Kings Island at 5 am and we spent the whole day there=0)
It was so much fun, i hadn't ridden a coaster since YC last year.

Me and Kay found some odd little glasses...they had jewels across all of them, and made for very blingish apparel=)

Yeah we coolio=)

After Kings Island we headed to the Hyatt Regency Hotel in downtown Cincinnati!
Hmmm comfy bed and while we slept most of the guys swam.
The next morning we ate breakfast at Bruegger's which is a bagel place.
HMMMM was SOO good!
of course then we crossed the street to Starbucks where I bought my first ever starbucks (Vanilla Bean Frappucino double blended) and became addicted=)

After loading our stuff in the cars we went SHOPPING!
The guys all tried on hats in burlington coat factory...yeah there's Dustin bein should have seen him with the white sunglasses...but he didn't allow a pic on that one=)

Evan...yeah so Awesome!
Should have seen him decked out with the suit jacket and other hat...haha

Kailyn and i went in Claires and this is a pic through one of those telescope things that turn everything topsy turvy...its actually kailyn in the pic.

Ahh yes...we got in the photo booth...hehe

and yes we decided to be normal in one pic=)

oh yeah in claires we found more odd glasses but these were Patriotic=)

Believe it or not i could see!

Eventually we headed for the ball park.
This is about an hour before the game. Braves were warming up.

Ohhhh..the giant board! Pretty

To make a long story short, the game was rained out and official time out was called after the bottom of the second inning. It started raining so hard that they covered the field with a ginormous tarp. It was cool to watch.

Then we watched rain...and rain...and it got sorta boring...but THEN
2 guys jumped over onto the field and started sliding on the tarp like a water was so hilarious...but obviously they aren't allowed to do that so here comes 3 or 4 security guards with their coolio little hats and black rain coats chasing the guys on the would slip and fall here...and officer would dive for a guy was so funny to watch them fall all over the field. Finally they were both caught handcuffed and led off the field.
Bro. Frankie said they'd get at least 7 days and $1500 fine!

Wow....adventures i tell you.
We got back really late Tuesday night and that was the highlights of the trip!

Thanks Bro. Frankie, Ms. Sarah, and Mr. Stumpf!!!!

Till then,

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I Have Been Blessed!!!!


In that place between wakefulness and dreams, I found myself in the room.
There were no distinguishing features except for the one wall covered with small index card files. They were like the ones in libraries that list titles by author or subject in alphabetical order. But these files, which stretched from floor to ceiling and seemingly endless in either direction, had very different headings. As I drew near the wall of files, the first to
catch my attention was one that read "Girls I have liked." I opened it and began flipping through the cards. I quickly shut it, shocked to realize that I recognized the names written on each one. And then without being told, I knew exactly where I was.
This lifeless room with its small files was a crude catalog system for my life. Here were written the actions of my every moment, big and small, in a detail my memory couldn't match. A sense of wonder and curiosity, coupled with horror, stirred within me as I began randomly opening files and exploring their content. Some brought joy and sweet memories; others a sense of shame and regret so intense that I would look over my shoulder to see if anyone was watching.
A file named "Friends" was next to one marked "Friends I have betrayed." The titles ranged from the mundane to the outright weird "Books I Have Read," "Lies I Have Told," "Comfort I have Given," "Jokes I Have Laughed at." Some
were almost hilarious in their exactness: "Things I've yelled at my brothers." Others I couldn't laugh at: "Things I Have Done in My Anger", "Things I Have Muttered Under My Breath at My Parents." I never ceased to be surprised by the contents.
Often there were many more cards than I expected. Sometimes fewer than I hoped. I was overwhelmed by the sheer volume of the life I had lived. Could it be possible that I had the time in my years to fill each of these thousands or even millions of cards? But each card confirmed this truth.
Each was written in my own handwriting. Each signed with my signature.
When I pulled out the file marked "TV Shows I have watched", I realized the files grew to contain their contents. The cards were packed tightly, and yet after two or three yards, I hadn't found the end of the file. I shut it, shamed, not so much by the quality of shows but more by the vast time I knew that file represented.
When I came to a file marked "Lustful Thoughts," I felt a chill run through my body. I pulled the file out only an inch, not willing to test its size and drew out a card. I shuddered at its detailed content.
I felt sick to think that such a moment had been recorded. An almost animal rage broke on me. One thought dominated my mind: No one must ever see these cards! No one must ever see this room! I have to destroy them!" In insane frenzy I yanked the file out. Its size didn't matter now. I had to empty it
and burn the cards. But as I took it at one end and began pounding it on the floor, I could not dislodge a single card. I became desperate and pulled out a card, only to find it as strong as steel when I tried to tear it.
Defeated and utterly helpless, I returned the file to its slot. Leaning my forehead against the wall, I let out a long, self-pitying sigh.
And then I saw it. The title bore "People I Have Shared the Gospel With." The handle was brighter than those around it, newer, almost unused. I pulled on its handle and a small box not more than three inches long fell into my hands. I could count the cards it contained on one hand.
And then the tears came. I began to weep. Sobs so deep that they hurt. They started in my stomach and shook through me. I fell on my knees and cried. I cried out of shame, from the overwhelming shame of it all. The rows of file shelves swirled in my tear-filled eyes. No one must ever, ever know of this
room. I must lock it up and hide the key. But then as I pushed away the tears, I saw Him.
No, please not Him. Not here. Oh, anyone but Jesus. I watched helplessly as He began to open the files and read the cards. I couldn't bear to watch His response. And in the moments I could bring myself to look at His face, I saw
a sorrow deeper than my own.
He seemed to intuitively go to the worst boxes. Why did He have to read every one? Finally He turned and looked at me from across the room. He looked at me with pity in His eyes. But this was a pity that didn't anger me. I dropped my head, covered my face with my hands and began to cry again.
He walked over and put His arm around me. He could have said so many things. But He didn't say a word. He just cried with me.
Then He got up and walked back to the wall of files. Starting at one end of the room, He took out a file and, one by one, began to sign His name over mine on each card. "No!" I shouted rushing to Him. All I could find to say was "No, no," as I pulled the card from Him. His name shouldn't be on these cards. But there it was, written in red so rich, so dark, so alive. The name
of Jesus covered mine. It was written with His blood. He gently took the card back. He smiled a sad smile and began to sign the cards. I don't think I'll ever understand how He did it so quickly, but the next instant it seemed I heard Him close the last file and walk back to my side.

He placed His hand on my shoulder and said, "It is finished." I stood up, and He led me out of the room. There was no lock on its door. There were still cards to be written.
- Brian Moore