Let there be light

I think we've all had a few of those moments in our lives where we simply think to ourselves, "Wow, I'm an idiot."

I had another one of those moments last night.

My friend Deena and I got into my car to head out to Fort Worth for one of our friend's engagement parties. The sun had already set, so it was dark out. D pointed out how creepy it was that no lights came on in my car when I unlocked it and we opened the doors to get inside.

"I know, right?! Lame."

Oh my goodness.

She gave me kind of a strange look when I said that and asked if I was sure there wasn't a way to make it so that a light came on. She was also curious as to how I dealt with getting into a dark car so often. I told her that I usually just turn on the interior lights myself. When I reached up to show her, I noticed a little switch for which I had never known the actual function. It was in that instant that a little epiphany hit me.


"Wow, I'm an idiot."


D then noted that this switch probably would do the trick, so we tested it out. Sure enough, we opened the door, and the light came on automatically. I got my car on Halloween in 2009, and it took me (well, Deena, actually) this long to figure out something so simple??!

I can't even begin to describe how frustrated I've gotten sometimes when I get in or out of my car in the dark and can't see anything or find my phone or tell if I left something in the passenger's seat. It always made me so annoyed that I spend so much on car payments for a vehicle that doesn't even have a flipping automatic overhead light. It's rather humbling to realize it's not the machine that's a dunce; it's the operator.


My life has already changed so much since this discovery about 12 hours ago. This whole ordeal makes me think about life without Christ. Some people go there whole lives trying to manage things in the dark, knowing they are missing out on something but never allowing that light to enter their lives. The truth is, though, that it's just like my car light: right in front of us and within reach the whole time. And when we allow Christ's light to enter our lives, the change will be even more dramatic than the visibility provided when opening a car door.


That will definitely be a moment where all of those idiotic times will simply be overshadowed and wiped clean.

An Ocho by any other name...

For some reason, I really love Chad Ochocinco.

Yes, he is egotistical, controversial and full of it a lot of the time. Yet, I love him and think he's absolutely hilarious.

So, it's with a heavy heart that I talk about the fact that he's changing his name back to Chad Johnson. WHY??!! I had grown fond of the change and was actually really excited when he originally made up a "Spanish" number for his surname before the 2008 season. But, as he told ESPN, he "[doesn't] have a choice right now" and claims he's "done enough with the Ocho thing."

Sigh.

Ochocinco, I'm rather upset about this. However, one thing is for sure: his personality will likely remain as pompous and flashy as always. After all, he did just challenge his coach to a fight in a cage match. I mean, how can you not love the guy?

There is even an iPhone app called Ochocino. I'm not ashamed to admit that I downloaded it (for free, of course—although I would seriously consider paying almost $1 for this man). The app contains OCNN (Ochocinco News Network), a link to his Twitter, a schedule and pics. There is even a Mad Chad mobile game. Holla!

Feel free to follow his blog, though please don't judge the man's poor grammar skills. After all, he's a multimillion-dollar NFL player. I don't think he has a very high regard for syntax and dangling or misplaced modifiers. Even I choose to overlook this on occasion for Ochocinco. (Actually, most of his blog is just pictures with some wordy captions. What can I say? The man likes the way he looks.)

I part now with an ode to a name that shall never be forgotten. Let us pay tribute to the great No. 85:

You invented a way to pronounce a number
as you woke beastly defenders from their slumber
But you defeated them as you darted to the end zone
yet could not have a celebration that featured a cell phone
Sometimes you still take the fines with your HOF cloak
or doing your sassy little numbers to show that you are stoked
You used an oversized stocking to deliver footballs to fans
and let "Girls Just Wanna Have Fun" play as you danced
You once carried a dollar onto the field during an official review
and did your own version of the Lambeau Leap into a crowd of more than just a few
I know a transition back to your birth name will not change the man you are
and we will forever have the real Chad Ochocinco in our hearts

No, I don't have too much time on my hands.

Some like it hot

I think it would be an understatement to say that I hate cold weather.

Lately it's been colder than necessary outside, and I feel the need to dwell on this. Sure, I could try to be positive about the whole situation, but I would rather not kid myself. Cold weather is just evil.

The picture you see is of my mom and me at a flag football game. We may be smiling, but I was not the happiest camper. I'm pretty sure I wore about four layers that night, and that wasn't enough.

That being said, I've compiled a list of reasons why warm weather is so much better than frigid misery. These are in no special order other than when they popped into my head.

Why higher temperatures kick cold weather a*%:

1. It's not necessary to wear as many layers when you go running. I love waking up knowing that all I need to find is a sports bra and pair of shorts rather than checking the temps to see how many shirts I need to wear. It also makes laundry easier.

2. My fingers don't suffer as much from Raynaud's in the summer. Winter? It's so painful that I sometimes want to cry.

3. Dry skin and nosebleeds aren't an issue.

4. Baseball season.

5. I save so much money on my electric bill. (I've never turned on the A/C.)

6. I would much rather be sitting on a float in the pool than sitting next to a fire trying to get feeling back in my extremities. This is also difficult because I don't have a fireplace.

7. A pinkish-red sunburn is such a better hue than a purplish-black frostbite.

8. Two words: snow cones.

9. You don't have to run out to your car, start it, run back inside and wait for it to warm up, and then dart back out to it in hopes that it's been long enough that your heater will be at its full capacity when you turn it on.

10. I love the smell of sunscreen.

11. You can actually enjoy outdoor activities (without packing on multiple jackets until you look like the Michelin Man).

12. You don't have to factor in "wind chill."

13. Two more words: flip flops. (It's also one hyphenated: flip-flops.)

Honestly, there is only one thing (besides wearing scarves, of course) that is better about cold temps than warmer ones: fr**s are in hibernation.

Bottom line: cold weather is stupid.

Climbing ROCKS!

Sometimes there just aren't enough rocks.

I went rock climbing today with my friend Dane, and I came to a number of conclusions:

1. I need to pump more iron.

2. Life is a lot like rock climbing.

3. Good friends are always there for you.

4. Harnesses are flattering on no one.

Now to explain...

1. I know what you might be thinking: "Nat, your biceps are HUGE! How could you need to make them any stronger?!" Well, dear friends, it's possible that even my arms need a little help. I remember when I was growing up, my dad always used to tell me I needed to be able to do at least one pull-up. He would ask: "What are you going to do if you're hanging off of a cliff and have to pull yourself up?" While I don't see that happening anytime soon (or ever), Skipper's advice would have come in handy today.

2. At an indoor rock climbing facility, there are so many different choices of walls you can climb. On each wall, there are a variety of paths you can take, and someone else who climbs the very same wall might go a completely different route. Some walls you can scale quite quickly and easily without really thinking about what rock you're going to grab next; others take careful thought and consideration, and you really have to focus on where your hands and feet will go next. No matter how difficult the climb, however, there is always the possibility of you losing your footing and falling. The good news is that you have a belayer who is there to ensure you don't actually fall—you either slowly come back down to the ground, or you dangle until you can regain your grip on the rocks. It's kind of like in life when we lose our way, God is always there to belay us back to safety and the correct path. Who knew rock climbing could parallel with so much?

3. Dane has been a great friend of mine since high school. He is in the Army and currently lives in North Carolina, but he always comes to visit Texas when he gets his breaks. Even though he once shot me in the leg with an airsoft gun after I said that's the one place he was NOT to shoot me, he really is pretty awesome. He proved to be a trustworthy belayer, brought me an orange Gatorade (my favorite!!), and even took some pics when that was the last thing he wanted to do. He didn't even crack any jokes about my weight when he was belaying. Oh, wait, yes he did—but I would expect nothing less from him.

4. I don't feel this needs much of an explanation.

Sometimes in rock climbing, it feels like there aren't enough rocks, or there

are just too many out of your reach. I think a lot of times in life we get so caught up in so many different things and feel like everything we need is not in reach or too difficult to grasp. It's in those times that we have to remember that we are harnessed in God's love, and He is the best belayer this world has ever seen. So, no matter what wall you choose or what path of rocks you follow, you can always make it to the top somehow—even if you don't think you are strong enough yet to pull yourself up when hanging from that cliff.

The good thing about all of this is that God's harness is definitely a lot more attractive than those belts of awkwardness they give you at rock climbing gyms.

Dear Santa...

I don't dislike Santa, but I do have a few things I would like to say to him.

(Side note: When I was typing, I accidentally misspelled the jolly man's name as Satan. I'm not sure if that means anything or not, but I felt it was worth noting.)

So, this year, if I sent a letter to the North Pole, it might read something like this:

Dear Santa,

The more I think about it, the more I wish Rudolph had turned you down when you asked him to bail you out that one year it was really foggy. I understand that it's rather exciting for innocent little children to anticipate your sleigh landing on top of their roofs and magically fitting your hefty frame down their chimneys and stuffing their empty stockings that were hung "with care." It's even almost cute that they think you can cover the entire world in one night.

That sure is a short time frame for someone who makes elves do all the work for him 364 other days out of the year.

I wouldn't have such a problem with you if you weren't such a spotlight hog. The excitement of you coming is all about presents; the excitement of you coming is all about greed. Remember Jesus? The excitement of Him coming is all about presence; the excitement of Him coming is all about eternity.

I don't know where you were born (your bio seems to be a bit fragmented and shady), but I doubt it was in a manger, and I really don't think it was an immaculate conception.

I know it's trite to say that people have forgotten what the true meaning of Christmas really is, but you're not helping the situation any. This time of year broods frustration—I mean, just take one look at any shopping mall. Chaos. Madness. Superfluous spending. It's not even about giving for most people—instead, they just try to pile up as many things as possible to try to satisfy others with items that will likely end up in a garage sale in a couple of years. And what do you do? You show up at these malls and pose for pictures with kids who believe you are the real deal. You encourage them to ask for more. You request them to make lists, and you have your own list. You supposedly have this huge book that classifies people as "naughty" or "nice," and you bring coal for those who have not lived up to your expectations.

You know what Jesus brings to those very same people? Redemption. You could learn a thing or two from Him. He offers so much more than anything you could pull out of your big red bag.

So, if I had a wish list, I would ask that you keep giving. However, I think you should give something a little different this year—I think you should step back and give Jesus the glory. Allow Him actually to have the spotlight He deserves on His birthday.

I mean, He did come to save the world, which is so much more than someone who had to be rescued by a reindeer can say.

Lovelovelove,

Natalie

Color the stress away

There are times in life when you just need to sit down and color.

When I was a camp counselor, it became quite apparent that opening up a coloring book and taking part in an activity that most people think is only reserved for 7-year-olds is actually rather refreshing. In fact, I might call it therapeutic.

Life is full of so many things to cause us stress: work just keeps piling up, and you feel like you are sinking in quick sand; your bills seem to be increasing, while your salary is not; that guy hasn't asked you out yet; people keep asking you for favors, and you are reluctant to decline; Facebook is getting in the way of productivity (I'm joking—slightly); your e-mail inbox has too many new messages, and you really don't want to go through them anytime soon; so many people around you seem to be hopping on board the luck train, and unfortunate things keep happening to you; that guy still hasn't asked you out yet; you need to clean your home, but by the time you finally get time to do so, exhaustion wins in the battle of wills; your bones/joints/other body parts keep reminding you that you are aging by the second; and you have so many things going on that, even if you do have a planner to try to keep track of everything, you forget to remember to write it all down.

I guess to sum it all up: life happens.

The hardest part of all of this is not just reminding yourself that it's really all out of your hands—it's actually believing it and trusting that God will take care of you. With as many things as we "conquer" on our own (even though they are never on our own), it's not easy to feel so helpless in situations where we know we need someone else to bail us out.

When my classes start to drive me crazy, I sit on the floor. When life in general sends me to a state of pure frenzy, I color. There's just something about those non-toxic sticks of wax adorning well-known outlines on unique paper that clears my head and makes everything better. Perhaps it's because it takes me back to a time when the world was so carefree, and the biggest stress was when my parents made me come inside because it was getting dark out, and I had to leave that football game with the neighbors unfinished. The scariest part was the walk back to my house on summer nights—you never know when those stupid hoppers are going to jump out.

So, I guess coloring puts me in a past world and makes me forget that life has a tendency to spiral out-of-control. It allows you to be creative, yet also reminds you that there really are times when you can stay inside the lines and still maintain your sanity. Coloring is not just an activity for a child; rather, it's an activity that all adults should try at least once a week. I mean, your refrigerator will look so much prettier if you do.

I truly believe God gave us crayons and coloring books for a reason.

"Truly my soul finds rest in God; my salvation comes from Him.

Truly He is my rock and my salvation; He is my fortress; I will never be shaken."

-Psalm 62:1-2

The time is almost here

I think it's natural sometimes in life to be a bit selfish.

This weekend was the White Rock Marathon, which I ran last year. I love this race and really wanted to do the half this year. Needless to say, that didn't happen. Thanks, pelvis. So, LizRaz and I went to cheer on all of our rockin' friends running it. Of course, we had a BLAST, our friends did AWESOME, and it was overall an incredible morning. I mean, how can it not be when you are in costume?

There was one haunting detail in the back of my mind while we were out there, particularly when we were cheering at the start line then finish line. It's something that has been true at every race I've attended since the summer. It's this fact that I really hate to dwell in my mind, yet I also hate that I even think about it when I am really just out there to support my friends. It toys with my emotions.

You aren't running this, Natalie.

The last actual race I ran was El Scorcho at the end of July, and that race is a whole story in itself. It starts at midnight, and let's just say it puts the body a little out-of-whack, to put it lightly. Anyway, I have missed out on many events since then, and it's been borderline depressing at times.

I have a half marathon on January 1, and I am praying hardcore that I am legitimately ready for it. It's necessary on so many levels. Plus, it would be a wonderful way to start off a fresh year. I don't even care if I PR (I'm lying)—I just want to run my favorite racing distance without feeling any pain in my stupid pelvis.

Now, I'm not a huge fan of 5Ks, but I am racing one this Saturday. It's my first race back, and I have absolutely no idea what to expect. All I know is that I am glad that for once I won't be the one ringing the cowbell. I love my friends, and I love being able to support them at races, but I really do think it's time I hang up that cowbell for a bit so I can actually participate.

I guess selfishness just happens sometimes—like Saturday morning.