What Christmas is All About

Christmas and I have a love/hate relationship.

Growing up and through high school, I was the ultimate Christmas lover. I start listening to Christmas music on November 1, the first day where people don't give you odd looks when they hear Burl Ives "Holly Jolly Christmas" leaking out of your car. I watch what seems like hundreds of Christmas movies while drinking hot chocolate (or coffee these days) and anxiously count down the days until Santa arrives. Christmas has always been my favorite holiday.

When I was 16, I started working at a Hallmark store in Arlington. Working retail changes your perceptions on Christmas. Sure, at first it was wonderful to be surrounded by Christmas for 20 hours a week while at work. But as Christmas grew nearer, people started to get short. The hustle and bustle of the holidays gets to them, and as the wonderful day grows closer, they become more and more tacky. It's not at all because they are bad people, but because they get frustrated and worried that they will not get everything done in time. My first Christmas to work, I was yelled at for saying "Merry Christmas" as I sold a Christmas card. Each year I swear it will be my last to work retail during the holidays, not wanting to lose my love for Christmas, but each year I somehow return. 7 Christmases later, here I sit with aching feet after my 7 hour shift on Christmas Eve.

Yesterday began much the same. The snow outside, which I was ecastic about, brought out crabby moods in the people who were forced to trek around Arlington in it. People were cold, frustrated, and downright tired by the time they entered our small gift shop and their actions definitely showed it. During the afternoon, a woman named Lauren came to my register with three cards. She passed them to me as I smiled and inquired about how her Christmas shopping was going. She complained that our card selection was low, and I informed her of my theory that people were just giving cards this year instead of gifts because of the economy. She said nothing else, not being rude, but hardly being friendly either.

As I continued entering the prices of her cards into the register (yes, we are possibly the only store in the state that does not have computers), an older woman stepped up behind her. Her name was Ruth, and she was petite with windblown gray curly hair that still showed small streaks of brown in it, and she held a single box of Christmas cards, clearly meant for last minute gifts.

"That will be $9.36," I said to Lauren, the first woman, with a smile, as she gently pushed over her credit card and her Crown Rewards card. I grabbed the cards, hit credit on the register, and began to turn around to run her credit cards, when Lauren replied, "Excuse me." I whipped my head around, my wavy hair hitting my shoulder blades as I turned to look at Lauren,"I'll get her cards too." Lauren gestured at Ruth, who looked a little baffled.

Ruth quietly replied "Thank you" as she stepped up to the counter, set down her box of cards, and began rummaging through her purse for her wallet.

Lauren put her hand on Ruth's shoulder and said, "No, ma'am, I'm paying for your cards. No need for your wallet." Ruth looked up at Lauren, this clearly being the first eye contact made between the two women. A smile began to creep across my face as I rung in Ruth's cards and made my way to the credit card machine. This is like something you read about in some inspirational forwarded e-mail, I thought to myself.

As I swipped Lauren's credit card, the two women began to converse, first introducing themselves to one another:
L- I'm Lauren.
R- I'm Ruth.
L- You remind me so much of my mother-in-law. She passed away this year. The holidays have been really hard for my family without her.
R- I'm sorry for your loss.
L- Do you have family to spend the holidays with?
R- Yes, I've been blessed wtih a husband, a daughter, a son, and 4 grandchildren. Do you?
L- Yes, I am married and have a son. I want grandbabies so bad! (The two women laughed here)
R- That's what Christmas is all about. Seeing your blessings and spending time making memories with your family.

Tears clouded my eyes as I pushed in the totals on the credit card machine. "This is what Christmas is all about," I thought. Doing something kind for a stranger. Loving people who you have never met before. As we celebrate Christ's birth 2009 years ago today, this story is what he exemplified. It is what he stood for.

I gave Lauren her receipt and she quickly scribbled her name on the line. I wished them both a Merry Christmas and they hurried out the door, probably thinking they were soon to be forgotten, as 200 people entered and exited our store yesterday.

But they will not be forgotten. Their story will not be forgotten. As I've fought off cynicism about people during the holidays while working retail, I will always remember this random act of kindness I was lucky enough to witness. In the words of Anne Frank, "Despite everything, I think people really are good at heart."

Me too, Anne. Merry Christmas.

Things I'm Thankful for...Part 5

Slightly delayed. More posts coming soon...

The 5th thing I'm thankful for. Most importantly the second half.

Romans 6:23

Things I'm Thankful For...Part 4: Old Friends

So I dropped the ball on posting everyday, but only because I was being inspired. I've decided to post twice today to keep up the 5 things I'm thankful for.

Last night, I was reading for class at my favorite Starbucks in Arlington. The Starbucks I usually go to is smaller than most, and is easily crowded and noisy. Last night it was especially so, being the day before Thanksgiving. All around me were groups of college girls, reuniting to share stories and catch up. The girls behind me were telling long stories about living in Boston and new boyfriends. Another group took up 2 tables and went around several times sharing. After leaving Starbucks, I went to an old friends house and reunited with the group I spent all of last winter with. Although we hadn't seen each other in what seemed like an eternity, it didn't take long before inside jokes started flowing. Laughter filled the room. It was just like old times.
I am thankful for old friends (and I include family in this category). There's something charming about being around the people who shared in the experiences that shaped who you are. There's something comforting about being around the people that have comforted you through breakups with boyfriends, losing family members, fights with friends and everything in between. There's something special about laughing about things that happened years ago that never seem to lose their humor. Old friends know you to the core. They know what makes you tick, how to rile you up, and how to cheer you up.They are always there for you. And that is what means the most.

Things I'm Thankful For...Part 3: Laughter

Laugh. Giggle. Chuckle. Titter. Snicker. I can barely type these words without cracking a grin. Laughter is something that can transform a dreary day into a glorious one. A funny story. A joke from a friend that the two of you are the only ones that understand. A smile from a stranger.

Laughter is something not to be taken for granted. Laughter is a joy of life I am thankful for.

It's hard for me to think of a moment I treasure where laughter was not present. Friends laugh at goofy things each of us mistakenly said. Family laughs at misunderstandings and catestrophic moments. Things you have to have been present at to find humerous. It provides unity. It bonds us together.

It seems that no matter what the situation, laughter seems to make it that much sweeter, and that much more refreshing. Laughter is like adding the perfect amount of splenda to a peach tea on a hot summer day.

Maybe I just have funny friends. Maybe we've discovered one of the great treasures of life.

"Among those whom I like or admire, I can find no common denominator, but among those I love I can: all of them make me laugh." -W.H. Auden

Things I'm Thankful For... Part 2: Surprising Direction

As I was thinking about what to write about today, I honestly felt a little lost. Don't get me wrong, I'm thankful for so many things. I've been blessed beyond anything I could have ever imagined, but I was somehow stumped. I prayed. I thought. I soul searched. I came up with two thoughts: I'm grateful for direction in my life, but I'm also grateful for the surprises of life that often lead to that direction. So since they go hand-in-hand in my life, they are going hand-in-hand in one entry.

Direction. Something sought by most. It seems that everyone wants to know not only where they're going, but how they're supposed to get there. Be it in careers, relationships, or any other aspect of life. I feel lost if I don't have a destination in mind.

But here's the tricky part: the more I seek a destination, the more lost I feel. The harder I search for, think about, try to know and outright demand a destination, the more I realize I have no idea where I'm going. The more the frustration sets in. For without a destination, I ask myself, how the heck am I supposed to know how to live my life?

Just as I start to give up and feel as if I must wander aimlessly through life, something happens. Something unexpected. Out of the blue. An unforseen bend in the road apears on the horizon, gently nudging me back on the path, of which I can only see what seems to be 2 steps in front of me.

Without fail, this surprise makes me smile. In a way I could have never imagined. And that's what's so wonderful about it.

Psalm 119:105 says "Your word is a lamp unto my feet and a light unto my path." A wise friend once pointed out to me that a lamp unto your feet would only show you what was a couple of steps in front of you. Not the destination. Not the whole path. But just what was up next.

I reflect upon these facts that have been proven true time and time again in my life. Why does it always work that the second I give up on trying to figure it out on my own, that I finally realize I won't know, do I gain just enough clarity to step where I ought to be? I think it's God, knowing that if I knew all that He knew, I'd think I could do it on my own. That I would be arrogant enough to think I could get there without His guidance, without His help. I think the lack of knowing is Him watching out for me, knowing what is best, and taking care of me in ways only He could know how to. It strengthens my faith. It renews my longing for Him. My need for Him. My desperation for Him.

So I'm grateful not only for the direction, but the surprising ways He provides it.

"For some people, God will grant the insight to see that you have your sights set on the wrong thing, that the point of life is not really the goal or destination but the journey." -Kyle Lake, Understanding God's Will

Things I'm Thankful For...Part 1

In honor of Thanksgiving, and national blogging month that I just found out about (you're supposed to post each day in it's honor, who knew?) I've decided to post something I'm thankful for every day between now and Thanksgiving. Some will be funny and some will be serious. Thanksgiving always makes me reflective.



I am thankful for coffee. I know you're thinking "that's so trivial" or that I shouldn't be thankful for something I'm hopelessly addicted to that generally keeps me from sleep. But keep reading.

Coffee keeps me from being grumpy. It makes me peppy in the mornings. I couldn't do that on my own, and if you've never seen me after being stuck in Dallas gridlock on the way to school, believe me, it's a good thing.


But coffee is so much more than that. I think good things happen over coffee, while spending a warm summer night listening to the peaceful, muted sounds of crickets chirping in the background, giggling while talking about what life means to you now, and what it could mean to you in the weeks, months, and years to come.


Before I went to college, my mom and I spent many balmy summer evenings on the porch of the Starbucks I always went to in Arlington, sipping on grande java chip frappaccino lights double blended. She would listen to me talk in circles and calmly reassure me. I constantly rambled about how excited I was to move off and see what the future held, while I was terrified that nothing would ever be as good as life in Arlington had been. One night, we talked about how Starbucks had brought back the art of conversation. When you go to get coffee, there is nothing else to do but talk. About anything. About everything. About hopes, dreams and fears. About books. About life. With all of the luxuries we enjoy, simple conversation is something is often lost in a text message or while listening to an ipod.


So I am grateful for coffee, the relationships I have built over it, and the person I am becoming because of what can happen over a simple caffeinated beverage.

The Beginning of the Most Wonderful Time of the Year

I woke up to the whistling wind outside my window this morning. My dad had told me that the crispness of fall that I crave so much was to return today, after the unseasonably warm weather we have had for the past weeks. As I got ready to go to class, I thought "if it feels like Christmas, I'll listen to Christmas pandora." That made me grin. As I left to go to class, I was whipped by the wind and a shiver crept up my spine. When I got in my car, I thought, "if it feels like Christmas, the radio station should have started playing Christmas music." I pushed preset 3 twice... and Sleighride was on. It was the best discovery of Christmas music ever.

Live….
More than your neighbors.
Unleash yourself upon the world and go places.
Go now.
Giggle, no, laugh.
No…stay out past dark,
And bark at the moon like the wild dog that you are.
Understand that this is not a dress rehearsal,
This is it…your life.
Face your fears and live your dreams.
Take it all in.
Yes, every chance you get…
Come close.
And by all means, whatever you do…
Get it on film.
~John Blais, ALS patient

This has been an emotional week for me.

On Wednesday, my client at practicum did not show up (true story, she has been on vaca at Disney World for 3 weeks. Lucky girl.). Since she was absent, I was able to observe another grad student's therapy. Her client was a 45 year old woman with severe cognitive deficits. As sweet as the client is, it broke my heart to watch. She has been alive for 45 years, but she has never been blessed with the opportunity to really live. Her situation brought tears to my eyes. How tragic for her. Almost more so, how tragic for her parents, who never got to see their daughter grow in to something amazing, to accomplish her wildest dreams. To make mistakes, but to learn great lessons to share with others around her. To live.

Life. A blessing I'm determined to not take for granted.

Unending Hope

Hope is the thing with feathers That perches in the soul, And sings the tune--without the words, And never stops at all,
And sweetest in the gale is heard; And sore must be the storm That could abash the little bird That kept so many warm.
I've heard it in the chillest land, And on the strangest sea; Yet, never, in extremity, It asked a crumb of me.

What is hope? This is a question I've been asking myself a lot lately. I can't help but to reflect. To turn to experiences of myself and others.

In junior high, my grandfather was diagnosed with liver cancer. The doctors told us that it was the slowest growing form of cancer, but that they world know nothing more until they went in and did exploratory surgery. A random fact about the liver: If any portion of it is removed, it grows back as if nothing was wrong. So my family entered the surgery positively, knowing Grandpa would be OK. As the doctors went in, the tumors were far more numerous than they expected, and were located near to vital arteries. Removing the tumors was no longer an option. Chemo was not an option, as Grandpa was in his 70's. I remember hearing the news and my mom, grandma and I drove back to the hospital after eating Jason's Deli for lunch. My grandma burst into tears and hugged my dad harder than I've ever seen someone hug before. My chin quivered as tears streamed down my cheeks, and my mom squeezed my hand. The doctors said the cancer was unpredictable. They gave him anywhere from 3 months to 3 years to live. Did this stop Grandpa? Absolutely not. He had hope that if he didn't let the cancer defeat him, he could outlive the diagnosis. He drove to Cleburne, Texas, Commerce, Texas, Louisville, Kentucky and everywhere in between to see ALL of my volleyball games. My grandparents became the mascots of my cousin's soccer teams, as they never missed a game. Whether they wiped drops of sweat off of their foreheads during sweltering summer heat, or were chilled to the bone during blistery winter games, they never missed a game. 5 years after the initial diagnosis, my grandfather passed away. He had hope that he could make the most of his life he had left. Hope carried him through.

During this time, I took an honors English class in 7th grade. For our biggest project, we had to choose a word and research it. It's definition. It's origin. We, then, had to search for an article that described the word to us and a poem that symbolized the word's meaning. My word: Hope. The Emily Dickinson poem at the top was the poem that I chose. I still love the image of the bird. It continues to inspire me.

I continually come back to Psalm 51 in my daily quiet times. This psalm was written after David committed adultery with Bathsheba. He confesses to God, realizing that he cannot change his ways. That he has no power over sin in his life. But God does. This has been a lesson I've been learning lately. My hope to overcome sin is in God. I cannot do it on my own. But through God transforming my heart, changing me from the inside out, I can. He can.

What is hope? Hope is what helps us to press on. To know times will get better even when they are hard. To know that we were made for something higher. For something more. Hope is what pushes us through.

October was now

In high school, I was a full-fledged band nerd. Not only was I a member of the band, I was 110% into it. Section leader. First person at all of the band socials in my themed costume. I'll admit it, I even had my dad bring me to school an hour early in junior high so I could "practice" in the band hall, which actually meant eating pixie sticks wtih friends and figuring out who was making out in the practice room next to ours. This love for band grew in high school, and my love of band quickly extended to marching contests. I loved the first crispness of fall, and the fact that you finally didn't sweat in the wool uniforms. The rush you felt after you marched a perfect show. Spending all day with your best friends. Our band was competetive, and at the beginning of each competition season, someone would always write on the chalk board "October is NOW!" This was meant to scare all of us into practicing more and harder. For me, it simply brought feelings of bliss.

My love of October only continued throughout my years at Baylor. I adored football season, even though my team was terrible, and loved homecoming and the bustle that fall always brought. Fall break and weekends of relaxation amongst the busyness.

This October, as I adjusted to life as a quasi-adult slash grad student, I knew October would be different. This October brought midterms. I barely remember the month as I was cracked out on 4 cups of coffee, an energy beverage of some kind, and 3-6 hours of sleep each night as I crammed as much knowledge on Neurogenic Communication Disorders or Assessment and Intervention of Preschool and School-aged Language disorders into my head. I didn't feel like myself. It didn't feel like October. It has even brought about a feeling of semi-disgust towards coffee.

To try to counter this different October here in Plano, my roommate and I made several trecks to Waco. We had been reluctant to do this, knowing that Waco would be different not walking up the steps of 1701 S. 10th Street. We knew, however, that we needed to bite the bullet and go back sometime.

It's strange how leaving a place changes your view on it. I'll be the first to admit that, while in Waco, I complained about how boring it was. I thought it was slow, and that there was nothing to do (which there isn't, I still stick by that). Since I've been gone, however, I've grown to appreciate the pace of life in Waco. Life moves slower down there. People aren't in a hurry and aren't so stressed and fast paced. When you go to George's on Saturday night, you know it will take an hour and a half to get seated and eat, but no one gets worked up about that. You savor that time, soaking up time with the company you're eating with, watch parts of the Big-12 games on the TV's around you, and smile at the waitress as she brings you your food later. People appreciate each other's company because there is not as much to do.

It helps me to realize what life is about. People. Investing in them. Learning from each other. Laughing with them. Waco does that right. I appreciate that.

Maybe it wasn't October itself that I've always loved. Maybe it was treasured time with friends. Maybe it was simplicity. Maybe it's something that will return.

The Run

The humid, hazy morning air was heavy in my lungs. It pumped in and out as my legs started moving almost mechanically. "Little Secrets" by Passion Pit blasted through my headphones, my feet gliding in rhythm to the music. The sidewalk curved. Cars zoomed by stressfully rushing to work. My legs kept moving, determined to discover another great route. A route that would become my own, just as route in Arlington had.

Running is my release. It's the first thing I think to do as stress or change hits and upsets the certain schedule of my life. My run in Arlington has seen me through a lot. Breakups. Uncertainty about my future. Fights with those I love. Running clears my head. It's all I know to do when dealing with doubt.

I turned to avoid crossing a busy street, nervous that the frazzled drivers would not take pity on the runner. I saw businesses opening for the first time. I sprinted through the Plano West school zone to "Here it Goes Again" by OK Go. I came to a crossing of a street, and had a hunch that it would take me back to where I started. I checked my stopwatch. 14:53, a perfect halfway point. Although risky, I turned the corner and continued to jog.

I looked in awe of the mansions that surrounded me. Each house seemed to have it's own personality, all centrally plotted on a large, green plot of land. My legs continued their rhythmic movement, beginning to fatigue as "I Wanna Be Sedated" by The Ramones blarred on. This was my pace song. Perfect timing.

Afraid to look back at my stop watch, exhaustion crept up my body, starting in my toes and creeping up through my thighs and into my back. The intersecting street that would take me to my car was no where in sight. The road curved. Deep down, I had a feeling I wasn't sprinting astray, but I just wasn't sure. "Keep running, 2 more songs" I told myself.

I was out of breath. My lungs started to ache as they gasped for air. I was ready to give up. The synthesizer of "Sweet Disposition" by The Temper Trap started. And then I saw it. The intersection. The stoplight. Park. A smile started to form on my face. I doubted, but I knew it would be ok.

My life feels like this run. A lot. I'm running on the trail of life, praying that I'm following Him. In His will. That His will rule my life, not my own. I turn, feeling that He wants me to. And then I doubt. I wonder if this is really it. I get tired. But just as I think I'm wrong, I'm ready to turn back, and I wonder why I turned in the first place, I see that intersection. I get to the street I know I'm going to. And I realize that if I focused just a little more on my faith and a little less on my doubt, life would be ok. Life would be more enjoyable. He will lead me where He needs me to go.

This semester, my practicum assignment is to work with adults. On Wednesdays, I work with adults with developmental disabilities. It's basically like working with hormonal 8 year olds. They make for some chuckles, but that's for another entry.

On Fridays, I work with older adults that have suffered from strokes or other neurogenic problems. It's a couple of hours of sitting and listening to the stories and wisdom that the older people have to share. We talk about life before their strokes, and play a lot of bingo. I don't feel like it is a population I will work with when I start my career, but it is an experience, nonetheless.

Yesterday, in our large group, we talked about jobs. First jobs, careers, and jobs that we wished we had chosen to work at. The last discussion was the most interesting. As each man or woman shared what they would have done with their lives if they could go back and change things, I noticed one key thing: most all involved helping people and persuing passions that has been suppressed a long time ago. One man wished he had been a history teacher so he could be a positive male role model for teenagers. Another's first job had been at Red Lobster, and he wished he could open a breakfast resteraunt, since his passion was cooking. Another had been an engineer up until the time of his accident, and couldn't see himself doing anything else. As I become an adult, I realize how rare that is, to find your passion and persue it wholeheartedly.

The most memorable, for me, was a lady who wished she had been a writer. She wanted to write commedy novels so she could make people smile. I suggested she should start a blog. I think the suggestion was partially to myself, as I shared that I would major in English so I would have an excuse to read classics, write, and teach or go to seminary. Maybe that's why I have a blog. As a creative outlet.

Can you persue it all? Can you help people while persuing other passions as well? Or is wishing and wondering what would have been if you had done something else inevitable? I think it's interesting that you won't ever know.

Hello, Autumn

September begins.

In nature, fall seems depressing. Leaves fall. Plants die. The world grows cold for winter.

Not for me. To me, fall brings a certain comfort few other things can bring.

The clean-start and joy of yet another semester. My next to last fall of school. Ever.

Crisp, cool, refreshing runs that cleanse both my mind and my body.

Football. Professional and college. Need I say more?

Thanksgiving. Precious family and friends. Remembering the uncountable blessings that have been showered upon me.

The predictability, the comfort of fall are more welcome this year than ever. As I adjust to life after college, even the little things that can be expected and planned for serve as anchors. They solidify that I will adjust. That life goes on for us all, myself included. That the beautiful colors of fall can continue to color my life, even though I'm not in Waco.

So, Welcome Autumn. I'm glad you're here.

Regret. To feel sorrow or remorse for. A feeling that has never reared it's horrific head into my happy life. Until lately. This summer, regret has built in my life like a dripping faucet that builds enough to fill an entire tub.

I've never understood regret. It's never made sense. The past is in the past. There is no changing it, only learning from it and moving forward. But once it seeps in, it's hard to make it stop. The "what if's" just keep flowing. You can't help but think about it.

I have a peace. I know it will be ok. It's just hard not to wonder how things could be different.

Will I have another chance? Will I be able to fix it?

...I guess these questions keep life interesting.

Oh Crazy Grandma...

I have a very funny family. We all have definite personalities. We all come on strong. We are all a lot of fun. The best of the group is my grandma Joyce, who we have dubbed as crazy grandma. She rightfully earned this title when she informed us that there were condom machines in bathrooms at clubs, and that the young people were telling each other to "C U Next Tuesday." You get the picture. A family meal is simply not complete without crazy grandma interjecting with some random yet completely amusing and shocking fact and/or story. We love her and this fact because she always makes family time more fun.

Tonight was my sister's birthday and family dinner at Joe T. Garcia's. Crazy grandma came and shared. The highlights are as follows:

"I tried to apply for a job at Hooters, but they told me I was too old..." (After I said that Hooters has good hotdogs and that I used to go with some guy friends in Arlington)

"I've got blackjack hustler the game on my phone. Look at the boobs on that girl. Is she hot or what?" (In the car on the way to my house in reference to the cartoon character on the screen of Blackjack Hustler)

"Now that I've got a scar on my knee, I'll have to stop my pole dancing. The men will have to find new entertainment at the bachelor parties." (In reference to having 12 staples removed from her knee last week)

Gotta love family. :)

She thinks. A lot. It’s not necessarily a bad thing. She wonders. She hopes. She dreams of what is to come. As grounded and trusting as she is in her faith, she can’t help but to wonder how it will all turn out. She’s made mistakes. A lot of them. She has regrets, but just a few. She wonder s how life could be different with the slightest change. But as much as she worries and as much as she wonders, something starts to happen. A new feeling creeps up her spine, around her neck, and to her face. Sort of like the feeling you get when you see someone you haven’t seen in an eternity. It’s hard to describe. But she sees rays of sparkling hope. She begins to realize that it is all bigger than her. And thinking of that, she can’t help but to smile.

Just now, I was having my quiet time. As always, I opened with prayer, asking the Lord to bless the few short minutes I dedicate solely to Him when he deserves so much more than that. Into my prayer crept the line "Help me to be quiet and listen."

I fill my prayers with mindless banter, asking God for miniscule things that, in all reality, are worthless. I use my talks with the Creator of the Universe to ask for things that I want, when He who can do "immeasurably more than we could imagine" takes time to speak to me. My words seem worthless. It was humbling.

Maybe that's why I starting blogging. So my surface level chitchat could leak out here.

"He always dreamed of the becoming, never the being"- F. Scott Fitzgerald

F. Scott Fitzgerald wrote this about the hero of his autobiographical book, This Side of Paradise. As I read this, I was mesmerized by Fitzgerald's words. In life, my own especially, I feel like we are always growing, yet striving to get to a certain point. As an anxious seventeen year old, it's making it to college, and thinking that in college life will be grand. Life will be perfect. As a single twentysomething, it is marriage. If only that goal could be achieved, things would be better. For overweight people, it's getting rid of that last twenty pounds. As I grow older and learn more, I'm realizing that with each goal achieved, each new point that is reached, we always want something more. There is always something else that we reach out for. This isn't a bad thing, it is, in fact, human nature and something that is to be treasured, I've come to realize. If one ever becomes stagnant or stops changing, growing and becoming, it seems as if they have achieved perfection. Outside of Christ, this simply not possible. This is, I think, something to be feared. If I ever stop changing, stop becoming and simply begin being, I will be terrified. The becoming keeps things exciting. The becoming makes each of us better. The becoming makes us more of who we are and were created to be.