So after about three days of vicious rain, I had nearly forgotten what the sun looked like. On Saturday my mother and I had to slosh through our flooded backyard and try to clear some drains, because the water was starting to find its way into the house. The basement is constantly under at least three inches of water, and we've lost lots of books. I've also lost old photos as well. And while I was upset last night to go down there and find my photo album and another box of pictures floating around in the wet, I have to admit I was intrigued to see that a box of colored pencils had also fallen into the water, and since they were watercolor pencils too, the water around them was beautifully spotted with pretty colors. I don't know if the pencils will be any good or not once they've dried out, but at least they had that one shining moment of glory.
But anyway, the sun is out today and I'm happy because of it. I love the sun. I also love chili, which my mom made last night. It was delicious.
I'm not as happy about the fact that I have a writing deadline today at noon and I am procrastinating (as usual). The article is all written, except for a catchy paragraph at the beginning. I know you are supposed to try and "hook" readers into reading what you've written, but it's hard when your subject is a local drycleaning business. Writer's block looms. Sigh...
I'm also not happy that my blogs have not been very funny lately. I wonder if I've lost my sense of humor? I hope not. I don't think so though. If I had, I would have beat up my co-worker for calling me a Jesus freak the other day, but I didn't. I just threw my Bible at his head and laughed merrily as it knocked him out cold.
Oh wait, I didn't do that, either. Dang. That might have been kind of funny, actually.
Tuesday, January 11, 2005
Sunday, January 09, 2005
I Am Not The Center Of The Universe
The other day I was telling my mother a story about something that had made me angry. The point of the story was to highlight the surprisingly mature way I handled the situation...I was very proud of the fact that I had prayed over it, and waited until I was in a proper frame of mind, rather than simply losing my temper and doing or saying something utterly ridiculous, as I would normally be inclined to do.
Well, as I related my saga to my mother, making sure to dwell on how incredibly spiritual I had been (for once!), I noticed that she had a strange look on her face. Sort of like she wanted to laugh, but was afraid of offending me. Finally I said, "What, do you think I was being unreasonable to be upset about this thing in the first place?" She hesitated a moment, then with a tiny smile said, "Well, you do have a tendency to be a irrational and think that you are the center of the universe."
Thanks, Mom. And God, for keeping me humble--I guess!
Of course, my mom is right. I absolutely do have both of those tendencies, though I think I've recognized it and am making efforts to change. But it's never pleasant to be confronted with the flaws that others see in you--that is, to realize that you haven't really hidden those flaws half as well as you had thought.
You know, it's a good thing God is the patient type--especially since I am not. I get so frustrated at how incredibly slow I am at learning His lessons. I'm also glad that He knows how to love WAY better than I do. A friend sent me a quote one time when I was going through some rough stuff, and it did wonders for my soul, so I will share it with you:
We please [God] most not by frantically trying to make ourselves good, but by throwing ourselves into his arms with all our imperfections, and believing that he understands everything and loves us still. --A.W. Tozer, The Knowledge of the Holy
It's not easy for me to believe that God really loves me like that, but I'm getting there. He has never given me any reason to doubt it, but trust doesn't come easy for me, I'm sorry to say. I have a feeling that most of us would say the same thing. But as I allow myself to trust more and more in His love, I find that transformation becomes just a little bit easier. I find that I want to change, to be a better person. I want to make God smile.
Well, here's looking forward to the day when Love finally turns the frogg into a princess--for real.
God is love. I John 4:8b
Well, as I related my saga to my mother, making sure to dwell on how incredibly spiritual I had been (for once!), I noticed that she had a strange look on her face. Sort of like she wanted to laugh, but was afraid of offending me. Finally I said, "What, do you think I was being unreasonable to be upset about this thing in the first place?" She hesitated a moment, then with a tiny smile said, "Well, you do have a tendency to be a irrational and think that you are the center of the universe."
Thanks, Mom. And God, for keeping me humble--I guess!
Of course, my mom is right. I absolutely do have both of those tendencies, though I think I've recognized it and am making efforts to change. But it's never pleasant to be confronted with the flaws that others see in you--that is, to realize that you haven't really hidden those flaws half as well as you had thought.
You know, it's a good thing God is the patient type--especially since I am not. I get so frustrated at how incredibly slow I am at learning His lessons. I'm also glad that He knows how to love WAY better than I do. A friend sent me a quote one time when I was going through some rough stuff, and it did wonders for my soul, so I will share it with you:
We please [God] most not by frantically trying to make ourselves good, but by throwing ourselves into his arms with all our imperfections, and believing that he understands everything and loves us still. --A.W. Tozer, The Knowledge of the Holy
It's not easy for me to believe that God really loves me like that, but I'm getting there. He has never given me any reason to doubt it, but trust doesn't come easy for me, I'm sorry to say. I have a feeling that most of us would say the same thing. But as I allow myself to trust more and more in His love, I find that transformation becomes just a little bit easier. I find that I want to change, to be a better person. I want to make God smile.
Well, here's looking forward to the day when Love finally turns the frogg into a princess--for real.
God is love. I John 4:8b
Saturday, January 08, 2005
No Sleep For Me
Ok, I would just like to draw your attention to the time of this post. See it, down there near the bottom of the text? Yes, it is 4.30 in the morning and I am awake. I have been awake since about 3.45. I think this time I know why I woke up so early. The heater was on pretty high when I went to bed, and I woke up absolutely roasting. Then I couldn't fall back asleep. Then I started to hear noises in the house. Then I smelled the terribly pungent smell of skunk. The smell got worse and worse, til I actually couldn't breathe. I remembered my dad saying last night that we have skunks living under the house. I am starting to wonder if they have found their way INTO the house. Maybe that's the noises I hear. My eyes are practically watering, the stench is so bad. I had to get up a few minutes ago and smear White Tea Scented Body Lotion all around my nose, so that now I can smell White Tea and skunk. Blech.
Sometimes when I wake up early in the morning like this and can't get back to sleep, I try to pray for friends and family and whoever else may come to mind. Tonight all I can pray is, "GOD PLEASE HELP ME SLEEP!!!!"
Oh yes, and also, "GET RID OF THE SKUNKS!" Or at least just make them stop smelling so bad.
Sometimes when I wake up early in the morning like this and can't get back to sleep, I try to pray for friends and family and whoever else may come to mind. Tonight all I can pray is, "GOD PLEASE HELP ME SLEEP!!!!"
Oh yes, and also, "GET RID OF THE SKUNKS!" Or at least just make them stop smelling so bad.
Friday, January 07, 2005
Insomnia Jones
Confession time again:
Hi, my name is grackyfrogg and I am an insomniac.
Ok, well, I don't know if I am clinically an insomniac. All I know is that, no matter how late I go to bed, it will take me at least an hour, sometimes two or more, to fall asleep. Last night I fell asleep a bit easier, but then I woke up suddenly at 3am and couldn't fall asleep again for awhile. Why? Who knows?? It's a mystery.
It's been like this for the past year and a half. That's a lot of sleep to miss out on, let me tell you. And I dearly love sleep, as I've mentioned before, which makes my sad situation all the more difficult.
But on the plus side, with all that time lying awake staring at the ceiling, you have plenty to think about. For instance, last night I thought about the final scene in the movie Indiana Jones and the Last Crusade. (If you have not seen the movie, and don't want the ending spoiled, skip the rest of this paragraph.) You know, where the German Doctor Glamor-Girl gives the wrong grail to the Evil American Nazi Guy and he drinks from it, after which he experiences aging, death, and decay in a remarkably accelerated (and disgusting) manner. He figures out that something is wrong before he starts turning into a skeleton, so he grabs her around the throat as his death throes begin, and she is face to face with the horrible sight of his eyeballs falling back into his sockets, his tongue shriveling up, his skin turning to leather, then burned paper, then falling off his body, and his hands becoming nothing more than clattering bones around her neck, before he crumbles into dusty bits.
Specifically what I was thinking last night (actually early this morning) was this: If that happened to me--I mean if I were in the girl's place--I would never be the same. I'm sure I would spend the rest of my days wandering around in a snug-fitting white jacket with a vacant stare while I tried to say things like, "The clock in the sky turned purple on Monday." Or maybe, "Arhaguahagavbnh." Maybe I would just drool and laugh.
Do you ever think of things like that?
Hi, my name is grackyfrogg and I am an insomniac.
Ok, well, I don't know if I am clinically an insomniac. All I know is that, no matter how late I go to bed, it will take me at least an hour, sometimes two or more, to fall asleep. Last night I fell asleep a bit easier, but then I woke up suddenly at 3am and couldn't fall asleep again for awhile. Why? Who knows?? It's a mystery.
It's been like this for the past year and a half. That's a lot of sleep to miss out on, let me tell you. And I dearly love sleep, as I've mentioned before, which makes my sad situation all the more difficult.
But on the plus side, with all that time lying awake staring at the ceiling, you have plenty to think about. For instance, last night I thought about the final scene in the movie Indiana Jones and the Last Crusade. (If you have not seen the movie, and don't want the ending spoiled, skip the rest of this paragraph.) You know, where the German Doctor Glamor-Girl gives the wrong grail to the Evil American Nazi Guy and he drinks from it, after which he experiences aging, death, and decay in a remarkably accelerated (and disgusting) manner. He figures out that something is wrong before he starts turning into a skeleton, so he grabs her around the throat as his death throes begin, and she is face to face with the horrible sight of his eyeballs falling back into his sockets, his tongue shriveling up, his skin turning to leather, then burned paper, then falling off his body, and his hands becoming nothing more than clattering bones around her neck, before he crumbles into dusty bits.
Specifically what I was thinking last night (actually early this morning) was this: If that happened to me--I mean if I were in the girl's place--I would never be the same. I'm sure I would spend the rest of my days wandering around in a snug-fitting white jacket with a vacant stare while I tried to say things like, "The clock in the sky turned purple on Monday." Or maybe, "Arhaguahagavbnh." Maybe I would just drool and laugh.
Do you ever think of things like that?
Thursday, January 06, 2005
The Birds of New Zealand
I was driving in New Zealand once, on the way back to the little town of Oxford, where I was staying. I had just been on a week-long tour of the top of the South Island, and was looking forward to returning "home." The drive was long and winding, through lovely fields, woods, and mountains, and I was enjoying myself when suddenly a bird flew in front of me and I hit it.
I couldn't believe it. I didn't think it was possible to hit a bird with a car--they always get out of the way here in the States, at least in California. They are very street savvy. Not so in New Zealand, where there are far less cars on the road.
Well, needless to say, hitting the bird put a major damper on my mood. The worst part about it was the fact that I had just been admiring the flight of a hawk over a field, and thinking how much I love to watch birds in flight. Then I hit one and probably killed it with my car. Talk about irony. Talk about depressing!
I actually saw dead birds fairly frequently on the roads in New Zealand. Another time I was driving with friends on the North Island. Jay was driving, and I was in the passenger seat, while Jay's wife Erin slept in the back seat. It was a gloomy gray day. Suddenly this big bird, some sort of heron-like creature, flies right in front of the car. KaTHUNK! Jay hit it. Hard.
We were both stunned. Erin didn't wake up. Jay and I looked at each other with wide eyes. "Whoa," one of us said. "Yeah," the other said.
Five very quiet minutes later, Jay whispered, "I think it's still stuck to the front of the car."
"What?" said Erin, popping up suddenly in the back seat. "What happened? Did you hit something?"
In spite of my horror at what we had done, I had to laugh. Erin's waking up was so unexpected. She was sad when we told her about the bird though.
Thankfully, when we stopped for gas, we did not find the bird still attached to the car. That would really have been too much. Strangely enough, however, I remember a girl in the first creative writing class I ever took, reading her essay about a trip she took to New Zealand, in which she (surprise) hits a bird, but doesn't find out til she stops somewhere and comes around to the front, and there it is, stuck by the beak right into the grille. Eeeew.
All this talk about New Zealand is making me miss it terribly. I don't miss killing birds, of course. But I miss very much the long, beautiful drives through some of the most amazing landscapes I have ever seen, or ever expect to. I miss Bethels Beach, and the little German cafe in Titirangi. I miss the drive from Kaikoura to Blenheim, along the South Island's east coast. I miss the gorge that I can't remember the name of, between Auckland and Tauranga. I miss the kiwi accent, which I could never quite imitate properly. I miss Thai chicken hot pies from the BP (weird, I know).
I've definitely left my heart in San Francisco in some ways--but I'll tell you what, New Zealand got a pretty big piece of it too.
I couldn't believe it. I didn't think it was possible to hit a bird with a car--they always get out of the way here in the States, at least in California. They are very street savvy. Not so in New Zealand, where there are far less cars on the road.
Well, needless to say, hitting the bird put a major damper on my mood. The worst part about it was the fact that I had just been admiring the flight of a hawk over a field, and thinking how much I love to watch birds in flight. Then I hit one and probably killed it with my car. Talk about irony. Talk about depressing!
I actually saw dead birds fairly frequently on the roads in New Zealand. Another time I was driving with friends on the North Island. Jay was driving, and I was in the passenger seat, while Jay's wife Erin slept in the back seat. It was a gloomy gray day. Suddenly this big bird, some sort of heron-like creature, flies right in front of the car. KaTHUNK! Jay hit it. Hard.
We were both stunned. Erin didn't wake up. Jay and I looked at each other with wide eyes. "Whoa," one of us said. "Yeah," the other said.
Five very quiet minutes later, Jay whispered, "I think it's still stuck to the front of the car."
"What?" said Erin, popping up suddenly in the back seat. "What happened? Did you hit something?"
In spite of my horror at what we had done, I had to laugh. Erin's waking up was so unexpected. She was sad when we told her about the bird though.
Thankfully, when we stopped for gas, we did not find the bird still attached to the car. That would really have been too much. Strangely enough, however, I remember a girl in the first creative writing class I ever took, reading her essay about a trip she took to New Zealand, in which she (surprise) hits a bird, but doesn't find out til she stops somewhere and comes around to the front, and there it is, stuck by the beak right into the grille. Eeeew.
All this talk about New Zealand is making me miss it terribly. I don't miss killing birds, of course. But I miss very much the long, beautiful drives through some of the most amazing landscapes I have ever seen, or ever expect to. I miss Bethels Beach, and the little German cafe in Titirangi. I miss the drive from Kaikoura to Blenheim, along the South Island's east coast. I miss the gorge that I can't remember the name of, between Auckland and Tauranga. I miss the kiwi accent, which I could never quite imitate properly. I miss Thai chicken hot pies from the BP (weird, I know).
I've definitely left my heart in San Francisco in some ways--but I'll tell you what, New Zealand got a pretty big piece of it too.
Wednesday, January 05, 2005
She Wants A Ticket To Ride!
The cowgirl leaves tomorrow for a snowboarding trip and I'm jealous. I haven't gone once this season! Well, that must soon be remedied. I got money for Christmas to put toward snowboarding, yay!!!
I remember one time going snowboarding with my friends Mark and steveforpresident. At the time, they were both much better than I was at the sport (actually, I'm sure they still are). I was still learning, and I had a crappy board too, which was about a mile too short for me. But I had been gradually improving that season, so on this trip (to Kirkwood, on the south side of Lake Tahoe), I was determined to try and keep up with them instead of just sending them off to enjoy themselves while I practiced falling a lot by myself, which is what I usually had to do.
Somehow they convinced me that I was good enough to tackle a black-diamond run. I wasn't entirely sure, but I was feeling kinda-sorta confident so I said ok. Standing in line for the lift, I noticed the name of the run, which was something comforting like "The Wall" or perhaps it was "Face of Death." I do remember very clearly a sign with a skull and crossbones. I began to feel nervous, but the boys assured me there was nothing to fear.
At the top of the lift, things got off to a bad start when I nearly ran steveforpresident off the side of a cliff. Well, it wasn't actually a cliff, but he reacted as if it were. (Men!) He didn't let me forget about it for the rest of the day. Anyway, after that, we all looked down at the run, which was completely covered in moguls. That may be fun for a skier, but for a snowboarder--at least a novice one like myself at the time--it's a bit less than desirable. I don't remember how I managed to negotiate my way down the face, but it took quite awhile and involved scooting along on my butt at least half of the time. Mark was very patient and waited for me at the bottom of the mogul section, then took off ahead of me down the rest of the run. I don't know where steveforpresident was. I think he was still miffed about his "brush with death", and had left us both behind.
Too bad he didn't stick around, he might have almost seen the payback. Mark was ahead of me and suddenly veered up the side of a hill, turning and waving at me to do the same. I did, just in time to avoid going over a cliff (a real one!) myself.
Ah, good times with the boys. I'm trying to remember if it was that same trip when we all went to a bar&grill for dinner and got accosted by a bunch of drunk women at a bachelorette party. Apparently they were on a scavenger hunt, and one of the things they had to get was a phone number of a Tom, Dick, and Harry. They asked Mark and steveforpresident if they were any of those. They said no. Then they asked me. That is, they asked a GIRL if she was a Tom, Dick, or Harry. (Please note that this is not a good way of making a woman feel good about herself, asking her if she is, in name at least, a man.) I stared at the girl who asked, but she was either too drunk or too carried away by the fun of the game to notice my look of stunned amazement. I said "no." She looked disappointed.
Anyway I hope to get up to the slopes sometime next week. I'm sure I'll have more fun snowboarding stories to tell when I do!
I remember one time going snowboarding with my friends Mark and steveforpresident. At the time, they were both much better than I was at the sport (actually, I'm sure they still are). I was still learning, and I had a crappy board too, which was about a mile too short for me. But I had been gradually improving that season, so on this trip (to Kirkwood, on the south side of Lake Tahoe), I was determined to try and keep up with them instead of just sending them off to enjoy themselves while I practiced falling a lot by myself, which is what I usually had to do.
Somehow they convinced me that I was good enough to tackle a black-diamond run. I wasn't entirely sure, but I was feeling kinda-sorta confident so I said ok. Standing in line for the lift, I noticed the name of the run, which was something comforting like "The Wall" or perhaps it was "Face of Death." I do remember very clearly a sign with a skull and crossbones. I began to feel nervous, but the boys assured me there was nothing to fear.
At the top of the lift, things got off to a bad start when I nearly ran steveforpresident off the side of a cliff. Well, it wasn't actually a cliff, but he reacted as if it were. (Men!) He didn't let me forget about it for the rest of the day. Anyway, after that, we all looked down at the run, which was completely covered in moguls. That may be fun for a skier, but for a snowboarder--at least a novice one like myself at the time--it's a bit less than desirable. I don't remember how I managed to negotiate my way down the face, but it took quite awhile and involved scooting along on my butt at least half of the time. Mark was very patient and waited for me at the bottom of the mogul section, then took off ahead of me down the rest of the run. I don't know where steveforpresident was. I think he was still miffed about his "brush with death", and had left us both behind.
Too bad he didn't stick around, he might have almost seen the payback. Mark was ahead of me and suddenly veered up the side of a hill, turning and waving at me to do the same. I did, just in time to avoid going over a cliff (a real one!) myself.
Ah, good times with the boys. I'm trying to remember if it was that same trip when we all went to a bar&grill for dinner and got accosted by a bunch of drunk women at a bachelorette party. Apparently they were on a scavenger hunt, and one of the things they had to get was a phone number of a Tom, Dick, and Harry. They asked Mark and steveforpresident if they were any of those. They said no. Then they asked me. That is, they asked a GIRL if she was a Tom, Dick, or Harry. (Please note that this is not a good way of making a woman feel good about herself, asking her if she is, in name at least, a man.) I stared at the girl who asked, but she was either too drunk or too carried away by the fun of the game to notice my look of stunned amazement. I said "no." She looked disappointed.
Anyway I hope to get up to the slopes sometime next week. I'm sure I'll have more fun snowboarding stories to tell when I do!
Sunday, January 02, 2005
Welcome to Frogg Files 2005
Well, the new year is here, and I want to say welcome to the 2005 edition of the frogg files! I hope you all had some good times over the holidays. I know I did.
And whatever you did for New Year's Eve, I don't know if it can compare to my own surreal experience, of travelling through three states by car (Ohio, Indiana, and Illinois), then hopping on a plane in Chicago, stopping in Vegas (which wins the frogg's award for most awkwardly laid-out airport EVER), and finally landing in Los Angeles at 8pm, where I discovered that my luggage had been lost. After putting in my claim, I was whisked away to a little New Year's get-together at the house of a friend of my brother's, where I didn't really know anyone but I didn't care because at least I wasn't being a hermit at home. The fun didn't stop there: after about an hour of sitting around and playing Catch-phrase, we all got restless and walked up the street a few blocks to a little bar/pub which was ringing in the New Year karaoke-style. Of course my brothers both got in on the act, singing "Oh What A Night" to the delight of oh-so-many drunk people, including this random woman who seemed totally enamored of the handsome young studs and took more pictures of them than I did, even though I am their sister and she doesn't know them from Adam. At least, not that I am aware of. Hmmm. In general, though, our group was louder and more obnoxious than anyone else in the bar, even though we were sober.
But the good times were all sort of tempered for me by the remembrance of the tragedy in Asia, which I still can't get my head around. It seems to unreal, so far away, so...impossible. As a Christian, I am troubled knowing that many people out there are asking the big "why" questions, and I can't answer them. I don't know why God lets these things happen. All I know is that when people asked Jesus about a tragedy that happened in their time, his answer was another question:, "If it happened to you, would you be ready? Are you prepared to stand in front of God?" I guess in the end that's the only question that really matters, because death is the one inevitable "given" in this crazy little thing called life (and taxes, of course).
You know, I would never pretend that God's ways make sense, because often they don't. At least not to me. I just know I love Him, and since when do you have to understand everything about someone to love them? He's shown Himself faithful to me in far more ways than I have shown myself faithful to Him. I know tragedies wait for me in my own life--there is no way around it; not if I live on this earth, not if I'm human. I'd be lying if I said this didn't scare me, but that's why I'd rather face those days with God at my side than without Him, because I know that He is "close to the broken-hearted and saves those who are crushed in spirit." (Psalm 34:18)
I saw a video clip in church today, which showed a guy saying unequivocally, "There is no question: there is no God." I can understand how people would feel like that, especially after the events of the past week. But it's a dangerously presumptive statement to make. Just as there is no way to prove the existence of God, there is surely no way to prove His non-existence. The question remains, and it's up to each one of us to seek for the answer.
So welcome to 2005, kids. My prayer: that God grant you the desires of your heart--even the unspoken ones. But above all, may you come to know Him if you haven't already, or know Him more if you have.
Seek and you shall find.--Matthew 7:7
And whatever you did for New Year's Eve, I don't know if it can compare to my own surreal experience, of travelling through three states by car (Ohio, Indiana, and Illinois), then hopping on a plane in Chicago, stopping in Vegas (which wins the frogg's award for most awkwardly laid-out airport EVER), and finally landing in Los Angeles at 8pm, where I discovered that my luggage had been lost. After putting in my claim, I was whisked away to a little New Year's get-together at the house of a friend of my brother's, where I didn't really know anyone but I didn't care because at least I wasn't being a hermit at home. The fun didn't stop there: after about an hour of sitting around and playing Catch-phrase, we all got restless and walked up the street a few blocks to a little bar/pub which was ringing in the New Year karaoke-style. Of course my brothers both got in on the act, singing "Oh What A Night" to the delight of oh-so-many drunk people, including this random woman who seemed totally enamored of the handsome young studs and took more pictures of them than I did, even though I am their sister and she doesn't know them from Adam. At least, not that I am aware of. Hmmm. In general, though, our group was louder and more obnoxious than anyone else in the bar, even though we were sober.
But the good times were all sort of tempered for me by the remembrance of the tragedy in Asia, which I still can't get my head around. It seems to unreal, so far away, so...impossible. As a Christian, I am troubled knowing that many people out there are asking the big "why" questions, and I can't answer them. I don't know why God lets these things happen. All I know is that when people asked Jesus about a tragedy that happened in their time, his answer was another question:, "If it happened to you, would you be ready? Are you prepared to stand in front of God?" I guess in the end that's the only question that really matters, because death is the one inevitable "given" in this crazy little thing called life (and taxes, of course).
You know, I would never pretend that God's ways make sense, because often they don't. At least not to me. I just know I love Him, and since when do you have to understand everything about someone to love them? He's shown Himself faithful to me in far more ways than I have shown myself faithful to Him. I know tragedies wait for me in my own life--there is no way around it; not if I live on this earth, not if I'm human. I'd be lying if I said this didn't scare me, but that's why I'd rather face those days with God at my side than without Him, because I know that He is "close to the broken-hearted and saves those who are crushed in spirit." (Psalm 34:18)
I saw a video clip in church today, which showed a guy saying unequivocally, "There is no question: there is no God." I can understand how people would feel like that, especially after the events of the past week. But it's a dangerously presumptive statement to make. Just as there is no way to prove the existence of God, there is surely no way to prove His non-existence. The question remains, and it's up to each one of us to seek for the answer.
So welcome to 2005, kids. My prayer: that God grant you the desires of your heart--even the unspoken ones. But above all, may you come to know Him if you haven't already, or know Him more if you have.
Seek and you shall find.--Matthew 7:7
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