Sunday, August 28, 2011

Oh Lord, My Redeemer

I've had this song stuck in my head for, like, ever... :)

And the Roman soldiers laughed,
as they saw their prisoner stumble
He did not revile them back,
wondering I asked who was this man so humble
And the woman by my side,
choked on her reply,
as she struggled not to weep
The tears flowed down her cheeks,
her heart breaking as she cried

Oh Lord my Redeemer,
thou has done so much for me
Oh Lord my Redeemer,
all my love I give to thee

Then the crowd went pushing on,
and I felt compelled to follow
I knew that they were wrong,
but they mocked Him all along
Suddenly my heart felt hollow,
for they nailed Him to a tree
On a hill called Calvary,
as I stood there filled with wonder
The Heavens roared with thunder,
and again I heard this plea

Oh Lord my Redeemer,
thou has done so much for me
Oh Lord my Redeemer,
all my love I give to thee

I could not forget his face,
and I wandered from that place
With the questions ever burning and each answer came with grace
And I knelt in earnest prayer,
and his memory still there
In the morning I felt joy beyond compare

And the day turned into three,
morning found me in a garden
The gentle April breeze returned me to my knees
Pleading for a pardon,
and I can’t say when or why

You opened up my eyes,
his feet were there before
His hands were open o’er me,
His face I recognized

Oh Lord my Redeemer,
thou has done so much for me
Oh Lord my Redeemer,
all my love I give to thee


Friday, July 8, 2011

~life~

Life's a funny thing, so is what people say. I've been told many times that I'm awesome and that I'm sweet and all these other really nice things. I can't help but wonder, though...if I'm really all these good things that people keep telling me I am (without me asking, by the way), then why is it that no one seems to want me around? For example, the other day one of my facebook friends asked if anyone wanted to go somewhere with him/her. I asked for more details and was completely ignored. Last summer, my other friend would talk to me about things as if I had been there, when in reality he/she had forgotten to invite me. When I go places with people, mutual friends/family will greet, hug, etc the person/people I'm with, and barely glance at me. Stuff like this happens to me ALL the time. I can't help but wonder that if I'm half as epic as people claim that I am, why is there a difference between the way people describe me and the way people actually treat me? I mean, I understand that people occasionally forget, but it feels like more than people just forgetting. Am I the only one who feels this way or does everyone go through this?

good times

I was teaching primary in my ward last Sunday; the topic was how we can all be missionaries. The lesson suggested that I, the teacher, bring in a guest speaker who served a mission and have them talk about being a missionary. I decided to bring in some full-time missionaries and have them talk about how we as members can help them do their job. When I actually got to primary, it was only me and a kid who's family just moved into our ward. The missionaries and I told this cutie about missionary work and asked him questions and stuff. At one point, I told this kid, "I love how smart you are," because he was giving us some really good answers and asking some really good questions. He then told me something to the effect of, "Yeah, people are surprised sometimes at how smart I am cuz I'm only just a kid." Toward the end of the lesson, the elders gave him a couple pass-along cards to give out, and he was SOOOOO EXCITED to make friends and give the cards to them. I told him that when he gave them away, if he wanted more he could ask any missionary for some because they have a bunch more in the trunk of their car, and he got even more excited. It was pretty epic. Good times in primary. :)

Thursday, July 7, 2011

duct tape and jury duty

I was biking to class this morning (I'm taking statistics at DVC...2 more weeks left!) and realized that I hadn't packed breakfast. I thought that since I was going to be late anyway, I might as well stop by 7-eleven really quick and grab something. I ended up being almost 30 minutes late to class, but was able to catch up quickly. Class is almost 3 hours long, 7:30 to 10:20, and we always take a break around 9:00. On my break, I turned in this prerequisite form thing and a copy of my unofficial transcript to DVC so I can enroll in this one English class in the fall, and the lady enrolled me in it right on the spot. I'm #1 on the wait list! This means that as long as I pass the stat class I'm currently in, the English class in the fall, and also the physics class I'm taking in the fall, I'll have my Associate's degree! :D :D :D

On my way home, I needed to use the bathroom kind of badly, so I stopped by this one family in Pleasant Hill 2nd Ward's house (they gave me, this one boy, and their 2 sons who were in seminary with me rides from seminary to school) and used their bathroom, talked to the mom, thanked her again for letting me use their bathroom, and she told me that she's glad that I know that I can come there. :)

When I went to leave, my bike sounded weird when I moved it. I looked down at my bike and realized that my back tire was flat. I walked toward home and tried to be fast because Brother Peers was gonna come over at 11:30 to pick up at least one of my family names and take him through an endowment session tonight. I knew Brother Peers had other places to be after he picked one of my ancestors up, so I didn't want to keep him waiting. While I was walking, 4 bikers stopped/asked me if I needed help, which made me feel good.

I ended up getting a ride part way home from this elderly couple in my ward who live near me and got home about 11:40 and hoped that I hadn't missed Brother Peers, that he was just running late or something. I then took the back tire of my bike off and apart. I realized that the problem was that the 2 patches I put on a couple months ago weren't holding anymore. I ended up putting 4 more patches on before the air stopped leaking, went inside and ate some cookies, and then put my tire back together and on my bike.

It seemed to take forever. I had plans to go to the Red Cross and go through their volunteer orientation this afternoon, so I was kind of rushing. While I was putting it back together, I got 2 messages from Brother Peers saying stuff had come up but he still wanted to pick up one of my family names. I called him back to let him know it was a good time for him to come over and he got to my house just as I was washing the grease, courtesy of my bike, off my hands.

A few minutes after he left, I departed for the Red Cross. I got about half way there and my tire went flat again. I called them and told them what just happened and told them that I was still coming. They told me to come back for the orientation another day, probably so I won't miss anything. I then turned around and spent about half the walk home wishing I had duct taped my bike tire tube. 'Why didn't I think of that earlier?' I asked myself laughing.

When I got home, I stretched and then played on my computer...a lot...still laughing about my day. When my mom got home, she asked me if I had brought in the mail. I hadn't because every time I checked for it, it hadn't come yet. She came in excitedly laughing at me and handed me my first ever jury summons. I'm wondering what an effective way to keep my juror badge visible, like, on my shirt or something would be...duct tape?

Sunday, May 29, 2011

Agility

My mom runs agility with my 4-year-old Australian Cattle dog, Jersey. Agility is like obstacle courses for dogs, A-frames and dog walks to walk across, tires to jump through, tables to stand/sit/lay down on while the judge counts down from 5, tunnels and chutes to run through, and various kinds of bar set ups to jump over. There are various kinds of mistakes your dog can make. There are 'refusals,' which is when your dog refuses to go over/through the obstacle you tell it to. There's the 'wrong course' sign that the judge can give, which obviously means that your dog either went onto the wrong obstacle or went the wrong way through the tunnel. If your dog knocks down a bar on one of the jumps, you get a fault. If your dog jumps off the table before the judge finishes counting, it's a fault. As you can see, there are quite a few things your dog can do wrong.

At an agility competition, it's hard to find someone who's mean, whether you know each other or not. People just talk to each other and joke around. We all love dogs, and we're all equal. When you and your dog perform well in the ring or 'run well,' or even if you don't, people clap for you. When your dog knocks down a bar or makes some sort of mistake, everyone watching winces and 'feels the pain' with you. Everyone encourages each other because they know what it's like to not just do well, but make mistakes too. Everyone is willing to help each other and answer each other's dog questions because they know what it's like to be new and to not know, no matter how long they've been doing agility.

I always feel so good, so welcome, at an agility trial. Everyone is so friendly. In a sense, is this not a Zion society? Is this not the model Christ would have us follow? While this isn't church or anything, doesn't Christ see us equally and want us to help and encourage each other this same way?

Tuesday, May 24, 2011

I love you this much

He can't remember the times that he thought,
'Does my daddy love me? Probably not.'
But that didn't stop him from wishing that he did
Didn't keep him from wanting or worshiping him

He guesses he saw him about once a year
He could still feel the way he felt standing in tears
Stretching his arms out as far as they'd go
Whispering, "Daddy, I want you to know...

I love you this much and I'm waiting on you
To make up your mind, do you love me too?
However long it takes, I'm never giving up no matter what
I love you this much!"

He grew to hate him for what he had done
Cuz what kind of father could do that to his son?
He said, "[I hate] you daddy," the day that he died
The man didn't blink but the little boy cried,

"I love you this much and I'm waiting on you
To make up your mind, do you love me too?
How ever long it takes, I'm never giving up no matter what
I love you this much!"

Half way through the service while the choir sang a hymn
He looked up above the preacher and he sat and stared at Him

He said, "Forgive me, Father," when he realized
That he hadn't been unloved or alone all his life.
His arms were stretched out as far as they'd go,
Nailed to the cross for the whole world to know:

I love you this much and I'm waiting on you
To make up your mind, do you love Me too?
However long it takes, I'm never giving up no matter what
I love you this much!

Wednesday, April 27, 2011

A Good Place to Be

The human body is an interesting thing. Women are always looking for ways to make theirs more appealing, more "beautiful." We often compare ourselves to other women, usually picking out their "perfect" physical qualities, wondering why we don't look like that. I noticed myself comparing my body to that of another girl I've been acquainted with for a few years. This girl has long, blonde hair, she's beautifully skinny, and her face is completely "perfect-looking." It seemed to me as if people would completely ignore me to go talk to and hang out with her. She doesn't treat me very well sometimes, and I wished people would see that part of her and stop ignoring me. I wished I looked more like her so that people would notice me more.

When I was biking home from Institute one day, I was thinking about her, a little jealous and being hard on myself for not being more physically appealing. For some reason, I thought about some of the good things about my body and started making a list in my head:
  • I have some fat on my body, but it's more to love
  • my muscles are pretty strong
  • my body can keep up with me and the stupid things I do
  • I have a really strong immune system
  • how many people can say that they got hit by a car and didn't break a bone or need surgery or anything, and was sent home in a moon boot, a sling, and told to take ibuprofen?
The list just went on. I then asked myself, 'How many of these things can the girl I'm comparing myself to say? I mean, yeah, she's perfect-looking, but does she get sick all the time? Do her bones break easily? Etc.' I then thought to myself, 'Would I give up all these good things about my body to be better looking?' I decided that I wouldn't; I realized how much I really do love my body, and that I wouldn't trade it for anything. My body was made by a perfect God, and it was made with love just for me. My body, having been made by Someone Who is perfect, is perfect just the way it is, and the other girl's body was made perfectly for her. Why wish for something that isn't good enough for me?

Tuesday, April 26, 2011

Jeremy's Egg

I found this really ~GREAT~ story the other day called 'Jeremy's Egg':

Jeremy was born with a twisted body, a slow mind and a chronic, terminal illness that had been slowly killing him all his young life. Still, his parents had tried to give him as normal a life as possible and had sent him to St. Theresa's Elementary School.

Doris Miller, often became exasperated with him. He would squirm in his seat, drool and make grunting noises. At other times, he spoke clearly and distinctly, as if a spot of light had penetrated the darkness of his brain. Most of the time, however, Jeremy irritated his teacher.

One day, she called his parents and asked them to come to St. Theresa's for a consultation. As the Forrester's sat quietly in the empty classroom, Doris said to them, "Jeremy really belongs in a special school. It isn't fair to him to be with younger children who don't have learning problems. Why, there is a five-year gap between his age and that of the other students!"

Mrs. Forrester cried softly into a tissue while her husband spoke. "Miss Miller," he said, "there is no school of that kind nearby. It would be a terrible shock for Jeremy if we had to take him out of this school. We know he really likes it here."

Doris sat for a long time after they left, staring at the snow outside the window. Its coldness seemed to seep into her soul. She wanted to sympathize with the Forrester's. After all, their only child had a terminal illness. But it wasn't fair to keep him in her class. She had 18 other youngsters to teach and Jeremy was a distraction. Furthermore, he would never learn to read or write. Why waste any more time trying?

As she pondered the situation, guilt washed over her. "Oh God," she said aloud, "here I am complaining when my problems are nothing compared with that poor family! Please help me to be more patient with Jeremy."

From that day on, she tried hard to ignore Jeremy's noises and his blank stares. Then one day he limped to her desk, dragging his bad leg behind him "I love you, Miss Miller," he exclaimed, loudly enough for the whole class to hear. The other children snickered, and Doris's face turned red. She stammered, "Wh-Why, that's very nice, Jeremy. Now please take your seat."

Spring came, and the children talked excitedly about the coming of Easter. Doris told them the story of Jesus, and then to emphasize the idea of new life springing forth, she gave each of the children a large plastic egg. "Now," she said to them, "I want you to take this home and bring it back tomorrow with something inside that shows new life. Do you understand?"

"Yes, Miss Miller!" the children responded enthusiastically – all except for Jeremy. He just listened intently, his eyes never left her face. He did not even make his usual noises. Had he understood what she had said about Jesus' death and resurrection? Did he understand the assignment? Perhaps she should call his parents and explain the project to them.

That evening, Doris' kitchen sink stopped up. She called the landlord and waited an hour for him to come by and unclog it. After that, she still had to shop for groceries, iron a blouse and prepare a vocabulary test for the next day. She completely forgot about phoning Jeremy's parents.

The next morning, 19 children came to school, laughing and talking as they placed their eggs in the large wicker basket on Miss Miller's desk. After they completed their math lesson, it was time to open the eggs. In the first egg, Doris found a flower. "Oh, yes, a flower is certainly a sign of new life," she said. "When plants peek through the ground we know that spring is here." A small girl in the first row waved her arms. "That's my egg, Miss Miller," she called out.

The next egg contained a plastic butterfly, which looked very real. Doris held it up. "We all know that a caterpillar changes and turns into a beautiful butterfly. Yes, that is new life, too." Little Judy smiled proudly and said, "Miss Miller, that one is mine." Next Doris found a rock with moss on it. She explained that the moss, too, showed life. Billy spoke up from the back of the classroom. "My Daddy helped me!" he beamed.

Then Doris opened the fourth egg. She gasped. The egg was empty! Surely, it must be Jeremy's, she thought, and of course, he did not understand her instructions. If only she had not forgotten to phone his parents. Because she did not want to embarrass him, she quietly set the egg aside and reached for another. Suddenly Jeremy spoke up. "Miss Miller, aren't you going to talk about my egg?" Flustered, Doris replied, "but Jeremy - your egg is empty!" He looked into her eyes and said softly, "Yes, but Jesus' tomb was empty too!" Time stopped. When she could speak again, Doris asked him, "Do you know why the tomb was empty?" "Oh, yes!" Jeremy exclaimed. "Jesus was killed and put in there. Then his Father raised him up!" The recess bell rang. While the children excitedly ran out to the school yard, Doris cried. The cold inside her melted completely away. Three months later Jeremy died. Those who paid their respects at the mortuary were surprised to see 19 eggs on top of his casket...................all of them empty.

Tuesday, April 5, 2011

communication

Communication is a funny thing. People tell stories, ask questions, and give responses, and we just assume that the people we're communicating with understand what we're trying to say, just as we assume we're saying it in a way so that they will. But are we really understanding each other? When we realize that there's been a misunderstanding, there's usually feelings of embarrassment and wondering if the other person trusts or even likes us anymore.

I had one such experience about a month ago. I called and talked to my Visiting Teaching companion because she knows the person better than I do, and I was curious as to know how to communicate with this sister better. She lovingly asked me a question that was posed to her when she was a teenager: "Are you really so self-centered as to think that the other person is thinking about nothing but you and this problem, which might not even be a problem in their eyes?" After some thought on my part, she asked me another question: "Are you really worried that she doesn't trust you anymore, or is it YOU who doesn't trust HER?" After some thought, I realized that it really was me who didn't trust her; I had heard this sister ask me things in a completely different way than she meant them, but the questions she asked me and how she asked them really did sound to me how I interpreted them. I felt like I couldn't trust how this sister asked questions.

Did I misunderstand how she was asking me questions, or was it really the way she asked? We may never know. All we can really do when miscommunication happens is analyze how we're feeling and realize that it might really be US and not THEM with the problem, the awkwardness, the embarrassment.

Wednesday, March 30, 2011

Relief Society

As women, we are strong, and we want to seem that way. We don't want to ask for help because we think that we would look weak, we wouldn't be being strong if we ask for help. This is NOT TRUE!!! Relief Society is a society of sisters who provide relief. How does one provide relief? By seeing that there is a need and doing what they can to help. If we need help, we should ask for it. I mean, isn't that the point of Relief Society? To help and get help? As women, we feel the need to be superwoman and to do everything all by ourselves, but let me tell you a secret...all superheros have aside kick, i.e. Batman and Robin, to help them. We need to learn to be humble as the Lord has commanded and let someone help us. No matter how little or stupid you thing it is, even if you just need a hug, there is a group of women eagerly waiting for you to ask for their help. We don't have to be strong all the time.

Tuesday, March 29, 2011

Alma 23

I read Alma 23 last night. It talks about the Lamanite king and his entire household becoming converted and then the king made it illegal to mess with Ammon, Aaron, Omner, and Himni (the prophets at the time), who then went tracking. Seven cities of Lamanites ended up converting, repenting, and laying down their weapons of war. It got me thinking...what are weapons of war? I thought about bows and arrows, cimeters...those kinds of things mentioned in the Book of Mormon. But we don't use those anymore. So what ARE weapons of war?

I got to thinking, and the thought came to me that choosing the right is often referred to as a battle against Satan. In a sense, I guess "weapons of war" could be our choices, our actions. While wrong choices might not causes physical bloodshed or harm, they cause harm to our Spirits.

Sister Dibb told a story during the General Young Women Broadcast on Saturday about a man who went to his neighbor's farm to steal some corn one evening. "He took his little boy with him to sit on the fence and keep a look-out, so as to give warning in case anyone should come along. The man jumped over the fence with a large bag on his arm, and before commencing to take the corn, he looked all around. First one way, and then the other. And not seeing any person, he was just about to fill his bag. The boy then called out, 'Father, there is one way you haven't looked yet! You forgot to look up!'"

When we are tempted to do something wrong, we tend to think that it's not going to hurt anyone, what's the big deal? Who's going to find out anyway? But sin ALWAYS hurts the one doing it, and most of the time, it hurts someone else too, whether we realize it or not. We also hurt God; we disappoint Him. Alma 23:7 says about the converted Lamanites, "...they did lay down the weapons of their rebellion, that they did not fight against God any more..." God has commanded us to be humble and repent. We should also lay down our "weapons of war," our rebellion, our sins, everything...I believe that that is the way back to the Celestial Kingdom, where we can live with our Heavenly Father once more.

Saturday, March 19, 2011

Taco Bell Adventures

My dad and I were at Taco Bell the other day, and I'm eating my food when my dad seemingly randomly gets up, walks over to this elderly couple, and starts talking to the husband (I later found out his name is Joe). I'm watching them and wondering what my dad's doing, when I see the husband basically go blank and stop responding to anything my dad says. He did it again a couple minutes later, so my dad (a paramedic) called 911. From what he and his wife, this has never happened before. They told my dad that Joe takes medication for high blood pressure, but the medication doesn't cause this type of reaction in someone.

My dad knew the life squad crew (part time firefighters, part time ambulance) that showed up because they work at the same station. They hooked Joe up to a bunch of stuff to monitor his heart rate and stuff, which was low but not something to be worried about. They were giving my dad problems because, of course, once they got there Joe was fine other than his slightly low vitals. They finally convinced Joe to let them take him to the hospital. They had him walk, like, 2 feet to a chair that was easier for them to get to him and get him onto a gurney (he and his wife were sitting in chairs up against the window with their backs to it, the table in front of them, and two more chairs facing them and the window), and Joe froze up and became unresponsive again. When he did that, the life squad crew looked at my dad and asked, "This what you were talking about?" ...yup! And when he came to, his heart rate and blood pressure was even lower, like, less than 100/40, and his heart rate was, like, 40 bpm. Joe lost all option on if he was or wasn't going to the hospital...he WAS GOING!

I haven't heard any news on how Joe's doing. I hope he's ok and that the doctors figured out what was going on and were able to fix it. My dad told me later that he went over there because he saw Joe with his head down on the table, unresponsive, and his paramedic instincts just kinda kicked in. I really do hope Joe is ok, but I couldn't help but smile as I suppressed a giggle as I thought of the irony when I saw the ambulance pull into the Taco Bell parking lot.

Monday, March 14, 2011

~Sister Jones!~

No lies, I completely love this lady. Sister Jones was called to serve on the General Young Women Board a few years ago, I guess...I'm not completely sure when. It's crazy for me to think that it's been almost a year since I met her. I was attending Snow College at the time; it was my 4th semester there. This one Friday, I was running a tad late for Friday Forum (an hour-long Institute class only on Fridays with a guest speaker), as always. It was the last Friday of March.

I left my house, like, 2 minutes before it was supposed to start, and proceeded to walk the block and a half to the Institute. I had no idea who the speaker was going to be, but I remember that the closer I got to the Institute, the more excited I became to listen to the speaker to the point that I was practically sprinting toward the Institute.

The speaker turned out to be Sister Jones. I don't remember what she talked about; in fact, if you asked me right after she finished speaking, I still wouldn't be able to tell you. But I DO remember how I felt. Ever since I started attending church, I was always told that I'm a beautiful daughter of God. I always knew it in my head, but it never clicked, I never had a testimony of it, until that day. She was the first one to actually make me feel beautiful, the first one who's testimony of it I felt.

The next evening was the General Young Women Broadcast. I don't know that it's possible to feel more beautiful, to feel more loved, than I did those two days. Sister Jones, along with the General Young Women Presidency (Sisters Dalton, Cook, and Dibb), are AMAZING, inspired women of God. If you ever get the chance to listen to them speak, TAKE FULL ADVANTAGE!!!

Thursday, March 10, 2011

My New Life

Last week (Tuesday night), I was straightening my hair before I left for Ohio the next morning. I don't like to get up in the morning, so I didn't really want to have to deal with it when I got up. I was listening to a bunch of Mormon Messages on lds.org in hopes to learn something I guess, and one video struck me in particular:



It got me thinking...how sad would it be to not be able to play with your kids in the snow because you were in too much pain? I was on edge. It didn't sit right with me that she was physically struggling so much.

The next morning, I went to work with my mom in Berkeley. I figured out that I could save a little change on BART if I catch it at the North Berkeley station, which is a 5-minute walk from my mom's work, than if I caught it from the Pleasant Hill station, which is up the street from my house. My mom couldn't take off work to drop me off at the San Francisco airport, and BART would dropped me off out front. Before I left for BART and the airport, my mom and I were talking. Stephanie's story still wasn't sitting right with me, but I hadn't told my mom about it. We somehow got to talking about my plan to go into the military and more possible job options for me. My mom was a nurse in the U.S. Army for a while, and she told me that if she could go back and do it again, she'd want to work in a burn unit. I was even more unsettled, and the more I thought about it, the worse the feeling got.


When I got to Ohio, I was talking to my dad, a firefighter/paramedic, about it. He said that he heard about something interesting, and then showed me the following video: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=eXO_ApjKPaI. And then it clicked. I thought that the skin gun was great...for people with fresh burns. But what about people like Stephanie, for whom it's too late to use it for? I got this idea...what if you could somehow remove the scar tissue and THEN use the skin gun? I guess it'd basically be like plastic surgery, but you'd be made out of yourself instead of plastic.


Earlier today, I saw this video of her: http://www.oprah.com/relationships/Blogger-Stephanie-Nielsons-Daily-Struggles-Video. The littlest things are a huge struggle. Having to stretch out her skin every morning can't feel all that good. And I mean, not only do showers hurt, but she can't lift or hold her kids very well? REALLY??? I think about the skin gun and wonder how I can use it to help her and somehow fix her scars and repair her nerves so she doesn't have to be in so much pain. I think that once I figure this out, my world will be a happy place once more. :)

Wednesday, March 9, 2011

who knooows?

Ya ever get into one of those moments when someone is reading something out loud to someone else, like, on the computer or whatever, and you wanna tell them something? So you wait til they finish a sentence, start to tell them something, and they treat you like you're an idiot, all asking you, "Was I reading?" as if trying to punish you like a little kid for interrupting them, when they in turn interrupted you in the middle of your sentence? Um, yeah...I'm not sure how to react to that. I gave them time to finish and went into my room to change out of my pjs and into what I'm gonna wear today, figuring that since they said they were almost done, it'd be enough time for them to finish reading. I thought that, since they knew I had something to say, they'd let me know when they were done and tell me when it was a better time for me to talk.

Now one of them is gone and the other is watching tv. On a commercial, I asked him about it. I brought up a good point, he told me that I'm splitting hairs, and then he un-muted the tv. I mumbled something about him not caring, and he asked me what I said. My thing is that if it mattered to him what I said, why would he have un-muted the tv, if he really wanted to know? He told me that they can't read my mind, they don't know what I'm thinking, and I don't expect them to. But I still thought it would have been some sort of common courtesy. :P I mean, I can't read their minds either, I don't know when they're done!

Any ideas on how I can see this differently? Any ideas on how I can better understand where they might have been coming from? I know I wrote this kind of sarcastically, but I really do want other perspectives!

Tuesday, March 8, 2011

Sensei

I just got back from the dojo that my dad goes to, and the sensei said a few things that really struck me. Speaking of martial arts, he said:

  • your greatest opponent is not the person you see across from you, but the person you see in the mirror
  • the more impatient you become with something, the more you push it away
  • good enough is the enemy of excellence