Usually black on black is a no go, but today I was wearing black on black on black on black. I had on a black suit, black dress pants, black heels, and a black purse (using the same word ten times in the span of two sentences is also usually a no go).

I traded my usual garb for the morbid professional look for the cause of my UIC pharmacy school interview. I don’t think I’ve ever felt so grown up before. Unfortunately, the same cannot be said for how I looked. Even a black suit and heels can’t disguise the fact that I look fourteen; to my disappointment, the interviewer commented on how young I seemed.

I declined the campus tour option at the end, so I finished much earlier than I had originally anticipated. While waiting for my friends to come pick me up for lunch, I set out wandering. Within a block I found a little playground; good thing because I don’t think my heels would have let me go any further.

Feeling confined by the rigidness of the suit but more so by the new sentiment of professionalism and maturity, I grabbed a free newspaper and relieved my poor ankles as I sat down on a worn bench. It did not take long, though, for my attention to be diverted from the paper to the kids screaming joyfully at the playground. I tried to contain my strong desire to join them, reminding myself that business suits and playgrounds simply don’t mix.

The children soon after departed; so did my last ounce of self-control.

I did everything there was to do: monkey bars, the windy slide, swings, even the somewhat boring wooden horse on a spring you can ride. However enjoyable it was to let myself loose, I had to admit that I also felt a twinge of disappointment. Why? I couldn’t swing as high, slide down as fast, nor clear as many monkey bars (my limit was three this time!) as I used to.

I was thoroughly disappointed in the fact that I had lost all basic life skills, all that was important.

I returned to my paper.

I returned to my bench.

I returned to my black suit and black heels.

As I sat there, I thought about where I was. I was some place stuck between grown-up land and childhood bliss, some place between the black suit and the worn out jeans and tee. It scared me to look forward, but at the same time, I knew I couldn’t go back.

Moving on and growing up is a part of life, and the change is inevitable. Sometimes when we look down and see the new role we are wearing, we adopt a certain mindset that simply doesn’t allow business suits to mix with playground sets. Moving on from high school to college and now from college to professional school has forced me to grow up and put on the stiff suit.

I was reminded today that you don’t necessarily need to be confined or restricted by the new outfit. God wants us to recognize that while the change in externalities is inevitable, He still desires the childlike faith inside. I believe He is pleased with the kind of faith that still climbs through the monkey bars and swings high on swings, especially while wearing a suit and heels.

And with that, I got up from the bench and gave it another go.

This time, I wasn’t disappointed.

Melanie’s been in popular demand by the boys recently. For hair cuts. “So, word on the street is that you cut hair for free?” Every other weekend or so, our living room turns into a barber shop, and on good days, she’ll get three clients in.

We have absolutely no idea why any of them entrust their lives to her, but they do. Maybe because it’s free, maybe because they just don’t care, or maybe because they really don’t know what they’re getting themselves into. But they do it.

While the haircut is not quite worthy of acclamation, her service is exceptional: it comes complete with your choice of beverage and snack, a good conversation, and if desired, even the option to play Nintendo or board games. The business has boomed so much this year that people have suggested she start charging a nominal fee and really get her business kicking. Post one of those red/blue/white barber poles outside the apartment door, print off some business cards, snag a chair off of craigslist, hire me as secretary, the whole package.

But she declined.

And for good reason. Besides the whole idea being completely ridiculous, she’s got a bit of wisdom in her.

As mentioned before, hair is not this artist’s best medium. Most guys have left with odd patches missing here or there and their share of uneven sections, though some have fared better than others. By not charging them for this less than mediocre service, she is free from all liability. Should they suffer something worse than an uneven shave or come away dissatisfied, they can’t really blame her or demand a refund or sue. Although this is not her motive behind free haircuts, freedom from possible negative responsibility allows her to practice without fear.

I think most of us have tapped into this little secret too. We assume this freedom in our own lives, though wrongly so. We live as if we don’t owe anybody anything, give into temptation and sin without too much regret, and it becomes acceptable, maybe even expected. We practice without fear. However, unlike Melanie, this freedom from responsibility is not warranted. Unlike her, there was a cost involved.

We permit ourselves to sin the seemingly arbitrary sins sometimes because though we know the harm, we think it’s just a small harm and that we can take the hit and recover. The thing we don’t realize is that it doesn’t just affect us. It affects those around us, and ultimately and most importantly hurts God.

Christ paid for our sins; the price was a few nails, a handful of thorns, a bundle of shiny leather straps. By disregarding the price and living as if we are free from the cost of sin, we cheapen grace. We live without the demand of obedience on us, as if grace means that God ignores our sins. Contrary to popular belief, he does not simply ignore those times we make false promises or the little white lies that won’t hurt anybody, nor does he simply just forget about the consequences and forgo deserved punishment. Instead, he has chosen out of inexplicable love to pay for it himself.

There is always justice. Energy is conserved in the universe, and so in the same way, justice is conserved. Something comes out of the sin we commit, we just don’t always realize or see it because it has been displaced onto the shoulders of Christ.

And as a consequence, we sing “Amazing Grace” in our churches yet only believe in the latter of the two words.

Grace is not a license to do what we want without consequence; rather, it is a license to be free from the grip of sin so that we can live a life that is holy and righteous and good. Sin no longer dictates our life, but instead, we now have the control and freedom from sin, with God’s help, to choose to obey.

It is in amazing grace, not cheap grace, that we find freedom.

Look, mom! No crutches!

On the three week anniversary of spraining my ankle, I went crutch-less today. Not because the doc said I could, but by my own volition. My main motivation was to avoid the barrage of questions about what happened by my friends at church (although the over-sized air cast was a dead giveaway). Or, more accurately, to avoid having to respond with a pathetic answer. I’ve been trying fruitlessly to come up with a heroic story to tell. I’ll share a couple of bad attempts:

• An unfriendly ninja broke into our apartment, and after a fierce struggle with ninja stars flying everywhere and a good amount of roof hopping, I finally managed to kick him into a chimney, in the process hurting my foot.
• Inspired by ‘Nacho Libre,’ Melanie and I decided one night that we wanted to get into the whole wrestling thing. And she won.

However bad these are, the real story is even less worth sharing. I’ve got an image to preserve! :P

Instead, I’ll give you an account of the day after:

After a brief examination by the doctor, he presents his diagnosis: “I don’t know.” A fracture? Sprain? Torn ligament? Who knows. So he sends me to another hospital to get x-rays done, which is just up the street. However, it’s very important to note that in Pittsburgh, when we say “up the street,” we quite literally mean up; the city is littered with hills. I’m supposed to hobble up this massive hill on crutches?! I could hardly do so in full health! And to add the kicker, I’ve only got thirty-five minutes before the radiology department shuts its doors.

Fifteen minutes later and just a third of the way up, I’m already panting and ready to resign in defeat. As I sat down on a bench to assess my situation, another student on crutches hobbles up to me. We exchange knowing smiles. “Headed to Presby?” Encouraged by the company, we continue our upward journey together, both of us rookies at this whole crutch thing. This time, the going seems easier and breaks are fewer and farther in between. We alternate turns taking the lead and shout encouragement when we see the other stumble. A little more than halfway up, we’re joined by a third kid on crutches.

This whole scene was apparently very comical, because on this final leg of the journey, all the two-legged folk passing us by on the way down stop to watch and laugh. It’s not everyday you see a parade of lame people slowly battling their way up a hill!

The third person, probably a bit more experienced, made his way up more quickly so by the time we arrived at the front door, it’s just the two of us again. Relief? Almost. With just five minutes remaining, we have to figure out how to maneuver through the hospital wings, or all our hard work is in vain. We both pull out our maps, and as we began to proceed through the maze, quickly ran into some confusing spots. “Alright, you go left and I’ll go right, and we’ll meet back here.” After just a few more minutes of this, we finally reach our final destination.

But by this time, it’s two minutes past five o’clock. We’re late.

Don’t worry, all good stories have happy endings :) The receptionist graciously still lets us in. The satisfaction accompanied with victory was apparent on both our faces, as if we had just successfully finished the marathon.

Almost three weeks later, I’m still thinking about that incident. Why?

—

Today, a friend met up with me over some coffee to see how I was doing. Yesterday, two other friends paid a visit, bringing along potato salad. While couped up in the apartment Friday night, I received a surprise chocolate cupcake and a nice little note. Several times over the past weeks, I’ve been getting lots of emails and Facebook messages asking how it was going. A combination of excessive studying (for the PCAT) and being crippled resulted in my disappearance from society this semester and an altogether very unhappy me, yet my brothers and sisters never failed to show me that they’re still there right beside me.

—

I think by this point in our lives, we’ve come to the realization that this life-long journey as believers is definitely an uphill battle. What we probably know innately but don’t always fully believe is that the massive hill wasn’t meant to be climbed alone. For some of us, our pride deceives us into believing that the progress already made was our doing, and so the progress to be made will also solely be our doing. Even when things get tough and someone asks how we are, we’ll put on a smile and say “just fine” and continue to pull through, because this is my hill to climb. Faith in my self is enough to keep us going.

And it works for awhile. But a third of the way up, you’re already panting and ready to resign in defeat. But, as promised, God provides. He provides someone (or many someones). Now, that someone may not be mighty enough to carry you. In fact, it’s more likely that they are just as crippled as you, and just as much of a rookie. The only thing that matters, though, is that you’re both headed in the same direction: up.

A few thoughts on spiritual hill-climbing and ‘fellowship’:

We alternate turns taking the lead, we shout encouragement when we see the other stumble. Some may go faster than the others, but there’s still always someone right beside you. Most people are headed the opposite direction, many will stop and laugh. We each have maps, but the path is nonetheless still confusing. Individually we may try different directions, but we share and learn from each other which way not to go. The absolute most important part of all this, though, is that we’re all headed the same direction, up, and towards the same goal.

No elaborate story today, just a neat observation:

This morning my friend and I woke up late for church service, so we missed the yellow school bus headed there and had to resort to option B: my neighbor. After much wasted time of trying to wake him up via multiple phone calls and constant doorbell ringing and then his excessively long shower, we made it to church with only fifteen minutes of the service remaining.

Here’s what I saw: the sanctuary was past full capacity, to the point where several elder ladies had needed to pull up their own chairs to a side door cracked ajar and listened eagerly to God’s word in the isolation of the hallway. Us latecomers pulled up our own chairs and got to join that crowd.

It was really quite a beautiful image.

People drawn to God’s word. Eager hearts to learn. Physical limits not a stopping force. Sight not a necessity.

I want to join that crowd.

I am very pleased to announce the arrival of a new member of the family:

Everyone, meet NES.

More of an old friend, the Nintendo Entertainment System made its way to my apartment and back into my life via ebay and UPS. While I usually condemn my own impulse buys, there will be no remorse in this case. Remember the then amazing mysterious technology of the zapper gun used in Duck Hunt? Or how the most satisfying sensation one could feel was after finally beating Mario Bros 3, the result of weeks of stomping on turtles and eating 1up mushrooms and travelling through green pipes? Yes, there is nothing quite like the good ol’ days.

Friday night was the debut when several of my friends, similar enthusiasts and rookies alike, gathered to try out “America’s Favorite Box.” The second the 16-bit screen shot appeared, we all snickered. Since we had such a large group, we decided to play Pictionary. Now before you denounce this game in your mind, allow me to defend. Instead of simply using the primitive control pad to sketch a picture and have your team guess, you play a mini arcade game. The better you do, the more the hidden picture is revealed, allowing your team to guess based on your gaming ability.

One of the more difficult minigames involves moving wooden boxes (or I imagine them to be of wood, you can’t really tell with these graphics). You need to guide a pixilated man to move as many boxes from the left side of the screen to the right as you can. The number of boxes that you move at a time is up to you, but you need take into account reality: more boxes = heavier load = slower movement. Oh! And I almost forgot to mention that these green slime balls are bouncing around and arbitrarily knocking boxes away from you.

Here’s a quick sketch:

Not only did this game provide us with an hour of good old-fashioned entertainment, it also paints a pretty accurate picture (get it? picture, Pictionary? Ha ha?) of what it looks like when we simply dismiss Christianity as our religion. If you examine the religions of the world, their beliefs tend to fall back on the idea of man’s attempt to reach a heaven (physical or mental) or find favor with god(s). The religion is an institutionalized system with prescribed methods on how to do so and describes subsequent consequences if you fail.

Same with Christianity, right? To make it into heaven and get brownie points with God, we have to say grace before every meal, know a Bible story here and there, sing worship songs loudly with hands lifted up, and force ourselves to get out of bed at eight on Sunday mornings to sit in a pew. It’s a pretty clear cut formula, but it’s not right. Well, it’s not not right to do these things, but it is wrong to believe that this is what our religion boils down to.

This view is very much like the Nintendo Pictionary game. You are the pixilated man, and your aim is to bring as many boxes over to the right side as you can. The wooden boxes are “gifts” to God, all these good deeds that you do to please him. The more you do, the closer you are to winning the game. However, as you try to carry more boxes, you feel the weight from beneath, and it becomes increasingly difficult to move. Not an easy game, eh?

But our Christian faith isn’t a game, it’s a gift.

We can’t forget those green slime balls that keep knocking the boxes out of your hand. A strange analogy, I admit, but they are like God trying to remove those burdens from you. He wants you to stop living out your faith as if it’s a game that you need to win. He has freely given you love, in the form of Christ Jesus, so victory is already yours by his grace. The weight of our self-imposed burdens is not his desire for us. Ultimately, it will all get too heavy for you to carry, and you’ll fail. Heaven and the glory of God are not attainable by human measures, quite different than what other religions preach.

Feel free to come play this Pictionary box moving game with me any day, but let go of this other game. It’s really not all that fun.

If you’ve ever been over for a meal at my home, the first thing you will notice is how talented of a chef my mom is. The second notable item is that the majority of our kitchen ware is disposable: plates, table cloth, chop sticks, bowls; everything goes in the garbage afterwards with the exception of the cup and fork. We simply leave all the bones and plates and such on the table, grab the corners of the plastic table cloth (the kind you find at restaurants), wrap up the mess, and then conveniently toss it.

It’s simple.

It’s clean.

It’s good for those of us who don’t have time to wash that many dishes. (Remember, for some reason, the Chinese don’t use their dish washers. They function better as storage spaces).

But! It’s also one of the most environmentally-unfriendly things you could do on a daily basis.

On the opposite end of the spectrum, my mom is an avid recycler. She has numerous recycling bags strategically located throughout the house. She even makes rounds and checks every trash can to salvage any scrap of paper that was lazily thrown away along with the garbage by the rest of us.

Wouldn’t expect that, no? Not with our table manners. It has been like this for many years now, and I’m more than used to it, but for some reason the other day it occurred to me how conflicting the two habits are. Complete disregard for Mother Nature in one respect, devotion in another.

Any true tree hugger would shake their heads in disapproval. Any onlooker wouldn’t know what to think.

It’s the same when a dieter indulges in cake. It’s the same when a human rights activist scoffs at a street beggar. It’s the same when a regular church attendee never shares the gospel, hides his Bible on the weekdays, and is only kind to those who are kind back to him/her.

Each of these examples speaks confusion and a clouted message and asks, “How serious are they really?”

My mom doesn’t seem to really care about saving the earth. The dieter doesn’t seem to really want to lose that weight. The human rights activist doesn’t seem to really care about the helpless. The regular church attendee doesn’t seem to really care about Jesus.

It is dangerous for us as believers to be in complete disregard for Christ’s message in one respect, devotion in another. Christ asked us to live in complete abandon: to lay down our lives, pick up our crosses, and to follow after him. That means he wants our all, he wants a living sacrifice, he wants a full-time follower, not a part-timer who acts in convenience.

Because when we present a conflicting message in our actions and in our lives, we present a lie. Christ’s message was never conflicting, and his life reflected this well.

Reflect truth in your entirety; reflect truth in its entirety.

Give no one an opportunity to look at you and ask, “How serious are they really?”

I know it’s tacky to write about the same topic consecutively, but I will go ahead and do it anyways. I bring to you another story from the workplace.

“Fettuccini with spinach and sun-dried tomatoes, please, but without the fettuccini.”

Come again!?

“Baby mozzarella salad, but make sure to leave out the mozzarella.”

Excuse me?!

Sometimes, people make absolutely no sense. Fortunately, I never let these thoughts escape through my mouth, but I cannot help but wonder if the customer realizes how ridiculous their order is. Their customized requests strip the food item of its main element, and I end up handing them a container of just spinach and sun-dried tomatoes, hardly reminiscent of what the chef had originally prepared. But the unofficial motto at our deli is that the customer gets whatever pleases him/her, and we comply without questions. They get what they want, and they leave content.

Sometimes, Christians make absolutely no sense.

“Yeah, I’m a Christian, but I don’t really have time for God.”

Come again!?

“I love going to Friday night fellowship but the Sunday morning church and prayer thing aren’t for me.”

Excuse me?!

These actual phrases may never be uttered, but for many of us, our actions speak otherwise. Like the customer at the deli counter, we pick and choose the parts of Christianity we enjoy tasting, and sometimes we do not realize how ridiculous it is. The customization strips the religion of its main element, and we end up handing ourselves just the fellowship or just the namesake.

Believers do this. Churches do this.

It is hardly reminiscent of what the Creator had originally prepared in advance for us. Christ descended to earth to show and tell what the kingdom of heaven ought to be like, and he truly painted a beautiful picture. When we begin to stray from the Word and from the Truth, we sketch in the desires of our hearts and seriously mar the painting, and what others end up seeing is a false representation void of the main element. It is hardly reminiscent of what the Creator had originally willed.

As we walk through life bearing the name as Christians, let us not leave out Christ.

And then there was one.

That phrase above describes a very rare scene at the deli I work at, the extremely few random moments in the week when there is only one customer in line. Typically we are swarmed with ten to fifteen regulars at any given moment, each wanting their generous share of sliced deli meats and containers of cold pastas/salads. Many are patient, a good handful are not: I’ve seen fights break out between customers, and twice I have even witnessed people trying to cheat their way to the front of the line. Unbelievable.

All I hear throughout the day are the constant shouts of “Quarter of a pound of Ekrich honey ham, sliced thin!” or “Medium container of the lemon chicken pasta, not packed too full!” that hardly ever allow a silence.

The rapid pace of the deli makes the day go by quickly, and the busyness somehow thrills me a bit. But the “and then there was one” moments are the moments that really make my day.

Because in the lull, I can hear the music.

And let me tell you, my grocery store sure does know how to pick its tunes. The soundtrack that gently plays in the background, whenever it finds me in a lull, is almost always a favorite or even better, a new favorite. I absolutely love when I can hear the music.

Just as precious to me are the times I get to remove my self from the deli counter and hide away in the back kitchen. When I walk through the swing door away from the customers, it is like entering into a whole new world. In the back is the kitchen staff that cheerfully teases each other in Spanish, chop their vegetables, and wildly sing and dance to their Latino music all at the same time. I absolutely love when I get sent to the kitchen to do a menial task, where I get to join them and can hear their music as well.

Throughout my life, but particularly in college, I have had many “customers” to attend to. That might mean anything from friends to family to schoolwork to volunteering to my ambitions, because a customer is someone or something that you serve. I tend to spend a great deal of my energies and time pleasing them, and the busyness somehow thrills me a bit.

However, because I don’t allow myself a lull, I can’t hear the music. The music is the parts of life that are true blessings, the ones that break through the mundane, the ones God wishes for us to experience and find joy in and grow from.

And let me tell you, God sure does know how to choose the music. The soundtrack that he composes and gently plays in the background, whenever it does find me in a lull, always becomes a favorite. I absolutely love when I can hear the music.

Yet somehow we get sidetracked and distracted enough by these other things that we start to believe that we ought to listen to them and keep ourselves busy by them. Of course, they are all a part of life, but we fall for a horrible trade, making greater allowances for the mundane and accepting a smaller portion of what is truly uplifting to the spirit.

It is important to remember to allow yourself to be removed from the noise and the customers, because it is in the lull or the escape to the back kitchen that you find that God can most bless you.

Since I’m pretty much at home all this summer working and whatnot, I’ve had the joy of being able to hang out with and get to know the kids in my college fellowship (Ambassadors!) at my home church. Sounds silly, but I forgot how much I missed them and missed being here.

And when I used the word ‘joy,’ I used it thoughtfully. I am very thankful to God for the time I have had to spend with them so far this summer, most notably at our spring retreat a few weeks back. Two huge differences I noticed between these kids and my Pittsburgh ones: the first being that they are the most ridiculously and creatively funny people I have ever known (really, sometimes I almost pee in my pants from the laughter), and the second being that they can turn any and every game into intense competition.

Uno? We’ve turned it into a lightning fast cut-throat group uno.

Giants, Wizards, & Elves? We don’t just tag the other team like we did when we were young, we pick ‘em up then play tug-of-war using their extremities.

Musical Chairs? This is no childrens’ game; it was the most violent and unmerciful game we played all retreat. People leave with cuts, bruises, and battle wounds.

Scatttergories? The whole room starts chanting “X! X! X!” at people whenever there’s a debate.

Mini Olympics? In an event that lasts only a couple hours, loyalty is fierce, strategy is keen, and defeat is unacceptable.

Victory is important, but of course it is all in great fun and is friendly in nature. Throughout the Mini Olympics, one team (the Green Team) celebrated victoriously after every game no matter what the result. If they win? Jubilant jumping and high-fives and bear hugs and loud cheering. If they lose terribly? Jubilant jumping and high-fives and bear hugs and loud cheering.

And all the rest of us would watch in both confusion and amusement, secretly wishing we could ‘win’ all the time like they did.

I think the Green Team painted a vivid picture of what it ought to be like to follow after Christ and to put your faith in God. If we truly believe in his reality and his Word, then we already know that in the end, we are victorious. We have victory over death, victory over evil. The implications? We should celebrate victoriously after every game no matter what the result. If we win? Jubilant jumping and high-fives and bear hugs and loud cheering. If we lose terribly? Jubilant jumping and high-fives and bear hugs and loud cheering. And not only so, we start to look at life events differently, we start to look at our days differently.

We start to live differently.

We start to live like we have won.

We start to praise God for better or for worse, for richer or for poorer, in sickness and in health.

“If God is for us, who can be against us? In all these things we are more than conquerors through him who loved us. For I am convinced that neither death nor life, neither angels nor demons, neither the present nor the future, nor any powers, neither height nor depth, nor anything else in all creation, will be able to separate us from the love of God that is in Christ Jesus our Lord.” (Romans 8: 31, 37-39)

I hope that is as freeing of thought for you as it is for me.

Monopoly, the most played commercial board game in the world (according to the Guinness Book of World Records), is probably the last game I ever wanted to play.

But late last night at 2:00am in the middle of no-where Wisconsin at the height of intense peer pressure from the only other people awake, I gave in and played.

It was the first time I had really played the game (I used to be an avid Monopoly Junior fan, far from the real deal). Although my heart wasn’t into it, I quickly learned the rules by which these bad boys played: every man for himself, afford no mercy, and the only way to get ahead is by cunning deception. For example, if a player is busy taking a sip of his water and not paying attention and you land on his property, it is perfectly acceptable to not pay and quickly hand the dice over to the next player.

At the beginning of the three or so hour ordeal, I really didn’t care. “The only exciting part of this game is when I pass ‘GO.’” In consequence of my apathy, I played honestly and never once cheated another player of his money. I figured the quicker I lost my small fortune, the sooner I could sleep. About a third of the way through the game, however, I became the first to obtain a monopoly (New York Ave, Tennessee Ave, & St. James Place, if any one’s interested), and from that moment on, the dice always rolled in my favor. In short, the game ended with me having a complete monopoly of the entire board, not to mention several hotels on each property.

Not too shabby for a beginner, eh?

Somewhere in that time frame, someone asked me the key question,”Now do you think it’s exciting?” I nonchalantly responded with a ‘no,’ but when I examined myself at the time, I knew inside I was pretty darn excited. I was doing ridiculously well, and I had enough money to buy me the freedom to do anything and everything I wanted.

And I did. I bought everyone into bankruptcy. And I won.

And I realized how far I had come: from a completely apathetic and innocent “fine-I’ll-play-if-you-insist” kind of person to a greedy, merciless, girl donning a sly grin.

There are two ways to look at this:

#1. Those who deal with honesty and integrity will always win in the end. True, perhaps, but I prefer to focus on

#2. Give a mouse a cookie, and he will ask for a glass of milk (I hope everyone read that book sometime in their childhood).

God, in his time, chooses to bless each of us with something during different parts of our life. For some, it is with intellect, others with money, and still others with athletic talent, leadership skills, creative knack, a great many friends, musical genius, a good sense of humor, etcetera. Whatever it may be and whenever it may be, the majority of us tend to take these blessings and ask for more and when we receive more, ask for even more. And what’s worse, we begin to abuse it, and our hearts seem to completely change. It’s almost sick to think about: we have the ability to turn the most precious and sacred gifts into the most evil. God blesses and turns a humble nobody into a talented worship leader who turns him/herself into a self-praising music player. God blesses and turns a humble nobody into a wealthy money roller who turns him/herself into someone who satisfies the self through material and worldly gain. And although many times we don’t mean to, it just kind of happens.

I didn’t mean to win Monopoly, I didn’t mean to enjoy watching everyone deplete their accounts while I kept gaining, it just kind of happened.

“It just kind of happens,” what a bad, bad excuse.