Here’s what Toni’s thinking about today:
- not being jerky and judgmental about Jesus: I realize that one post I wrote last week sounded a little harsh. Really all I meant was if you’re a Christian, let everything you do be for the honor and Glory of God. And, of course, I am public enemy numero uno when it comes to all this: I get easily aggrivated/engraged. I fire off choice words without much thought as to what effect they’ll have on people. I have drank enough alcohol in my lifetime to…um, kill the world. But recently I’ve been getting hammered with a message of grace: as my pastor put it this last Sunday, you come to Jesus by grace, and you continue to live your life as a Christian by grace. No truer words for me. Grace on a daily basis: it’s awesome.
- Building stuff: it’s coming together. It’s happening. It’s scary. It almost seems too easy. Farmhouse in the middle of nowhere? Yes please. There will be so much more room for activities. I get an art studio that’ll fit large paintings and all my students plus all their projects. Caleb and I can adopt all the orphans in the whole world with no kids having to sleep in the closet. And in the event of an apocalypse, we can build a 20 foot concrete wall topped with barbed-wire around our property and then self-sustain with home-grown crops and rainwater.
- September 11th: On this day 12 years ago, I was in Pensacola, living with my parents. Cheyenne was at kindergarten, and my mom and I were watching TV (I think it was Today or Good Morning America). I was getting ready for work when she said, “Toni, come take a look at this! A plane accidentally hit the World Trade Center!” I watched as the building smoked. “What an idiot that guy must have been,” I said. (At 21 years old I was not the picture of sensitivity…or couth.) And then, right before our eyes, a second plane flew into the picture and crashed into the other building. It was pretty much an OH SNAP! moment and my mom and I were dead silent and at that instant I think everyone knew that was no accident. It was a scary day. We drove to work in my mom’s old crappy 1986 blue mazda with 500,000 miles and no spedometer, and listened over the radio as the towers fell.
- Even more so than that moment I remember the atmosphere in our military town: Thursday night, Friday night, and (shamefully) Saturday night, at the bar–the World Trade center attack was at the forefront of every sailor’s mind. Young men, all gung-ho and ready to fight; eager for their first real chance of defending their country: “This is what I joined for! This is what it’s all about, baby!” Slapping high fives and getting their drink on, kissing us girls and twirling us around in the air…
- And then there were the sailors and the pilots that did not seem quite so pumped up about the prospect of war. They hung back and sat in the booths and just stared kind of off into the distance: “I might get deployed. I might not be here next month. I might not be allowed to process out of the military like I thought. They might make me stay. I might have to fight.” And they were not excited.
- I sometimes think about all those guys. I remember the looks that were stuck on their faces that week. And I think about them now and I know that we were all just kids. In our early twenties. Some of them did get sent right away. How many of them got sent over the next year or two? And was it as awesome as they thought it would be? And how many times did they go back? And what do they think of war now?
- Thankful and appreciative of our men and women who fought for us then and now.