Jo’s BJU Approved Blog

So I am still alive for those who have expressed concern. The latest guess as to my health problems is that I may be allergic to wheat so I’m eating gluten free for the next 8 weeks. Fun times. I am also working on a relationship with my friend Ras who I’ve been e-mailing and chatting with for years. Yes he is in Africa. No he is not a missionary. He is an African. No he is not a serial killer or rapist or conartist. If he is and has been working on conning or abusing me in some way for this many years (because we have been friends for years) then I say he deserves to have his hard work pay off. Seriously, don’t be worried. We are getting to know each other better in the hopes of maybe having a more serious relationship. We are both looking to settle down so we shall see…He hopes to have me visit him sometime maybe this summer even. If that goes well hopefully he will be able to be over here by this time next year.

I’m back to hanging out with my good buddy Emily. We used to hang out all the time, but I’ve hardly seen her in the last 4 months so we’ve been catching up. Yesterday we went to Pier’s Gorge and then to the little league game of her coworker’s son. It was nice to get out and do something. We’ve had some good talks too. It is funny how different our lives are and yet how similar our struggles are.

Chris Rice
8th Grade
remember the days when life was not so mysterious
follow me down the hall to the cafeteria
where the worst thing i could mess up
was dipping yesterday’s corn dog in last week’s ketchup
back in the 8th grade

Step out into the hall and feel the moment pass
Slam the locker, there’s the bell, we’re running to class
‘Cause Mr. Jackson told us,”Don’t be late to geometry again”
We’re back in the 8th grade

I drop my books, sit down and mess with my hair
Suzie looks at me and smiles, I’m walking on air
Then I hear my name, I missed the question, I mumble something
The class is laughing, oh i love the 8th grade

*chorus*
Why does the past always seem safer?
Maybe because at least we know me made it
And why do we worry about the future?
When every day will come just the way the Lord ordained it
You can believe it, yeah, just like the 8th grade

Proverbs 3:5-7
Trust in the LORD with all your heart, and do not lean on your own understanding.
In all your ways acknowledge him, and he will make straight your paths. Be not wise in your own eyes; fear the LORD, and turn away from evil

Hopefully Andy is going to come visit me in June so we can discuss where our relationship is going. Life is interesting…

I got a 91 on my exit exam for those of you who don’t read my xanga

Interesting pic with the snow and everything, but oh well. So I miss having Conley up here. Growing up pretty much is not fun. Soon I will hopefully have a life. I’ll be done at good ol’ Northland before I know it.

My best friend, Jess had her baby yesterday. Welcome Lilly to the world.

starting him young…my buddy Glenn plays video games with his baby Tre and his brother Steve

my adorable buddy/trailermate Jenna

The Snow-Storm
by Emerson
Announced by all the trumpets of the sky,
Arrives the snow, and, driving o’er the fields,
Seems nowhere to alight: the whited air
Hides hill and woods, the river, and the heaven,
And veils the farmhouse at the garden’s end.
The sled and traveller stopped, the courier’s feet
Delayed, all friends shut out, the housemates sit
Around the radiant fireplace, enclosed
In a tumultuous privacy of storm.
Come see the north wind’s masonry.
Out of an unseen quarry evermore
Furnished with tile, the fierce artificer
Curves his white bastions with projected roof
Round every windward stake, or tree, or door.
Speeding, the myriad-handed, his wild work
So fanciful, so savage, nought cares he
For number or proportion. Mockingly,
On coop or kennel he hangs Parian wreaths;
A swan-like form invests the hiddden thorn;
Fills up the famer’s lane from wall to wall,
Maugre the farmer’s sighs; and at the gate
A tapering turret overtops the work.
And when his hours are numbered, and the world
Is all his own, retiring, as he were not,
Leaves, when the sun appears, astonished Art
To mimic in slow structures, stone by stone,
Built in an age, the mad wind’s night-work,
The frolic architecture of the snow.