Senioritis is NOT my friend

It's contagious. It can be fatal. It's the one bug that ALL seniors in high school eventually catch: senioritis. The disease that tells you "Oh, you don't have to study for that quiz" or "Just do it during fifth period, you have better things to be doing...like Facebook". Senioritis LIES! Liar, liar, pants on fire.

Though I haven't been completely bedridden by this plague, I can feel it working through my brain, trying to convince me of things I know are wrong (see above examples). Now, there's a difference between the normal senioritis and extreme senioritis. Normal just tells you that studying is irrelevant and that your social life and relaxation time far and away exceed your school work. Extreme, however, informs you that senior year is the time to live it up, illegal activities included. Drinking, weed, things that seem pretty harmless if you don't do them too much. But it only takes one night for your world to come crashing down.

I can assure you that I will not fall into the extreme senioritis. No desire to drink has ever crossed my mind, much less drugs. Ick. Thanks, but not thanks, modern society. I'm afraid I will not be joining you and your cult to corrupt my chances of getting into college. As tempting as that sounds...oh wait...

But I am struggling with the whole "Oh-I-can-just-review-in-the-morning" thing because I think I might but, in the back of my mind, I know I won't. To keep myself going, I just have to chant "finals exemptions" over and over in my head. With no underclassman status or TAKS holding me back this year, I'm hoping for no finals this year at all. And if I don't have to take finals, that means that I made good grades. And if I made good grades, it means that I beat senioritis. Points to me.

Of course, the first time I'll be eligible for exemptions is in January. It is currently September. I have a long way to go. But, like Philippeans 4:13 says, "I can do all things through Christ who strengthens me."

Yes, that includes finishing college applications, being accepted into college, finishing high school, graduating, getting a job, having a lively social life, and so forth and so on. Um, can I get an amen on that one?

I LOVE THE RANGERS

I'm going to be honest: I would rather watch the Rangers than the Cowboys.

Now, not to say that I dislike the Cowboys, but...I sort of do. I LOVE Jason Witten and Miles Austin. But Romo? Barber? Jerry Jones? Uh, no thank you. Truthfully, I would much rather see my boys with the baseballs go to the World Series than watch the silver and navy head to the Super Bowl. Personal preference. Here's why...

The Rangers' team is AMAZING. Here are my top favorites:
1. Josh Hamilton. LOVE HIM. Though he is currently out due to running into the wall to make a catch, he will hopefully be back in action in the near future! He's just an awesome guy and holds the record for longest homerun in the Ballpark in Arlington. Whatabeast.
2. Michael Young. A class act. Great hitter, speed demon, cool guy. He's your All-American baseball player. What's not to like?
3. Bengie Molina. The Rangers' new catcher. He is large. And he is not the youngest on the roster. But if you can hit the cycle (single, double, triple, homer) then you basically shoot to the top of my list of awesome people.
4. David Murphy. Four words: Heyyyyyyyyyyyyy sic 'em Bears! :)
5. Elvis Andrus. Beast.
6. Julio Borbon. Luhgit.
7. Nelson "Nelly" Cruz. HOLLAAAAA
8. Vladimir Guerrero. Big Bad Vlad. Vladdy. The Vladiator. Whichever way you spin it, he's a designated hitter because he's awesome. My favorite part about Vlad is not his slugging abilities though. It's the fact that he looks like he's constantly having fun. He's always smiling. I just feel like that Vlad would be so fun to hang out with for a day. Too bad he speaks pretty much no English.
9. Ian Kinsler. Okay, I'm a little hesitant to put his name on here because of his latest idiocy. Honestly, you can't expect to get away with saying "eff you" (except actually using the word) to an umpire and get away with it. Not possible. So he was therefore ejected from the game. To quote Antoine from "The Bed Intruder": "You are so dumb. You are really dumb. For real!" But he's a great hitter and infielder but sometimes baseball players like to use colorful language that may not be appropriate for daily conversation.

Another reason why I want the Rangers' to get to the World Series? Because we have a good shot at beating the Yankees. Who will probably end up at the World Series. Like last year. And all other years. I hate, hate, hate the Yankees. I guess part of it is because of the time-old thoughts that everyone hates the one who gets everything. And because I think A-Rod (who I affectionately call A-Roid) needs to get his big, egotistical head out of his butt. He just thinks he's hot snot on a silver platter. When, in actuality, he's a cold buggar on a paper plate. And then there's Nick Swisher. Now, until the past month or so, I didn't really have a problem with him. Then one of the Rangers pitchers sent a strike-out his way. So, with lovely tact, Swisher decides to throw his bat down and drop the f-bomb very loudly. But it's okay, because Molina later tags him out at home plate by hitting Swisher's family jewels. Muahahaha. Oh, and hey Yankees? Who swept you this weekend? Sorry...my memory is fading. SIKE! I love my Rangers.

So yes. That's my baseball rant. GO RANGERS! :)

Let's hear it for New Yawk

So, 86:12 is flying from DFW to La Guardia on June 18th. For a week long mission trip. In the Big Apple.

WOWZERS. I AM FREAKING OUT.

This is so epic. I listed out my last 6 mission trips in a previous blog post, but here's the progression of Linley's mission trips in case you haven't read that post.

1. El Paso, TX
2. Pueblo, CO
3. Memphis, TN
4. New Orleans, LA
5. McAllen, TX
6. Atlanta, GA
7. NEW YORK CITY, NY

So, the class of 2010 is a little miffed that they graduated 86:12 before the epic trip of epicness. Bummer for them. But, obviously, a trip this can't be pulled together in a little under a year, like most 86:12 trips are. This is New York we're talking about.

Here are some crazy thoughts/logistics
1. Last year, we had 206 people going on the trip. 206 people flying from DFW to La Guardia? Oh my.
2. Yes. We're flying. Obviously, 86:12 will get there in shifts because there's no way all of us will get on the same plane--that's just ridiculous. And a bus drive from here to NY will take about a day. Yikes.
3. We're staying in Jersey, just across the river from Manhatten. We'll be able to see the skyline from our dorm rooms :)
4. No Vacation Bible School this year. We're going to be doing other outreach ministries. Though I don't know what as of yet.
5. It's going to be more expensive than other years, obviously. But we're getting a steal. It's only an $800 trip for a week in New York City. Danggggg.
6. Registration is in the fall this year, so anyone coming in the spring semester won't get to go on the trip, which is good. That means kids who normally slack on rehearsals HAVE to come fall semester or else no NY trip for them.
7. I've heard some whispers of cool events that are original to NY that we'll get to do, but we'll see...
8. Concerts in Central Park? OHMYGOSHHHHH
9. Who knows? We might actually see some (gasp) celebrities. Weird.
10. Could I get a better senior trip? Didn't think so. :)

So, I am A LITTLE excited to go hit the Big Apple this next year. God is going to use us to do some amazing things in His name and glorify Him. And get some crazy awesome memories while we're at it.

"I will praise you, oh LORD, my God. With all of my heart, I will glorify your name forever." Psalm 86:12.

September 11th, 2001. My timeline and thoughts

7:50 AM. I was a third grader at Lakeside Elementary. So that would put me at about nine years old. We had gone to PE or something and had just come back to our class. We were met with an extremely unusual site: my teacher was watching TV and had a stricken look on her face. When we came in, she quickly turned the TV off and got the day started. But she wasn't fast enough. We all saw planes going into these two huge buildings. We didn't know what exactly was happening. We didn't know why all our teachers were acting so weird. We didn't know anything other than something bad had happened and no one was telling us anything.

Around noon. Some parents had come and picked their kids up from school. I'd heard that whatever had happened was in New York, but I knew nothing besides that. We were having a "normal" school day with lessons and recess. But it wasn't really normal. The teachers were acting off. We knew something was wrong. We just didn't know what.

3:15PM. Tanner, who was in first grade, and I walked home. I don't remember the walk or anything, but my mom didn't pick us up, so I guess we did. By the time we got home, Tanner asked my mom if everything was okay. Because you can't tell a first grader about a terrorist attack, she said that everything was fine and Tanner went upstairs to go play. But my mom told me more information. She said that some people had taken control of planes and crashed them on purpose into two big towers in New York. She said that lots of people did not make it out alive. Then she told me that my dad was in New York. I was in third grade--I just knew that my dad traveled a lot. I didn't really ever know where he was. Mom assured me that she had talked to him and that he was perfectly safe and totally okay. But she let me watch parts of the news.

Friday, September 14th. My dad, and another guy from our church, got back into town. They had driven from Manhatten, which had been completely closed for some time, to Dallas. They came to the Coppell vs Jesuit game. The CHS band did a moving piece dedicated to those who lost their lives on Tuesday.

The story of Mike McCord.
My dad was about to leave his hotel room to go to a meeting in the North Tower (the first one hit). His meeting was at ten in the morning. The towers were hit at around nine. So my grandfather calls my dad and his phone didn't ring. But he had a voicemail. My dad calls my grandfather back and is told to turn the TV on. He sees the footage and agrees that he probably shouldn't go to his meeting on the 43rd floor. The next day, September 12th, my dad stood in line all day to give blood. He said that he made several new friends and that street vendors and pizza parlors were just constantly coming by and giving them food and drinks and encouragement. He said that he was one of the coolest things ever. A day after the biggest terrorist attack in American history, the first time we'd been attacked since Pear Harbor, New York was already alive again.

A letter to al Qaeda:
In case you haven't realized, you didn't win. You got a nice reaction out of us. But, obviously, you didn't win. You're like the bully on the play ground, just more extreme. You come in, seek and destroy, and call yourself victorious. But who is hiding in caves and planning cowardly actions? Who is being hunted by countless governments? NOT the USA. We've recovered. We came together as a nation. Do I get mad every time I see victims lists from that day? Yeah, absolutely. But am I also inspired by our victory? By the fact that a nation of 300 million came together? Yes, yes, YES! So, in your face, al Qaeda! You've lost in the long run. We're Americans. And we are proud of it. And we're not going to rest until every last one of you has been terminated.

A special shout-out to all policemen and firemen out in our nation. Y'all are amazing.

"Because I'm proud to be an American, where at least I know I'm free. And I won't forget the men who died, who gave their life for me. And I'll proudly stand up next to you and remember still today. 'Cause there ain't no doubt I love this land. GOD BLESS THE USA."

"Dreams are a wish your heart makes" haha, yeah right.

So, I have really strange dreams. I'm pretty sure God doesn't speak to me in them, and I'm really sure that my heart wasn't wishing this to actually happen. Here's the terrifying dream that I had last night.

The beginning for me (Tanner informed me that you never remember how your dream actually starts) was when I was in a caravan of cars. Some guy who I didn't know was taking me away from this place where I'd been held captive (don't know how that happened...) and now he and his large group of friends were rescuing me. Then, I blink and we're back at my high school, except it did not look like my high school at all. I only really recognized the freshman wing

I'm ushered into this arena that was made for barbarians. It was all busted up; the stands were broken, boulders were in the arena that looked like they had been thrown by a really angry giant. It kind of resembled the arena Harry was in while fighting the dragon in the 4th HP book, to give you a visual. Except the one I was in was less rocky. And with no dragons. Anyway, this HUGE (tall, not fat) and frightening woman with a pointy face (I normally don't remember faces, so this is a treat for y'all that I'm remembering hers...you're welcome) told me that I would pay dearly for my escape. There was no CHS staff in sight and I was kind of freaking out.

Then I somehow appeared in a place that looked like a Nazi concentration camp. It was barren and sad looking. The big woman pointed to a ledge that was about ten feet long, maybe six inches wide, and twenty feet up in the air. It was like a super tall balance beam. And there was a rod about five feet above that. Attached to the rod were twelve, brace yourselves, nooses. And attached to those were twelve of my friends. I had begged and pleaded the large woman to let me take their place, to take me back to where ever--anything to save them. But she wasn't budging. So I climbed the ladder and told all of them that I loved them before I was dragged away. My friend Kirstin tried to calm me down with a Black Currant Fanta (African drink) but I was still freaking out. The twelve were pushed off and all of them were (gulp) killed. Well, except one. Cody. He's been in my English class for the past three years and somehow he survived. He got out of his noose, hugged me, and left. But I was sobbing. Eleven of my friends had just died right before my eyes.

Then I was in my house. It was dark and cld and looked like it had been bombed. My mom told me that because of my actions, a school shooting was happening right now. Of course, that made me feel really great. Then my friend Sarah called me and asked me if everything was true and she couldn't bear to look at the notes (I had no idea what she was talking about). I confimed that I somehow caused twelve-plus people to die some horrible death.

And then my alarm went off. I had about three thoughts right when I woke up:
1. Mary Beth, Nicole, and Claire are dead?! Nooooooooooooo.
2. My face is wet.
3. Oh my gosh--this was a dream. PRAISE THE LORD.

I had cried in my sleep, apparently. And my relief upon waking up and realizing that I had dreamt that whole thing felt absolutely wonderful. So, I texted Mary Beth to ensure her liveliness. She texted back. Then I saw Nicole at school. And Claire was on Facebook. All of my friends (who I remember in the dream) were, in fact, alive.

Now, I don't normally dream about my friends dying and school shootings. I don't know where I got al that, but I assure you that I do not wish death on any of my friends. I love my friends. And am still a little shaken from my dream.

Last night was just straight up scary.

You win some, you lose some

Depressing news in the life of Linley McCord: I did not win the Maximum Ride writing competition. Wasn't even a runner-up.

I can't lie to you. I really, really, really wanted to win. Not because I'm obsessive and have to win everything. But to prove it to myself. To prove to myself that I am a pretty good writer; to prove that I've got some form of talent. And now that I've lost...it's a bit of a blow to my already mildly fragile self-esteem. Before the end of junior year, I just kept thinking to myself, "If I make Red Jackets, if I win the writing competition, I'll be good enough." But, now that both of those things have come to nothing, I realize that I didn't know what or who I was trying to be good enough for. Colleges maybe? My peers? I don't know.

But you know what? It's okay. I mean, I type this as I wipe the pity tears off my face, so sometimes irony gets the best of us. But I really am okay. Rejection is not a fun thing to experience, as I'm sure we all know, but I have to learn to move past my mistakes. If you've read my blog about the competition, you know how badly I wanted that winning position. But allow me to assure you that it is not the end of the world for me. When God closes one door, other ones open.

The rest of the day might be a bit rough for a little while, the loss still on my mind, but I'm signed up to be a middle school girls' retreat counselor at my church tonight. And what they need, since most girls between the ages of 12-14 are a little more insecure than I am, is someone who can lead with her own personal experience and love them like there's no tomorrow. Because, if you think about it, there might not be. And I have no doubt that God had the letter come today, the day where I was supposed to be giddy and joyful for the girls, because He's got a plan. A plan that is flawless and beautiful and joyous and full and awesome. No earthly plans can foil it. And, as I think about it more, I realize this: my joy is not my joy. My joy needs to be God's joy. And tonight I was fully anticipating on using my joy to minister to these girls on a church retreat. God's probably just like, "Hmm, no. Let's use mine instead." And the ONLY way I'm going to be even remotely joyful tonight is through the LORD. My friend Paige said something really wise last summer that has stuck with me. She said that "our joy should not be determined by our circumstances."

Can I get a "soooooo true!" on that one?

Remember that one story about David in the Old Testament? The Ark of the Covenant returned to Israel and David was FREAKING OUT. Like, you could not contain that dude's crazy awesome joy. He was out in the streets in his underclothes just straight up dancing. And his wife was all like, "David, you're out in the streets in your underclothes in front of servant girls, get inside!" and David stops, looks at her, and responds with, "WOMAN! I will dance out of joy to the LORD!" or something like that. Haha, I put it in Linleyspeak. But you get what I mean.

I want joy like David. I want to dance like nobody is paying any attention to me whatsoever. No matter my circumstances, whether I've just lost a contest or I'm dancing in my underwear, I want to be so joyful that people have to put on sunglasses because I'm so bright.

And you know what? I don't need to try to be "good enough". Because God loves me where I'm at right now. He gave me the talent of writing...that I know that I have. I'm His beautiful daughter. And He's my rock. I don't seek the approval of men. I seek the joy of my God.

You can run and tell that, homeboy. ;)