Kidding. Well, sort of kidding. I gave the following speech for my number ten speech in the Toastmasters Competent Communicator manual a couple years ago. A fellow member, in her evaluation, mentioned I should think about becoming a pastor. Naturally, I shrugged off the suggestion. That moment is fairly laughable these days.

In any case, I watched it the other day and kind of inspired myself. So I thought I’d share. It’s ten minutes, so it isn’t short. But it’s worth it. (Even on mute. 😉 )

Click here.

 

How does one pray? That was my starting point. I wasn’t concerned with silent prayer, but an out loud prayer which I had resolved to perform by myself in my apartment. I hadn’t prayed out loud for over a decade, but had decided that I wanted to break the streak. I was going to pray an honest-to-goodness heartfelt prayer–no matter how weird the physical manifestation of this desire felt.

“Should I sit? Should I stand? If sitting, can I be reclined?” I wondered. None of those options felt natural. “Ah, kneeling,” I remembered. “I could kneel. Yes, that seems universal. I will kneel at my bedside in a classically American nighttime pose of prayer,” I determined.

Leaning over, my elbows resting on the bed, I closed my eyes. My mind traversed all the greetings I could recall from all Christian prayers I had ever heard. “Dear God”, “Father”, “Our Father”, “God”, “Heavenly Father”, “Jesus”, “My Lord”, and a few others passed between my ears silently. But none came out.

Naturally, I was embarrassed by this speechlessness. It is a rare thing. I tried to rationalize and told myself, “Don’t sweat it. You’re praying the Lord’s Prayer in Greek when you read your homework. That should count.” But it doesn’t count. When I do that, I’m working on pronunciation, not speaking from the heart. Then I became a skeptic and thought, “This is bullshit anyhow. There’s no God. That’s why you can’t get yourself to address one.” But that felt more like a lie than counting the Greek thing did. Then it hit me like a ton of bricks. I couldn’t address God, Almighty God, the Creator, the Maker of heaven and earth out loud because I didn’t feel worthy of an audience with Him.

In seminary, as in most formal education, some classes have the word “survey” in the title. “Survey of (whatever).” Well, as I was kneeling there speechless, I surveyed my life and concluded that for the last 12 years or so I had been in the muck, in the mire, and been offending God. Physically, I would describe the feeling that overcame me as I concluded this as that of my heart imploding. Shoulders collapsing forward together. However slight the offense began some years ago, it culminated in my last job. I wasn’t (don’t) feeling guilty about nipples or alcohol or partying–that’s an entirely separate discussion. My feeling of unworthiness stemmed from the fact that that job fully highlighted that I had been living without purpose. Or for the wrong purpose (fame or money) which is the same thing. Here I am, a created being brimming with potential, and I have been living most of my adult life without regard for my Creator. And now it’s been so long that I feel like the gulf between us is too great. The worst part is that I know the end of the story and yet I still feel this way.

In any case, you’re going to get another post in a couple hours which contains a link to a speech I gave a couple years ago. It’s about 10 minutes long, but the audience in the room seemed to think it was alright, so you might too. More to come concerning prayer.

Prayer, the fairly abstract concept that sometimes seems little more than wishful thinking, has been making headlines of late. Over the last year, I have surely had a robust internal prayer life, if I use a more liberal definition of the word. But I haven’t prayed a prayer out loud in some time. I remember I prayed out loud a couple years ago, but I’m ashamed to admit the circumstances, so I will not. But before that prayer, it was a good decade of not praying out loud; a good decade had passed of not putting my voice to the task of addressing Almighty God.

As one can imagine, I have come to the conclusion that this pattern needs to change and that I want it to change. So last night, I set out for myself the goal of praying out loud.

Before we get to the result, I have something to ask of you. I want to know something from you. I know, I know. I ask a lot of you. Many of you have shared that you don’t read any of my Christian posts, I am certain I have lost many of you in my posts of wanton rage–what is commonly referred to as venting–and I know I lost your confidence in my posts which revealed that I have misrepresented myself in the blogosphere in order to gain customers (a failed endeavor, btw). But I still have a question:

Why did you pay me when I was in the Air Force?

Obviously, you don’t need to include in your response the pertinent fact that you were required to by law, that you didn’t exactly have a choice. In answering, let me remind you that I was an officer and pilot, special operations at that. In other words, by all accounts, you loved me while I was serving. I’m not asking for evidence of this love or flattery (though human nature will not allow me to parry any attacks), what I want is to know why you paid me?

Was it because you wanted some humans to die and some property to be destroyed and yet you didn’t want to do it yourself? Was it because someone (your parents or grandparents or friends) recommended me? Even now, when I no longer serve, I still have several friends who do serve and we’re all paying them. Why? What good or service did I provide? Did you feel safe because I stood on the wall? Did you purchase a “feeling”? After 9/11 did you want your money back? How about after the Paris attacks and after San Bernadino? Did you “feel” you received equal value for the money you put forth?

Or maybe you’re buying virtue? Is that what I was selling? In the Air Force, the core values are Integrity First, Service Before Self, and Excellence In All We Do. I’m sure the other branches have their own values, some might even be more eloquently stated. Is this what you wanted? Buying a McDouble requires a certain level of integrity, but if the employee made it with the proper ingredients and only the proper ingredients, I don’t think I would inquire as to whether or not he ascribed to an over-arching code of conduct before I decided to purchase the burger. But defending a nation seems to necessarily require a code of conduct that reaches all aspects of a soldier’s life. Is that why you paid me? As reward for or incentive to live virtuously? A “someone has to protect, but not just anyone will do; so we must pay him to be of sound character (whether in reward for behavior already witnessed or as incentive to live up to high standards)” type of monetary exchange?

Tell me. Please. Why did you pay me?

Christian theology has four sources. They are scripture, tradition, reason, and experience. Even the order of the four sources matters. A difference between Protestants, Catholics, and Orthodox Christians is the order. Evangelicals in particular, but protestants in general, begin with scripture. The Catholics and Orthodox elevate tradition to an equal footing. But everyone–me, you, everyone–has to reconcile their own reason to include their own life experiences with their theology. (Yes, I’m implying that everyone has a theology even if they won’t admit it.)

Here’s where I’m struggling on an personal level after last semester’s experience. First, what does a Christian do with dumb people? Yeah, yeah, I get it. That’s not the charitable or gentle way to put it, but it works. And there are dumb people. I am talking about actually uneducated, ignorant, un-reflective, and just plain un or mis or ill-informed people. It seems hopeless. And on the other hand, in recognizing dumb people exist, I find great motivation to make sure and educate the shyat out of my daughter. Maybe she’ll reject Christianity along the way, but she is going to at least develop the ability to think so that some day she may possess the ability to draw the Christian conclusion.

Second, my ex-wife is not a believer. While I wasn’t either during the marriage, and while the doctrinal claims of religion weren’t even close to a sore-spot cause of the divorce, I just don’t think I would be divorced had I been married to at least a cultural Christian. It’s been three years, and one self-published pseudo memoir since the divorce. Yet during today’s exchange of the joint-child, I was once again overcome with such a palpable emotion of rage–a rage which has as its only appropriate expression utter and total stillness–that I immediately became ashamed. You there! Jesus loves you! You, over there! Accept Christ’s atoning sacrifice and be saved! Hey, you! Passerbyer! Join me in Christian brotherhood! But her? For all I care she can finish off this life ignorant, aimless, and full of unrealized potential before burning in what I hope is a literal fiery pit of hell for eternity. And the fact that I feel this way is not right. It’s just not right. But it’s how I feel or my experience, nonetheless.

The point is I have a sneaking suspicion you might relate to these two experiences. I have to believe that Christianity has some answers, but I don’t see them today. I share this because I am confident that I am in the process of a transformation. The main reason for my confidence is that I am terrified of the effort that I know it will take to change my perspective.

Anyhow, pray for me.

For irtfyblog

Like Billy Joel, I have a tendency to go to extremes. I have drawn some preliminary conclusions about where I’d like this blog to go, particularly the nature of the writing, post-first-semester of Seminary. But while I have no problem with the concept “fake it ’til you make it”, when it comes to the Christian walk, I want to “keep it real” as well. For Denver residents, that means that I want to be (all together now) authentic.

I just got back from an impromptu visit to my hometown, the same hometown of the 2015 World Series Champion Royals, for Christmas. While he at least begins to skim my blog posts, my tall, handsome, and hard-working brother-in-law asked me the question again.

“So, seriously, do you want to be a preacher?”

Before I had finished my preparatory-inhale, he added, “The short version.”

Re-capping a bit, I need money to live. I was paid money to work at a strip club beginning early last year. I soon was promoted to manager and secretly confessed to a friend that the work was alright, but that I thought I probably would need to hit a seminary if I wanted to get back into heaven. As the fall approached and new kindergarten-related bills arrived, I saw the need for more money. Given that I have a GI Bill at my disposal and that this GI Bill pays out a healthy monthly stipend, I very quickly determined that my schedule could in fact support a masters program and chose a seminary. Finishing a nearly double full-time course load a couple Fridays ago, I was fired the following Monday.

The seminary I am at includes a 4 or 6 semester character formation program that students must enroll in and pass in order to earn their degree. This, I am told, makes it unique in the world of seminaries. Anyhow, the point is, that I am now registered for another full-time semester and about to try my hand at part-time work once again.

Admittedly, however, circumstances as this semester approaches are quite different from those last fall. The word I’m thinking about a lot these days is “transformation”. Whatever other options are supposedly available to accomplish a transformation of a person’s life, the one I’m staring at is called Christianity. I am still in the midst of a by-all-accounts rough transition from Air Force life to civilian life. But I haven’t given up and my haphazard efforts (what we used to call “all thrust, no vector”) have landed me at a training ground for Christian leadership. These days there are degrees in all sorts of areas from counseling, to pastor-ing, but given the general response I’ve received, I would be remiss if I didn’t confess that, yes, pastors-to-be still account for many, many students. A fellow-classmate of mine eloquently summarized his take on seminary-to-be-a-pastor as “really, pastors are just supposed to be Christians”.

Do I want to be a pastor? Do I intend to be a pastor? Let’s see. I ain’t skerred to give speeches, I have a demonstrable inclination to a life of continuous learning, I write well, I have and can play a grand piano, and I have trained-to-be/been a leader (at least in title) for nearly my entire life. But I don’t have a building, am still acquiring a sound theology, and *big surprise coming* could use a refresher course on character.

The strip club seemed inclined to see where my future lay, so they cut ties. Most of you can’t understand why I would get this degree if not to become a preacher. What does everyone know that I don’t?

Here’s my answer. In the voice of my brother-in-law’s wife’s celebrity crush since she first heard of him as a teen, “Or as the good reverend would say, ‘Why we’re on this particular mission, here today, we’ll never know…'” So I don’t know. (Continuing in the same staccato as Harry), but I do know…that I don’t believe in wasting opportunities.

PS – If you are a fan or want to become one, check out his live performance of Come By Me from last summer.

Augustine of Hippo is given preeminence as the mortal, next to Paul of Tarsus, who did most to spread Christianity. One of the reasons he is held in such high accord is because his Confessions struck such a powerful chord with his contemporaries.

I’m not going to mimic him and attempt to write a lengthy confessions. But, like all bloggers, I do like sharing my inner most thoughts. I find it edifying, as they say. So here’s one that pertains to my last job.

During class last semester, the professor recommended reading a book on war. His words were something close to, “Want to know what war is like? Read this book.” As a combat veteran, my immediate and lasting thought was, “Ha. That won’t do the trick.” Therefore, my confession is that I do not respect “authorities” who lack the experience they are supposed to be an authority on. A man who hasn’t fought a war reporting on which account he believes to be an accurate one is just plain silly. And the professor’s next words were even sillier. He said, “And by all accounts, soldiers admit that what they are really fighting for is each other.” He stole that right off the Lone Survivor movie preview. Are soldiers fighting for each other? Certainly. But I took my officer’s oath of office very seriously. I swore “To support and defend the US Constitution.” One difference between the officer oath and the enlisted oath is the absence of the phrase “obey the orders of the President of the United States and the orders of the officers appointed over me…” in the officer’s oath. Sure, I wanted to get everyone home safely with a victory, but as an officer I always felt there was something more to my role. On some level I, not the enlisted man, was responsible for the fight. And believe you me that I really struggle with the current international climate and the ongoing terrorism and my role in it. Did I (and my forerunners and those still serving) give rise to terrorism? Does terrorism persist because I did not fulfill my oath? What would my actions be (what will they be) if our historical situation were reversed and an Islamic country was imposing their will on my Christian (secular if you must) country? (as of today, my answers are: Probably, Yes, and Build more theologically sound Christian churches in an effort to unleash the Holy Ghost’s transformative power, and out of these create a culture that took pride in how many wounded enemies (and Americans) we fed and nursed back to health with our superior compassion and medical capabilities.)

All of this to say that if I ever find myself in front of a classroom at a seminary, I won’t have to say, “Want to know about war? Read this book. Want to know about strip clubs? Read this book.” Relating to clubs, I know the reason first-hand why my childhood church, and Christianity in general, viewed bars–strip clubs especially–so dogmatically and so negatively. And my experience working at one has stripped me of the fear I had of them. Furthermore, I believe I now possess the tools with which to chat with interested parties about the subject.

I also was lucky. I didn’t get maimed or killed in the “war” I fought in. And I only once took a cheap shot at the club I worked in (my thick skull comes in handy at times, it seems). Things could’ve been much worse in both situations. But risk is the price of experience.

Experience. It’s one of the four criteria for good theology. The other three include scripture, tradition, and reason. But the God of scripture, tradition, and reason is no God at all if he doesn’t exist in experience. One attribute of God is omnipresence. God is everywhere at all times. Suburban living raised me to recite that (formal curriculum), but also taught me to acknowledge that God isn’t everywhere, that he has been overrun in some buildings, by some people (hidden curriculum).

Even now most Christian readers cannot resolve my claim’s tension. Was God in the club? Most definitely. How do I know? Because everybody in the club was alive. They (including me) were down, but not out. And that club in specific has one thing on many, many churches (and also other social institutions): The club welcomed ev-er-y-one.

Remember when I said I’m not going to seminary to be a preacher? That’s still true. But if I was aiming to be a preacher, you better believe that at my church we’d be taking all comers. No strip club is going to corner the market on lost people in my town.

I was not fired because of my religion. That needs to be clear from the beginning. In the current political climate it is illegal to fire people because of their religion, and, again, I do not believe my religion was the reason I was fired. The reason I’m explaining this is because the reasons I was told I was fired don’t seem based in reality as I experienced it and/or grievous enough to warrant termination versus feedback. If it wasn’t my religion, if it wasn’t the stated reasons, what then was I fired for?

“Hold on to your butts.”

My story begins last November, November 2014. I had quit working in the oil fields in favor of self-publishing a couple books and living the good life. Book nearing completion, by the end of the holidays it was coming to crunch time. By the end of January, I swallowed hard and realized my first short novel would not make money. I began to look at my options for part-time employment. As I love pizza, and as there is a bit of an urban legend about pizza delivery being lucrative, I considered it. Then, one night while hanging out with a friend in a strip club, I had a better idea. I remembered Mark Twain’s sage advice about finding work. In volume one of his autobiography he writes that you should think about what you would do for free, and then go from there (essentially). I looked around the club at all the staff and thought, “Hmm. I have to imagine that these places have the same hiring dilemma that every company has. I bet I could get a job here.” Not to mention I am a wicked dancer.

Before you jump to conclusions, keep in mind that I do not believe in fear. I’ve been afraid a couple times in my life and it was not pleasant. Strip clubs, from the earliest age, always caused me fear. I was afraid of them. And that was no good. So to face my fear, last February, with very little to lose and desperate for a job that wouldn’t drive me crazy, I got a job at a strip club.

This was not a solo venture, either. I sought out the advice of many friends of all ages. The older the friend, the more encouragement I received to explore this opportunity. (Young people are so worried about resumes it’s bizarre.) Anyhow, I was very nervous about the whole endeavor from day one, but the company I worked for was corporate enough that everything was tolerable, and more. It was fun. I could see why people do the work. Citizens, you folks and me, like to let loose from time to time and strip clubs exist as the penultimate place to party. So I helped facilitate your parties, getting paid all the while.

A few weeks in, a friend asked me how it was going. His tone indicated that he didn’t want the usual, cheerful, of-course-everything-is-alright answer that we’re trained to give. So I answered him honestly. I said, “Things are good. They’re good. I think I’m going to have to go to seminary afterwords if I still want to make it to heaven, but I like going to work and it pays the bills.”

Well, as he says in August Wilson’s Piano Lesson, “Time go’d on. Time go’d on.” The part-time gig was lucrative, but part-time. I saw what the business was and was fine with it, so I started voicing that I’d like to be a manager. Given my professional history, though they didn’t know me very long, they took a chance on me that I am very grateful for. So now I was an assistant manager of a strip club. Smiling every day at both the irony of my life and the easy money, I especially loved the meetings where we brainstormed how to throw a better party.

Keep in mind, all the while, I had been going to my church as often as I could and even playing piano occasionally during the Wednesday night prayer meetings. Talk about some inner turmoil. But Jesus ate with prostitutes, I told myself.

As the summer drew to a close, I determined that I could use a bit more cash to keep up with child support and kindergarten costs. In the back of my mind I knew I still had a chunk of my GI Bill available to use to go back to school. It has a healthy monthly stipend in addition to paying for the education. If done right, it can be a perfect second job. Since I was working only at night, everything seemed to fall into sync. I followed through on my comment about seminary and began to take classes towards a Masters of Divinity in Theology at an Evangelical Christian seminary–while managing a strip club. I smile every time I think of it. You should too.

(I’m sure I will write more on the job in the future, but that’s not what this post is about so be patient.)

Once I began the semester, I quickly realized that the school would not be smiling. Maybe I’m totally wrong, but so far only the wisest of older Christians seem able to possess a manifest understanding of how the little situation I was in was actually as ingenious as I thought it was. Be that as it may, I avoided talking about work at all costs while at school and fervently prayed that no one would ask me directly where I worked. Omission is one thing, direct lying is another. I loved my school and did not want to get asked to leave.

Naturally, because I talk a lot, people at work learned where I was going to school and for what degree. As fearful as I was of my school rejecting me, I was astonished at how supportive everyone at work was. The general consensus was, “Right on. Do what you love.” Keep in mind that an Evangelical Christian is inherently one which believes it is a Christian’s duty to share the Gospel. Perhaps you’ve met one? Also remember that it is the federal government’s duty to provide a workplace which is free from proselytizing. So I never shared the gospel at work. I sometimes talked about an interesting idea that was presented in class, but to me that was no different than what any student that has a job does. For example, I shared that we were taught that (as I mentioned earlier in a post) the reason God curses the ground (work) after the fall of man is because God wants nothing earthbound to satisfy humans. Almighty God designed the time-space universe to point back to him and he is our sole satisfaction, the theological speculation goes. That’s why we’re all miserable at work (despite everyone and their brother trying to tell us that happiness is found in the workplace if only…you buy their book). I shared this particular idea because I was floored by the way this accurately described my life. I’ve been aimlessly wandering around the professional field for three years now and when I headed to a place that most people locate somewhere near the bottom, I ended up at a seminary looking for answers. Hmm. This was a fascinating coincidence in my mind and I presented it as such. But I’m open to the fact that even that might be illegal proselytizing. If that’s the case, however, I need to go back to human interaction school next.

In any case, time go’d on and as you know I finally finished up the semester last Friday. Busy doesn’t begin to describe the last 3+ months. Nor does the seminary’s favorite word “tension” do justice to my soul’s experience. But I made it.

Then I was fired Monday night.

Only now, in retrospect, does it all make sense. I was so mixed up. Boobs will do that to a man, I guess. I was so worried about the school finding out my job, that I never, not once, stopped to consider the flip side. I also never intended to be a problem child for the company, though I fully agree that people who look at this story on paper only could reasonably conclude that I am one. You see, strip clubs are on the edge of the legal envelope. Club’s owned by fellas with an accurate assessment of the value of the long game cannot afford to cut corners. Workplace harassment of any kind cannot be tolerated precisely because all of you assume that it is a natural part of strip club culture. “Of course she got sexually harassed, look at where she works” etc. Because of this, the whole industry is engulfed in the fear of legal issues. (There’s that word again. Fear.) Court is expensive, and no one wants to go. Therefore, the company takes the law very seriously–in an effort to avoid lawsuits.

Then there’s me. Let’s role play now. Suppose you’re my boss and you know about my school. For some reason, you acknowledge something that I–the one going to the school and working for you–don’t. You believe that the two are incompatible. If you are hyper-sensitive to employment lawsuits, can you legally ask me what’s going on or what my intentions are? I wish they would have, but I can’t see how they could have. Once the very subject is broached, I (not me, of course, I would never engage in a court battle as faithful readers know) would have the upper hand in their eyes. I’d be un-fire-able. Employment for life. You can’t ask someone about their religion and then fire them for another reason. So they never asked. And I was fired for another reason (again, they did not fire me for proselytizing or comment in any way on the matter, which they would have been fully right to do had they believed I was in fact proselytizing). Fair enough.

Despite the loss of income, I’m still smiling. I may be the first person to have ever done what I just did last semester. Seriously. Y’ever heard o’ such a thang? Seminary student by day, strip club manager by night? The Lord works in mysterious ways.

A former co-worker from a previous job told me once, “Pete, you sure love to stir shit up.” I guess I do. I wonder which historical figure’s model I’m following?

Looking ahead, I could (and probably will) write endlessly about this experience. It was rich, as they say. And I’m grateful for having it. But this is all for today. Merry Christmas people.

 

Barely. I’m tired. (Keep in mind, there was much more reading from PDF’s, and all the paper writing. Oh, and the Koine Greek–not to mention full time work.)

I tell you what. I’m still running on the inside. Hopefully I’ll find the peace that passes understanding tomorrow. I only have until the end of January before it begins again. Here’s a photo of the books I read this semester. On the left of The Holy Bible are books I read cover-to-cover, on the right, are books that I read half-or-more. Within the aforementioned Bible, Genesis, Exodus, Leviticus, Numbers, Deuteronomy, Joshua, Judges, Ruth, Job, Psalms, Proverbs, Ecclesiastes, and Song of Songs. Though those last three were more skimmed than read (forgive me).

If I was you, I’d be dying to know what I think my chances are of getting into heaven (naturally being the ultimate goal, right?) after one semester of a seminary. Well, as always, I’ll offer you a reference point from a movie. Remember Johnny Depp’s Benny and Joon? There’s a scene where the all-to-ready-to-play-Buster-Keaton Depp wants to see his girlfriend who’s locked up in a group home. He employs some of his talent for good, tossing his hat toward the closing door and it slides perfectly between the door and the door frame, thus propping the door open. Overlay the pearly gates onto that scene, and you get the idea.

The thing that bothers me most about tonight is that I am alone. That’s no good and about as anti-Christian as it comes if any of my reading has paid off. Oh well. I’ve made my choices and have few regrets. Someday I’ll stop pushing people away and together we’ll fulfill Augustine of Hippo’s City of God.

I hope to write some more flash fiction over the break. But first, like the rest of you, I have to figure out my Obamacare situation before the 15th. And then I have to renew my pilot’s licenses before the spring semester begins.

I’d like to leave you with this quote by an ol’ timey preacher from the early 20th century named Billy Sunday. (To be clear, if you’re not wearing a silly grin after you read the following, dial 9-1-1.) Apparently he’s famous for proclaiming,

“I don’t know any more about theology than a jack-rabbit does about ping-pong, but I’m on the way to glory!”

As the Boondock Saints would say, “I do believe the Monsignor has finally got the point.”

Amen.

With little H- as conclusive evidence, yes, it is true, I have had sex. It can feel good.

The fantasy or foreplay of sex, most of us would probably admit, can feel good–even better than sex itself sometimes.

Eating amazing food is pretty great. (Here I’m thinking the choicest cut steaks cooked rare, beet red tuna sashimi, fresh croutons, cheese cubes, hard-boiled eggs–heck, anything in a monster salad that isn’t a vegetable–and, of course, cheesy, bready, pepperoni-ee, sausage-ee pizza.)

Sneezing has always had a unique feeling of pleasure to me, too. Especially solo sneezing when I am able to liberate my body from any social concerns and just let it get those dust particles OUT!!

Laughing. I love laughing. Ask anyone who knows me and they’ll tell you that I will sacrifice nearly anything (friends, family, jobs) to help someone laugh–even if that someone is only me.

Thinking about a blissful, eternal afterlife. That can bring me joy sometimes. The dream of a problem-free existence.

But none of those things, not one of those instances of life can compete with right now. Right now, at this very moment, I am living within the sure knowledge that at this time, one week from today, I will have completed a semester of school. No matter how little sleep I get, no matter how poor my grades turn out to be (I’m doing fine…just trying to stay humble), no matter what else happens, next Friday, December 11th, 2015, my brother’s one-hundred-and-elevenenenth birthday, I will have officially completed something.

Boy! I wish I could stay in this moment forever. Talk about joy. If only I could bottle this feeling. This is it.