“It’s tomato playdough!”

– Caleb Martin

Skywalkers in Korea Cross Han Solo
The Washington Post

SEOUL, South Korea — They came from all over the world, poles in hand, and feet ready to inch more than half a mile across a high wire strung over the Han River in a spine-tingling battle of balance, speed and high anxiety …

“Your spouse’s bills are yours and yours are yours.”

– From my latest fortune cookie

Dear Impersonal Online Employment Application Website:

Your organization’s recent accounting position recently caught my attention. But let’s be honest, so does any financially related job opening located up to a twenty minute drive from my current residence, so, really. Don’t get too excited. Upon examining this position, I believe that I am clearly the most experienced, qualified, kick-ass candidate for this opening.

…

Yeah … mdog is hilarious, and right on. Check out the rest of the letter … and let her know what you think!

“Uncle Lance, you’re such a monkey’s uncle.”

– Nephew Nathaniel

“Your Chinese is a little bit better than terrible.”

– Daisy Zhou

Last year there were only a handful of Americans living in my city of 1.2 million people. When an American holiday rolled around, however, we would try to put something together that reminded us of home and helped our Chinese friends learn about our culture.

By the end of the year, I ended up hanging out with Grahm, a teacher at the local college, quite a bit … and he was always fantastic at bringing some festivity and excitement to the holidays. From the email he just sent me, it appears that he’s doing the same this year:

Well, my Thanksgiving is almost over, and of course it is very uneventful. One good thing about not being busy though is that you get to think of home, and all the good things in it. I just want to thank you all for making food for each other. I think food is maybe the greatest gift someone can give, besides company of course. Please do not take it for granted. I would give my left arm for some turkey and gravy. This weekend I will try to make something like thanksgiving food out of a duck. Yes it will be difficult, considering I only have a toaster oven, but i guarantee it will be delicious.

I’m spending the morning playing flag football with some guys from church, watching some football in the afternoon, then driving up to my brother’s house in Ashland for our T-day meal. I’ll then head up to my parents’ house for the weekend, where I plan to affix my buttocks firmly to the seats of their hot tub for most of the weekend. I’m also going to the Cavs game on Saturday and the Browns game on Sunday before heading home … and I’m pumped!

Happy Givethanksing, everyone. Givvy Hapthanksing.

“If i was a car, I’d go trade myself in.”

– Pero

“When it takes two weeks and six different positions to answer one question on immigration, it’s easier to understand why the Clinton campaign would rather plant their questions than answer them.”

– Obama spokesman Bill Burton

“Mr. Webel, I like how you’re legitimate and funny at the same time.”

– Elise, sixth grade

Grace, one of my former student-athletes, just sent me an English paper that she wrote about her first few days on my cross country team two years ago.

She’s an incredible writer … grammatically better than most adults that I know and downright hilarious too. Her narrative had me rolling on the floor, remembering a footprint-covered Grace crossing the finish line and the never-ending stories that followed. I really hope that she chooses to use her gift of writing, maybe even as a blogger!

Without further ado, here’s Grace’s story.

The Finish Line
by Grace Reifenberg

Cross Country was the worst decision of my life.

I wearily rubbed my sleep-deprived eyes with a clenched fist and slowly trudged through the empty parking towards my waiting cross country team. The damp grass still glistened with drops from the morning rain shower. The unpleasantly cold morning air chilled me to the bone. Shivering, I huddled in my warm-up even tighter.

At only 8am, I was not looking forward to running, in a mere couple of hours, the 2 mile race. I approached my team still only semi-conscious. My forever-energetic coach enthusiastically slapped me on the back and attempted to pry away the blanket wrapped firmly around me with no luck. Still drowsy, I joined my other teammates huddled together under our team tent. The wind thrashed against the flimsy fabric, threatening to blow it away. The biting air stung our faces as we tried to shelter ourselves from the cold. It was our first cross country meet of the season – my first meet ever.

Under the tent, the oranges and bagels were ignored while the hot chocolate was gone within minutes. As the meet rapidly approached, it soon became time to start our warm-ups. We slowly began our warm-up jog. The cold air nipped at my cheeks, making my eyes water, as we jogged slowly around the soccer field where the course began. As a team, our goal was to keep our muscles warm by leaving our warm-ups on until the very last minute. Even with the thick, water-resistant warm-ups, you could still feel the chill of the frosty air. With rosy cheeks and blue lips, I joined the circle to stretch. My coach began to explain the course’s layout to us. We would start on a soccer field, run around a couple baseball fields, cross a creek, through the woods, along a dirt road, past many cow pastures, and then eventually make it to the chute. As he was describing the course, I began to realize that this race was going to be nothing like practice.

The race official stood up with his winter jacket, earmuffs, and gloves and blew on his whistle. It was time. Dread filled my body. This was it. I had to part with my warm, comforting warm-up and be exposed to the freezing air. Some choose to slowly peel off their cozy pants and jacket, savoring every last bit of their body heat, while I went for more of the shock method. As I tore off my sweats and stood in my skimpy cross country uniform, I was hit with a blast of icy air. Immediately, my entire body shook uncontrollably. Within the couple minutes it takes to get situated on the line, my legs and hands went completely numb.

Once the shock of the cold began to wear off, I felt the nervousness creeping up in me. Standing on the starting line, I slowly began to realize the terrors of the situation I had somehow gotten myself into. After only two practices, somehow I was standing on the starting line of my first cross country race ever. My stomach felt like there was an entire family of butterflies living in it, while my confident swagger quickly vanished and was replaced with trembling knees. Absolute terror was etched upon my face as the official announced,

“Runners, take your marks.”

I gulped and fearfully stepped up to the line.

“Get set.”

Fear clutched my chest as I crouched down. And my legs began to shake uncontrollably. I took one last big breath and braced myself for the single word that would declare my fate.

“Go!”

The deafening blast of the gun made my heart jump in my chest as my legs simultaneously propelled my body forward along with the rest of the pack. I threw myself forward, desperate not to get stuck in the back. When I glanced around, seeing others jostling for position, I was quite surprised to find myself near the front of the pack.

Within the first 100 meters, my legs went completely numb and turned a dark shade of red. After a little while I began to feel the effects of my “not-so-smart” quick start. I settled into a more reasonable pace and tried to focus on the little yellow flags directing me where to go. I was determined not to get lost.

As we turned into the woods, I was met by a raging creek. Its powerful waters demanded respect. The usual trickle of a stream had turned into a rushing, fast-moving creek from the early morning thunderstorm. So much for the new running shoes. Toward the front of the pack, I carefully strode across the creek. As I turned to continue on, I was met by the steepest, muddiest hill I have ever seen. It took up the entire bank of the creek. Already, bodies were scrambling up grabbing onto whatever root they could get a hold of.

Not wanting to miss out, I threw myself into the middle of the pack. Many had made it up the treacherous hill and were continuing on with the race. At the bottom of the pile, I was being crushed by the many bodies attempting to get up the slippery slope. I dug my fingers into the mud, holding on for dear life and managed to pull myself up and hang onto a root. Unfortunately for me, I was stuck like that. Because I had become a barrier, not at the top or bottom of the hill, people began to use me as a replacement for the missing root. Before I knew it, people were grabbing onto my jersey, pulling themselves up by my leg, and even using my shoulder or head as a foot step. I was helpless; lying there in three inch deep mud with my opponents using me as a ladder. Yet, the whole time I was laughing uncontrollably.

My friend and teammate, Sarah, grabbed one of my arms and desperately tried to pull me free. At this point, we were both laughing so hard we had tears in our eyes. Eventually, after just about every runner not only passed me, but used me as a stepstool; I was able to slowly pry myself out of the oozing, bone-chilling mud. I quickly grabbed the root, hoisted myself up, and took off at a dead sprint. As I ran through the woods, I eventually caught up with most of my other teammates. I was just a little more tired, a little bit colder, and a whole lot muddier then anybody else out there.

Eventually, I got back into my stride. With every pounding step, the shock vibrated through my entire body. My lungs began to burn and my throat felt like I swallowed nails. Yet strangely, it wasn’t as nearly as miserable as I had expected.

As my body began to tire, my brain came up with millions of reasons why to stop. My raspy breathing came in gasps and I was positive there was no way I could finish. Yet, my feet keep moving; one step after another. Just one step.

As I rounded the bend towards the finish, my breaths came in short, inadequate gasps. I no longer had any control over my legs. I propelled myself forward towards the finish line. Towards warmth. I gave everything I had that last 200 meter stretch. I didn’t feel anything, I just ran. As I crossed the finish line, my exhausted yet exhilarated body collapsed with relief. I had accomplished my goal.

Cross Country was the worst decision of my life. Yet, it was also one of the best. It challenged me to push myself further than I have ever done before. It took a ton of willpower and perseverance to finish and not stop. But every time I crossed the finish line, I got the greatest satisfaction in knowing that, once again, I had the strength and courage to push myself and finish the race.

Check out the beginning of this article about Hunan Province’s recent environmental improvement:

Fisherman Mao Kequn had a fabulous time this summer watching [fish] jumping up and down in his pond. “Thanks to the government’s efforts, my fish are no longer dying,” he says.

Mao, who lives at the south bank of Dongting Lake in Hunan Province, could still remember the heartbreaking moment last June. All of his fish died within a couple of weeks due to polluted water from a nearby paper plant. He was so frustrated that he decided to drive a truck of dead fish to the local government and file a complaint.

Oh, how I love Chinese people.

“Mr. Webel, your motherboard is so fat that she went swimming in the Gulf of Mexico and farted, and that’s what made Hurricane Katrina.”

– Grant (5th grade)

“Don’t be talkin’ ’bout my motherboard.”

– Me

“I encourage our fans to acquire our album however they please. The philosophy I’ve adopted is that if you’re supporting disc sales, you’re keeping the old model around longer … the one that forces dudes like me to tour 9 months/year if they want to make ends meet with a career in music. If you wanna really support a band, “steal” their album … help bury the label … and buy a tshirt when you show up at their show and sing every word.”

– Dave Peters, lead singer of Throwdown

Hello,

Our daughter had the time of her life at camp! We have pushed her through many camps — it has always been a physically and emotionally draining experience as we watch her get left out and left behind. What a delight to instead have the exact opposite occur.

I have so many moments etched into my memory of each and every one of the CHCA and PVM teachers and staff taking time to talk with, lift, push, and laugh with our daughter. I am absolutely blown away by the fact that you took the time to consider her while juggling so many educational and spiritual needs.

She’ll never forget being an Assistant Missionary, terrified and hysterical with laughter in alternate moments while wheeling around in the dark and attempting to convert “Professor Heart.” Never in her wildest dreams did she think she’d swing in the orbitron, go up and over a challenge wall, and down a zip line all within 24 hours.

I woke up Friday morning thinking with the phrase “the last shall be first” popping into my head — and I was sure I’d seen a glimpse of what heaven will be like as I watched the sweetness of seeing so many men and women acting as the hands and feet of Christ lifting her up. Mr. Salisbury’s chapel theme that morning reminded me just how long that eternal “wow” is going to last. What a privilege it will be to share it with all of you.

In Him,
[name removed]