Bedhead, Ronald Reagan, and the Zombie Apocalypse

Guys, guys, guys, guys, guys it’s getting colder outside! You know what that means! It’s going to snow soon! πŸ˜€ πŸ˜€ πŸ˜€

Aside from the weather, I was up at two in the morning discussing Revelation and prophecy with one of my friends from church. When I fell asleep finally, I was transported into a freakish sort of dream world. I was in Stewarts, a little gas station in my home town. My brother Stephen and I were standing in there and Stephen rushed out of the building, nearly leveling Ronald Reagan, who was also headed toward the door. I stood there in shock, unsure of what to say. Then the door shut on Mr. President while he was trying to leave, another embarrassing result of Stephen’s exit. I rushed outside after Reagan and tapped on the window of his limousine. For some inexplicable reason I climbed into the long black vehicle and sat next to the president, explaining how absolutely sorry I was for my brother’s actions. My brother was sitting up front talking to two black men in sunglasses. I continued to tell Mr. President how awesome he was and how much I admired him as a politician.

A sudden change of scene came about, as often happens in dreams. I was transported to an underground tunnel. There were a bunch of bugs crawling on the walls and I was sprinting towards an exit with my cousin Tyler, Dante (not from the Divine Comedy, but from the video game “Dante’s Inferno”), and Mr. Freeze. Dante was hitting away the bugs with his giant can-opener of a weapon; Mr. Freeze was blasting them with ice cubes; Tyler was hitting them with a makeshift slingshot; I was running and screaming like a maniac.

So we get out of the tunnel and a week passes. The bugs come out of the tunnel and become the cause of the Zombie Apocalypse (disclaimer: I do not actually believe that the Zombie Apocalypse will happen or that zombie-lore is real). To the advantage of my dream self, I’ve played enough Black Ops 2, seen enough zombie movies, read enough blogs, and written enough stories to be one heck of a zombie-killer. Once or twice in the dream I was given the great privilege of using a shot gun to kill a walking corpse and defend some innocent person. When I woke up I wondered if I shouldn’t have my brain examined.

I knew I’d had the dream because of the talk of Revelation. While Revelation doesn’t have any zombies, it is similar to the kind of apocalyptic action we find in today’s books, movies, and video games, but while these themes are fictional, merely for entertainment, the events foretold in Revelation are real. I’m still not sure how Mr. Freeze and Ronald Reagan got mixed in there, but they were good company πŸ™‚

I like to tell God about my dreams, even though He already knows about them, even when they’re as weird and freakish as this one. Speaking of talking to God, I’m learning to pray for others more, which I’ve never been very good at. Don’t get me wrong; I care about others and worry about them, but I just seem to forget to pray for them. I’ve been sitting down every morning and praying through a mental list of people. Doing it consistently is the important part. “The prayer of a righteous person is powerful and effective.” James 5:16 (NIV). I’ve seen consistent prayer cause miracles in people’s lives. Prayer is literally the most powerful thing you can do in this state of humanity; prayer is one of the best ways to show someone you really care about them. I prayed for my family, for Charlene and Karly, for the people at church, for my classmates, for my professors, and for all of my dear friends back home.

While I was getting ready for the day, I realized I was having one of those amazing days where I could just not brush my hair and it looked fine. It’s in these moments when I wonder why TIGI makes hair products called “Bedhead.” The natural thing is so much healthier for your hair, and it takes less effort to maintain :D. Despite how fabulous I looked, I did brush my hair.

Karly, Charlene, and I all had lunch together again. I’m glad to see this is sort of becoming a regular thing; it’s like we’re the Three Musketeers or something cheesy like that. It is nice to have a few close Christian friends on campus though, even if I don’t get to hang out with them all the time.

Charlene had to purchase some over-priced paint at Utrecht, the campus art supplies store. She went through the isles, throwing small bottles of paint into the shopping basket with a painful expression on her face. Each small bottle (it’s about the length of a pen and the width of a tube of toothpaste) cost over seven dollars. A lot of the students in Charlene’s class were there buying supplies as well, and some of the paint she needed was sold out. She asked for one of the employees to check and see if there was any paint left. The employee returned from the store basement with the paint Charlene needed, saying how lucky she was since they never had extra paint.

“Not lucky, just blessed.” Charlene said when the employee walked away. πŸ˜€

When we were finished, she told me we should bet on Connecticut Muffin how much everything in the basket cost. Now, I normally don’t bet, especially if it involves money, but I figured I hadn’t had the opportunity to treat Charlene to Connecticut Muffin yet (she’d always treated me), so I went ahead and took the bet. She guessed seventy; I guessed eighty-five.

The total, for five small tubes of paint, mat protector, a scraping tool, and three medium bottles of paint, was almost one hundred dollars. It was rather ridiculous. I don’t think the professors have the art students buy specific paint to make them spend a ton of money; I think they specify brands because they’re experienced and know what brands work best. But still…imagine all of the other things you could do with one hundred dollars.

I only had Writer’s Studio today, and I was a little nervous to return after the discussions that transpired last class. Regardless, I went to class, ready to discuss. We went outside because it was finally warming up after a morning of sunless cold. After about ten minutes outside, however, me and the rest of my classmates were chilled to the bone, and I’m pretty sure my professor was feeling the same way. We ended class twenty minutes early.

With the plan to do my homework in the cafeteria again, I went and grabbed dinner. On my way to a booth I saw a bunch of the writing majors sitting in a separate booth. Against the warning of the Holy Spirit, I sat with them. I should have just set myself up in a different booth instead of sitting with them. They talked all about drugs and which ones they had done, liked, disliked, etc. It just wasn’t what I wanted to talk about. They compared spirituality to vice, saying that, like everyone had some sort of vice, spirituality was the vice for some.Β Vice, as defined by the Encarta World English Dictionary, means “an immoral or wicked habit or characteristic; immoral conduct; prostitution; a mild defect in character.” This proposal hit me hard, so hard I couldn’t form my thoughts to create a sound, professional argument against it. But I wasn’t even sure if there was an argument to be made; I should’ve just walked away, politely saying that I needed to start my homework, which I really did. I love my fellow writing majors, I really do, but I shouldn’t have sat with them.

I eventually did leave the table, but it was only when everyone else began to leave. Feeling like an idiot, I finally set up my laptop and my study material in the same booth I sat in last night. As I sat trying to focus again, ignoring the feeling of deja vu, I just felt like a failure. I felt like all of my spiritual effort was in vain, like I hadn’t helped anyone or changed anyone’s mind.

What’s my goal here anyway?

Before I could even go down that route of thought, I sat back and realized what was going on. Satan was messing with me, trying to get me to think that God couldn’t use me because I had chosen to sit with a bunch of people who didn’t know Him. Why does he do that? Why can’t he just leave me alone? I mean, I’m already a mess; there’s really no need for him to be all up in my business. I wrote in my journal for a little while and spilled out all of my thoughts to Jesus, then I packed up my things and headed back to my dorm.

This week hasn’t been bad, necessarily…it’s just been weird. I feel like I’m in limbo in the Twilight Zone talking to a shrink while eating gummy bears, giving me quite the headache. I can’t wait until the weekend. Saturday I’m doing something kind of different. One of the ladies from church is going to visit some of her Sunday school students and she asked me if I would go with her. Before I could let myself chicken out I hurried up and accepted, excited about a new adventure. Sunday is the last day of IBC’s Harvest Days. This Sunday is called Round-Up Sunday; lunch is chili πŸ˜€ I love chili. When I was home, my Dad made the best chili and cornbread. I tell you, that was some legitimate chili. I miss him a lot.

Sunday I’m planning on meeting with Pastor; some things have come up in this crazy college life that I’m not quite sure how to handle, so I’m going to ask the person who might. Hopefully our discussions will afford me a little more clarity.

“There are three options in college life: friends, sleep, and good grades. Pick two.”

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About newminority16

Hi, my name is Hunter. I very often make random comments about bacon and how chocolate is proof that God loves us and wants us to be happy :) So, before I started this blog, I was getting ready to make one of the biggest decisions of my life: college. God led me to go to a secular college in New York City, a place I was deathly afraid of. It's followed me through those years at college straight into married life and becoming a military spouse, all while seeking to following Christ and know God better and share Him with others. This blog is a way for you to go with me through these adventures, through being a Christian in a world that's forgotten its Creator.
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2 Responses to Bedhead, Ronald Reagan, and the Zombie Apocalypse

  1. starwarsfreak117 says:

    That quote at the end… so true. And… wait… you’re saying zombies aren’t real? I’m sorry you think that. But it’s awesome that you play Black Ops XD

    Like

  2. Lol I play with Noah, Duncan, and Brian πŸ˜›

    Like

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