It's Beginning to Look a Lot Like Christmas

So, when I woke up this morning and realized it was really Christmas Eve, I felt confused. The time had sped by and suddenly it's the end of December. How on Earth that happened I don't know. I blinked and suddenly my final year of high school is half over. But the real thing that puzzled me was that it doesn't feel like Christmas. It feels like another day.

I've been playing the Michael Buble Christmas album over and over on my iTunes waiting for the magic to finally sink in. I made my boyfriend take me to see The Rise of The Guardians and I've watched Christmas flicks on Hallmark and ABC Family for weeks. So why doesn't it feel like Christmas?

I thought maybe it's because I'm Jewish and we celebrate Christmas because my dad's family is Catholic. Maybe I just stopped believing in Christmas magic. But I don't think that's true because when we left Rise of the Guardians, I felt like a little girl who remembered why she believed.

Maybe it's because we do Christmas all wrong. We open gifts on Christmas Eve and have a fancy meal on Christmas Day. But that's never stopped the magic before.

Well, what if I'm too old for Christmas? I struggled to argue with myself on this one because, as I've aged, I've begun to care less for the material things in life. But this question ultimately lead to the answer.

After pondering this question all morning, it just suddenly hit me that the message of giving has not been preached as thoroughly as in the past. I also haven't heard about the value of the immaterial either. Things with more meaning than just "What do you want?" My age does have something to do with it, I suppose, because I'm now old enough to hear the half-hearted "Merry Christmas" from the cashier at Wal-Mart. I'm old enough to see the greed in children's eyes even though they probably won't play with the toys they get beyond New Years. Christmas songs play on the radio at Thanksgiving already and lights go up at the same time. Christmas has lost much of it's value.

Hopefully, those who feel as I do, if there are such people, will find Christmas magic with their families instead of in their stockings. I'm planning on searching for Christmas magic withing my family, my boyfriend and his family, and God.

God Bless your families this holiday season.
Merry Christmas!
Please enjoy this video; it's very fun. If you like it, look up Straight No Chaser on YouTube. You won't be disappointed. (Check out the Twelve Days of Christmas)

Tragedy

First, I would like to extend my sincerest condolences to the families affected by this cold-blooded act. I would also like to express my own devastation at losing the lives of beautiful little children who had their entire lives to live and at losing the adults who had dreams, and families of their own. God bless those whom this tragedy has touched.

I know I haven't written in some time, and I had hoped to write on happier terms, but this issue needs to be addressed.

I heard about the shooting in my fourth period class from a fellow senior. I think everyone was too shocked to do anything but go back to their lives. We continued through the day praying. I'm sure our school, had the administration known, would have prayed as a group. After leaving school, I heard on the news that 26 people had been killed and 20 of them were small children.

I was disgusted to know that the perpetrator had shot himself. I have thought about pursuing Criminal Profiling and Psychology and with my general knowledge of psychology I am morbidly curious as to why. I don't know much about Adam Lanza, but it would take a truly psychotic person to murder children. This is not an excuse, but it is a reason to provide more mental heath avenues.

People will use this in political discussions about guns. This isn't about the guns. This is about getting help for people with mental disorders. This is about allowing profiling for suspicious people. This isn't about politics; it's about protecting American citizens. I don't want to discriminate any more than anyone else, but it's a little late to be profiling when people have already died. This was horrible, but it was also a cry for help.

President Obama gave a really beautiful speech yesterday: "The majority of those who died today were children — beautiful little kids between the ages of 5 and 10 years old. They had their entire lives ahead of them — birthdays, graduations, weddings, kids of their own." I was very moved by it. 

To the families of victims: I hope you find solace in knowing your loved ones are safe in Heaven with God. I hope you can find some shred of happiness and hope in the light of Christmas. May your neighbors, friends, and fellow countrymen be your rock and may God bless you all.

To everyone else: Please pray for these families. Remember them whilst you are having your Christmas dinners and waking up on Christmas morning. Send prayers to your Deity to ease the suffering that has settled over Newtown, Connecticut. 

May the Source of peace send peace to all who mourn and comfort to all who are bereaved. Amen

A Slightly Funny Inspirspective

Again, some background information is necessary before I can get to the funny part; I apologize.

Two days a week, I aide during my morning study hall. I start out in study hall until lunch count and announcements are over and then I go down to aide. The teacher I aide for (who is also the football coach so imagine a big football-player-looking guy) has me go over online social studies lessons with a student. His room is next to the Senior English room.

Here's the story part.

As I was listening to our secretary give a cheerful slew of announcements, I hear one particular announcement about the morning's upcoming lockdown drill. At the conclusion of announcements, our study hall supervisor tells us that procedure is to hide underneath the chairs. I walked down to aide thinking that what my peers in study hall were doing sounded way more exciting than what I would do.

Looking back, I'm very glad I was aiding that period. During the drill, the English IV students next door came over and we all sat against the wall in silent darkness. After the administration came to check us off, the football coach looks at the English teacher (who is also the cross country coach and my independent writing teacher) and asks her if she brought the golf club she stows in her room for precisely this purpose: lockdowns. She whispered an exclamation that she'd forgotten it.
"That's okay," says the football coach. "I have wasp spray that shoots - like - twenty feet."

I'm not sure if anyone else realized what their comments meant for us as students in their care. I thought back to the Virginia Tech shooting when the Israeli professor barricaded the door and died trying to protect his pupils. It hit me like a ton of bricks that these two teachers as my puny high school had every intention of risking their lives to save ours if the situation should ever truly arise. I understand that intending to act and actually doing so is quite different, but it touched my heart nonetheless. Both teachers have families and successes and goals and dreams and lives to live, but if it came down to the wire, I truly believe that they would stand up and fight for us.

I'm sure it's more than just these two teachers, and I'd like to personally extended my thanks to all of the teachers who will, would, or have fought to protect their students in a time of crisis. And specifically, thank you to the two teachers who unknowingly touched my heart with their banter about golf clubs and wasp spray for I saw the implications behind it.

It's people like you who make the world better and school safer.

Thanksgiving

First off, Happy Thanksgiving to everyone. I hope you honestly take this day to reflect on the things you're thankful for.

I'd like to talk about something I'm very thankful for this year. My family, friends, and good health are give ins. This year I really am thankful for my boyfriend.

A few weeks ago, he took a fall at a playoff football game. I was talking with a close friend and a fellow band member ran up to me and said, "Garrett is on the field." I looked across the field and sure enough there was a player down, though I couldn't tell if it was my Garrett or the other team's Garrett. The EMTs went over with oxygen and there was my Garrett laying injured on the field.

I was already crying because I didn't know what was going on. And then, it looked like the EMT was giving my boy CPR. I went out of my mind. I thought he was dying. I bawled and hyperventilated and screamed and would have fallen if my friends and family had not been holding me up.

They loaded Garrett into the back of the squad; it was just a possible broken ankle, but for twenty minutes I thought my sweetheart was dying.

I went with his dad to the hospital and it turned out as just a sprain, but I spent days thinking about how truly lucky I am to have him in my life and how life is too short.

So this year, my extra special thanks goes out to my boyfriend, Garrett, who's stuck with me for a year and is in good health. Thanks, honey.

A Little Claustrophobic

A little background information is necessary before I can make my point, so here it is.

Back in August I hyper-extended my arm one too many times playing golf. This lead to chiropractor appointments for a month and a half, a doctors appointment a few weeks ago, and physical therapy. Physical therapy has hit a bit of a dead end and the head therapist told me last Friday that a torn UCL (Ulnar Collateral Ligament) was probable. Leading to my point.

Today, I, Rachel, the claustrophobic, had my first MRI.

I'd done all of the proper researching: what to expect, does it hurt, what to bring, and how to control a phobia-instigated panic attack. I walked into the hospital with no metal on any of my clothing, no bobby pins in my hair, and no sense of calm whatsoever. I took my earrings out and my necklace off in the waiting room and stowed them, and my cell phone, with my mother. I nervously waited, feeling a trembling in my gut and fluttering heartbeats that wouldn't calm themselves with any amount of deep breathing. "In with the good air, out with the bad air."

After impressing the technician with my knowledge of how MRI's worked (which I'd studied in psychology) and my awareness of the machine's sensitivity to metals. I was tense and straight-backed as she asked me if there was shrapnel or bullets in my body. I admitted to her my claustrophobia and she smiled and offered to stand in the room with me. Pre-scan, she talked with me; asked me about my future plans, how my senior year is going, and the tension started to ease.

As it turns out, I didn't need her as much as I thought, though it helped to know she was there. I was only in the tiny-looking tube up to my waist with the arm in question stretched over my head whilst lying on my stomach; my head was resting on a pillow just so that I could see out the tunnel behind me.

The loud noises sounded like Atari video games: lasers, machine guns, even a clock sound at one point. I didn't feel as frightened as I'd prepared myself for. After twenty or so minutes, it was over and the other technician showed me some of my pictures. (The inside of my elbow is disgustingly cool!).

My poor boyfriend; I'd worried him throughout the day with talk of my dread. He reminded me to keep my eyes closed and just breath. "Think of me," he'd said, "And have faith in the doctors, they've had a lot of schooling." After I left school and we'd made it to the hospital, I got an illicit message from the dear boy: "I love you." That was all I'd needed.

Life is awfully short to let "irrational fears of tight spaces" deter me from life's necessities, joys, and pains. They are all experiences of life. I made friends with technician who was quite a bit older than me. And before she would let me leave with my mom, she looked at my mom and said, "Your daughter is so mature." And to me she said, "I may never see you again, but good luck with college and the rest of your senior year and everything." And from that stranger, I heard some of the most sincere well-wishes for my future I have ever had the privilege of hearing.

In the end, my boyfriend was right. Breathing, closing my eyes, and having faith in the technicians made my much-feared experience rather pleasant. The day I had my MRI will always be a happy memory even if it does produce evidence of a torn ligament. Leaving my mom in the waiting room, I thought I was being a big girl and facing my fear alone. I found great comfort in people I didn't know. I faced my fear, but I wasn't alone. We're never really alone. People we know, like my mom and my boyfriend, and people we don't know at all, like the MRI technicians, have our backs.

Take comfort in knowing that good people are everywhere and there's always someone who's willing to help. I learned that lesson from a couple of ladies in hospital scrubs in an MRI screening room on the back of a truck. Sometimes it pays to admit you're a little claustrophobic.

What is Courage?

A prompt in my writing class got me thinking on this very question: What is courage and who is courageous. As I tried to think up a single definition of the word, my mind generated all of the things courage is.

Courage is succeeding in adversity and risking something personal for someone else.

Courage is putting your life on the line. 

Courage is fighting even though you know it's hopeless. 

Courage is choosing to do something anyway. 

Courage is hoping through the storm. 

Courage is believing in what you cannot see.

"Who is the most courageous person you know?"

My initial thought was who isn't? Wouldn't choosing one person undermine the courage of all of the others in my life who are the epitome of courage?

My brother - the Marine. All of the soldiers for every nation in the world. My mother. My dad. My sisters. My boyfriend. Politicians.Victims of abuse, bullying, war, natural disasters and persecution. Teachers. Minorities. Anyone who speaks out for what he or she thinks is right. Parents. Newlywed couples. College students. The football team. Me.

Aren't we all courageous? Doesn't everyone face adversity, take risks, and fight failure at some point in his or her life? I know I have. I've faced bullies. I have taken risks. I have wrestled with failure. I've fallen in love and spent several hours helping others when I could have been helping myself. Haven't we all?

There are small simple acts of courage and massive ones.
Who is courageous?

We all are.

The Beginning

"Yes, that's a great idea!" was the reply that gave me that last little push I needed to finally start my very own blog.

Before I get ahead of myself though, this little piece of public space that I can call my own came into existence because my Independent Writing teacher proposed that each of the students in my class attempt to publish a piece of his or her writing.

Publish...what a daunting concept...

After a week of pondering what to write and where to submit to, I decided to ask if posting many pieces of writing to my own website would suffice. The above response is what I got. So, with the blessing of one of my favorite teachers, I begin this virtual chapter of myself.

"Inspirspectives" is a corner of my mind where, over time, experiences I've had are morphed into something positive. I've always felt a need to share that piece of me with anyone who's willing to listen because I've learned a lot.

I dearly hope this blog can be a positive place for everyone who reads it.

God bless!