Traditions

There's something that warms your heart when you come upon the familiar, the traditions. For instance, the tradition (as of late), to stay up early in the morning working on things that will be all undone tomorrow. Hence, my state of consciousness at this late hour of 3:30 in the morning. Forgive me for any grammar errors. I've discovered I am a great deal poorer at editing at 3 in the morning than I am at 3 in the afternoon.

Today, I looked back upon years past and discovered that whether I recognized them or not, there are many traditions that I have without making them traditions. They are something that everyone has this time of year. For me, however, I've discovered that some of them have not necessarily been out of a forward-motion thought process...it's simply become.

Traveling to my grandparents has always been something I look forward to every Christmas. But there are little things that I've realized have become traditions, become those little things I look forward to that mean more to me than I sometimes want to admit.

For the many years we lived in Hawley, we would travel to the farm during the night after Dad finished preaching the Christmas Eve service. (Often, it was our Christmas eve program, filled with cute costumes and even cuter kids that forgot their lines - except for me. The kids would be showered with gifts and were given a brown sack filled with peanuts and chocolate goodies.) The White Oldsmobile was packed and as soon as dad locked the church doors, we would be on our way!
As I sat in the back seat, even before my sister was born, I would lay down in the back seat and lean my head against the door, gazing up into the sky. I remember vividly the tall trees that lined the road, dusted with a soft sprinkling of snow. I remember years with stars that filled the sky so brilliantly that I could gaze at them for hours. The "monster" - a face that appeared in the stars if you look closely, was a favorite of mine to spot. Every now and then I'd let out an "Are we there yet?" - until finally my eyes would fall so heavy and I'd fall fast asleep. I'd startle awake when my dad turned that sharp turn onto the gravel road, that for years has been known as "Grandpa's Road." It was then that I'd exclaim "Already? It just feels like 5 minutes!" to which my parents would reply "The drive always goes faster if you fall asleep." (I literally thought I could speed up time by falling asleep.) I would then unbuckle my seat belt with excitement and lean forward onto the middle portion of the front seat - the full length one seat with a divider in the middle. The rule was that once we got to Grandpa's Road, I was allowed to take off my seatbelt. Partially, I'm sure, it was because I was so excited and antsy at this point that a seatbelt could hardly constrain me.

Today, I found myself listening to my favorite Christmas album (since receiving it in the 6th grade), gazing out the window, peering at the snow-laden ground beneath me and the brilliant stars above me - that is, once we got close enough to McGregor for there to be snow on the ground This winter has been severely lacking in that form of precipitation. Mom and dad were sitting up front as usual, chatting away or just listening to a tape (yes, cassette tape) of Lorie Line. My sister took up the backseat, which has been her designated seat for several years now. (She, like me, likes the back left.) I sacrificed the back for the middle, yet made myself quite comfortable enough, now curled up under a blanket and fluffing a pillow beneath my head. As we pulled onto Grandpa's Road, I unbuckled my seat belt as I have in years past and watched out the front window in anticipation of seeing the lights of the house that we will soon greet. Dad drive around the curvy windy road, and soon we are rounding the last curve in the driveway. I get my first glance at the house this year. It's not as decorated as normal, but it still has lights. There's a small tree on the new porch, complete with its own dusting of snow.

I step out of the van, just I have done for countless previous years, as Grandma opens the front door to greet us. We gather our first handful, then step into the house, barely able to set our things down before hugs and kisses abound us.
The house smells its familiar smell - firewood. Added to that smell is the smell of Christmas goodies - mini-cupcakes, cookies, food in preparation for tomorrow.

Dad and I quickly unload the van - a "chore" that started once Naomi was born, that has simply just become "one of those traditions."

The old massive bulbs that once dawned Christmas Trees of past have since been replaced with new LED lights, but yet the tree still appears the same as it does every other year, as it's sparse of full branches, yet plump and is just tall enough to graze the ceiling.

Oh, there are other things that have changed. The Christmas tree is no longer squished in the corner of the living room with the windows looking out. The rocking chair and its matching ottoman have been reupholstered. The wood fireplace was replaced with a more energy-efficient corn-fueled fireplace, which has been out of order for the past several years. (It's just one of those things on "That List of Stuff that needs to get fixed but still hasn't yet.") Tiki and Patti, two trusty old dogs, have passed on, leaving their mark on the legacy of Davis Family dogs. But Girl, an addition to the family when Diane and the girls moved up 7 years ago, greeted me as I exited the van. My "bed" is no longer upstairs, as it is currently occupied. But I have been quite comfortable on the pull-out "bed" from the chair in the entry-way living room.

Tomorrow, after the church service, a tradition of other sorts will take place. Over the past 5 years or so, my cousin Tiffany and I have battled it out to see who can "wrap" the other's gift the best. It started with duct tape, a few "mixed up" boxes, and stress relief pills. Yes, I was the instigator, I will admit to that. Since then, we've discovered that packing tape is far more irritating and impossible to unravel, expanding styrofoam insulation should be done in layers and takes hours and hours and hours to dry, nor should you use water to attempt to get it off in the event it should land on your skin, ice melts quickly under water, both wood and plexiglass boxes can be broken by slamming it on cement really really hard, and sometimes an adventure that brings you on a trip down memory lane is fun - as long as you can remember your shared memories, since that's where your gifts will be located. We have done basically everything short of cement. (Just in case you're wondering about some of these things, the rule of the game is simple: One must not use any tool or cutting device or any kind, nor may anyone else assist you in the unwrapping and obtaining of one's present.)

One may ask, how does one come to do such terrible things to their cousins for Christmas? Simple. It runs in the family. Our parents used to do similar things to each other as well. Although, if I must admit this as well, we have taken things to much higher levels than they ever did. I guess if it runs in the family genes, it must escalate...I can only dream of what our children will do. (YIKES!)

It's as I look back on years past and make the connection that I sit here today doing the exact same thing that I realize just how blessed I truly am to have these traditions. There is snow on the ground, and with the severe lack of snow this year, my heart smiled the biggest smile as I caught my first glimpse of it on our drive up. Seeing all the Christmas lights up on houses, especially Grandma's as we pulled in, was heart-warming. Hugs and kisses to go around, health and happiness, joy.

But perhaps the biggest tradition of all is the one I've been familiar with all my life.
The birth of my savior. The one who has brought me through bad Christmases and terribly tough times. The one who has come to my rescue more often than I'd like to admit. The one who has forgiven me for the countless mistakes I've made and given me a stamp of approval for admittance into heaven. The one who, 2011 years ago, was born in a town named Bethlehem and grew up to become the one who saves the earth from itself.
Tomorrow (or rather, today), we celebrate because God sent HIS son to us, because he knew we needed him. And that tradition is by far the greatest and most worthy reason to celebrate!
So as I look around at my family tomorrow, laughing and making jokes, opening gifts and sharing hugs, I will sit back and think how grateful I really am for all God has done for me. He has blessed me.

May you be as blessed as I am. Not only to have such a great family surrounding you during the Holiday season, but also to realize what the biggest blessing truly is - the gifts of love, forgiveness, and joy that can only come from Jesus Christ and the Heavenly Father.

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I miss this - a dance teamer's Saturday.

Hours before the dawn breaks, I board a bus wearing warm-up sweats, my hair already pulled back ready to be set in a tight bun. I lug a large bag filled with the many items needed for the day and a garment bag keeping my precious costumes away from anything that could damage them. As the bus starts its trek, we grab our pillows and blankets and try to catch a few snoozes before arriving. Towards the end of our trip there, our routine music fills the air and we sit and think of the routine. Visualization is somehow extremely helpful.

Several hours later we arrive at our home for the next 10 or so hours. The smell of hairspray and makeup wafts through the school and an electricity ignites the air. Sensing the nerves and the excitement, we walk through the school to our designated room.

The next hour, we scramble to get our hair done and our makeup on. My hair is slicked back with ridiculous amounts of gel and hairspray - which is discovered to be an equal rival to cement. No, there is no way my hair is coming undone on the floor today. To add to that, my coaches paste a strip of rhinestones to the top of my head along my part with eyelash glue - that I know will take me at least an hour and three shampoos to get out.
Makeup is caked on - foundation, three or four layers of eyeshadow, fake eyelashes, eyeliner, bronzer, blush, and two layers of bright red lipstick.
My tights and first costume are already on, in addition to my warm-up sweatpants and jacket.
With a nervous flutter in my stomach and hairspray fumes filling my nostrils, I begin to stretch out to the soft music playing in the background.
Before I know it, we're rushed off to our floor-check time. The next 5 minutes none of us talk, except the coaches, who demand to move 4 inches to the left or stand on just outside that line. We're lucky if we even have time to run through the routine.
We walk quietly in a straight line back to the room. Remember 3rd grade? Exactly like that.

Back at the room we sit in a circle, close our eyes, and imagine our routine as the music is played.

In between, we grabbed bananas, apples, carrots, or celery to keep our stomachs from growling.

Then it's time for the Parade of Athletes. We line up for our entrance, our arms glued to our sides, smiling straight up to our parents and other spectators. We're proud to wear the name "Centahnas" - it means something. It's not just a dance team - it's family. A family of sisters who love to dance - so much so that we're willing to put our bodies through hours of scrutinizing work to create perfection to music.

Soon it's performance time. We line up in the shoot, completely silent, doing some last stretches and trying to perfect our technique on the things we forget and the things we don't do perfectly. My stomach flutters and my legs feel like jello. I get in "the zone"...that moment when I hear nothing else and think nothing else except a keen awareness of our impending routine. I hear nothing around me, just myself counting in my head "5-6-7-8", thinking of the routine.
Then before we're announced, we gather, peering into the gym. Our parents, flooding the middle section of the stands with red white and blue, cheer loudly for us. "CENTAHNAS! CENTAHNAS! CENTAHNAS!" They hold up letters spelling our team name.
And now, the "Century Centahnas with 'Paint it Black'. The choreographers are ...." and as we're announced, we run out onto the floor, quickly finding our spots and getting in our first pose. We wait as our heart pounds, preparing for that first beat. "What's my first move?" I think.

The music starts, my body starts moving, and for the next 3 minutes, my heart pounds, adrenaline shooting through my body as I smile, wink, and make cute facials way up into the crowd. Before I can feel it, the music ends and I land in my final pose. I wait to hear "5-6-7-8", and I get up with the rest of my team to quickly and quietly move off the floor.

Now it's time to get ready for the next routine - quick change costumes, change hair-pieces, change shoes! We do this 2 other times for more routines, and finally we sit to watch our competition. They're good. But so are we. They practice hard. But so do we. They practice for hours and hours. So do we. They love to dance. But so do we.

Once everyone finishes, all the teams gather on the floor in their respective circles and jam to the music played on the speakers while the judges scores are tallied. When it's finally time for them to be announced, we sit on the floor, crossed our arms and holding hands as we wait in suspense. We scream, jumping up and down, when our name is called. Sometimes we placed really well, 2nd and 3rd, sometimes we placed not as well, like 5th. But we're still proud of how we danced! Our parents flood the floor with their cameras, ready to snap several hundred photos of us with our trophies.

And finally, it's time to pack up and head home. It's around 6 pm. The three hour bus ride back is filled with everyone watching the routines on their home cameras, watching how they did and how everything looked. Constantly analyzing our every move, we make mental notes to remember that for the next practice.

And somewhere around 9 or 10, we finally arrive home, exhausted from the day, but proud of how it went.

This is where I belong. I belong in the land of dance competitions - spending a Saturday at a school filled with parents sporting their child's team's colors, dancers wearing their costumes and warmup sweats, a land filled with the aroma of sweat, hairspray, makeup, and the air filled with music and the cheers from the crowd.

This is familiarity. This is exhilarating. This is long and tired hours. This is so much hard work all coming down to one day of competition - about 9 mintues worth of dancing and hours worth of waiting and watching. This...this is home.

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Tell me why celebrities get to decide how we should look?

Why is it that when celebrities get plastic surgery, they all start to look alike?

Note to everyone: You are beautiful just the way you are - without fuller lips, cheek enhancements, botox, breast implants, and nose jobs. Let's not let Hollywood decide how we should look.

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Winter Driving Tips: bits of wisdom passed down to me

With our first winter storm approaching, I thought it would be a good idea to post winter driving tips. That, and a friend of mine who's unfamiliar with winter driving wanted some tips.

So here are some bits of wisdom passed down from so many others (mainly my dad) to me about winter driving. Most of these are "Duh" kind of tips, because in reality, we're all like "I could have told you that." But often times we forget and winter driving is no time to forget these things.
So here are tips for winter driving!

Items all winter drivers need:

• Collapsible shovel you can keep in your car in the event you need to dig yourself out.
• Blankets. Plural. Or a sleeping bag that has a low temperature resistance.
• Warm clothing and accessories - warm winter boots, hats, mittens, scarves, coats, snowpants, etc.
• Reflective/bright colored material.
• Winter Emergency Kit: ("recipe" coming.)

Car Maintenance and Preparation:

• FICTION: Four-Wheel/All-Wheel vehicles drive better in winter conditions. You can drive faster, break faster, turn faster, and do everything faster than everyone else in the winter. FACT: It's not the car that's the problem - it's your driving and the conditions. You should practice the same winter driving techniques in all cars.
• Good Tires are key! If you don't live in a state where chains are allowed (and even if you do), a big part of keeping control of your vehicle in the winter is having good tires! Make sure the treads aren't too worn down and keep the correct air pressure. (Duh. Shouldn't that be standard for every-day driving, anyway?)
• Good windshield wipers! Michelin brand has always worked best for me.
• Windshield wiper fluid for sub-freezing temperatures! (Warning: don't use your wiper fluid to try to clear the windshield of frost if your shield is still freezing. It just doesn't work as nicely as you thought it would, at least, in my experience.)
• Spraying vinegar on your windshield the night before a freeze will keep away the frost! There's definitely something to be said for not having to scrape your car!
• However, the best thing for your car before you go anywhere is that you give it adequate time to warm up. (This is where having a remote car starter comes in really handy. Too bad I still don't have one!) If you give your car enough time to warm up and put your blowers on defrost and blast the heat, you probably won't have to do any scraping and you'll have a warm car to get into in the morning! (Or afternoon. Or whatever time it is.)
• Try to keep at least a half of a tank of gas in the winter. I know, I know, it requires more stops at the gas station, but it helps make sure your gas lines don't freeze up.
• On nights when it gets in the double-digit negatives, it's best to start your car in the night, let it run for 5-10 minutes, and then turn it off. It will help it start easier in the morning.
• If you have a plug-in for your car from your engine, DO!
• If your state likes to use salt to keep the roads clear, your car is going to get really salty really fast. And what does salt love to do to vehicles? Rust them. Wash your car on a regular basis. Weekly is usually best. And if you're smart, you can find gas stations that have a day of the week that they give discounted car washes. Tuesday is two-for-one day at the gas station I usually go to, so I'll buy two at a time, since they're good for something like a month.
• After you wash your car, I like to take a towel (I keep a towel usually somewhere in my car) and dry off anything that will eventually need to "move", like key holes, door handles, my side rearview mirrors, around my trunk, etc., so that the water doesn't freeze them into place. This can also be helped by spraying WD-40 on them. (See next item)
• Your keyholes and door handles are going to be a problem usually after it snows or ices. As in, you might not even be able to get your key in! Keep a can of WD-40 accessible (in your garage, house, apartment, etc.) so that when you get out to your car and all the sudden you find you can't turn your key to get into your car, you can just go grab the can, spray some in the keyhole, and open the door!
  

Before you travel:

• Be Prepared! Thank you, Boy Scouts of the World, for this truth. Make sure to equip your car with a winter emergency kit (see "recipe" above.)
• If the weather's bad, don't chance it. Better to be safe than dead, right?
• Winter driving takes a lot more focus than your typical drive. Make sure you are rested enough, don't let unnecessary things distract you (phone, texts, music, etc.), and DO NOT drive under any influence!
• Time: a commodity we all seem to need more of. But when it comes to winter driving, don't try to squeeze 20 minutes into 15. Although you may think you have only a 20 minute drive, it could easily turn into an hour. Make sure to plan extra time, and if you ARE running late, just accept the fact you will be late and *don't* hurry.
• Check your route to see if there are any road closures. Usually every state's DOT has a website where you can check on these things. Also check the weather for your route! You never know when an ice storm or snow storm will blow through. (I've been victim to this on more than one occasion.)

WHILE YOU TRAVEL:

• Anytime it snows or ices, the roads are (obviously) going to be slippery. Be cautious of the roads, testing them by slight braking when you have enough space between cars. Be particularly careful on bridges, as ice can form on them when other parts of the road are clear.
• Seeing snow on the road is much easier, but it's the black ice that's much trickier, since it's so much more difficult to see. Keep an eye out for reflections or darker patches on the road. Black ice happens when the moisture from automobile exhaust condenses on the road surface or when the air temperature is above freezing, but the pavement's temperature is below freezing.
• When you're braking, it's a good idea to shift the car into neutral. The reasoning? When your car is in drive, the transmission automatically torques the car forward, as in neutral, it won't. So when you're slowing down, it helps the car come to a stop better if you shift it into neutral. (This is more important on cars without Anti-lock breaks, since you're manually pumping the breaks to come to a stop.)
• Get in the habit of driving with your headlights on all the time. If it's snowing at night, just like fog, it's better to keep your headlights on dim.
• Don't use cruise control! I know it's so handy to have it for long trips, but your foot is just that much farther away from the break pedal should you need to use it - and in the winter, miliseconds count.
• Don't power up hills. Applying extra gas on snow-covered roads just starts your wheels spinning. Try to get a little inertia going before you reach the hill and let that inertia carry you to the top. As you reach the crest of the hill, reduce your speed and proceed down hill as slowly as possible.
• Don't stop going up a hill. There's nothing worse than trying to get moving up a hill on an icy road. Get some inertia going on a flat roadway before you take on the hill.
• Don't stop if you can avoid it. There's a big difference in the amount of inertia it takes to start moving from a full stop versus how much it takes to get moving while still rolling. If you can slow down enough to keep rolling until a traffic light changes, do it.
• Go slow, be alert, and keep a farther distance between you and the people around than what you normally would. Yes, folks, it is that simple. Truth is, is that so many of the accidents that happen are simply because people are going to fast, or are not alert enough, or both, and then when they try to hit the breaks, they can't break in time, and either go sliding into the person in front of them or sliding off the road. The rule of thumb of 3-4 seconds space between you and the person in front of you should now double to 8 seconds.
• As a rule of thumb, do everything slower than you normally would: slower speeds, slower acceleration, slower steering, and slower braking. Don't make sudden moves. If you give yourself time and space, you should be able to slow down without breaking hard. Don't make quick lane changes, sharp turns, etc., because if you hit a patch of ice, you can bet that you're going to end up in the ditch, hitting another car, or worse.

WHAT IFS:

• If you get stuck in the snow DO NOT hit the gas as hard as it can go. This will actually cause more heat from the friction of the snow and tires and will create ice and smoke, thus getting you "stuck" even further. Start by digging out a path around the tires. The put your car into its lower gear and slowly press the gas. The key here is traction, not friction. If you need to, you can try rocking the car back and forth by shifting between drive and reverse.
• If you feel your car going out of control, don't make any sudden movements to try to regain control. It's best to take your foot off the gas and not apply the brakes, or if you do, apply slowly. Again, slower speeds, slower acceleration, slower steering, and slower braking will help you regain control.
• If you end up driving in a blizzard, the saying "better safe than sorry" is most important here. If you are too nervous driving in those conditions, don't. Pull over and put your flashers on. Your adrenaline will actually hinder your ability to keep from sudden movements, rather than keep you alert, since safe driving in the winter requires lots of slow movements. You can always call the state patrol for assistance, if you aren't comfortable driving in those conditions.
• a) If you're ok driving, but are still having a hard time seeing things, check if there is anyone around you. If there is, the best idea is to follow them at a safe distance. Watch for breaklights and headlights. If not, you can wait until there is, or if you don't think there will be, consider how long it is until the next exit/town where you can pull over and stay somewhere. It's best to get to a place where you can stay until the storm passes.
• b) Have you ever heard of "Don't crowd the plow"? It's true. Give them space. But in a blizzard, following them is the best thing you can do! The theory goes like this: The snowplows are clearing the roads at the fastest pace as safety will allow for them, and they probably have far better equiped vehicles for winter driving than you do. So by passing them, you lose the roads that have already been cleared and are going far faster than what is reasonably safe for you.
• If you go into the ditch with no one around, and you can't dig yourself out, WAIT IN YOUR CAR! Also, (Thanks Mythbusters for proving this), drinking alcoholic beverages is not good to help with warmth! (See winter survival kit info!) Tie something bright colored around a high point on your vehicle (Usually your antennae), and if you can, put reflective cones on the shoulder of the road.
• If you see someone in the ditch, stop and ask if they need assistance! Cell phones don't have coverage everywhere, and some people *still* don't have them. Offer them the chance to sit in your warm car while they wait for help.

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Oh, Death, where is thy sting? ...well, sometimes, it does.

2 Years and just under a month ago. His death was ushered in by the cold winds of winter, flakes being tossed towards the ground in a freezing whoosh of air. That day of his memorial service, gloomy clouds loomed over us, seeming to note just how we felt. His death was a loss none of us was willing to bare, but bare we did, because we must. In that year and four months, my cousins grew from boys to men. My aunt. There are no words I can use that begins to describe her strength, her love, her devotion.

The morning of his funeral, I sat in the front, wishing I could cower in the back. I did not wish to witness this. I did not wish to endure it. It wasn't necessarily my own pain that I wished to escape, but the incredible desire to not see people so close to my heart in more pain than I. It was a beautiful funeral, in a beautiful Catholic church, with stained glass windows and hard tile that made my heels clank along the steps as we walked to our seats. The scents of the hundreds of flowers that filled the sanctuary and the incense is burned crisp into my memory, just like that crisp October morning. I don't remember much about what was said. I don't remember much about what we did. All I remember is sitting and standing, biting my lip trying to keep my thousands of tears from spilling over like water just released from a dam.

There are things you just don't forget. Moments in time that are burned into your memory like a brand on a calf. You don't forget the details. The tree was practically in its full autumnal color, rich with orange and golden leaves floating down to the ground, the sky blue after its gloom from the night before.

I still hear my aunts sobs as she said her final goodbye upon that green hill. My cousins aren't typically "huggers." But the hugs we gave each other that day said just as much as a thousand little hugs we've given through the years.

We've endured thanksgivings and Christmas's without him. We've endured what would have been his birthday. We've endured summers lacking his boat driving expertise as we are wakeboarding and waterskiing, fishing expertise, camping and hunting expertise, ice-cream eating expertise, and that "That's so uncle Karl" humor.
Yet each year his death's sting doesn't lessen. It still hurts that he isn't with us. Heaven called his name, but too many times have I sat and ached for his company during family gatherings. And every time I think to myself "If it's this painful for me, then how painful is it really for my cousins and aunt?"

In the past 7 days, my family said goodbye to one of our own, my best friend said goodbye to her grandfather, and a co-worker said goodbye to a close friend. It's been one of those weeks. You know. The kind that you start thinking about your own life in a way that typically doesn't come about. The kind that makes me start thinking of how I'm living my own life, how much my friends and family mean to me, and the urgency to spread the hope that those who believe in Jesus Christ and accept the oh-so-precious gift that is forgiveness will be reunited with each other in a land that will be so far beyond our best dreams and wildest imaginations.

If you don't know what it's like to hope beyond all doubts, to have a faith in someone that will always be with you and take care of you, even beyond death, then seek and understand who Jesus Christ REALLY is, what he did, and what that means for you if you accept what he has given you...life beyond death!
1 Corinthians 15:
55 “ O Death, where is your sting?
O Hades, where is your victory?”
56 The sting of death is sin, and the strength of sin is the law.
57 But thanks be to God, who gives us the victory through our Lord Jesus Christ.
58 Therefore, my beloved brethren, be steadfast, immovable, always abounding in the work of the Lord, knowing that your labor is not in vain in the Lord.

*For my dear Uncle Karl,
we miss you. And we look forward to the day where we may see you again! Save me some steak & crab legs up there, ok? With so much love.

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It's more than just dance. It's learning about life.

TLC has recently come out with a new show called Dance Moms. I've watched a couple episodes here and there. And while I'm not here to discuss the ups and many downs of the show, I thought to myself just how much I do not want my "dance world" today to be like that show. I think both the coaches and the mom's have their good and bad moments. But the biggest issue with that show is a lack of respect. A lack of respect for the people, a lack of respect for dance, a lack of respect for the dancers themselves. It's not pretty. And as a coach, that's something I will not allow to happen.


(The Century Centahnas with our trophy at the West Fargo Packatahna Invitational, December 2004.)

When I was a Centahna, our biggest rivals were the Bismarck Demonettes. (For those of you saying "What's a Centahna and a Demonette?"...They are school dance team names/mascots. As a dancer on the Century High School Dance Team, I was a Centahna. Get it? Ok. Awesome.) Our coaches made sure that we acted beyond our years, even when the Demonettes did things that, well, are childish and stupid and mean against us...even when they placed better than we did...and even when we placed better than they did. We were taught the most important thing that good sportsmanship teaches: respect. It wasn't always easy. But as I'd find out...it was worth it.


(This is Desi and the JV Demonettes. I know I have a better photo, but it's somewhere in my Twitter archives and I can't dig that deep to find it right now.)

Today, I am friends with a former Demonette. I believe we even competed against each other. She's the assistant coach of the JV Demonette dance team. But as we soon found out, we are both really awesome people that don't hate each other. And there's that other thing too. The "dancer" bond. It's something that feels like an exclusive club. When I find somebody else who dances, it's like we're part of this special group of people that understands exactly what it means to be a dancer.


(This is during one of our many Saturday practices. We're working to perfect our kick routine here! Our competition season is only 3 months long, but we had required technique workshops, required summer training including running and pilates 6 days/week, and required dance camp. Then our "season" practices went from August all the way through March. Even after that, the seniors still got together to practice for our senior routine.)
The life of a dancer is full of so many struggles. We often practice longer than any other sports team practices. I remember some of my practices during high school went sometimes 6 hours. That wasn't including the early morning practices before school, and the two and three-a-day practices we had every Saturday pre-State meet. We spend hours perfecting the tiniest of details. (Are palms facing in or out? Are we looking towards the crowd or to the corner?) We spend hours training or bodies for strength, stamina, balance, flexibility. And we better be good at all of it, because without one you fail to train yourself properly.

(We always began our practice by running the caterpillar run for around 10-15 minutes before practice. If it wasn't that, it was stair runs, followed by ab and muscle work for another 15-30 minutes. Then stretching for another 15-20. Yay for hour long warmups.)


(But all of that hard work pays off when you can do this. And a lot of other cool looking stuff, too.)



(Here I am before walking onto the floor. This is usually about when my legs started to feel like jello.)
And it's not just the training that makes it, either. It's the nerves that make you feel like jello before the music begins. It's the adrenaline rush you feel when you're out on the floor performing. It's the elation when you hit the perfect routine, or the frustration that comes after miskicks or a less-than-perfect turn sequence. It's the costumes, the sparkle, the makeup, the music, the smell of hairspray and the sound of the crowd cheering.

(Here's the end of the kick routine at the WF Packatahna Invitational. The feeling you get when the crowd erupts after the routine is done is like none other.)

This makes all of us dancers connected. Since high school, I've been blessed in meeting people and when realizing we have that connection. It's fun to talk dance, what routines we've done, what it was like.


(Our pizza party last night!)
This is what I told my girls last night as we ate some pizza getting ready for the competition tomorrow. I told them that, even though Champion may be stuck up snobs who act horrible to everyone else, we will cheer them on anyway. Because a few years down the road after they graduate high school and experience college life, they will probably meet and become friends with some of these girls.



And in the end, it doesn't matter who wins. But what does matter is respect. What does matter is how hard you worked. What matters is your attitude and how you act. Because in the end, being a dancer is to be part of a family. You may have your fights and your arguments, and you may get extremely irritated at them...but they are family.

(I know I certainly consider these girls family. Most of us still keep in contact.)

I hope and pray that my dancers learn that respect is far more important than winning. It's important for them to respect themselves and respect others as dancers.
And all together, dance isn't just about dancing. What they learn in these next few years of their lives will dictate what kind of people they will become. And I hope and pray that as their dance coach, I will teach them not just how to dance, not just different routines, but teach and show them life lessons.



In other news:
I packed what I believe is to be the best "dance emergency kit" ever. if there's something that I need that's not in this bag, I must have made a serious misstep, because I could swear I have everything they could possibly need! And you really don't want to know just how much I spent on all of this. Let's just say the Vikings could have had another cheerleader in the stands if it wasn't for this. ;-)

So here's to tonight, the life lessons I hope they learn, and the coach I aspire to be!

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"Faster, daddy, faster!" - the ranting of a speed junkie

When I was a toddler, my father would take me out for walks in the stroller. At the time, we were living in campus housing at what is now Crown College - specifically in Faith Village. On the stroll over to campus, my father would wheel the stroller at, I'm sure for at least my mother, what seemed like a horrific speed down the hill. But it was my favorite thing - going fast. I would squeal in excitement and yell "again, dad!" And then there was that one fateful day. The one where he accidentally let go of the stroller, and it hit the speed bump, and the stroller flipped upside down. Luckily for both him and me, I was strapped in pretty darn tight and did not suffer any (known) brain damage, broken bones, or traumatic shocks that required years of therapy.

I've always loved to go fast. I loved playing upbeat songs on the piano, and when my piano instructors gave me a "dreadfully slow" song, I would, without a doubt, speed up the tempo as my fingers flew faster and faster over the keys. I loved the jazz or kick routines we did far more than ballet. Oh, I loved ballet. It was beautiful and pretty. But I didn't feel near the adrenaline rush as I did from performing a good jazz or kick routine. When I was probably around 10, my best friend Trudy and I tagged along with her father at the speedway races. I remember putting in the required ear-plugs Keith gave us, and then watching in amazement as a car would speed across the stretch of road so fast I had barely even seen it.

I could recount other stories of my love of going fast - like the time I was 8 and we took a ride on the alpine carts down a steep hill. At first, I was so scared of going down that I chose the slow track. But 10 feet down the track and I felt the adrenaline rush of the wind whipping through my hair and everything whizzing by me, and I was pushing the pedal to let me go as fast as I could. I got to the bottom and so desperately wanted to go again, pleading to my parents to let me go on the fast track this time. (They said "no.") Or growing up on my grandparent's farm, I would take the 4-wheeler out for a ride - and I would go down the hill as fast as I could, then hit the bump and fly through the air - or speeding down the driveway as fast as I could push it before I had to turn, making sure, of course, that when I drove near the house or barn, to slow down so Grandpa wouldn't catch me going so fast.

So now imagine - I'm 16, have a brand new driver's license, and couldn't think of doing anything but hopping in the car lovingly named our "toaster-oven-on-wheels" and driving. Fast. Anywhere. Ever since then, I have often caught myself speeding down the road, sometimes well over the speed limit. (Sometimes intentionally, sometimes not.) I speed. I try not to, because I realize that me speeding is considered a sin, and well, I try not to sin when I can help it. Also, because the idea of paying $150 for going 10 over the speedlimit is just a tad bit more than I want to pay - or for that matter, can even afford to pay. But, simply put, I like going fast.

The people here in Watertown, well, I suppose you could say they really like to "just enjoy the scenery along their drive." I bet if I asked some of them, they'd say "Why hurry?" But the thing is - they are typically going 5 to 10 miles/hr UNDER the speed limit. I don't understand it. The speed limit along two of the major routes is 35 through town. Yet none of them seem to think their cars of capable of going that speed, because they ALL (and by all, I REALLY mean all) go 30 through town. And then there's the road I take into work: 25 mph. Now, if you ask me, I think it should at least be 30. But here, everyone thinks the actual speed limit hovers somewhere around 15-20 mph. And I about die in frustration - every single morning, afternoon, and evening. It's all I can do to not shout and scream at the person in front of me. Especially when I'm in a hurry to get either of my jobs.

Then I think to myself, what kind of a horrible person am I to be complaining about people going UNDER the speed limit? I'd rather people go slower and be safe than speed, drive irratically and cause accidents that cause injuries and deaths. But SERIOUSLY? SERIOUSLY! I get so irritated.

So although I hate to be complaining about such a stupid thing as slow traffic in a small town, I am. I just want to go the speed limit. Is that so much that I'm asking for?

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learning to see love

Self-esteem. It's a tricky thing.
One day we're accomplished, successful, loved, and beautiful. But one thing snaps and all the sudden you feel like the world's biggest failure. It may be small. It may be big. But that one thing has the power to control your mind and make you believe that somehow you aren't deserving of love, of hope, of things good for your future.

It's so easy to feel like a failure. If it's not in every aspect of our lives, it's still easy to focus and dwell on the things we loathe about ourselves. Whether they're internal matters or physical matters, it's difficult to keep those distractions at bay and feel in our hearts like we're worth something.

No, I'm not suggesting we focus solely on our positive aspects, putting on the rose-colored glasses and ignoring the faults we need to work on to change. But I believe our society is looking for approval and acceptance in all the wrong places, and when we realize the greatest love that's already upon us, it can change our perception of life.

As a recent college graduate, I find myself wandering through these post-grad months with a foggy sense of direction of where my life is going. And because of that lack of direction, I also have a lack of self-esteem. Who am I really? Is who I've become who I'm supposed to be? What do I really want to do with my life?

I thought I had it all figured out. But truth be told, I've realized that perhaps my plan for my life isn't what God had planned for me at all. And the lack of work, the lack of purpose, has got me all flustered.

There have been many moments where I've felt like a failure. I wonder what in the world am I doing. And as I've sauntered down the road without a clue where it's headed, I begin, piece by piece, to lose my self-esteem. Not getting jobs, interviews, or even an email of recognition that someone has received my resume - it's worn me down into this person that I look in the mirror and all I see is failure.

So as I sat on the couch this afternoon, watching yet another episode of FRIENDS to cheer me up, I began to wonder ... what really can boost my spirits? Because although FRIENDS has always proved to be a great source of laughter for me, it only lasts for 22 minutes.

I began to realize that I needed to really look at myself the way God does. He loves me. And he doesn't just love me when I'm successful. He doesn't just love me when I rocked an exam, or served him at VBS.

He loves the complete, whole, every single bit of me. He loves my loud laugh, he loves my blue eyes and my tiny feet. He loves the way I twirl around the house, because I'm a dancer through-and-through, and simply cannot go a day without twirling, leaping, and throwing in an arabesque wherever I can. He loves me.

And so I took some time today to write a list of the things I think God loves about me. I found writing that list was incredibly freeing, incredibly uplifting, and incredibly full of love itself. I found that the more things I wrote down, the more I thought about how much God loves me. Which made me realize just how much I love him. He loves the parts of me that I loathe, like my unruly hair and the zits that pop up on my face. He loves my crazy irrational fear of spiders and getting bit by a shark.
What I realized most was that simply, yet so unimaginably, he just loves me. He loves all of me. He loves me because he created me.
And writing that list down of those things.... it helped. It helped me see the bigger picture. It helped me widen my view from just focusing on my flaws and failures to the things greater than those - his decision to love me anyway. His decision to love me and help me overcome those things.

That encouragement from that list was life-altering, and I encourage you to do the same.

Write down the things you love about yourself. Then write down the things you think God loves about you. See what you find. You may just find a God who's loved you since forever, who just wants you to see that love reflected in your eyes, too.

Try to see what God sees. It'll open your eyes to a love unlike any other. A love that's willing to accept and welcome you for all you are and all you aren't, give you grace for your flaws and failures, and challenge you to take those flaws and failures to spin them into something beautiful.

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How to meet good Christian Men: a comedic "how to meet the guy"

For some women, their dreams of a fairytale romance begins with an accidental bump on the street. Or perhaps it begins with a mix-up at the deli. Or witty banter over a drink while bar-hopping with your girls.
But for us Christian women with slightly different standards, there aren’t many places where we can go to meet good Christian men. A bar isn’t the first choice for me to go and meet a potential husband/father. Accidentally bumping on the street isn’t an impossible situation, but odds lean towards the less-than-likely side. And although getting a number as a “thank you” for helping out said customer while at work in Express is flattering, it’s not quite the same for those of us who have, well, just different standards than most.
While pondering my current lack of places to meet a potential husband, I came up with a brilliant idea.
Church hopping.
That’s right. Church hopping. The Christian version of bar hopping.
My suggestion:
Google potential churches that have different service times. You can hit your traditional services in the early morning, rush over to the church with the late morning service, take part in another church’s small group that goes out to lunch afterwards. You then have approximately a few hours to go home, nap, and prepare for the evening to late night worship services.
In order to do this effectively, one must do research on which churches and services have a coffee/lunch/potluck hour. If you do your research well, you might be meeting the man you will spend the rest of your life with.
Start your morning off with coffee before the traditional service at the first pre-selected church. Perhaps the man with the coffee next to you might offer to pour you a cup. (Make sure to "conveniently" keep your hands full with your bible and purse.) Keep watch of his hands to see if they are shaking while pouring your cup - that could be a hint that he's into you. It also could mean he's had large quantities of caffeine already that morning. Next, you move onto the potluck at the next church’s late service. They always say food is the way to a man’s heart, so make sure to make up your own hotdish (yes, hotdish) and stand behind it and serve it. When the other ladies of the church ask you if you’re new, point to a guy and say “I’m his guest.” Those ladies will then swarm said man and ask tons of questions, which will of course peak his curiosity and ask you on a date…and of course try your amazing tater-tot hotdish. End the late morning/early afternoon portion with a full lunch at small group for the third church of the day. (Keep in mind not to eat any of your own hotdish from before. It'd be a shame to be too full to attend lunch.) Lunch is always a great way to get to know people. So go to the local Perkin’s, Applebee’s, or IHOP afterwards with that small group in your age bracket... and make sure to sit next to both the guy that catches your eye and the girl who looks like your next best friend. Having a girl confidant to subtly ask questions about said man next to you is a good way to get to know that man. Who needs 1-on-1 conversation when you can get the inside scoop from your soon-to-be bestie?
Make sure to take a break in the afternoon. You’ll need to figure out a good concoction for the extra-socialization hangover. Be careful not to socialize too much without taking the proper precautions. Most importantly, always have a friend to call to drive you to said events in case of too much socialization.
Come evening, drink tea at the first evening services’ pre-service fellowship. The tea-thing can come in handy, because if you typically don’t drink tea, you will need a proper tea expert (such as the man again standing next to you) to ask about which tea to try, how strong to make it, and which tea would be the most proper to have on a date. Finally go for a late night jaunt to Caribou with the people from the late night vesper’s service, because they will certainly need some caffeine for the late night study session for their next exam. Of course, this only works at Bethel and if you are a college student. But hey, you might just snag a Bethel Sem student in the process.
And as most shampoo bottles say:
“lather, rinse and repeat as necessary.”
Ok, so take out the lather and rinse, but you must still repeat as necessary with different churches until you find that soul mate.

*note: none of these theories have been tested or proven to be even the least bit effective. But if someone wants to try them, I’d be willing to accompany them.*

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The Adventure Itch

Sometimes I feel as if I'm bipolar or schizophrenic.

There's a side of me that belongs home, longing for roots and stability. My family, my home, my friends. The little things, like the smells, the sounds, the creeks of the floorboard, etc. I love having that sense of sturdiness, that sense of roots. Contentment.

Yet there are times when I get what's known in our family as the Davis Family Travel Bug. Or better worded, the adventure bug. I long for excitement. I long for experiencing the new, the unknown, the unstable. Experiencing new smells, new sights. Jumping off cliffs and diving into the sea. Sightseeing and experiencing all that God has set in place. Taking off without reason, spur-of-the-moment deciding to head off somewhere unknown.

Tonight I made what I now know is a mistake by watching Sisterhood of the Traveling Pants 2. They each travel to their respective areas, most of them not far from home. But at the end, they all just up and buy a ticket to Greece. I long for that. If money wasn't a factor (or the fact I don't have a current passport), it would take all the forces of the world to stop me from driving to Minneapolis and hopping on the next flight to anywhere exotic. Bora Bora? Of course. Turkey? Why not. Greece, Italy, Spain, Rome, Portugal, Venezuela, Australia, London, Paris, Vienna - "covered". (A camp reference, for those who would understand.) I would go anywhere.

It's as if words cannot account for this extreme urge to get out of this place. It's not that I don't love it with all my heart. But it's really that I love the thought of adventure more. I want to experience all life has to offer and the thought of being cooped up here with the same ol' same ol' is disheartening, at best.

Part of this past summer was exactly that for me...the adventure. My first two weeks were rough, as I was homesick for all that I missed. But after that it seemed as if I delved right into California life, embracing everything and anything it had to offer. (I will soon have the opportunity to experience it again! My heart longs for that familiar as well.)

Yet I still can't shake this craving that I need more. It's a little frightening, to be honest. There are days I wonder if it has a drug-like quality. Every bit of adventure gives me a dose and it quenches the thirst for the time being. The problem is, the thirst comes back with a vengeance, wanting more and more.

I want to chase storms through the midwest, feeling the power of the wind surround me. I want to fly east, Lobstering in Maine and traveling down the coast, stopping for the thrill of the theater or history of New York City, going through South Carolina on beaches, or visiting the very tip of Florida. I want to travel to Paris, buy a ridiculously overpriced pair of Jimmi Choos and take the elevator to the top of the Eiffel Tower. I want to Greek Dance in Greece. (I already know how, thanks to Jenny Codi... "hooopah!") I want to eat true Italian food in Italy. I long to dive along the Great Barrier Reef, taking in the coral and tropical fish, all while not being eaten by a shark. (knock on wood, right?) I want to swim with dolphins off of the Bahamas, and maybe even sail a Pirate Ship with Captain Jack Sparrow through the Caribbean. (Ok, so that last one, not quite, I suppose.) But you get the idea.

I've seen so little. I've experienced far less. I need to embrace this world.



.....the only problem: How do I get the money? Oh, and, who would travel with me?

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