I love my car. It’s nothing spectacular, really. I have friends who drive much newer and fancier cars, but I like mine better. It’s a six-year-old blue Subaru Forester, which is, for those who don’t know, somewhere between a small SUV and a station wagon (and for those who just chuckled, yes, I am perfectly OK with driving a vehicle that can be described as “approaching a station wagon”).

I love it because I feel like it suits me better than any other car I have owned. I have a hitch-mount bike rack that I wish I could use more often and a roof rack that will someday carry a kayak. It’s a manual transmission, which I love, and has plenty of room in the back for the transportation of goods. I can even fold down the back seats for more room. One of the best things about my car is that it gets great gas mileage. It’s for these and many other reasons that I think my car and I will have a long and fruitful relationship.

For all of the reasons that I love my car, there are two things that I dislike (I guess no relationship can ever be perfect). First, the cupholders. Worst cupholders I have ever seen. They are the incredibly flimsy kind that fold out of the dashboard, and half of the time they can’t accommodate the jumbo sodas I indulge in from time to time. Horrible. Second, the windshield-washing feature is apparently broken. The windshield wipers work, and I have seen the reservoir for the windshield-washing fluid under the hood, but I have never been able to figure out how to make it squirt onto the windshield. This would have come in handy on many occasions, as bugs tend to accumulate on windshields.

But one morning about a week and a half ago, I made a discovery that made me fall in love with my car all over again.

It was my first official day of work at my new job, and it was raining pretty hard. My windshield wipers were on, and I actually remember being glad that they were getting a chance to clean the windshield. Because it was a special day, I decided to do something a little special on the way to work, so I stopped at Sonic and ordered my favorite drink in the world: a vanilla Dr Pepper. As I pulled under the awning to make my order, I no longer needed the windshield wipers, so I turned them off. My drink arrived soon, and I lamented the wimpy little cupholders one more time as I shifted into reverse and pulled out of the parking lot. I went to flip the lever that turns on my windshield wipers, and the most amazing thing happened: windshield wiper fluid came splashing onto my windshield! I quickly glanced down to discover that what I thought was just a lever actually had a button on the end of it. Who knew? Sheer exuberance radiated from deep within my soul and flowed throughout my entire body.

I was so excited I almost didn’t know what to do. The funny thing is that it was raining, and I didn’t need the fluid at all, yet I proceeded to wash my windshield five more times in rapid succession. Had you been able to witness my discovery, you might have thought I found the cure for cancer. I have owned that car for more than a year and spent that entire time thinking that I would never be able to wash my windshield from inside the car. It was almost like finding a $10 bill in your heavy coat when you wear it for the first time in winter. Except that I would equate this more to finding a $50 bill. That’s how excited I was.

I caught myself about five minutes later and thought it was funny how something so simple could bring me so much joy. Perhaps it’s not funny at all, but perfect and wonderful, and exactly the way it should be. Many of the happiest and most enjoyable times in my life have been similar moments. Unexpected and seemingly inconsequential, yet joyous and extraordinarily blissful. Windshield wiper moments make life just a little bit sweeter.

And I can only hope that the next time I have such a moment, it will be a cure-for-the-lousy-cupholder moment.

It’s almost my favorite time of the year: college football season. Athletes are reporting back to campus, pre-season polls and predictions are being discussed, and Heisman hype is in high gear. This is the most exciting time of the year no matter which team you root for, because regardless of last season’s record or outcome, there is always the hope that this year will be better. Even a team that didn’t win a single game last year has hope during the weeks leading up to the first kick-off; it’s a chance to start building a new identity.

Yet that’s where I find myself thrust into a new and confusing realm as a fan this season: my college football identity. My whole entire life I have been a fan of Texas Tech football. My dad is a graduate, and I spent my childhood going to Red Raider football, basketball, and baseball games. I remember watching James Gray rush for 280 yards and 4 touchdowns in the 1989 All America bowl, leading Tech to a monstrous 49-21 defeat of the Steve Spurrier-coached Duke Blue Devils. I remember exactly where I was and what I was doing (eating a bowl of Froot Loops at the dinner table in my house in Floydada, TX) when All American linebacker Zach Thomas intercepted a pass and rumbled into the end-zone to beat Texas A&M in 1995. I was in the student section in 2001 when Kliff Kingsbury threw for 473 yards to oust the mighty Texas Longhorns, and dash their last hopes of playing for a national title that year.

One might wonder what I find so confusing about this season, as it has the potential of being one of the best in the history of Texas Tech football. With 10 returning starters on offense, including quarterback Graham Harrell and wide receiver Michael Crabtree—both legitimate Heisman hopefuls—and 8 eight returning starters on an ever-improving defense, this season bodes well for the Red Raiders. There’s just one problem…

After living all but the first 10 months of my life in Texas, and going to at least one Tech football game for 9 of the last 10 years, I now reside in Columbia, MO. It’s not that Columbia is a bad place to be; I actually love it. The problem is that Columbia is the home of the University of Missouri, who happens to field a pretty decent football team. Well, maybe I should say a very decent football team, one that put the hurt on my Red Raiders last year 41-10. They also have a quarterback and receiver in the Heisman discussion, Chase Daniel and Jeremy Maclin, and look poised to have an even stronger season this year than last, when they finished as the #4 team in the nation(1). To make matters worse, I am actually employed by the University of Missouri, and I will also be taking some classes at the University.

After a lifetime of knowing only one stadium as my “home” field, I will now be attending Mizzou home games. I will quite possibly attend more University of Missouri home games than the total number of Texas Tech games I will be able to watch on TV. But I am no bandwagon jumper. I may get caught up in the excitement and cheer after Chase Daniel throws a touchdown pass(2), but don’t be fooled. I may even don a Mizzou football shirt, but don’t you worry. My heart and soul will forever remain in the dusty plains of West Texas, where an eccentric coach runs a pass-happy offense and gives some of the most entertaining post-game interviews known to man. Although I now physically reside in the Tigers’ den, my allegiance lies in Raider-land. I will never be able to turn my back on my team, my school, and my heritage.

So bring on the pre-season all-conference and All America picks. Fire up the grill and ice down the drinks for the tailgate parties. Warm up the marching bands and let the games begin. I know who I am cheering for…do you?

1 Even though I had no reason whatsoever for any kind of allegiance to Missouri last year, I think they got screwed out of a BCS bowl. There is no way that Kansas deserved an at-large bid over Missouri. Kansas had a magnificent year, no doubt, but Missouri proved on the field that they were the better team. Sorry KU fans.

2 I would also like to point out a fact that further legitimizes my being a quasi-fan of Mizzou. If you check the Tiger’s roster, you will see that Chase Daniel hails from the great state of Texas. In fact, I remember watching him play in the state championship game for Dallas Southlake Carroll several years ago. Additionally, 28 more players on the 115-man roster call the Lonestar state home (that’s 25%). Forgive my Texas pride, but I just couldn’t resist.

I will readily admit that I am a bit of a nerd. Actually, I am a huge nerd. I love to learn, and I love being a student. So it should come as no surprise that I took four-and-a-half years to finish my undergraduate degree. I wanted to take a victory lap, as they say. However, nothing about my last semester could be called academically challenging. In fact, I didn’t have a single academic class. As a Kinesiology major, there were a certain number of P.E. classes that I had to take. I kept putting these requirements off in favor of more interesting subjects such as Exercise Physiology, the Care and Prevention of Athletic Injuries and introductory courses in Cardiac Rehabilitation. But when I got to the end of four years, only eight semester hours stood between me and graduation, and they were all P.E.

Not that I really wanted to graduate. I almost didn’t want to. Not only would it mean that I didn’t get to take any more classes (at least for a while), it also meant having to sit through an incredibly long and boring ceremony. Commencement at Texas Tech lasts about three hours. There are speeches by people you don’t know and who will probably have no lasting impact on your life, and then you have to sit in agony as thousands of people walk across the stage to get their diplomas. I mean, I know graduating from college is a wonderful accomplishment, but it seems to me that the way we choose to acknowledge this occasion is more like a punishment than a celebration.

So, knowing what kind of torture lay ahead for me on graduation day, I decided to go and visit my brother, Andy, in California the week before I graduated. He had just moved to the San Francisco area that summer to work at a church as an intern with the youth group, and I was just dying to see what his Cali lifestyle was all about. I had heard many stories of sunshine, many interesting people, and IN-N-OUT burger. IN-N-OUT is a fast food chain that, supposedly, is so good that it would be worth my trip, in and of itself. I’m never one to turn down a good burger, even if I have to travel halfway across the country to get it. Besides, I was graduating; I deserved it.

My plan was perfectly laid out to allow maximum Cali time. I was to arrive on a Saturday, exactly one week before graduation, and fly back to Texas the following Friday, the day before graduation. My parents would pick me up at the airport that night, and I would be able to be back to my apartment to get a good night’s rest before my 1 p.m. graduation the next day. Mom and dad had hotel reservations, and we had dinner plans with various family and friends set up for after the ceremony. At least I would get some free food out of it.

Cali time went exactly according to plans. As soon as Andy picked me up at the airport, we went to play Wiffle-ball (a plastic baseball with holes in it) with some of the kids in his youth group. I got to meet all of his friends, and I really got to see what his life there was like. We even made a trip down to L.A. (where Andy currently lives) with the intent of going to Disney World. Sadly, that didn’t happen (and is another story entirely), but it was still a fun trip, and I got to meet some more of his friends. All in all, it was an amazing time that will live on in my memory as one of the more epic trips that I have taken.

So you can understand how we were sad to see it end. When Thursday evening rolled around, and we were making preparation to get me to the airport the next day, I just had a feeling that it wasn’t supposed to be over. It just didn’t feel like my trip was complete, and I couldn’t exactly say why. I knew that my graduation ceremony was waiting for me back in Texas, and that wasn’t particularly exciting, but I had this pervasive feeling that I had unfinished business in California.

Nonetheless, we were committed to seeing the plan through to completion. So I packed my bag on Thursday night, and we loaded up the car the next morning to head to the airport. As we drove, we talked and laughed about the previous week, and about how boring graduation was going to be. I was intermittently gazing out the window, looking at the street signs and the billboards.

And then I saw it: an IN-N-OUT sign. I had not yet had an IN-N-OUT burger.

I instantly knew that this was what I needed to complete my California experience. This was my unfinished business. I had no sooner said these words to Andy, than he had whipped us into the parking lot.

“Should we go through the drive-thru?” I asked.

“Nah, we’ve got time,” replied Andy.

What I experienced inside was not earth-shattering. I did not have an other-worldly experience, or see the face of Jesus in the bun of my burger. I did, however, have a very good cheeseburger and an excellent chocolate milk shake, and gave me some closure on my Cali adventure. Or so I thought.

Even though it had not been half an hour since we had exited the freeway, traffic had become so clogged that it caused us to get to the airport only 12 minutes before my flight was scheduled to leave. As it turns out, airlines generally consider this unacceptable, and there were no more flights that day. The best they could do was give me the same itinerary for the next day, which would not get me back in time for graduation. Oops.

To be honest, I was a little disappointed. I had spent close to a $100 on a cap, gown, and honor cords that would now go unused. I also wasted all of the money that I had spent on the plane ticket, and now had to help pay for gas since I would be driving back to Texas with my brother a few days later. I was more disappointed for my parents, though. They were so excited to see their oldest child graduate from college, and I missed it. And for what? A cheeseburger.

Then I reminded myself how boring graduation ceremonies were, and thought about all of the extra fun I had on my bonus time in California. I got to go on a retreat with Andy and his youth group, and he even held a fake graduation ceremony for me. Sometimes I think I should have planned it that way and not even have tried to make it back for graduation. Then again, it probably wouldn’t have been as much fun if it had been planned, and it definitely wouldn’t be as funny. Now I get to tell people that I missed my college graduation for a cheeseburger. It’s a great little factoid to use while playing get-to-know-you games, and I loved telling the story to my students because it allowed them to see that I am, in fact, human. More importantly, I didn’t have to waste three hours of my life in a silly outfit listening to people tell me how great it is to graduate from college, and pretending to be excited about it.

That tasty cheeseburger was five-and-a-half years ago. I still got my diploma, and my parents were able to see me graduate in 2007 when I was awarded a Master’s degree. I have had the opportunity to do and see many amazing things since I missed my college graduation, yet this story will always hold a very special place in my heart, probably because of its uniqueness. The question I get most often when I tell this story is “Was it worth it?” The answer is an unequivocal “Yes!” and I would do it again in a heartbeat.

As I was contemplating what to write about this week, my mind kept drifting back to the Fourth of July. I don’t usually do anything special for the Fourth. In fact, last year I was in Nicaragua. How unpatriotic. However, a few years ago I had an interesting experience on the Fourth of July that continues to have a profound impact on me even today. My cousin Tim was in the Army at the time, and was about to ship out to Iraq. So, my dad’s side of the family decided to have a little get-together, as Tim was home on leave for a couple of weeks. I didn’t think that I would be able to make it because of my responsibilities at the summer camp where I worked, so I didn’t even bother to ask. Plus, it would have been about a six-hour drive from Austin to Wichita Falls, Texas, and I would have had to turn around and come right back the same day. However, as I was talking to my sister the night before, I decided it wouldn’t hurt to at least ask my boss. He said “yes”.

The next thing I know, I’m in my car driving to Wichita Falls, and nobody in my family knows I’m coming. That made it even more fun. I am so glad that I was able to go, because it was great to see everybody. There was swimming, ping-pong, burgers, soda, and lots of laughing. But as wonderful as it was to get to see my parents and sister, aunts and uncles, cousins and grandparents, I am writing about something else that happened that day. I really think that the reason I was able to make the trip was not so that I could see my family. Something very interesting happened that leads me to believe that my little road trip was more of a divine appointment.

The route that I chose to take goes right by, although not actually through, Dublin, Texas. For those who don’t know, Dublin is the home of the best tasting Dr Pepper known to man because they use Imperial Sugar, as opposed to saccharin (I guess). The point is, it’s worth stopping for, and they only sell it with any regularity within a 30-mile radius of Dublin. Stephenville is within that perimeter, so when I hit the city limit sign, I pull over at the first gas station I see to have a little slice of heaven.

As I am going into the gas station, I notice a guy and a girl packing backpacks as if they are about to leave for a hike. I really didn’t think much of it at this point, because all I could think about was the sweet, fizzly goodness of which I was about to partake. As I got back into my car and began my journey again, however, I saw them walking along the road, and the guy had his thumb in the air. I immediately felt something deep down inside telling me to give them a ride, but I didn’t listen and just kept on driving. I even turned my music up a little bit to help me stop thinking about it. It made me uncomfortable, but it wouldn’t go away. I had the distinct feeling that I would be letting someone down if I just kept going. Then I told myself that I really did need to keep going, so I could get there on time; but nobody was expecting me. I was running out of excuses.

So finally, about six or seven miles down the road, I turn around to go and find them. I’m still trying to talk myself out of it the whole time, but I saw them before I could convince myself otherwise. Maybe they only need to get to the next town, right? That wouldn’t be so bad. Well, that was not the case. They were trying to get to Colorado, and would go as far as I was willing to take them. So here we go. I tell them I am going to Wichita Falls, and they say, “Great!” and off we go. They don’t smell very good, and I kind of feel guilty that I don’t have any more Dr Pepper to offer them. It didn’t really matter, though, because the girl was so excited that I had a CD player, and asked if she could put in one of her CDs. They tell me their names are Mark and Paula, and as we talk they begin to tell me their story. They had recently been married, and had journeyed all the way from Oregon to Texas so that Mark could ask Paula’s father for her hand in marriage. Although it sounded like a long trip to make without any means of transportation, it was obvious that Paula felt very romanced by the whole notion, and the couple was very much in love. Now they were heading to Colorado to find Paula’s sister, and I was taking them much further than they had expected to get that week. I found out that Mark fought in Desert Storm, and that Paula’s favorite band is Staind. They told me that they are going to write a book about their adventures, and I would have an entire chapter dedicated to me.

Then our conversation turned towards religion: Paula practiced Wicca, and Mark was all about Karma. I had never met anyone that practiced Wicca, but it sounded like she was more of a casual practitioner. Mark’s views were a hodgepodge of various religious philosophies, with no real coherence. So I asked them what they thought about the person of Jesus Christ, and the Bible. They had both had bad experiences with churches, and it was very evident as we discussed this topic. The pastor of Mark’s church when he was a child had embezzled money from the church treasury, and Paula had always felt judged by Christians. It seemed that most of the Christians they had come into contact with were not very Christ-like at all.

That thought breaks my heart and scares me to death, all at the same time. It saddens me because I know that there are probably millions of people who have somehow been hurt, and consequently pushed away, by the actions of someone claiming to be a Christian. It frightens me because I know that I have been that person before. I wanted so badly for Mark and Paula to be able to see what I see, and feel what I feel. I wanted them to experience the joy and the peace that I know. But I also realize that there is nothing that I could have said that would have changed their minds. I can’t come up with some deep, philosophical thought that will cause them to say, “Oh my gosh, Nic, you are so right!” I’m not that smart or insightful. All that I can do is love people the way that Christ did. So now I pray for Mark and Paula. I prayed that they would make it to Colorado and find Paula’s sister. I continue to pray that the Lord reveals Himself to them, and that they find truth.

As I pray, I wonder why I don’t do this more often. Many times I have opted not to talk to that person sitting next to me in class, or standing in line in front of me at the grocery store. What am I so afraid of? Maybe not having the right answers, maybe seeming fanatical. For the most part, I just don’t want to get myself into an uncomfortable situation, kind of like the thought of picking up two random people in a small west Texas town. I worry about my own comfort level a little too much when I should be loving others. I have already proven that I don’t have all of the right answers and let’s face it, Jesus himself was a fanatic. He fanatically reached out to and loved those that the world despised and rejected, which is something I wish I did a little more often. So the next time I feel myself getting comfortable in my faith, I think I’ll take a little road trip, and see what happens.

A few months ago, I was driving to work in typical fashion. It’s early in the morning, my iPod is playing, I’m wishing I were still in bed…and it’s raining. It wasn’t so long ago that rain was a novelty to me. I grew up in the arid plains of west Texas, and the only “greenery” you will see is at traffic lights and on John Deere tractors. However, I was living in Houston at the time, where rain is a fairly common occurrence.

Some people freak out when it rains. They think that at any moment a rushing wall of water is going to envelop the road on which they are driving, sending them tumbling helplessly toward the Gulf of Mexico and certain death. Or that every other driver on the road is maniacal, and they are all on the verge of simultaneously spinning out of control and creating a massive pile of twisted metal in the middle of the freeway. There is not a large group of otherwise hibernating racecar drivers who descend upon the roads the second it starts raining. This irrational fear is not only unwarranted; it is unhealthy. I’m convinced that, for these people, the combined stress of a 15-minute driving experience in the rain is the equivalent of a minor heart attack. And yet, for all of this worry, there is absolutely nothing that can be done. Not a single second of fretting will change the fact that it is raining; it is absolutely beyond our control.

I, on the other hand, don’t mind the rain. If you are a safe, defensive driver, there is no reason to fear for your life on the road, even in the rain. Most people decrease their speed substantially when it is raining, anyway, so traffic is moving much slower (not that it ever moves fast in Houston). In fact, most people are much more cautious in general during adverse driving conditions, not crazed speed demons. Even if they were, there is nothing that can be done about them on my end. I can’t remotely steer their vehicle to a safe place on the side of the road and disable it until the rain stops. No, all that I can do is operate my vehicle as safely as I know how, and hope that everyone else around me is doing the same.

However, as I was driving to work on this ordinary day, enjoying the rain, my joy turned to perplexity when I saw a landscaped area with it’s sprinkler system turned on. I’m serious. It’s raining hard enough for my windshield wipers to be on “high,” and somebody has the sprinkler system on. What kind of an idiot does that? Is there really any added benefit? What if it floods?

It was at this point that I caught myself. I was worrying about something that was completely beyond my control, and it was just a silly sprinkler system. In reality, there were probably very good intentions behind those sprinklers. I’m sure there is someone who gets paid to make sure that particular piece of landscaping looks good. That person probably has those sprinklers set up on a timer so that they turn on at the same time every morning, for the same amount of time every morning. They might even have it calculated so as to deliver the perfect amount of water for maximum benefit of the landscaping in question. Perhaps they just forgot to check the weather the night before, and therefore didn’t get the memo to turn off the sprinkler timer for the following morning. Maybe that person was just making the best plans possible for what he or she thought was going to happen.

There will always be things to worry about, and there is really nothing that your worrying will change. In fact, worrying is probably only going to make things worse. So don’t worry or fret. Just know that there are so many things in this life that are beyond our control, that to freak out about them all of the time is nothing but an exercise in futility. So futile that it could cause you to miss out on the beauty that is all around you. So slow down, take a deep breath, and remember that you will never have another chance to enjoy today.

I love to water ski. It is one of my favorite things to do. It’s hard to beat a day out on the lake, out in the sun, skiing until you feel as if your arms are going to fall off from exhaustion. Well, maybe not fall off, but you get my point. Also allow me to clarify what I mean when I say “water skiing.” I do not mean one ski for each foot, being towed behind the boat at a low speed and enjoying the scenery from behind the boat. I mean both feet in one ski, flying behind the boat at break-neck speed, with everything flying by so fast that you don’t have time to enjoy the scenery — slalom skiing.

Slalom skiing has been one of my loves for many years. My grandparents used to live on a large lake in north Texas, and every summer that I can remember, until I graduated from high school, we would spend one or two weeks at the lake. There were many other things that we did at the lake: hiking, swimming, fishing, etc. But skiing was always my favorite.

I learned how to ski on two skis when I was 9 or 10, but as you can probably tell from my previous description, I was not even close to satisfied. I wanted to go faster. So by the time I was 12 or 13, I was trying my hand on the slalom. My parents and siblings probably got pretty tired of watching me zip back and forth across the wake of the boat, but I just loved being back there. I would improve my technique a little bit each summer, and my confidence grew in direct proportion to the speed I was traveling. The faster I went, the more I loved it.

When I got to college, I worked at summer camps as a boat driver and water ski instructor. This was a pretty sweet gig: I got to teach kids how to do something that I loved to do, and I got to spend a little time behind the boat myself. And as much as I love to ski, there are no words to describe the feeling that I would get each time one of my campers was able to get up on skis for the first time. I’m guessing I will have many more moments like those when I become a parent, but seeing the exhilaration on a kid’s face as you swing the boat around to pick him back up is absolutely priceless. I loved those summers. Whether it was teaching kids or skiing on my own, I was living the dream.

About this time last year, I began to feel as if I had awoken from that dream. The reality of life began to set in after finishing with graduate school, and the prospects of me doing any skiing in the future were not looking good. This was a sad realization. I mean, slalom skiing had become so much more than just something I love to do. It had come to represent who I was, and how I want to live my life. I want to go flying across the boat wake of life, back and forth, throwing myself full-throttle into the path that lies before me. And I thought that was slipping away.

So I bought a slalom ski. A nice one, too. It had all of the features that I could have possibly wanted, but I won’t bore you with those details. Just trust me: it was awesome. I thought that if I spent the money on it, I would make more of an effort to get out to the lake; that has not been the case. I have used it a grand total of one time. Pathetic, I know.

But it has also allowed me to have a different sort of realization: I can’t spend all of my time behind the boat. There has to be a significant amount of time spent in the boat, and this time is just as important as the time that I spend actually skiing. It’s breathing deeply, letting the wind hit you in the face and take your breath away, and the time that you spend with your family and friends that really makes that lake trip worth all of the time and effort.

I still have that ski, and I intend to get a lot more use out of it in the future. Only now it has a slightly deeper significance. While I will always love the thrill of riding a slalom ski, I have learned that there are many things in life that can be thrilling and fulfilling. I’m not sure exactly what this means for me yet, but at least it’s a start. I firmly believe that life is not to be attacked at break-neck speed by yourself behind a boat, but rather to be relished and shared with others who can help you see the beauty around you.