Personal Narrative: Entering The Marketplace

Growing up with a father in the military, you move around a lot more than you would like to. I was born just east of St. Louis in a city called Shiloh in Illinois. When I was two years old my dad got the assignment to move to Hawaii. We spent seven great years in Hawaii, we had one of the greatest churches I have ever been to name New Hope. New Hope was a lot like Olivet's atmosphere, the people were always friendly and there always something to keep someone busy. I used to dance at church, I did hip-hop and interpretive dance, but you could never tell that from the way I look now.

Over my years of school, one big influence on me has always been sports. Ever since a young age, I have always enjoyed playing and watching sports. In my four years in high school, I have fell in love with the sport of lacrosse.

I woke up and took one bite out of my pop tart but that one bite was all I could eat. My legs were shaking, and my heart was pounding. My dad told me, “It is a true honor to even make it this far so go out there and have some fun.” Once I heard this statement, I knew I was ready to go. I arrived at school and boarded the bus. The car ride was an hour and fifteen minutes of hearing the squeaking of the wheel on the bus. My teammates were getting their heads ready for the big game.

Walking into the coffee shop where everyone else , including me now, confronts people in their lives and continues to discuss important topics. The decorations around me are plain and simplistic, nothing special about this place whatsoever. I wait patiently for my invite to show, mentally preparing myself for the conversation that I want to have so desperately. I think of the topics I want to bring up and the ones I want to focus on more than others. Nervously, I continue to wait and talk myself out of thinking that they wouldn’t show at all. A few minutes filled with deep breaths later, finally they’re here. I walk over to the table we agreed to meet at, and sat politely before greeting them and waiting for a response. I cleared my throat and looked at my lap, trying to refrain from saying anything I’d regret. Taking a deep breath, I tried to remain professional while addressing the topic. Finally, my attention was brought to the person seated in front of me, to the world in front of me. With all the courage I could muster I stared dead into its

So, I made a wrong turn today - literally. My brother called to cancel plans while I was driving, and I ended up somewhere in the DEEP south. (cue banjos) But I am wholly confident that God uses every of my wrong turns for his good.

When I was 5, my hands grew old and weary, tired of construction and calloused from work. Day after day after day, I would fashion new worlds and cultures out of little LEGO blocks. I worked fastidiously- creating tiny planes, guarded forts, and expansive cities that swept from one end of the carpet to the other. (I loved to make castles with booby-trapped moats and false walls and hidden entrances.)

It was the last inning, the count was two balls and two strikes with two outs. Our catcher calls a curveball, I move three steps to my right. Alex is in the stretch, he starts his motion towards home, the runner on first breaks for second base. The pitch is delivered and the ball is hit directly up the middle and over the pitcher’s head, coming from shortstop, I break to my left, I am about to catch the ball when I glance at the runner. He was sliding right into me, I caught the ball, jumped up, and threw the ball while in mid-air. It was a perfect throw, right to the first baseman’s chest. That was it, the game was over, we had just beaten the number one team in the country to advance to the world series! We all threw

Oh man.. diet this.. diet that!! what will they think of next!.. what an industry.. I am not saying that it won't work.. but i know that if I do a set program, i will end up getting off it in the end and gaining my weight back.. I started cooking for myself.. I found it was a great way of cutting the calories!..but i didn't know how to cook... then my friend bought me this dirty little beginners cookbook that was so dang funny that I just couldnt put it down... I've made some great stuff with it and all a helluva lot healthier than eating out!.. I can't tell you the name of the book cause it's politically incorrect.. but if you google "whipped and beaten Culinary works" you'll find it.. but if you get offended easily and can't take a joke..skip

“They’re bringing drugs. They’re bringing crime. They’re rapist. ...I'm not just saying Mexicans, I’m talking about people that are from all over [the world] that are killers and rapists and their coming into this country.” These are the disgusting insults that presidential candidate Donald Trump, who plans to build a massive wall around the United States, has recently scratched up to give his new modern definition of what it means to be an illegal immigrant. But despite these allegations, being an illegal immigrant has meant the same thing since the beginning of the history of the United States. An illegal immigrant is a hard working person who has no other choice but to leave the poverty stricken or hostile environment

only time we will discuss is yours, and the only applause will go to you. Many self-help books bring in other people, but I call that baggage. If it’s not your personal baggage, then it’s too much luggage.

In everyone's every day life, including my own, there is an economy for everything. In my case I control an economy of gaming servers throughout different games and it is quite easy to track the consumers, workers, and suppliers.

I was brought up into a family who believed in working hard to get what you want, and I too, have taken in this belief. I started taking a part in our family farm at a very young age, and have stayed involved each year. It’s not always enjoyable, but having my easy-going dad around, to keep the frustrating moments calm, sure can make it enjoyable for me. My grandpa and great uncle also helped me have a strong connection to the farm, and always helping out when help was needed. I was never believed by many when I told stories of driving the combine at a young age in school. My peers and teachers all thought it was near impossible, for a kid my size to operate such large equipment, but believe me or not, there isn’t much to it. It may look big and scary, but it happens to be my favorite part of farming.

The sounds of sixteen children screaming and laughing. Paper money flying, the teacher making no effort to stop the commotion. Everyone smiling having a great time. Many teachers go by curriculum, but only a few take the curriculum to new places. Although some teachers have strict rules, my third grade teacher, Mrs. Rifenbark, was fun and creative, and she taught be many things that I would use for school years to come.

Fairfield Momentum… As soon as you’re pulling up the big bird is extremely eye catching lol.

This past week I took the weekend off from work, The Fresh Market, because I needed a break. I was just burned out from working two jobs and school full time. I used some of the 120 hours of vacation time I earned. I simply chilled for the weekend and got some much needed rest.