It's easy to think of what to be thankful for when you're thinking about God or church. There's always something. You can thank God for your food, dog, friends, church, community - but when it comes to your family, well, it isn't that simple.

That's how I feel, anyway.

When it comes to my family, I wish I lived in a deserted island by myself. I'm strangely fearful of what will happen when Annabelle moves out next year when she gets married because she's the only sane person I live with. Even the dog isn't sane. He barks and growls at invisible objects only he can see.

As usual, I spent Thanksgiving at my grandparents. This year, both my parents were there, at the same time. For those of you who don't have divorced parents, I don't think you can sympathize with me on this one. When two people who have mutually agreed to hate each other and have mutually agreed to be repulsed by the mere thought of the other person are put in close proximity to one another, disaster always ensues.

Visualize an explosion. Visualize a tornado passing through a room. Visualize chaos and madness and flying turkeys.

That's how Thanksgiving was like.

After my mom declared she had a headache and was sick, and after my dad told the story of how my mom never takes care of herself, even when pregnant with us, and after my mom rebutted with how he never takes care of himself, or the kids, or the family - and on and on it went, they finally left in a huff.

Leaving me, Annabelle, my grandma, and my Aunty Grace in the kitchen, bewildered by the chaos. I was feeling absolutely depressed and asked my Aunty Grace to talk about something happy, please.

So she told me the story of how she got cancer.

Two years ago, my Aunty Grace didn't care for beans what she ate. With the exception of her strange allergy to chicken, she consumed everything with gusto, especially coke. She had at least a minimum of four cans of coke a day: One before work, one during work, and two during dinner. Then one day, she received the news that she had breast cancer. This changed everything, and from then on, she dropped it all, especially her addiction to coke.

For months, she waited for the chance to have surgery, something the doctors did not want to give her for reasons that absolutely frustrated her. She turned to prayer and prayed fervently. I don't think she's ever prayed so hard before. The entire church joined her, and soon she witnessed the power of prayer and how prayer can change someone's life.

She then received the chance to finally have surgery in the Philippines, so she took the first chance to fly there. Afterwards, she was on medication which caused her to loose a lot of weight. Her drastic change in diet also caused her to loose weight; she had to drop eating meat, sugar, and most carbs.

So I asked her, "What are you thankful for then?"

She answered, "I'm thankful I'm gaining back the weight I lost!"

Which is true, two years ago she was all bones and today she looks healthier, though she's definitely not the same weight she was before cancer. She told us that she had another routine mammary examination two weeks ago and was still waiting to hear back the results. We asked if she was afraid that the cancer would come back, and she replied with the most astounding answer I had heard.

"If it comes back, then I'll pray that The Lord would help me with whatever he's put on my plate again. I know he won't give me more than I can handle. So I can just pray for his help with what he's given me."

And at this point, I felt like I was stupid for having all these things about my family I was worrying about. I'm worried for my mom's health, I'm worried about my dad's job, and I'm worried about my brothers never finding a job - it can get very depressing to think about. But God will never give me anything more than I can handle, and I can just ask him to help me with whatever he's put on my plate.

After all, isn't that what prayer is about?

ASAP Science told me this week that sleeping too much may actually do more damage than good. I was very upset to hear this, since sleeping is way up there on my list of favourite past times.

I've learned some about my Christian life through my lack of sleep. Since sleep is so precious to me, my sacrificing it may actually be a big deal. Maybe what I am suppose to get out of this is to realize where my priorities are.

I make it a point to tell people that I can't work on Sundays because I have to go to church. I also make it a point to people that I can't meet them on Friday's because I have LH. This is something that I really value and it doesn't even matter if no one else understands this; whether people think I'm doing it apathetically as a routine or if people think I'm being overly religious - I do it because God is all knowing, all powerful, all encompassing, I do it because I'm weak and because I strive to be in love with Him.

There's nothing worse than a lukewarm Christian. Someone who believes in God and does nothing about it. Someone who just reads the Bible and attends church to avoid being asked why he wasn't there. Someone who measures himself up against other people's spiritual growth, when he himself isn't growing.

I can't stand it. It's one of my biggest pet peeves. (This is why I always ask God not to give me a lukewarm Christian husband.)

I love love. You can't force yourself to love God, or will yourself to love Him more, it just becomes a chore; another thing you have to do, another obligation or challenge you give yourself. You end up focusing on how much love you can give God or how much you can love God.

Love is just love. Something you automatically think about, something you automatically burst into song about even if you can't sing. Love is writing letters in my prayer journal, love is constantly hunting for the right word and phrase to express what's your mind and never finding it because there are no words to really say it. It's when you don't mind how long you have to travel to be with that person, how much money you spend on that person, or how much sleep you have to sacrifice.

You can pray for more love because you need God to help love Him.

There's a type of jumbled up logic to attending meetings that my sister and I were talking about. I'll use the girl's bible study as an example. My schedule is already very hectic, between my classes, work and volunteer, I struggle to find time to sleep. But there's always that nagging feeling on the back of my head about where my 'priorities' should be, that they should be with 'going' to bible studies and attending meetings.

This is how it plays out in my head: I have a nagging feeling that the girl's bible study hasn't started. That nagging feeling makes me want to start it. I then realize that I shouldn't listen to that nagging feeling, because having a girl's bible study should be an organic, almost spontaneous thing that I shouldn't have to drag myself to do. So I tell myself to leave it alone because I don't have any love for it. Then I go back to thinking about Seo and how much he probably drags himself to commit to all these bible studies, so I muster up some pep talk to myself to get it started. Then I realize I'm not Seo!

Anyway, so that's the cycle in my head. I go from wanting to do it to not wanting to do it to wanting to do it to not - all because it's out of my own effort. If God gave me the inspiration to do it no amount of hectic-ness will get in my way.

Instead, what I've learned from my recent hectic schedule and consequently lack of sleep is that my priorities should be to simply love. It's to not try so hard with my own efforts and ask God to help me. It's realizing God chose to love me when I didn't ask Him to. The response to love then becomes loving others who love God - which is why although I could be sleeping, I go to LH, and why although I could be studying, I choose to go to church on Sundays.

Today I feel like absolute crap - the result of a combination of not eating properly and drinking too much coffee on an empty stomach and not getting enough sleep. Being at work at 5am has gotten to the point where my coworkers and I talk about less than illicit ways of going to bed in time without actually taking sleeping pills. So this is what our lives has come to, pushing ourselves for the sake of temporary consumerism.

I've never felt like absolute crap before. At one point my head was completely spinning and I actually thought I'd faint, that same fainting sensation you get when your sugar level drops all of the sudden.

Anyway, to distract myself from this crappy feeling let's change topic. Yesterday during LH I was doing the ice breaker and decided to use one of the activities from my ESL activity book. It was suppose to be a practice on using articles - you know, a, an, the - and I decided to modify it for LH. Originally I was going to do Human Bingo, but that activity is super overdone and I wanted to do something where the people who already know each other well could get to know each other better. PLUS deep down, I probably unconsciously just wanted to know everyone's secrets.

So the activity is called I'll Change. The premise is that people would have to write 10-15 things (this was too complicated we ended up with just 5) that they would like to change about themselves, their lives, their world, or just random misc. things about themselves. In an ESL context, they would have to use articles with their items. I would then collect the lists and people would have to interview one another to find out whose list they have.

Simple right?

Not so, I was happy to see that people were over thinking their answers and that they were legitimately having a hard time coming up with FIVE things to put on their list. One day in the near future, I will use the same activity with my ESL class and see how long they take in comparison to how LH did. Haha.

After the ice breaker I kept everyone's paper, which now that I think about it is very stalkerish - but in my defense, I don't even know which list belongs to who, so I have all these fantastic random tidbits from different people and I can only guess who wrote what. Actually this is half a lie, I am pretty sure I know which list belongs to the guys, it's harder to tell with the girls.

But the question I have to ask is, were people being truthful? Because if they're like me, some of the things on their list is a lie.
This is what I wrote:

I wish I was taller. (A lie.)
I am semi-lactose intolerant. (WHICH now that I think about it is the reason I probably became sick after drinking all that coffee today. Damn you milk.)
I wish I can acquire better spelling abilities. (True. I can't spell.)
I wish I can memorize bible verses as well as Seo. (A lot of people wrote this on their list, haha.)
I don't like knives. (You never know when one is going to come flying at you.)

Then again, maybe not everyone is a blatant liar like me.

Ok going to bed now. Maybe I'll wake up just in time for the bible study tonight. Zzzz...

Working at 5am: A Survival Guide

With careful planning and technique, being at work at 5am doesn't have to suck. I'm the type of person who would happily sleep all day if I could and my bed and I have a happy, blissful relationship together.

Quick Ode to my Bed:

More than just a companion to my dreams,
You're my best friend and comforter.
Happily you greet me in the arms of your tangled blankets,
And give my weary head rest on your flat pillow.

Oh bed, we've been through much together,
We've read through all 7 Harry Potter books,
Learned the pitfalls of eating waffles in bed,
Battled with invading insects that have tried to ruin our solitude,
But best of all, you've been there with me through all my nightmares.

Time flies far too fast,
As I snore and drool,
Daily I leave you,
But you're always there to welcome be back.

Tangent over, back to our Survival Guide:

7pm: In theory, if you wanted eight hours of sleep you should be in bed by 7 the night before, but realistically, we all know this isn't going to happen.

8pm: By this time if you're not glancing at the clock guiltily, being well rested probably doesn't mean that much to you. That or you're going through an inner dialogue with yourself about how awake you will be at 3am. The part of you that is telling you that sleeping at 8pm is ridiculous will probably win since the part of you that wants to be responsible is weak.

9pm: Start getting ready for bed. Be careful not to suddenly become overly energized at this point and be tempted to do a sudden burst of random housework - this will only keep you from sleeping! Head straight to bed, even if the battle there takes an hour.

IMPORTANT: Make sure you set your alarm. I set two just to be safe: My iphone and an alarm clock.

10pm: No matter what, you're probably tossing and turning in bed at this point, suddenly thinking about a hundred million different things. Things like, "Why did that guy on the ttc smell so bad?" and "Maybe I will actually eat breakfast when I wake up, since I'm sleeping so early and all," and "I wonder why s/he smiled at me like that. Does that mean s/he likes me? Or maybe s/he hates my guts and the smile meant they have evil intentions. Do not trust smiling people."

Tips to fall asleep: 1) Count Sheep 2) (As bad as this seems) Pray 3) Listen to random podcasts. (Warning: Don't listen to random podcasts that excite you, i.e. Shakespeare. Listen to something French.)

11pm-2:59am: You're hopefully snoring at this point. Drool like no one is watching because you'll have to be up in a minute.

3am: Now you're allowed to ask the question you've been wanting to ask. Why would you wake up at 3am when you start work at 5am? Like most things in life, I have no reason. I just like having a 2 hour cushion to do things like: Hit snooze for the next 40 minutes.

3:40: After hitting snooze for way too long, adjust your eyes slowly to the light by browsing instagram on your phone. After a solid ten minutes of this, brush your teeth and shower. The shower will be painful, try to sing a song to cheer yourself up.

4am: Coffee is a must at this point. Chug chug chug.

If you're a guy, you can skip this part. Go eat breakfast or something.

To all the ladies: Now is the point you might stand in front of the mirror and ask yourself if it's even worth it to put makeup on. The answer is yes because although the world is still sleeping at this point, it will be waking up at some point and it's going to have to look at you. You will poke your eye with mascara, you will cry because of your contacts, you will always somehow put too much lipstick on, the hair dryer will refuse to cooperate - it's all part of being complicated.

4:30-4:45: Depending on where you live, leave the house and admire how empty the streets can be and question what the lonely cars you pass by have been up to. If you see a pedestrian, do not honk and say hi, you might scare them. You are allowed to feel good about yourself, you made it out of the house.

5am: Start work.

7am: Make sure you take a break because you will be starving at this point. Nothing is open yet so hopefully you were smart enough to pack an apple.

7:30-10am: This is when things start to get painful, stay strong! You will start feeling light headed and might start cursing everyone. There is no way of stopping this, just avoid people and do not make eye contact. Hopefully your coworkers are smart enough to leave you alone.

11am: Take another break, trust me, you will feel better after eating. Everything is open now, i.e. Starbucks and McDonalds.

11:30-1pm: With your newfound energy, suddenly work 3x the speed to make up for your earlier sluggish movements.

1pm-1:30pm: Probably the most painful last half hour of your life. Hide in the office to do 'work'.

1:30pm: Freedom!

And there you have it. Good luck.

After washing Charlie's butt fur, that part of the dog that never looks cute and gets much attention, the part where a forest of fur grows wild and tangled, my hands felt disgusting, as if I couldn't wash off the grimy poop off my fingers no matter how many times or how long my fingers were immersed under soap suds and water.

This is the part of dog ownership that is never glorified. Those days where the heat rises to that perfect temperature that causes your dog to eat grass and consequently, give him diarrhea. And of course, no one wants a dog with a poop stained butt running around the house so it's up to you to clean his butt. So here it is, my explanation for exploring that uncharted territory of my dog: His butt fur. (May this never happen again.)

The responsibility of giving the dog a bath every week has fallen on my lap when I suspected that Matt wasn't giving him a bath frequently enough or that he was doing a very poor job of it.

Charlie and I have our ups and downs with bath times. The first time I gave him a bath I nearly killed Charlie, or so I thought I did. When Charlie was a little over a month old, I was determined to train him into one of those super dogs you'd see at the CNE every summer, the ones who would run, jump, catch, fetch, and awe the crowd with their agility. I had read then that to train a dog, you needed to have a spray bottle ready and give a good squirt every time he didn't do listen to you. So at a little over a month old, I had caught Charlie peeing on the floor, and quickly grabbed the nearest squirt bottle and sprayed. Squirt squirt squirt.

Satisfied at the confused and ashamed look on Charlie's face, and completely ignorant of my mistake, I left him alone to contemplate what he did wrong. It wasn't until later that I realized the dog smelled like vinegar.

There's a general rule Matt and I live by. I don't ask him questions, and he doesn't ask me anything. And so, instead of asking what the hell he was up to by putting vinegar in spray bottles, I decided to wash the dog before he found out.

Of course, I knew nothing about washing a dog. Rather than googling it, I cooly thought that anyone who didn't know how to give a dog a bath didn't have common sense. And I definitely had common sense, which was why a few moments later in the basement, I had a tub filled with water, and unceremoniously dumped Charlie in, using at least half the bottle of dog shampoo.

After the bath, Charlie began shaking and shivering so much that within a few minutes, which seemed like hours to me, I was convinced that I may have perhaps, accidentally killed the dog. Three thoughts ran through my head: A) I should have googled it, B) What excuse I was going to give Matt for killing his dog, and C) If this dog died my neighbours are going to think we ate him.

Charlie and I are good friends now. Today, while hosing his butt down, he gave me defeated and resigned look, as if to say, "If this is how you're going to torture me for eating grass let's get this over with so I can get back to my dog stuff."

Sometimes, when I don't see him for a day, Charlie would great me violently by the door by hugging me with his front paws and leaning his furry cheek against my leg. And its moments like this that I know that though I torture him every week by bathing him, it's this mutual torture and suffering that bonds us.

And maybe, just maybe, I have just understood the book of Philippians a bit better.