štěstí

this is what it's all about

mám tě moc rád, lásko má

c. johnson

ctj

i am 

a son, a brother, an uncle, a grandson, 

a teacher, a returned missionary, a boss, 

a boyfriend, a lifelong friend, 

a roommate, a student,

a photographer, a guitar-playin’ man,

a son of God. 

i am 

considerate. I am shy. I am lean. I am stressed. I am concerned. I am fuzzy.  I am attached. I am caring. I am fair-skinned. I am loving. I am strong. I am foolish. I am lost. I am intelligent. I am frugal. I am nice. I am searching. I am healthy. I am sensitive. I am young. I am sweaty. I am determined. I am chill. I am nerdy. I am tired. I am grateful. I am hungry. I am in love.

i like

the smell of grass. I like lifting. I like holding hands. I like burgers. I like wearing headphones. I like the first scoop of peanut butter. I like looking into her eyes. I like finishing a book. I like eating ice cream. I like learning new things. I like driving alone. I like working hard. I like making her smile. I like hearing thank you. I like expressing my feelings. I like being heard. I like making a difference. I like listening to the rain. I like doing something unexpected.

i dislike

pickles. I dislike arrogance. I dislike dishonesty. I dislike broccoli. I dislike having gas. I dislike failure. I dislike busywork. I dislike insincerity. I dislike dirt. I dislike my bad habits. I dislike making mistakes. I dislike being so worried.

i want

love. I want joy. I want knowledge. I want security. I want to see. I want peace. I want simplicity. I want to go. I want a family. I want to understand.

i need

closeness. I need a hand. I need direction. I need the spirit.

i

care. I pray. I sleep. I stress. I seek. I desire. I struggle. I eat. I study. I worry. I sing. I read. I listen. I spend. I cook. I ask. I work. I cry. I plan. I fail. I repent. I move on. I obey. I yearn. I help. I laugh. I love.

i am

a sinner; yet, I am a saint.

c. johnson

i tried my hand at poetry

I'll leave this little verse up to your own interpretation.

Note: Poem inspired by actual events.

(You'll probably have to click on it to be able to read it.)

c. johnson

sun protection factor

"The sun is mass of incandescent gas, a gigantic nuclear furnace ...." So goes the song that carols a warning to all those who expose themselves to the sun's magnificent power.

What to do on a beautifully sunny Sabbath day? Well, I'll tell you what I did. I took me a blanket and headed to the park for some ponder time. The setting was picture perfect: some appreciated sunshine, a slight breeze, a blanket under my back, and my books to keep me company. I had nothing but time on my hands. Now, the trouble with this situation is not the setting, but rather the time of day. Not only was it a Sunday afternoon, but also a Fast Sunday. You can probably see where this is headed.

After a wonderful hour in the sun, reading and recording my thoughts, I began to feel quite sleepy. I thought to myself, "Hey, Self, you really ought to move into the shade now. You've been out here for a while. Don't forget that this is your first exposure to the sun this year." Being the genius that I am, however, I decided instead to lie down and rest my eyes for just a few more minutes. Rest my eyes? Who am I kidding? I've known since I was four what "resting my eyes" means; I learned that one from my parents.

The ending to this story should be astutely obvious at this point: my eye resting episode lasted for almost an hour. When I was awakened by a welcome phone call, I didn't immediately realize the predicament I had put myself into. But soon after I began to feel the tight, achy effects from the lack of UV protection. Simply put, I got cooked.

On the bright side, the nap was fantastic.

c. johnson

what a character

Due to my lack of preparation and energy, I'm going to just post another quote that has affected my life for the better. Sorry to disappoint. But take wisdom from a man who's worthy of giving it.

Getting through the hazards of life requires understanding, skill, experience, and self-assurance like that required to sink a difficult basket under pressure. In the game of life, that is called righteous character. Such character is not developed in moments of great challenge or temptation. That is when it is used. Character is woven quietly from the threads of hundreds of correct decisions (like practice sessions).

When strengthened by obedience and worthy acts, correct decisions form a fabric of character that brings victory in time of great need. Righteous character provides the foundation of spiritual strength that enables you to make difficult, extremely important decisions correctly when they seem overpowering. Righteous character is what you are. It is more important than what you own, what you have learned, or what you have accomplished. It allows you to be trusted. It opens the door to help from the Lord in moments of great challenge or temptation. --Elder Richard G. Scott

This is a true principle that I am striving to live by.

c. johnson

land wanted

Where is the ground? How long have I been up here? I am getting tired of floating around. I’ve been up here so long that my feet no longer remember the earth's touch. The air up here is thin; the visibility, poor. I would like to come down if I could only get my bearings. I know exactly where I want to go; yet, I haven’t the foggiest. I think I even know with whom--but even that situation is still floating. My hopes of reciprocation are so high I can no longer see them.

Where is the ground? How long will I stay up here? The lack of oxygen is taking its toll on me. I continue to seek for solid ground, but sometimes I feel as if I may never find it. What I wouldn’t give just to feel it under my feet, to know north and south again. I wonder when it will happen. Heaven knows that I’m trying, searching, praying.

Where is the ground?

c. johnson

not just simple prose

Although this may seem very lazy on my part, the thoughts I have had as of late can be summed up quite concisely in this single, inspired quote.

Our deepest fear is not that we are inadequate. Our deepest fear is that we are powerful beyond measure. It is our light, not our darkness that most frightens us. We ask ourselves, Who am I to be brilliant, gorgeous, talented, fabulous? Actually, who are you not to be? You are a child of God. Your playing small does not serve the world. There is nothing enlightened about shrinking so that other people won't feel insecure around you. We are all meant to shine, as children do. We were born to make manifest the glory of God that is within us. It's not just in some of us; it's in everyone. And as we let our own light shine, we unconsciously give other people permission to do the same. As we are liberated from our own fear, our presence automatically liberates others. -Nelson Mandela-

Remember who you are.

c. johnson

to what end?

Sometimes I wonder why I allow words to affect me in such a significant way. Idiomatic wisdom would teach that sticks and stones may break bones, but words will never hurt. Although this may be the case for some, it is certainly not for me.

For me, being one who has internally struggled with self-confidence, the words of others usually find their way straight to my core. Words can be more sharp and biting than any wielded weapon. Wounds of the flesh will mend themselves, but wounds of the soul cannot be simply covered with a band-aid and expected to heal.

Words frequently come tumbling out with no thought to their potential consequences. Will these words shape and inspire, or will they degrade and demolish? Whether uttered before one's face behind one's back, words carry the same clout.

On the other hand, the right words at the right time are often the means of inspiration to get up and get moving. Words can be stirring, gratifying, supportive, and constructive. A compliment here and a kind word there require little more than a small moment of consideration.

Words can say volumes about one's character. Tactless words, spoken with no regard, cause unnecessary and lingering pain. Considerate words, spoken from the heart, weave a web of comfort and confidence in which one can feel safe and secure about self and the future.

Ponder the power of your words. To what end are they spoken?

c. johnson

voda

“And God said, Let the waters under the heaven be gathered together … and let the dry land appear: and it was so. And God called the dry land Earth; and the gathering together of the waters called he Seas: and God saw that it was good” (Genesis 1:9-10). In the beginning, separation of water from the land was of paramount importance. At the suggestion of a trusted friend, I will give a short moment to ponder on the importance of water.

Some call it water, some voda, and others aqua. Despite its ubiquitous nature, many helplessly thirst on a daily basis. I, on the other hand, have practically endless amounts at my disposal; and I don’t even have to pay for it. Anytime I’m thirsty, I just mosey on over to the sink for a cool, refreshing drink.

But what makes water so innately indispensable? Surely its life giving properties extend beyond the drinking glass. Jesus himself said to Nicodemus, “Except a man be born of water and of the spirit, he cannot enter into the kingdom of God” (John 3:5). Water, as we see, not only provides and sustains life in the here and now, but also provides access to life in the hereafter.

Just a few incomplete morsels of food for thought.

c. johnson

coulrophobia

Some dreams simply don't make sense. More often than not my dreams are laden with unfamiliar people and places. I often wonder what my early morning, sleep-cycle adventures are supposed to mean. Sometimes my dreams are downright absurd. I'll share with you one such gem of my dream land.

The whole dream is in black and white--totally lucid. I enter a house, which is apparently my house, only it doesn’t look like my house. I come in the door and there stands a Yosemite Sam look-alike, in the flesh. He's got one of those crazy-thick, push-broom mustaches; and he’s just chilling in my kitchen, being creepy. I’m not sure what that’s all about, but I know I don’t want to get involved. So I just scurry up the stairs to bed, as it’s already very late.

As I'm lying there snoozing, I’m awakened by some hullabaloo in the kitchen downstairs. In my drowsy state I figure that it’s just Mom doing the dishes or some such nonsense. As my heavy eyelids close, I hear someone sidling up the creaky stairs outside the bedroom door. The doorknob turns, and through the small slit of the one eye I manage to open, I see a large figure enter the room. I try to open my eyes and focus on the intruder, but I can’t seem to see though the blur. The stench of burnt grease reaches my nostrils and a shutter. Finally my eyes adjust enough to make out the figure that is now standing at the foot of my bed, looming over me in the shadows.

Upon seeing his ghastly face, my whole being tenses with fear. Leaning over me with outstretched arms and gnarled hands is the epitome of evil: Ronald McDonald. But this is not the Happy Meal-serving, charity-supporting, fun-loving Ronald kids know and trust. No, this is off-the-clock, after-hours, most likely tipsy, and ill-tempered Ronald. His wig is gone, his makeup smeared, his wrinkled and scarred face revealed. I tried to scream, to run, to move, to do anything; but my heart had stopped beating. This was the end. I could only watch as the yellow eyes of death descended slowly upon me.

But just as I had consigned myself to a death high in saturated fat, I awoke to the sweet salvation of reality, breathing hard. I sat up, wiping the sweat from my face. Looking around the room, checking for prowlers, I struggled to control my breathing. Then, as I eventually came to my senses, the first thought that ran through my head is probably the same one that’s running through yours now: "Seriously? Ronald McDonald? Aarg, I hate fast food."

c. johnson

finding purpose in the routine

The day dawn is breaking and Clay is still sleeping. The earliest rays of sunshine should bring joy of a new day and a smile to my face, but rather they usually bring two taps of the snooze button and a set of dark-circled, puffy eyes. Nevertheless, somehow I make myself roll out of bed every morning to the same routine: pray without falling back asleep, stumble into the bathroom, make that funny the-lights-are-way-too-bright face, climb in the shower, try to stop that squealing noise the shower makes, shave, get dressed, eat a bowl of something soggy, and head off to defend the world from evil.

If any of this is sounding familiar, then you're in good company. The question on my mind is why do I do it? What's the purpose of it all? What in the world is more enticing than the comfort of my BYU Snuggie-covered bed? Why do I even bother to get up when I know that the day will just be filled with ornery people and things that stress me out? Do I do it out of some sense of duty or obligation? Am I afraid that I won't like up to somebody's expectations of me? Do I fear what others will think if I don't prove to be a hardworking, diligent RM? The answers to this myriad of questions are more knotty and lengthy than I would have time to discuss on my little blog. But one thing is for sure: something--some feeling, desire, or drive--rolls me out of bed each morning and keeps me moving forward no matter how bad the previous day was.

The trouble with all of this philosophizing is trying to come to some type of practical conclusion. What am I getting at? How do I put a finger on a specific thing that drives me? Well, were I to try to consolidate the complexity of what keeps my feet moving forward, I would name one indispensable attribute: hope. The reason why I ever pull my head off my pillow is because I have hope that today will be a better day than yesterday; hope that despite the obvious weaknesses I posses, I have a compassionate Creator who is very aware of my efforts to improve; hope that although I made mistakes yesterday, today is not yesterday at all--today is a new day, void of all the weight of yesterday's sorrows; and hope that the effort I put into living today to its fullest is not in vain.

I have great hope in God's plan for me and hope in the happiness that awaits me. True, most days really aren't that spectacular. No, my life hasn't been turning out the way I had planned (not even close). But I have hope that the best is yet to come. I truly believe that “whoso believeth in God might with surety hope for a better world … which hope cometh of faith, maketh an anchor to the souls of men, which would make them sure and steadfast, always abounding in good works, being led to glorify God” (Ether 12:4). Indeed it is a hope in His plan that keeps me going. Although I have never been more uncertain of what lies ahead, I have hope that the path He has laid out for me is one of growth and lasting happiness.

c. johnson

don't worry, be happy.

When life gives you lemons, you make lemonade. Don't cry over spilled milk. When you fall off the horse, you pick yourself up and get back on. These, and countless other trite truisms, come quickly to the mind of the bystander who is on the outside looking in. But when life throws a stick in my spokes, these truisms aren't worth the breath it takes to utter them. Not that these short axioms don't contain elements of truth, but when it comes to applying their principles, truly it is easier said than done. 

While in these low times, the easiest thing to do is just wallow in self-pity. And although the wallowing provides a odd sense of gratification, discouragement only pushes us further down a path of sadness. On the same topic, a wise man said, "Discouragement and its fellow travelers of depression, despair, and hopelessness are much like the proverbial rocking chair: they keep us busily occupied, but they do not take us anywhere." (Spencer J. Condie)

How true it is; especially for someone like me who has such a hard time letting things go and moving on. As I reflect on my life, I realize that I've spent far too much time rocking, and not nearly enough time on my feet, making a difference.

c. johnson

everything's made up and the points don't matter

Up until yesterday, when people asked the tired question, "What is your most embarrassing moment?" I had always answered with a languid, "Um, I don't know." Not to be hard on myself, but is that completely lame or what? I mean, what kind of boring life am I living here? (Those are more of rhetorical questions, by the way.) Last night's events, however, have provided me with not only my claim to fame, but also with a trophy-winning, embarrassing moment.

To tell the story completely, I will backtrack to my teenage years. On any normal weeknight, it was not uncommon to find my family in the basement playing games, shooting pool, and basking in the warm glow of cable television. There was one show, however, that we seldom missed: Who's line is it anyway? I have fond memories of my siblings and I laughing until our faces hurt; then recapping the highlights together and chuckling some more. Well, it's been many years since those times, and I'd almost forgotten about our evening ritual. That is, until my uberthoughtful mother gave me the birthday present of the century--third-row tickets to the Colin Mochrie and Brad Sherwood show. (For those of you who are lost, they are two of the comedians from Who's line is it anyway?.)

After months of anxious anticipation, my sister Mandy and I finally made our way to Salt Lake City for the show. When they walked out on stage, I could hardly contain my excitement for what was coming. Within seconds, they had the entire audience of 2000 fans throwing their heads back in giddy laughter.

You may be wondering at this point of the story when the embarrassing moment happens. Well, as you may know, these comedians frequently invite people from the audience to participate in the show. About an hour into the performance, they started scanning the audience for assistants. Brad pointed at two guys several rows behind me and said, "You two look like trouble. Come on up here!" In the moments that followed, my spidey sense kicked in, and I knew he was coming for me. Sure enough, Brad looked right at me and said, "You! You look like the opposite of trouble. Come on up!"

To make an already long story short, I'll get to the meaty part. They called us up to be part of a rap music video; and I was a backup dancer. Those of you who know me are realizing right now why this is unquestionably my most embarrassing moment. Simply put, I can't dance. The next few minutes were an awkwardly long series of booty shaking, handstands, and even a cartwheel. It was truly a sight to be seen; and one never to be forgotten.

Now, a whole day later, I still can't believe I was up there shuffling my two left feet in front of all those people. On top of that, I got to shake hands and "perform" with two comedians that brought many good times to my siblings and me so many years before. It goes without saying that I am very grateful to my wonderful mother for forking out the dough to let me have such an unforgettable experience. Thank you, Mom. I love you.

c. johnson

P.S. Video footage pending.

isn't it about ... time?

Time is a curious phenomenon. When I have too much of it, I'm not sure what to do with it, and I waste it. When I don't have enough of it, I'd give anything to have more. Time can't be bought, made, or stretched. Time never hesitates to move forward; it is unsympathetically punctual. I can't save it when I have extra in order to use it later. I can't tell time to wait because I'm currently busy. And I've never been able to convince time to just take a day off and let me catch up. No, time plays by its own rules--and it's very pedantic.

The knowledge that time is such an invaluable and elusive commodity should cause all of us to treat time with great care. Yet so many of us are guilty of abusing the time we are given. Why is this the case? Shouldn't we all be using every minute of our lives to the fullest? What keeps us from utilizing the short time that we have? The answers to these questions, I suppose, are unique to each individual. But for me, I think I have come closer to a personal conclusion.

Knowing that I should put my time to good use has motivated me to set goals and make plans that will help develop me into a well-rounded individual. Yet as I reflect on my own life, I find that I repeatedly fail to reach my goals, despite my best intentions. What's my excuse? I have none. But if I could place blame on any particular thing, it would be on my maternally inherited attribute of perfectionism. (No offense, Mom.) While in my adolescence, I adopted the maxim, "If something is worth doing, then it's worth doing right." So couple my perfectionism with my overly analytic mind, and what do I get? No time. Why? Because completing a simple task takes me approximately twelve times longer than the average bear.

At the end of each day, I find myself grumbling about my failure to complete this or make time for that. But a boy can only take so much! At times, the recurrent feeling of failing to reach my potential feels too heavy. While speaking on this very subject today, my bishop shared a piece of infinite wisdom. He said, "Sometimes we think the things that are most pressing are also the most important; they're not necessarily the same." He also shared a modified version of my hackneyed maxim, "Some of the things that are worth doing, are only worth doing adequately." Hear, hear, Bishop! Therein lies my personal handicap -- the ability to distinguish the "important and necessary" from the "good, but not worth the stress." School is without question the most sagacious time thief of all. I know that school is important for my future. However, I often let deadlines bind my hands from taking care of the other things (people) that need my attention the most. Nevertheless, with a better grasp on life's priorities, I am committed to make new plans and goals that focus more on the activities and people that are truly worthy of every minute of my precious time.

c. johnson

me the hypocrite

In objection to all my personal values, I have created a blog to which I will be making weekly posts. To all whom I have ridiculed for their extensive blogging, I extend my sincere apologies. Let me also add that my foot tastes just as badly as I imagined.
Seeing that another year has come and gone, it seems all too fitting to post a "highlights of 2009" entry. I realize that this is cliche on every possible level, but my well of creativity is bone dry and my homework deadline is looming. Monumental events from last year include the following. (Events are presented in no particular order.)

1. Receiving a scholarship. Before starting my first semester of school, I set a goal to earn an academic scholarship. After only two semesters, I accomplished this goal. This scholarship has eased the financial burden of getting an education and has allowed me to save for the future.
2. Changing my major. Despite my previous hopes and dreams of an Ivy League law degree, my plans (as usual) have changed. Law, while a very respectable field, just didn't seem to fit my future. So I have decided to let loose the true nerd inside of me and pursue a degree in Accounting. This new direction feels much more comfortable and correct for me. Because of my 180 degree change in direction, I will be frequenting BYU campus for a couple years longer than originally planned.
3. Visiting the old haunts. While talking to my last mission companion on the phone, we would reminisce about the good old days in the field and wish that we could just go back. Finally, instead of just talking about it, we got the novel idea of actually doing it--buying a plane ticket and going back! So that's exactly what we did. Let me just tell you that it was worth every penny. I love the people of the Czech Republic with all my heart. It was so spiritually rejuvenating to be back among them and see that my service--my blood, sweat, and tears--was not given in vain.
   
4. Getting old. There have not been many times in my life when I have felt old. In fact, before this past fall season, I cannot recall a single instance. It was last December when I realized that the missionaries from the first group I taught in the MTC have already returned home. This means that I have been "Brother" Johnson almost as long as I was "Starsi" Johnson. Oh, how time flies!

I'm sure you would expect more monumental experiences from an entire year of life, but the truth is that my life is rather plain. You probably already noticed that I was stretching to make just these 4 points. I have let my life become stale and boring. I hope that by this time next year, I'll have a rich supply of exciting events to share.

c. johnson