Some context: entering this season, no woman had completed a televised course in either Japanese or American Ninja Warriors. I’d also argue that ANW’s qualifying courses are harder than any Stage 1 course on either.
This woman is a fucking badass. First woman ever to advance!
I’m not crying your crying
If you don’t think this is awesome you need to get out of my face
I lovelovelove the commentators on this too, not a single word about how hot she looks doing this shit, just complete and utter delight at how well she is doing here.
she made it look so EASY. does she even break a sweat?
'SHUT THE FRONT DOOR!'
HO. LY. SHIT.
Shut the front phuxxin’ door.
Pray for Us
I believe, wholeheartedly and within the very depths of my soul, in a singular, Almighty being. To me, this Being is so large in scale that it’s as unfathomable as the concept of the size of the universe itself. In the interest of full disclosure, I also believe in Science.
I pay tribute to this concept, commonly known in the English language as “God”, in various ways, the most important of which is prayer. I pray in thanks for waking up. I pray in thanks when I look at my children and Queen. I pray in thanks for my family. I pray for strength when I see a tough situation on the horizon. I pray in thanks when I come out of that situation. Yea, most of my prayers are in thanks. I very rarely pray for things.
I recall being a child and praying for things; toys, snacks, permission to go to the dance. As I matured and refined myself, I came to realize that praying for things was as wrong as living solely to accumulate things. This realization is what led to my praying strictly in thanks. Then my Queen became pregnant. She had to be hospitalized, so traumatized was her petite frame with the new life she carried. I began to pray for her and our child’s well-being vehemently. Then our first child was born. This changed everything.
Family was born with Ras Emiliano Cantu.
He was hospitalized for the first several weeks of his precious little life. My mind was consumed with worry for him and worry for my wife’s internal fortitude. I was forced to galvanize my will and my hope in order to carry on as if worry wasn’t some ravenous hellthing eating at the very core of my being. What use would I be to my Queen in this time of her need, if she couldn’t depend on me for strength?
I prayed for the baby. I prayed for my wife. I prayed for the strength to keep pretending that I wasn’t some mere ambulant crystalline structure, camouflaged to stand among the oaks. Any worse news would surely shatter my ability to hold my head up and provide my wife with a beacon to shine upon our future. And then the World Trade Center fell.
The destruction of life that I witnessed with my own eyes briefly took my mind off of the lingering disaster that could have befallen our brand new life and I prayed-for the sake of my family- that war wouldn’t befall our city. I prayed that my family would not be hurt in some heinous act of terrorism. I prayed for the focus that would be required for me to gather my family together and to escape any possible war that might break out in San Antonio. I prayed that my family would keep access to food, clothing, shelter, and warmth. I prayed that a consistent need to perform acts of violence upon people in order to ensure the perseverance of my family would be unnecessary. I prayed for us. For my family. Only for my family.
It wasn’t until many years and three additional children later (each of which had hospitalized my Queen, as well) that a stunning thought occurred to me:
Is it not pure selfishness for me to pray for only my family?
Pray for Us All
This question brought me to deep introspection. How could it not be selfish to ask for protection for only my family? Isn’t it an affront to my Almighty master, who not only blessed me with existence, but with all of the experiences and joys that I’ve had therein, to ask him to do anything more than allow me to continue on with this blessing called life? Isn’t life enough? Aren’t living, breathing, seeing, hearing, tasting, and touching enough? What about reading, writing, sketching, composing songs, dreaming, cooking, eating, drinking, and making love? Aren’t they enough? What about staring into my wife’s eyes and kissing her? What about hugging my children? What about talking shit with my dad? What about hearing my mother telling me she loves me? What about hearing my sister laugh? What about wasting away the night with my brother? Aren’t they enough? Who am I to ask for anything more? Who am I to ask my everlasting master for additional focus on what I want?
I was ashamed when this realization came to me. Though I no longer ask for things, I feel hubris when one of my little men is sick beyond the casual cold or flu and I ask for Him to help them. Like when my oldest was in the neonatal intensive care unit during his first weeks of birth. There were tiny little preemies, several with horrid prospects, wailing away in the ward. My child’s liver was merely having trouble getting its little bilirubin factory up and running. Why did I not pray for the severely sick little babies and their parents?
When my second child, Judah, caught ear infections so bad and so often, that his doctor said that they might have to cut into his inner-ears and place drainage tubes inside, or the infections would continue, potentially leading to most undesirable outcomes? I literally prayed for days on end that he would get better without invasive surgery. Meanwhile, there are millions and millions of little children the world over, suffering unthinkable disease, starvation, abuse, and psychological terrors never-ending, who will never have a chance to find any comfort whatsoever for any of their predicaments. What makes my child any more special than those poor little angels? What could possibly make me so special to even conceive of the notion that any of my prayers for the well-being of my child, when millions of others deserve the prayers of us all, deserve to even be heard, much less answered?
These thoughts have carved a niche into my conscience and I seem to have inadvertently developed an involuntary mechanism for prayer.
The other night, at around one in the morning, I was driving home from work. I was roughly 100 yards behind a pair of tractor trailers that rode side by side, each going about 70 miles per hour and each occupying one of the two lanes that made up this portion of highway we were all on. The truck on the right began to swerve slightly, and its trailer began to fishtail. In an attempt to correct, the front of the truck that had swerved began to snake back and forth in both directions. Then the truck on the right had to swerve slightly to avoid contact with the now seemingly about-to-be-out-of-control truck. My automatic response in situations where I see what may be unavoidable peril is to pray for my family. While I stepped on the brake lightly to begin pumping to avoid skidding into my doom, I involuntarily retracted my prayer, asked for forgiveness for being selfish, and prayed again for the safety and well-being of everyone else in the world. All of this occurred within a fraction of a second.
The situation worked itself out. Both trucks carried on, and I slowed to 55 until there was about half a mile between my vehicle and the two big rigs. I then assessed what had occurred mentally. I had involuntarily retracted my prayers for my family and prayed for everyone else.
I now find myself in quite a conundrum. I find myself praying for everyone else when I begin to pray for my family. It’s instinctual and involuntary.
Am I doing wrong by not praying for my loved ones, but praying for all of us instead?
THIS is how you mashup!!!
OH MY FUCKGIN IU JUST FLAOILED ALLO OVER THE PLAC E HOLY FUCK HO LD ON THE RE GOD
TONY STARK CREAMS HIS SUIT WHILE LISTENING TO THIS
It would be worthwhile for all my True music-lovers to peep game. Check the whole thing.