Quirks and Quagmires is Moving!

I'm happy to announce that Quirks and Quagmires has officially moved to a new site:

quirksandquags.wordpress.com

If you follow my blog (all two of you), thank you so much for taking the time to read what I have to write. It means a lot to know that people genuinely care. The new site has enabled me to do a lot more with the appearance of the blog, and I'm so excited about changing venues. All the old stuff has been transferred over, and there is a new post already waiting. I'm not deleting this site, but I'd love for you to make the move with me. I hope to see you there :)

Prerequisite

It's been a while.

I told myself I was going to crank out a ton of posts this month, but, as you can see, that fell through. Things have been so busy lately. I feel like this month has flown by, leaving my good intentions floating to the ground in a storm of dust and hopelessness. Okay, maybe not that last part. That was a little dramatic. Regardless, I haven't written anything in what feels like forever, and I'm just not happy about that. What I'm less happy about is my lack of inspiration. 

I have been working on a post about "good intentions" that, no matter how much revision it undergoes, doesn't seem like it will ever be finished (ironic). For the past few weeks, I'd log into my blog and, just before clicking edit, I'd see it sitting there, the word draft next to the title. It's been mocking me for weeks, and I've decided the best thing to do in a case like this is leave it alone. Sometimes with writing, you have to let things sit. You write other things in the hopes that, when you come back, the old writing will take shape and become something better than you anticipated. So, this is me writing other things. Except I'm not sure what I should write. 

That's where the lack of inspiration I mentioned comes in. What does a writer do when they don't know what to write? I'm sure there are a number of exercises one could do to elicit ideas. In my playwriting class last semester, those exercises were called etudes. They always seemed to work, but, to be honest, I don't feel like doing a string of exercises. I want my inspiration to come from something I see or think or feel. I realize I'm probably being a lazy writer, but I'm saving the etudes as a last resort.

In hopes of sparking something, I took the Stephen King approach and decided to read. He said, "If you don't have time to read, you don't have the time (or the tools) to write. Simple as that." I agree with him, for the most part. Reading the works of others helps inspire and shape every writer. I read Mockingbird by Kathryn Erskine, the story of Caitlin, a young girl with Asperger syndrome who tries to find closure after the death of her older brother. It was an insightful and beautiful story. The next book I picked up was Flight by Sherman Alexie, my favorite of the two. I don't think I can summarize it justly, but thematically the book covered a lot of ground; it dealt with violence, hate, stereotypes, trust, etc. Both were good reads, and I recommend them. However, while this approach typically does it for me, after reading the two books, I've got nothing. 

So, what does a writer do when they don't know what to write? I think they write anyway. And it ends up looking like this: an uninspired rant about nothing in particular. And, while it isn't interesting or groundbreaking, it is writing. If you aren't putting words on a page, you can't expect them to turn into anything good, even if they start out looking really badly, e.g. this post. 

I apologize for the mediocrity that is this post, but hopefully it will become the prerequisite for something worth your while. 

A Quirk

"I'm embarrassed."

These are two words that I will never exhaust. I assumed that the majority of people faced around the same amount of embarrassing situations that I face, but after talking to some of the girls on my hall this year, I've come to the heart-wrenching realization that I might be alone in this. I am a magnet for all things embarrassing.

My humiliation has a pretty long track record. Once I was walking up a flight of stairs at the college I was dual-enrolled in throughout high school. Class was going to start in a couple of minutes, and I was leading the long procession of students who were marching up the stairs to get to their classes on time. A guy-a cute guy, might I add-from my class was right behind me on the stairs, and I was self-consciously aware of his presence the entire time I was hiking the never-ending staircases. I kept telling myself, "Do not trip me up, feet. You're going to want to trip me. Don't." When I finally made it to the last portion of steps and the door was in sight, a triumphant grin plastered itself onto my face. I had made it! I had hiked the stairs in front of the cute boy in my next class flawlessly!

Then I tripped. 

My stupid sandal caught the edge of the third stair from the top, and I fell forward, catching myself on my hands while blushing profusely. The guy behind me asked if I was okay and made an attempt to help me, but as much help as he could give, my pride could not be salvaged.  

Guys, crap like this happens to me ALL THE TIME. I have to take extra precautions when walking up stairs. I can't use the bathroom while wearing a skirt unless I want to walk around with it tucked into my underwear all day. And forget Facebook stalking my crush without accidentally tagging my friends in his profile picture! The embarrassment just won't relent.

I find myself wishing it away most of the time, but then I stop and really think about it. If someone were to take away all the embarrassing, fantastically humiliating things that happen to me on a daily basis, I'd have absolutely nothing to talk about. My life would be dull, and sad, and boring, and not really much of a life at all. I'm not saying that I love being an Embarrassment Magnet, but I'm somewhat thankful those little moments are there. 

Sometimes it's hard to get along with our quirks. However, I've learned that our quirky traits are a vital part of who we are. There is always a bright side to them, and, nine times out of ten, if you just embrace them, others will as well.

Being Present

It's nearing the end of my first year at Lee University, and I want to cry.

For weeks I've been declaring how absolutely ready I am for this school year, the classes, the work load, the stress to be over. I've been dreaming of walking out of my last final with a dramatic smirk and smiling eyes (or, as Tyra would say, "smise") that rival that of Joseph Gordon-Levitt at the end of 500 Days of Summer. Yes, I am super excited that the end of the year is finally upon us. However, it's just now hitting me that it's over.

It's over.

My freshman year is finished. I have (almost) completed one year at Lee University. There is no opportunity to go back and start differently. I can't retrace my steps and meet more people or join more clubs. What I have done this year is done, and I'm a little saddened by the finality of that.

Last week, Lee held its long awaited Midnight Breakfast in the dining hall. For non-Lee students, it doesn't sound all that exciting, but any student here knows that Midnight Breakfast means endless hash-browns and karaoke, which actually doesn't sound that inviting even as I'm typing it... Let me assure you, Midnight Breakfast is great, no matter how lackluster it sounds in writing. I arrived late and walked in just as the girls on my hall were dazzling the crowd with a mean rendition of "Baby," by Justin Beiber. As I contemplated weaving through the mass of jumping, screaming people and joining the girls on stage, I decided to just watch. So I did.

I watched the girl who was serenading the guy beside her with a pretend mic in her hand and the other in the air. I saw the three guys in front of the stage who sat atop their friends' shoulders and reenacted to a "T" all the lyrics to The Beibs' timeless classic. I surveyed the students who sat at the cafeteria tables talking excitedly over their biscuits and gravy. I even made note of the kids who wandered around alone, not quite sure where they should go but knowing they wanted to be in the midst of the magic that was happening. I noticed everything that was happening around me and couldn't help but realize how amazing it was. The week before finals and, despite the stress, sleepless nights, and endless studying that awaited us all, almost every student at Lee was involved in this night of silliness in one way or another. And it was because they realized what I'm realizing now: it's almost over, and the moment they were experiencing at Midnight Breakfast would pass just like every other moment had in the past year. It didn't matter what they were doing while there; it just mattered that they were there.

After making these revelations, I waded through the crowd and met up with the girls I just spent the past year of my life living with. And we laughed, like we usually do when we're all together. We sang to each other. We ate. We did things we've done all year, but it was different. It was different because we knew it would be one of our last moments together, and for some reason that made it sweeter.

Some of those girls have already left the hall and headed home for the summer. Some of them are moving on from Lee to start a new episode of their life in another place, and others I'll see again in August. Even with knowing I'll see some of their smiling faces when school starts back, I can't help but feel a little grieved. Our lives will never again be like this. We'll never be idealistic freshmen living in Nora Third North experiencing all our first Lee University experiences together. And while I'm excited to be upgrading to an apartment next semester, beginning a new major, and living with some really great girls, I'll miss this.

I'll miss the 3 a.m. talks in the lounge about everything from underwear to God. I'll miss cramming girls in the lounge to do Jillian Michaels work-out videos, and I'll miss the ever-amusing prank of hiding Suzie (see number four)  in different girls' closets. I'll even miss the nights I lied in my dark bedroom with eyes wide open waiting for everyone to realize it was officially 11 p.m., Quiet Hours.

It's over. But it's not really over.

I'll remember my times with my N3N family often, but if I spend all my time reminiscing next year I'll miss out on making new memories. It doesn't matter if my moments next year are the same as the amazing ones I've had this year because, no matter what, I'll be involved. And, just like all the people at Midnight Breakfast can attest to, being present and grasping onto the new moments is what is important.

Beautiful Exchange

Thank you, Jesus, for a love I've never deserved, and for a life that was bought for me.

Happy Easter

Change

I love change.

I love the feeling that ensues after looking back at the past year of my life and realizing how far I've come in just 365 days (give or take). I love knowing that I'm not stuck, that I will continue to grow and mature and develop into something better than I am now. I never understood why people are so afraid of change. Yes, there is such a thing as bad change, but even bad change allows room for hope and the aspiration of becoming something new and altogether improved. Change, as I see it, is a marvelous thing.

Lately, I've been praying more and more for God to make me into someone he's happy with, someone who looks like him in action and in word. It's been consuming my thoughts: be more like Christ, be more like Christ. I fail daily. I'll come to the end of the day and realize there were so many alternatives to the things I said or the way I acted, and I get so frustrated with myself for simply forgetting to be like Christ. For the past few weeks, I haven't been able to figure out why I feel no change. Then, I read something that inundated my spirit with understanding.

"His mind and Spirit are available to us, and His presence in our lives will, in fact, change us dramatically. But do you pursue God simply for the change He can bring you?"

I read those words from the devotional that I pick up every night before climbing into bed, and I was floored. After racking my brain so many nights trying to understand why I wasn't maturing, the reason was finally laid out clearly onto a page right in front of my face. I was seeking a Godly change in my life so intensely that I forgot to seek God himself.

Maybe it sounds ridiculous to you; both are good things. I'm reminded of a discussion my Western Lit. class had earlier in the semester about desire. My professor drew a vertical line on the board and put "God" at the top. Beneath that, he wrote things like, "My Wife," and "Football." He numbered the list. God was first, his wife was second, and football was somewhere around five. He explained to us that it is perfectly normal to desire all those things.

"The problem," he said, "is that we start to desire number four in the place of number two. It isn't that we desire bad things; it's that we desire good things in the wrong way."

I tucked his words away into my memory for future use. His illustration was simple yet brilliant. How easy it is to get our desires confused! It is okay to seek change, to ask for it, to desire it. But honestly, if I'm seeking, asking for, and desiring God, the change will come naturally. My motive to serve God should never be only for the change He can bring me. My motive to serve God should simply be to serve God. Change is just a beautiful side effect.

Familiarity

Some days, I just need clean sheets.

I don't mean that metaphorically or anything. I mean it literally. There are some days that I just need to sink into a bed that boasts freshly washed sheets, because that may very well evoke the best feeling in the world. I crave clean sheets on days like today when I've been going nonstop, when I glance at the clock in the bottom corner of my computer and it reads 12:31 a.m., and I realize this is the first down time I've had since 7:30 this morning. 

Clean sheets have a way of slowing things down. I know that, no matter what, when I climb into a bed with just-washed sheets, it'll cause an automatic exhale. I can stop worrying about the crap that clutters my mind during the day. I can stop stressing about what Global Perspectives paper proposal or Old Testament timeline is due the next morning. I get to wrap up in the clean, warm, and somehow new sheets, and stop. Stop worrying. Stop stressing. Stop thinking. I get to fall asleep feeling cozy and comfy and peaceful, and that is an absolutely beautiful feeling. 

Except I haven't had time to wash my sheets this week. Therefore, I will not be climbing into a freshly made, warm, beautifully welcoming bed. 

I'll be climbing into a cluttered, unmade mess of a bed. I'll probably have to toss aside a few articles of clothing that have been laying on the bed since I got ready this morning, only to reveal mascara stains on my pillow from not thoroughly removing my makeup in a hurry to get to bed. And since my bed also serves as my desk most days, there will probably be a frightened and overused highlighter hiding under my pillow waiting to stab me in the middle of the night, not to mention the fact that my supposedly comfy egg crate mattress will be wadded up beneath the sheets from nights of wallowing around in my sleep. 

No, I will not be getting into a peaceful, comforting bed. I'll be getting into a bed that is just as frazzled as I am. And you know what? I'm okay with that. Because even though it's frazzled and worn out and the sheets are ready to be restored with some Gain and a nice rinse cycle, it's still a bed. And I have no doubt that, once I'm done writing this and I climb into my familiar bed, I'll fall asleep right away.

Spring Break Tour 2014

This past week was probably one of the most stressful and greatest times of my life. Kingdom Players traveled to 11 different places in the span of 6 days, and, while it was hectic at times, it was such an amazing experience. We received some really great feedback from students and adults alike. I'll go into more detail in another post, but for now, here are some of the pictures that were taken last week.

 We were able to go to South Beach in Miami on Monday, and that meant going to DASH. We were absolutely geeked.

We did a chapel service at a private Christian school Wednesday morning. The arts program there was incredible. The pictures above are of a project led by the art teacher in which she asked her students to find old books at Goodwill to reconstruct. The outcome, as you can see, was amazing.

                                 

 This is the hotel we stayed at while in Miami. It was a beaut. 

We were blessed with the opportunity to perform during pre-service at Smoky Mountain Winterfest 2014. It was such an incredible experience. Also, we met Planetshakers, so that's cool.

The rest are random pictures from different moments during Spring Break 2014. Overall, my first Spring Break tour with Kingdom Players was a success. I can't express how grateful I am for this ministry and these people. God has put some pretty amazing opportunities in my path, and I pray that he continues to use this group for His glory. Ultimately, that's what it's all about.

Know Me

There's this really amazing song I love called "You Know Me," by Steffany Frizzell. I heard it at a youth camp last year, and I immediately fell in love with it. I don't know. Sometimes you just hear a song that becomes so relevant for you that you can't shake it. I'd sort of forgotten about the song until it played on my Spotify a little while ago. I immediately closed my eyes and listened to it, really listened to it.

The song is all about God knowing who we are. Our God, the one who "hung the stars and moved the sea", knows us and loves us, and that is amazing in and of itself. But when I heard the song again today, it was put into so much more perspective for me.

The bridge of the song simply says:
Nothing is hidden from your sight.
Wherever I go you find me.
You know every detail of my life.
You are God, and you don't miss a thing.
You memorize me.

After hearing that part of the song, the song that I'd sung and listened to so many times before, I cringed. There are details of my life that I wish could be hidden from the sight of God. I, like everyone else, am not a perfect person. I've slipped up, yes, but I've also deliberately pulled away from God at times. It's crazy how we do that...pull away from God even when we know He has our best intentions in mind.

I guess this song gets to me so much because it humbles me. God memorizes us. He knows every part of me that I hate. He knows every single thing I've ever done that I wish I hadn't. Yet He loves me and is in constant pursuit of a relationship with me. I am puzzled at the sight of a God who'd want anything to do with a child who has neglected Him and knowingly turned from Him at times. It doesn't make sense. I don't need to make sense of it, though, to know that it is truth. There is something strangely comforting about the idea that someone knows me better than I know myself.

I don't have much more to say about the song, but I hope that you'll listen to it and let it minister to you. It never hurts to be reminded that there is someone who knows us and knows us well. Some days, like today, it is exactly what I need.

An Epiphany

My parents bought me a laptop when I was in elementary school specifically because they wanted me to have a place to write, or at least that's what they told me. I believe it was more because they were tired of me junking up the PC with stereotypical elementary school girl poems and melodramatic lyrics that sounded too much like Jessie McCartney songs. Before discovering computers, though, I kept diaries. I remember coming home from school every day, grabbing one of my many journals, and rehashing my day onto its pages. I told those journals everything that I didn't, or couldn't, tell the people involved in my stories. Those journals hold the angry pen marks of a young girl who was made to sit in the hallway for talking too much in class, even though she had something really good to say. They hold the excited and nervous rambling of a girl who was invited to the birthday party of the boy in her class she had a crush on, and who she knew for a fact had a crush on her. They hold the tear stains of a humiliated girl who was yelled at by a lunch room lady for dropping her fork, even if it was a complete accident. In those journals are parts of my life that I do not care to remember, and parts that I never want to forget.

The point is, I've been writing for as long as I can remember. I love being able to create something from nothing. I love staring at a blank page or Word document and filling it with life. There is so much beauty, so much magic, in the creation of stories, and I love being a part of that process. But there is so much more to writing than just writing.

Later on in my life, in middle or high school, toward the end of the school year when the weather was getting warm enough to wear shorts, I would find myself tip-toeing barefoot to my back porch with a cheap spiral notebook and pen in hand. I loved to go outside right when the sun began to set and look at its effect on everything surrounding me. I noted how the water in my pool looked when the light slanted across it. I found solace in the intermittent waving of the trees and the shouting of my neighbors' children. On those evenings, I would write, describing everything I heard, everything I felt, and everything I saw. I loved the way the pen felt as it glided across the paper. I'd close my eyes and wait for the words. They were never forced. On those evenings, my thoughts about life stumbled out onto the notebook paper with ease. And on those evenings, I saw God between the lines of the pages in my ninety-nine cents spiral notebook.

Discovering that writing could be a spiritual experience was a transformational realization for me. Writing up until that point had been very physical. It was about making the intangible tangible. What I didn't know was that by making my thoughts tangible, I was changing what was inside of me. Writing was causing me to look, really look, at life, and through that my spirit grew stronger. Today, my playwriting professor talked about creating space with our writing. She said it was important to give space for characters to mature and grow on their own, to allow them to develop into their own beings. But she also said it was important to give space for the Holy Spirit to work. I don't think a lot of people understand how important that is. Writing can never be just writing. It is always so much more than that; it is a calling and an understanding that our words are instruments for God to use in order to affect the lives of His audience. 

Regardless of whether or not you are a writer, you must know that the things you do are never just physical. If you want to be a musician, you aren't simply going to make music. You're going to be affected spiritually and in turn have an effect on people with the pieces you create. Same goes for doctors, business owners, secretaries, etc. When you're called to do something, you are never just completing a job. You are being changed from the inside out. That is why it so important to allow room for the Holy Spirit in your work. For me, this means the difference in writing words that heal and writing words that destroy. When we allow God to weave Himself into our work, it becomes bigger than ourselves. That is my goal.

I Laughed

If there is one thing I've learned over the years about being on stage, it is this: never, under any circumstance, laugh if you mess up. This goes for anything. You drop your flag during a color guard routine in front of bleachers filled with people? Don't laugh. You forget a line in the middle of a monologue at Teen Talent? Don't even crack a smile. Your voice breaks in the middle of a show choir solo and all your family is there to watch you? Keep going. This rule is quite possibly one of the most important performance rules, and it has been drilled into me by every director I've performed under. There's only one problem...

Sometimes you can't help but laugh.

I was home the weekend of Valentine's Day, and our choir director asked if I would sing a couple of solos in the choir Sunday morning. I love to sing, and more importantly, I love to worship. Worshiping in front of a congregation is a lot different than worshiping alone, though. There is something about looking out over a congregation and seeing a group of people pursue God with their praise. It's one of those beautiful things that no description does justice. I think that is why I've always loved being on the praise team and singing in the choir. It's nice to be reminded that God is so great, everyone accepts the need to give Him glory. 

I'm a big advocate of transparency, as you may have noticed. With that said, that morning, I was nervous to stand in front of the congregation. In light of recent events, I had an irrational fear that people would be watching me and waiting for me to slip up. I know that sounds a little ambiguous, but it will have to suffice. In all honesty, it was silly of me to get caught up in feelings like those. Nine times out of ten, it's all in my head. And whether I'm being judged on stage or not, it is mandatory to keep my focus directly on God when I'm engaging in a worship service. I know that if I train my thoughts on Him, He can and will use me. If I don't, I allow room for mistakes. When I joined the choir that morning, I pushed all of the worry to the side. I was determined to worship like normal, and I did. 

When it came time to sing the second song, something happened. I allowed my focus to waver. I was in the middle of singing the first verse when I realized that I didn't exactly remember the words. Have you ever been in a service where someone flubs on the words and it makes the song take on an entirely different meaning? Yeah. That happened. Instead of saying, "We are a vapor. You are eternal," I said, "You are a vapor. We are eternal." As soon as the words were halfway out of my mouth, I couldn't help but laugh. The idea was so humorous to me, and the second part of the line ended up coming out in a giggle. Now, I realize it probably isn't good to laugh during a worship service, but I just could not help it. It was hilarious, guys. The laugh wasn't an obnoxious, slap-your-knee, kind of laugh. It was just a chuckle, but still.

I recovered quickly, and I looked up to see my Pastor's wife smiling at me, so I didn't feel too bad. The thing is, I was so worried about being genuine in my worship and trying not to mess up in front of people that I forgot to just worship. In that single lyrical mistake infused with my laughter, I acknowledged how ridiculous I was being. And as much as I contemplated what happened, I didn't feel like I had committed a cardinal sin by laughing when I messed up. I actually felt the opposite. I believe that my laughter, in a way, was worshipful to God. Sometimes it takes us screwing up to remember that God is our focus and our purpose, and that he deserves to be acknowledged above our worries, doubts, insecurity, fear, etc. Maybe that sounds nonsensical to you, but after it happened, I closed my eyes and was able to clear my head of all the debris that had been keeping me from worshiping with clear intent. 

I don't want to contradict the golden rule of performance by saying that it is, in fact, okay to laugh sometimes, and what you've been taught for so long is false. I don't have to. The truth is, worship and performance are two completely separate practices. When we acknowledge our God in reverence, whether it takes the form of a contemporary worship song, an honorable lifestyle, or a revelatory laugh, we have worshiped Him.

Insecure

Sometimes, I swear my mom is my best friend. It's the weirdest thing. When I was younger, I never thought that would happen. I never thought as I grew we'd grow together. I never thought I'd run to her first for advice regarding every aspect of my life, but it happened. The fussing, however, I anticipated. I anticipated butting heads over silly things. I anticipated becoming annoyed when explaining technology to her. Somehow, the two sides of our relationship collide in beauty. Over Christmas break, a kid in her Sunday School class told us he'd never seen a mother and daughter act the way we did, that we seemed like sisters. I'm not sure why, but those words adhered themselves to my memory and stimulated an instant smile. Maybe our relationship grew that way because we're the only women in a house that was home to four men over the years, or maybe it would've happened regardless. It's a precarious line to walk, the line between being a mother and being a friend. My mother walks it with perfection and ease, though, and I admire her daily for it.
I am blessed to have a great relationship with her, but lately I've been thinking a lot about my dad. I've been thinking about one story in particular.

I was in seventh grade, I think. I remember whose classroom I was in. I remember the guy who sat in front of me, his name and his face. I don't remember the conversation or what we were wearing, but I distinctly remember him turning around, looking me dead in the eyes and saying, "Girl, you got some big ole' eyes!" He didn't say it meanly. It was almost like he had just discovered my eyes and the suddenness of his realization stumbled out of his mouth. Up until that point, I never knew my eyes were any bigger than anyone else's, and it seemed like sort of a strange thing to point out. When he informed me of this trait, I immediately withdrew. I was in middle school and already self conscious. I had no idea what big eyes meant. Did they make me look weird? Did he think they were ugly?

In ninth grade, it happened again. Once again, I was in a classroom. It was Spanish, and I sat behind this guy from my church. He talked to me a lot, and when I'd get really excited telling a story, he was quick to remind me how big my eyes grew. I remembered what I was told in seventh grade and still wasn't sure what to think about their comments. The guys who told me about my eyes were never rude about it, and often they were laughing or smiling when they made their comments. Not knowing what else to say, I did what any person would do.

"Your eyes are just as big." Obviously my comebacks need work...

I remember riding to church that night in the backseat of my mom's minivan. She and my dad were in the front, and for the entirety of the ride I sat in the back and complained about the boy's remarks. "I don't know why he felt the need to tell me that. I mean, does he think I don't know? And what about his eyes? I mean, they're not the smallest things, either..." The venting went on and on. Eventually, my dad, a man of few words, cleared his throat, interrupting my persistent flow of whining. "Lori," he started in his low voice, "big eyes are not a bad thing." It shut me up. As soon as the words registered, I wasn't worried about my eyes anymore. I felt stupid for even worrying about it to begin with. My father had spoken, and the matter was settled.

This is what has been consuming my thoughts lately. I mentioned my mom at the beginning because, even though our relationship is great, I'm not sure the words would have been as effective coming from her. There is something about a father's words to his daughter; they hold a certain weight. Maybe it's because my dad doesn't speak often, or maybe it's simply because he's a dad. That single sentence from him that day cleared away an insecurity that had been brewing for years, and I am perplexed at his ability to do something so powerful with eight short words. As I thought about this for the past week, I couldn't help but think how much more my Heavenly Father can do.

Insecurity is something I believe everyone deals with at some point in time, even if it's something as silly as being worried about the size of your eyes. For me, it wasn't only my eyes. In fact, they were the least of my concerns. I was insecure about my weight, and my hair, and my teeth, and about all those things that really don't matter in the grand scheme of things. I was insecure because, sometimes, it seemed like no matter how hard I would try, I was never the best. I always felt second-rate.

Insecurity is something so common, I think we have a tendency to downplay it. At least I did. I rarely talked seriously about these issues to anyone, and when I did, I only felt like I was drawing attention to the things that made me ugly, the things that made me wrong. Instead, I looked for validation in people. I sought it from the seemingly perfect girls in my high school classes. I yearned for it from guys I was crushing on. When teachers or my parents or people from my church complimented me, I was on top of the world for a moment.

The thing is, validation from people is great, but prioritizing it above the validation that God is ready and able to give us is dangerous. And the things that we're often self-conscious about are things that have no effect on our purpose in God. This is a lesson I have very recently learned. My dad was able to take away one insecurity, but God can take them all away. He wants to take them all away, and I can't figure out why it took me so long to realize that.

I've always prayed for God to let me see others with His eyes. I guess sometimes we have to pray for Him to give us His eyes to see ourselves.

A Smile

Lee University looks dim. The brick buildings are all tinged grey, and the sun has settled indefinitely into a blanket of clouds. Yesterday morning I walked across campus, snowflakes lazily speckling my black coat, and I surveyed the dismal showcase of winter on my school. In my mind, I compared the beauty of campus in mid-August to the withdrawn and wintry spectacle that sat before my eyes. It's funny how the very attitude of campus seems to change with that of the students. It's the beginning of second semester, and the inviting smells of cinnamon and pumpkin have gone, leaving the bleak honesty of this season in their place. Also gone are the buzzing, idealistic freshmen of fall semester. It is second semester, it is winter, and we are all students waiting for the first shoot of vibrant color to spring forth from the ground and reestablish optimism in our frozen minds.

When I first noticed campus, I mentioned it to a friend. She looked at me and said, "It's ugly." I adamantly agreed. I could have done the writer thing and told her that I still found beauty in the tragic state of our school, but that would have been looking way too far into it. The truth is, Lee University isn't as pretty as it usually is. But even with the seemingly depressing vision of a campus once beautiful in all its colors and brightness, I cannot help walking outside and feeling a smile tug at the corners of my mouth. I know that the cruddy facade of dullness winter has currently draped over the entirety of the school is hiding a magnificent change. In a couple short months, campus will bloom suddenly and wholeheartedly, and the comparison of what it is now will make it seem that much more stunning. And that is why I'm smiling.

The winter isn't the only cause of my smile, though. I'm smiling because I've been smiled at, and the elation that comes with that act is not easily forgotten. I'm smiling because I've been invited to join the English honor society, Sigma Tau Delta, and I've been nerding out about it for a week. I'm smiling because I've realized that I have mini "families" here, whether I find them on my hall or in the groups I'm involved with. I'm smiling because I received two packages yesterday from two lovely ladies in my family, and their constant encouragement reminds me of my purpose. I'm smiling because it's February, and I'm steadily seeing new couples holding hands or flirting in the ped mall. I'm smiling because, even though things have seemed dreary lately, I'm genuinely happy. My heart is full, and the product of my full heart has consistently revealed itself in my countenance.

I don't know how things have been for you lately, but I can tell you that when things are ugly, sometimes it's best to smile in anticipation of the great things that will be. The ugly things will soon be beautiful.

A Thought

We become the things we let consume our time. In the words of Frances de Sales, "We cannot help conforming ourselves to what we love." I don't know the effect this thought will have on you, but it altogether thrilled and terrified me.

I remember hanging out with a specific person when I was in middle school. When I'd come home after sleeping over at this friends house, my brother would say, "Why are you talking like ______?" Of course, I'd deny the resemblance and tell him to leave me alone, but on the inside, I reveled in the comparison. I thought my friend was funny, so the fact that I was unknowingly beginning to act like her didn't really bother me. Later, I'd realize that being your own person is fantastic and all that jazz, but my middle school self couldn't have cared less.

I'm realizing now just how easy it is to become like the things and people you love without even realizing it. If that doesn't frighten you a little, I don't think you've fully grasped just what that entails. If you had, you'd realize that it has multiple consequences. It means that you have to be careful who/what you allow to consume your time, yes, but it also means that if you claim to allow something/someone to consume your time, it will be very evident. For example, if you say God consumes your thoughts, outsiders will be very aware if He actually does. That is the scary part. The exciting part? If God really is consuming your thoughts and you really do love Him with every piece of who you are, you will begin to inexplicably become like Him.

I'm both nervous and enthusiastic about this entire concept, but I'm also a little relieved. I'm relieved because (for lack of a better term) you can't BS God. When I tell Him in every prayer that I love Him more than anything, He knows my heart and all the mess that keeps that statement from being wholly true. But it's because He knows my heart that I can start to pray, "God, I love you, but I want to love you even more." That fragile honesty is what my relationship with God depends upon, and I am so relieved that I can be honest with Him when I don't have it all together. That is the first step to being consumed by Him. And when He consumes us, we start to look like Him more and more each day.

10 Things I Love About My Hall

When I was first told I was going to be in Nora Chambers Hall, I cringed. For those of you unaffiliated with Lee, Snora (Our nickname...Nora/Simmons. Get it?) isn't the greatest building. It's one of the older dorms, plus it's community style, so people don't typically apply for it. I automatically wasn't excited about my living situation, and when I hiked three flights of stairs and arrived at Nora Third North on the very first day here, I knew things were going to be interesting to say the least. When I walked onto our hall, I felt like I was in a scene of The House Bunny. I immediately noticed that none of the girls seemed similar. We were the most rag-tag bunch of girls ever. There were tall girls and really short girls, girls who say y'all and girls who don't, bubbly face-talkers and reserved introverts...seriously, our hall is so diverse. The thing is, after being here for several months, I can honestly say I am beyond thankful for being placed in this dorm. Being in a community style dorm forces you to get out of your room and communicate with people, and I've gotten to know the most amazing girls this year. The ladies of Nora Third North have been so wonderful to live with, so in a tribute to them, I present to you:

10 Things I Love About My Hall

1) We have the best RA

Brooke is the best RA there is. She's transparent with us, she puts up with us when we're rowdy (even during quiet hours), and she genuinely cares about each of us. She's exactly what an RA should be, and we're so grateful for her! This picture was taken at our dorm Christmas party, which explains why there are peppermints stuck to her cheeks.

2) Hall Dinner

Every week, the girls on my hall go to the caf for hall dinner. This was something instituted at the very beginning of the year, and this picture was taken the very first time we went as a group. I'm pretty sure we're the only hall that still does this, and I don't even care. It's nice that we can take a break out of our schedule once a week and go as a group. It's one of the things I look forward to most.

3) We make the most of community showers

The day it snowed here, I just really had the urge to sink into a bath tub. However, being in a community dorm, we don't have tubs. Even if we did, that would be gross. Community baths? No, thanks. So, in a surge of inspiration, I suggested we buy an inflatable pool and go swimming in the showers. The girls I live with jumped right on board without question, hence the picture. 

4) One word: Suzie

Ah, Suzie. Suzie is a stuffed decoration that one of the N3N girls brought back from home one weekend. The girls love to have fun with Suzie...obviously (She's wearing a mask in this picture). Sometimes I'll walk into my room after a long day and Suzie will be standing right in the doorway. Talk about creepy! We love Suzie, though, no matter how strange it is when she stares at us from the corner.

5) Another one-worder: Norman

We aren't allowed to have pets in the dorm, not even goldfish. Obviously this made us very sad because who doesn't like pets? My RA came up with the brilliant idea to get an electronic fish as a way to maintain the rules while still having the fun of a pet. So, we got Norman. Sometimes we call him Norm. He's pretty great.

6) Rules

I realize that this may be a little too much, but it makes me laugh every time I walk into the bathroom. It's a girls' dorm. What do you expect?

7) The Message Board

Sometimes the girls like to leave little messages on the white board on my door. This particular time, they were quoting the lovely Andy Samberg's video, "Threw It On The Ground."When I walked up to my door and saw this the other day, I immediately burst into laughter. They get me. And it's not just me...if you were to take a stroll down N3N, you would see little messages like this on every white board. These girls are stinking hilarious. 

8) Giant Faces 

I actually have no explanation for this one. I walked into my room and found this one day. Never a dull moment...

9) Sweet notes from sweet girls

Occasionally, I'll walk into my room and find that someone has slipped a note under my door. Sometimes I'll find notes tucked under the name-tag next to my door. Each note I've received from a girl here means so much to me, and it just highlights the beautiful personalities and attitudes that can be found on this hall.

10) We are a family

This poster is one of many in our lounge. The most important thing about our hall is that we consider one another family. It doesn't make much sense to us that a group of girls so incredibly different could connect so quickly and so deeply, but it happened. I love the girls of N3N so very much, and my first year at Lee couldn't be what it is without them. 

Crush The Idols

Wow, the title of this post sounds super Pentecostal. Being at Lee does that to you, I guess... It's been a few days since my last post, so I've had plenty of time to think about what I want to talk about. The problem is, I couldn't settle on a single idea. Writer's block at its finest, people. I've been racking my brain, and it didn't really hit me until Sunday what I would talk about.

I've mentioned Kingdom Players on the blog once before, but in case you don't know what it is...KP is a traveling drama group here at Lee. We're a team of 8 people, and we travel to different churches and events throughout the week doing skits and human videos. I absolutely love being a part of the group. Seriously, I don't know what I'd do without it. The only negative thing I can say about KP is this: when you do a drama to a specific song at most services, the song gets really old really fast, even if it's a great song. That is exactly what happened with Jimmy Needham's, "Clear the Stage." (I linked the song, just in case you want to hear it.)

When we first heard the song, we adored it. Beautifully written and melodic, the song has a way of cutting to the heart of the matter; sometimes you just need to clear your stage so God can be center in your life. However, when you hear the song countless times in a week, the message has a way of becoming dim. At least that's how it is for me. I had gotten in a rut with the song where I didn't really hear the message anymore. That was until this past Sunday, when I heard the song with fresh ears. We were performing our drama at a church nearby, and the song had reached the bridge when it really clicked for me. There is a line that says, "Anything I can't stop thinking of is an idol." When I heard those words, it felt like I had been hit in the face with a brick. How many times have I listened to that line and never really took it to heart? The truth of that sentence stuck with me well after the service was over. 

Our heart is where our thoughts are, and God's thoughts are constantly on us. The more I think about that, the more I realize how much we cheat God. I'm guilty of this. I'll ask God all the time to keep me in His perfect will, but seldom do I dwell on Him and His purpose for me. Instead, I allow my thoughts to jump to problems at school, people in my life, my future--things that are out of my control. And whether I like it or not, I let those things become idols in the face of a God who loves me more than anything. 

There is another line in the song that simply says, "You can sing all you want to and still get it wrong. Worship is more than a song." I want my worship to be more than a song, but if I can't keep God at the center of my thoughts, my worship will always be just a song. I'm not saying that we must think about God 24/7 and be super spiritual, never joke, laugh, have crushes, or worry about school work. I'm just saying that sometimes it's a good idea to clear our stages and let God know that He's the one we can't stop thinking of. If we're the center of His thoughts, why can't He be the center of ours? 

Transparency

This week has been a good week. So far I've met new people, spent some amazing time with the girls on my hall, confronted issues that were weighing on my shoulders, and gone swimming in an inflatable pool in our community showers. I mean, it's been a really great week by any normal person's standards. But sometimes, even with great weeks, we're still not okay.

This morning the chapel band played "Fix You," by Coldplay. It isn't a Christian song, but I encourage you to listen to it. It's amazing, and it's always been one of my favorites. I was sitting on the front row (which never happens because chapel is always packed) when they started playing this beautiful song, and the next thing I knew, tears were falling onto my neatly clasped hands. I sat very still, hoping no one would notice the incredibly emotional girl on the front row. It wasn't heavy duty crying, the kind of crying that is provoked and that contorts your face and makes your back shake. It was the type of crying that sneaks up on you. It was the type of crying that invites itself. I didn't know why I was crying, and I definitely didn't want to be. I felt like Charlie from The Perks of Being a Wallflower when he sits in his room, tears streaming down his face, repeating the words, "Stop crying. Stop crying." I told myself that it was stupid. I told myself that people would ask questions. The tears persisted. Knowing that I couldn't stop them, I closed my eyes and let the words fall over me. When the song finished, the speaker came back on stage and said a few more words before leading us into communion. 

I stood for the remainder of the worship service telling myself to suck it up before someone noticed. The speaker was giving his closing remarks, and I had just stopped crying when I felt a hand on my back. Crap, was my immediate thought. Way to be obvious. The Resident Director of our dorm, Cherie, was patting my back, and of course the tears started falling again. Through all of that, I still didn't know what had happened. I'm a happy person. I've had the best week. Why am I crying?

I've thought about this all day, and as I sit here and listen to the song again, I think I know why. I want to be transparent with you guys because transparency may very well be one of the most important attributes you'll ever know. I am broken. I'm trying to figure out who I am. I'm trying to depend on God more than I ever have before, and it's really hard. And as I listen to this song and hear the words "fix you" the only thing I can think is God, please do. The thing is, God can only fix us when we are broken. I think I've had a hard time with that because I know I'm in His will right now, and I don't always understand why I still feel pain. The fact is, just because you're in God's will doesn't mean it won't be painful.

Psalm 139:15-18 says, "My frame was not hidden from you when I was made in the secret place, when I was woven together in the depths of the earth. Your eyes saw my unformed body; all the days ordained for me were written in your book before one of them came to be. How precious are your thoughts, God! How vast is the sum of them! Were I to count them, they would outnumber the grains of sand--when I awake, I am still with you."

When I need a reminder of who I am, this verse is where I find my solace. God knows me. He knows what I've been, who I'm becoming, and what I will do. And when I feel completely and utterly turned upside down, I know that I can find myself in Him. He is fixing me. And I don't know what will become of these tears that have been shed or the pieces of me that have been lost and seem irreplaceable, but I know that God had my steps ordained before I took one. And, like the verse says, His thoughts are precious. I'm not being transparent so that you'll feel sorry for me or to evoke emotion. I'm being transparent because I can't wait to look back at this and praise God for His uncanny ability to fix us when we are broken.

Ellipsis

I love words, which I guess is a good thing since I'm an English-Writing major. The thing about words is they inspire. Whether spoken or written, words create chaos and they solve it. They can spark change or they can stifle it. Words can be blunt and plain or throbbing with hidden meaning, and that amazes me. Call it nerdy or over the top, but it's factual. Words matter. I guess that's why I catch phrases said by professors, mentors, preachers, or people in general and hold tightly to them as if at any moment they could leap from my memory and take the possibility of inspiration with them. It's that small fear that caused me to catch something my playwriting professor said today, something that I'll never let go of.

She was teaching us about playwriting, which I'm sure you could have guessed by now. More specifically, she was talking about the importance of the ending. Before she began her talk about endings, she made us do an exercise where we wrote six lines of dialogue. As you can imagine, it is really hard to portray meaning and purpose in a two-person dialogue where each character only speaks three times! When we were all finished with our six-lines, a girl was chosen to read hers aloud. Her dialogue was going well, but she expressed to us that she had no idea how to end it, so in a completely random and last minute decision, she had one of her characters shoot the other. Of course we laughed because it was so unfitting, but it caused our professor to begin to talk about endings. She told us that, contrary to popular belief, the ending doesn't have to be final. Then she said, "Sometimes the end is more like an ellipsis."

I had one of those moments that I talked about earlier. I sat still for a moment before grasping at my pen and frantically putting what was spoken on the white page in front of me. Guys, this happens pretty regularly, and I have to admit it's probably one of the main reasons I pay attention in class. I stared at the words strewn across my paper in blue ink, and thoughts were flying through my mind.

The ending doesn't have to be final, and often it isn't. It's a dot-dot-dot, those three little periods at the end of a sentence that let people know there is more. And things don't just work like this in writing. It works like this in real life. When one chapter of your life ends or you have to say goodbye to people you never wanted to say goodbye to, it isn't always final. Graduating high school seemed so surreal and final when I was sitting on the field in my cap and gown. However, now that I'm in my first year of college, I know that graduation wasn't a period; it was an ellipsis.

I Googled the word just to see what sorts of definitions would come up. One definition stated that ellipses often indicate an "unfinished thought." When I read that, I had to smile to myself. Lately, I've been in a time of transition in multiple aspects of my life. It seems like the entirety of who I am is making a shift, and sometimes that can feel a lot like ending. The finality of that feeling has caused me to feel so heavy and broken, but after hearing those words from my professor today, I had a slight deviation of thought. You probably know just as well as I do that the slightest of shifts can make a huge difference. My life right now is like an unfinished thought. While I am transitioning through stages, I am not ending. My life, your life...it's an ellipsis--a beautiful continuation of the life God has destined us to live.

A Funny Story...

I don't want to be that annoying girl who always posts about her adventures at the gym, and how much fun working out is, and blah blah blah. First, because I don't actually think it's fun, even though I do think it's needed. Second, no one likes to be reminded that they aren't working out, and I don't want my posts to do that. With that said, some of the best things happen at the gym. And when I say best, I really mean the most awkward.

It was around 9:30 the other night when I realized that we hadn't gone to the gym yet. It closes at 11. The two girls I was going with, Shawna and Chloe, and I rushed to get ready while we were still motivated to go. When we came out of our rooms dressed for the gym, I realized automatically that Chloe and I were wearing the same tank top. It's this blue, light-weight thing from Wal-Mart, and it is fantastic, guys. We had talked about having the same shirt before, so it wasn't as much of a shock as it was an excited, "OMG, twins," situation. Sometimes girls do that. It's inexplicable, but it happens. When Shawna came out, we immediately told her to go put on her matching tank top because, duh, who wouldn't? We put on our jackets since it was freezing outside, and we headed to the gym.

For some reason the gym was packed when we got there. The aerobics room we usually work out in was full, so we stood outside the door for about ten minutes trying to decide if we wanted to attempt working out in the middle of a packed room. We decided no. After about ten more minutes of walking around the gym, we finally found a space we could use. It's hard to explain if you aren't from Lee, but I'll try. There is this space upstairs that overlooks the basketball courts and the racquetball courts. It's super small and very open. This became a problem. I mean, do you face the basketball courts or racquetball courts to do squats? Better yet, do you want the entire basketball team to see you bend over or the innocent racquetball players. Very awkward. We decided to scrunch together and stay low to the ground to avoid any awkward situation that could ensue. 

After we claimed our spot, I was nominated to get mats out of the aerobics room, so I walked back downstairs and into the room full of people. I should tell you now that the mats are bulky and twice my size. I should tell you this because it makes it easier for me to tell you that I tripped on them trying to leave. After embarrassing myself by tripping on the stupid, oversize mats, we were finally ready to do some actual work. We busted out our mats, took off our jackets, and that's when we remembered: all three of us had on the same tank top. 

I couldn't stop laughing.

Here we were, exercising in the most random location at the gym, I'd already tripped over our stupid mats, and now we were all sporting the same tank-top. We looked like some sort of ridiculous work out team, and that isn't even the worst part. After we stopped laughing at our misfortune and actually started to work out, we heard voices at the foot of the stairs. Two guys that were in the aerobics room (the room I tripped in) were coming into our work out space. For obvious reasons, this really freaked us out. We were mortified that these guys were going to see us in all our matching shirt glory. After silently deliberating whether or not we should put our jackets back on, we decided to just stay low-key. So, when the guys finally peaked at the top of the stairs, we were in these awkward stretching positions that didn't seem low-key at all. 

It turns out, the guys were doing wheelbarrows up the stairs and down the stairs. One guy would hold the feet on the way up, they would stop and obnoxiously stretch at the top, then the other would hold his friend's feet on the way down. Since we assumed they'd go away once they saw we were at the top, we weren't exactly prepared for what we'd do if they stayed, which they did. Instead of just ignoring them, we'd wait for them to hit the bottom of the stairs and flail into another weird stretch. I'm pretty sure the guys were wondering why we were repeating the same three stretches for the entirety of our stay, but we didn't let it bother us then. Mostly because they were trying to impress us on their way out by talking about doing some finger push-ups later.

The truth is, even though we were being ridiculous, we had the most fun. We did more laughing than we did working out, and I have to say, it was much needed. Here is a picture of us post-work out.

Aaaaand another (excuse my derp face)

Bottom line: if you and your friends want to have a good time, wear a matching tank top to the gym. You'll have the time of your life, let me tell you.

A Collection of Ideas

I've been meaning to blog all weekend, but sometimes our best intentions are just that: intentions. Kingdom Players, the traveling drama group I'm a part of at Lee, has been in the Carolinas this weekend, so it's been crazy the past few days.

There are several ideas that have been evolving in my mind, and I don't think it's fair to just pick one thing to talk about, so I decided to sum them up and make one collective post. I want to tell you guys the things I've learned this week, the things that have settled within my spirit, and things that I think you might just need to hear.

1) Adults aren't always mature.

Okay, this is obvious. However, it's something I have been realizing more and more lately. And no, I don't just mean in the occasional Facebook drama, although it has been there heavily in the past couple of days... I mean that sometimes adults don't know how to handle life. Sometimes the adults you look up to will let you down, hurt your feelings, or simply mess up. This is no revelation, I know. But I have to remind myself a lot. It definitely keeps me sane.

2) Things that seem good for you aren't always good for you.

Second helpings, for example. You think they are going to make you happy, but they leave you with so much regret. I don't think I need to expound, because this is an analogy that can be applied to more situations in our lives than we'd like to admit.

3) Validation comes from above.

This is one of the more prominent things that's been searing itself into my brain. We have small group sessions every Thursday night with the girls on my hall. The cool thing is, small group is a campus-wide ordeal; while our hall is worshiping and talking about things, so is every other hall on campus. The unity of that amazes me. During our last small group session, a lot of the girls talked about finding validation in places other than God, and that really resonated with me. How many times have a found myself in a situation where I've allowed one insult to completely break me down? How many times have I allowed a compliment from some guy send me into a word-driven high? There's something wrong in that, and I'm glad that I'm finding that out now. My validation, your validation...it has to come from God. And it's already there; we just have to start looking.

Lastly...
4) "There will be storms, but Jesus asked you to get in the boat."

In chapel Thursday, the guy preaching said this, and I swear it's been all I can think about since then. He preached from Mark 4:35-41, the scene where Jesus and his disciples are in the middle of the storm and Jesus calms the waves. He talked about how the goal of Jesus and the disciples was to reach the land of the Gerasenes, where they would ultimately cast Legion out of a man and into pigs. The disciples were so frightened during the storm, but it made what was to come seem less frightening. Then, the preacher said the line that I'll never forget, "There will be storms, but Jesus asked you to get in the boat." Jesus brought the disciples into the storm, and he was right there in the midst of their fear. He brought them through that storm to prepare them for what was waiting for them on the other side of the lake, and he does that with us sometimes. Still, how wonderful is it to know that Jesus asked us to get into the boat?

The Gym

I've been going to the gym lately with the girls on my hall. The fantastic thing about going with girls on your hall is that they see you at your worst, so they don't judge you when you look like a hyperventilating, sweaty mess. It's nice. I can count on one hand the amount of times I had been to the gym before now, and I have to tell you...machines and I do not mix. It isn't that I don't like using the machines in the gym to work out; it's that I can't. I am completely illiterate when it comes to reading those things. There are too many buttons and numbers and symbols, and I just don't have the patience to deal with that. However, these past few days going with other people has helped me to be so much more confident about taking on the machines...except the treadmill. Treadmills scare me. Every time I see one I think about the scene in Monsters University where Mike and Sully are running on treadmills and Mike gets sucked into the belt. Maybe it's irrational, but no thank you. Instead, I use the elliptical. Let's face it: ellipticals are a lot more user-friendly, and I feel like they work out a lot more than treadmills.

Last night, the only free elliptical just happened to be to the right of this guy who was probably twice my size. I don't say that to make myself seem small or to pick on the guy; I say it because it's crucial to what I want to talk about. I didn't think much about him being there. I just hopped onto the machine and starting working out. I don't own a pair of headphones, so I couldn't listen to music while I was running. About 15 minutes in, I felt like I'd been staring at the front of my machine for two hours. I was so ridiculously bored. Now, I try not to be a nosy person. I really, really do. But when I'm in the same place for over 5 minutes, even if I am moving, my eyes start to wander, and they just happened to glance over at the machine to my left.

The very large guy beside me had been working on his elliptical for an hour.

Maybe you go to the gym quite often and are used to using the machines for hours. From what I hear, that isn't out of the norm. However, when I looked at this guy and saw how much work he was putting into it, and noticed that he had been going for a straight hour, it really made me think. Maybe his new year resolution was to lose weight and he'd only been in the gym for a couple of weeks. Maybe that was the only time he was planning on working out this week. Or maybe he found himself in the gym every night running for an hour. I don't know what his story was, but I was impressed. I was impressed that he wasn't half-way doing it. I was impressed that he'd set his mind to improve, and he was working for it. He may decide to give up in a few days, but that one instant of looking at his machine was inspiring.

If you wait for improvement to fall in your lap, you'll never get to the place you need to be.

"The Fault in Our Stars"

I recently read a book by John Green entitled, "The Fault in Our Stars." If you've heard of it, which I'm sure you have, you'll more than likely know that it is a book about a teenage girl, Hazel, with terminal cancer. I recommend it. But, before I talk about the book, there is something you should know about me. I like sad stories. It doesn't just stop there, though. I like sad songs and movies, as well. It's something I've tried to figure out for a while, and I haven't exactly pinpointed the reason. I figure it has something to do with the cathartic nature of semi-depressing tales, or maybe it's simply because there is something beautiful to be said about a story woven throughout the tragedies that we face in our lives each day.

Something like that.

Whatever the issue, when I read the summary inside of the book jacket, I immediately thought this was a book I'd want to read, but not because it seemed sad. I wanted to read it because it didn't seem like a cliche' tragedy, and it wasn't. It was written with wit and with thought. The main character, Hazel, didn't look at life with the regard that she should, "live like it's your last day." She just lived like she normally would. I found that interesting...she never tried to be overtly optimistic or try to find the plus side of cancer (though she does talk often and very humorously about "Cancer Perks"). Instead, she faced the fact that she was dying, and that she was too young, but that it was okay. 

There is this really awesome quote that was repeated several times throughout the book, and I believe it's something that should be pondered. The quote goes like this:

I mean, it makes total sense, right? This seems like a no-brainer, but often I think people, especially Christians, try to ignore pain. I can clearly remember a time when I did this. I don't remember what the specific cause of my pain was, but when I was retelling the story, I shrugged it off. I was admired for "letting it roll off my shoulders." At the time, I thought that was great, and I still do. Sometimes people over-analyze little things and harbor a pain that was never intended. I don't believe that's right. In this case, it was some silly remark, and it was better that I let it go.

The problem is, so often Christians get caught in that roll-off-your-shoulders mentality. We try to put on a chipper face and ignore the truly hurtful things. But, alas, pain demands to be felt. We forget that it is completely okay to hurt. The important thing is not controlling that hurt, but choosing what to do with it. Don't allow your hurt to transform into anger or depression, but let it be felt. It will come out sooner or later, and the longer you let it reside in you, the easier it will be to let it consume you. 

Girls' voices crack, too.

I'm awkward. Ask anyone, and they'll tell you. The more polite people will call it "quirky." Thank God for those people... The truth is, I'm thankful for the awkward episode that is my life. It keeps things quite interesting. For instance, my first day of classes was extremely fun.

I only have Tuesday/Thursday classes, so, because the first day of classes at Lee was Wednesday, my first day was a day after everyone else's. In anticipation of forgetting my classes and room numbers, I jotted down the information for each of my classes on one piece of notebook paper and stuffed it into my pocket before heading to my first class. When I got to the building of my first class, I took out the paper and looked at it quickly, putting it back in my jacket before walking into the building. I obviously didn't want to be that kid, the one who has their face glued to their schedule. I'm officially a Sophomore, I thought. I am better than that now. Sadly, I was wrong.

I'm not exactly sure how the thing that took place next happened. Somehow, in the middle of looking for my classroom, my brain magically switched the room numbers. Instead of looking for room 306, I began to look for room 304. I'm pretty sure my brain wanted to prove to me that even Sophomores have to look at their schedule from time to time. After wandering aimlessly around the building for a few minutes, I decided to stop and ask some guy who looked just as lost I was. He wandered around for a few more minutes before directing me down the hall. I gave him a chipper, but still dignified, "Thank you," before heading to the classroom...the wrong classroom, mind you.

I walked into the room with a minute or two to spare and felt a little uneasy. The professor looked vaguely familiar, and I immediately thought he wasn't the professor listed on my schedule, that thing I refused to look at. I took a seat in the front row (The FRONT, you guys. Could I be any more conspicuous?), and placed all my stuff down before standing up to get a syllabus from his desk at the front of the room. I carried the syllabus all the way back to my desk and sat down. It was then that I read the class name. Needless to say, I was in the wrong classroom. I stood straight up, syllabus still in hand, and walked out of the room. I still feel somewhat bad for stealing the man's syllabus.

The awkward didn't end there. When I was finally seated in the correct classroom, after consulting the nifty little not-schedule in my pocket, the professor asked us all to introduce ourselves. If you are anything like me, hearing those words immediately induces a nervous sweat. I have this completely ridiculous fear of my voice cracking in the middle of roll call. It's silly, but it is what it is. I was one of the last ones to introduce myself, and I had been prepping myself the entire time. When it got to me, I said my name, except it didn't come out! I got all the way to "Williamson" before there was any sound at all!

Don't worry, though. I learned my lesson from all this. First, it's better to look like a silly Freshman with a schedule in hand than to go to the wrong classes. Second, I will never, ever make fun of pubescent teenage boys again. Voice-cracking is a real threat, people.