A night divine, indeed.

"O holy night, the stars are brightly shining

It is the night of the dear Savior's birth.

Long lay the world, in sin and error pining

Til He appeared and the soul felt its worth.

A thrill of hope, the weary world rejoices

For yonder breaks a new and glorious morn

Fall on your knees! Oh hear the angel voices!

O night divine

O night when Christ was born

O night, o holy night, o night divine."

'Tis the season - the wreaths are up, the snow has (kind of) fallen, Santa's holding screaming children at the mall, and radio stations everywhere are blaring Christmas songs back to back to back. While this constant assault of Christmas music is the dread of music, it's one of my favorite parts of the holiday season. There are so many Christmas songs to love, and I frequently find myself declaring a new favorite every time the radio DJ switches tunes. 

This one though. It keeps popping up in my life and every time I find myself almost crying as I try to explain to people how much I love it. But here, you guys can't see if I'm crying or not. So I figured I'd try to pass on some of my excitement and Christmas joy and such. Since it's Christmas Eve and I feel like I haven't posted in forever.

So, to start at the beginning: O holy night - It's a HOLY night. All that reason for the season stuff that everyone preaches but no one really listens to. It's not just Christmas. Tonight is a holy night. The stars are brightly shining - I don't know where y'all are from, but down here in the Tiptonian boondocks around Christmastime, the stars are unbelievable. The cold makes the air clearer and on a cloudless night the view can be absolutely breathtaking. Now tonight, go look at those stars and think, those are the same stars that were shining the night Jesus was born. The very same ones the shepherds would've been watching as the traveled and everything. It's awesome. It is the night of the dear Savior's birth - again, with the night thing. Tonight. But I'm more intrigued by the phrase "the dear Savior"...someone so powerful and mighty, come to redeem humanity. But we don't speak of him in terms of awe and fear (not to say there's no respect) but rather in terms of endearment. Because when it came down to it, He was just a helpless, poor little baby. 

Long lay the world in sin and error pining - The world didn't just begin existing at Jesus' birth, although I often catch myself thinking that since that's when we start numbering years. The world was there, and it was full of sin and error (bad stuff). Pining, wasting away in all the awfulness...Til He appeared - and then this baby Jesus comes along and changes everything. And the soul felt its worth - our souls, the very essence of our being, didn't know their worth before He came. We were nothing (and are nothing) without Him.

All it took was A thrill of hope - A thrill. Not a spark or a hint or pinch of hope, but a thrill. Like looking into the eyes of a loved one or dropping down the first hill of a roller coaster or sky diving. Only a million times better. Because it's the thrill of the core of your very existence recognizing its purpose. Because it's Jesus. The weary world rejoices - and what a weary world we live in today. All the tragedy and sorrow and hurting, not just recently but always. There are people who don't feel joy at the Christmas season. There are people who don't feel joy ever. And two thousand years ago, there were all those weary people pining in sin and error. But at the birth of Christ the weary world REJOICED. For yonder breaks a new and glorious morn - Better things are coming. Tomorrow is a new day. The night of Jesus' birth was followed by a morning, a new day, a new age for mankind. And we're living in that glorious morn right now.

Fall on your knees! - Honestly if you haven't done that by now I don't know what else to say to you. It's such a powerful statement to put in the middle of a song like that. Rejoice, be glad, but be reverent - this is the savior of the world! I'm just so overcome by the image, the absolute surrender, of falling on your knees and just worshiping. Oh hear the angel voices - I don't even know which way to go with this. Right now, I'm feeling the fact that angels, who are supposed to be like mighty warriors, are going around spreading news of joy and singing praise to God. That's got to be the most perfect praise ever sung.

O night divine - Let me just remind everyone that the definition of divine is "Of, from, or like God". This night is divine...not like a bad retro movie star (think simply diviiiiine) but like the actual night of God himself. This is HIS time. It's the most serious night of the year and yet the most joyous. It's a wonderful paradox.

I don't know if you understand now. I don't even know if anyone will get the whole way through this. But that's my Christmas rant for the year. Have a blessed and wonderful Christmas and in the event that I'm too lazy to blog this week, a fantastic New Year. 

God bless<3

If Today Was My Last Day

     I'm really hoping today isn't my last day on Earth. I guess realistically, I hope that every day. But it is my hope today especially since tomorrow is supposed to be the end of the world.
     I've always hated being forced to consider what I would do if I knew I only had one day left. It's just depressing, and I'm no good at coming up with awesome ways to spend my final 24 hours. But in light of the possible apocalypse looming on the horizon, I'm going to try to work my way through this.
     If today was my last day, I think I'd be pretty satisfied with how I spent it. Sure, I didn't go out and do all the things I've always wanted to do and maybe I'll have to die without ever getting to sky dive or swim with dolphins. But really, what does that matter? I'm sure that from the unending bliss of Heaven I'm not going to look down and think, "Ya know, this is great, but I really wish I had been in the ocean in December with some squeaky creatures before I got here." It just doesn't seem likely.
     I think I'd look back and see that the way I actually spent my last day (and all the days leading up to it) was a pretty fitting summary of all the things that make me happy.
     I'm glad I graduated high school. I can't say I ever thought it would happen (it always seemed so unrealistically far away) but it did, and I survived it, and I'm proud of that. I'm grateful for all the people from Bellwood who changed me and made me who I am today.
     I'm glad I spent the last 3 months at a school I never would've dreamed of attending, making friendships and memories and good grades to boot. I'm glad I decided to come out of my shell and meet some new people before it was too late. I'm glad I chose to open myself up to more than the 2 people I've always talked to, and I'm really glad I got the chance to share my story with some people who might've needed to hear it.
     I'm glad I finally figured out in some ways who I am and what I want in life. I'm thankful for the people who helped me to do that. I can't say enough how much it means to me that there are people out there who truly care about others and want to make as many people truly happy as they can. I'm glad I got to see that.
     I'm glad I spent the last week in an Advent/Christmas fervor filled with cookie-baking and house-decorating and present-making. I've been more into preparations this year than ever before mostly because of all my time off, and it feels good to be doing work to get ready for Christmas. I feel like I've had more opportunities to make other people happy this Christmas season than in years past, and if that's true then I am glad.
     And finally, I'm pleased with how I spent my last day. A few errands to run, relaxing and crocheting and enjoying just being in my home. Talking to a friend. Learning someone else's story. Just quietly thinking about my own.
     I read something somewhere that said the Mayan calendars are only predicting the end of an era, the end of the world as we know it, but not necessarily the end of the world itself. That feels about right. It's been a heck of a journey over the last year, and even over the last (almost) 19 years, but this is the end of an era for me. If this is the last day of that journey, so be it. I can honestly say I am ready for the next one, whether it's to come in this world or the next.
     God bless<3

This blog and this song have both blessed my life.

You should definitely go check it out:
A Very Special Case.: It's been a helluva 2 years.: Here I am. 2 years later. Two years after the hell that was Case's  pre-birth. It's been two hard years. Two years full of blessings and te...

Everything Changes

     “I believe that everything happens for a reason. People change so that you can learn to let go, things go wrong so that you appreciate them when they're right, you believe lies so you eventually learn to trust no one but yourself, and sometimes good things fall apart so better things can fall together.”
― Marilyn Monroe

      I have always firmly believed that change is bad. I made my mom drive all over town to find the same exact pair of sneakers I had grown out of when it was time for new shoes. I cried when we got new kitchen chairs. I left a note in our old couch so the new owners would know just how faithful and loving of a friend it could be, and out of respect for it I refused to sit on the new one for at least a few months after its arrival.
     This time of year is the worst time of year for change-haters like myself, especially college-aged ones. The weather is changing to desolate dreary cold, the year is about to change (assuming the world does not end in 10 days), my schedule has changed from classes every day to a huge test every day, and after this week all my classes will change. More broadly, the last few months have been a huge time of change - new home, new responsibilities, new friends, new opportunities, new church, new roommate. It's been crazy, to put it simply.
     Needless to say, I did not embrace all these changes with open arms, leaping from the comfort and safety of the home and routine I'd known for 18 years into a whole new world without reservation. I held myself back for a long time and tried to resist allowing myself to become anything different than I had always been. I clung to the past, my old mannerisms and beliefs and thought processes. I survived.
     But then I started to realize that although I was getting by okay, I was missing something. I wasn't positive what it was, but the appeal of studying alone in my room 8 hours a day was really starting to fade even though that's what I'd always done...was it possible the way I had always done things wasn't the best way to do them?
     I never consciously decided to change - it just kind of snuck up on me when I wasn't expecting it. One by one the familiar things in my life were snatched away, some forcibly and others I let go, and new things began to seep in. And slowly, I started to realize that maybe this wasn't so bad.
     Maybe sometimes the people in our life leave so someone else has room to teach us something different. Maybe there are things we're all supposed to learn in this life that we can't learn if we're too hung up on the comfortable and the familiar. Maybe the only way we can learn them is if the people we know step back and let us. Because maybe they have to learn something new as well.
     I can't say for sure who exactly was responsible for changing me into the person I am now. I can think of a few people, new and old, who definitely helped me figure out who I was and who I wanted to be, and I'm eternally grateful for their love and support even if they never realize how much they did for me.
     So if you're one of the new people in my life, welcome. Most of you have mentioned there are times when I seem truly happy, and you like those times. I'm trying to make that happen more often. The best I can promise you is a crazy awesome journey. If you're one of the people from my past, please don't think I'm saying goodbye. I'm not. I love you all so much and the fact that I'm casting off a lifestyle and thought pattern does not mean I'm casting off you. I'm not even sure that as a person I've really changed all that much. I'm still the same me as I was before. Just with a slightly different outlook on life. Some good things fell apart. Some better things are starting to fall together. Strange how such a small change can make such a big difference.

(Stylistically, it pains me to end two posts in a row with a YouTube video. But I can't resist this song.)

Angels Among Us

     When I was younger, I was the world's biggest believer in angels. I had a ceramic cross on my wall with a little angel figure kneeling at the center praying, and one of my earliest memories is my mother telling me "This is your guardian angel. If you say a prayer to her every night she'll always keep you safe." (That may or may not be an accurate memory, but I remember it that way.)
     I thought that was the coolest idea ever. I loved it. I constantly would strike up a (one-sided) conversation, literally whispering to the cross, reaching my guardian angel the best way I knew how. Any time I was in a scary situation I would picture an angel right there at my shoulder, and it was impossible to be scared. What could possibly get me that an angel from God himself couldn't stop?
     Then one day, through an unfortunate accident, I broke my cross.  I slept on the top bunk and one day when making my bed I tired of climbing up and down to retrieve each stuffed animal, so I stood on the floor and started throwing them haphazardly up to my mattress. Which was all well and good until I overshot a stuffed cat and hit the wall, sending my cross crashing to the ground where it broke into two pieces. Afraid to glue it and make it look stupid, I gave it to my mom to add to the stack of things that would get fixed "eventually."
     Everyone knows how the saying goes, out of sight, out of mind. For some reason, without that concrete reminder there to see every day, I forgot to believe in angels. (Ironic, for someone whose name literally means angel, "messenger from God"). I stopped saying the prayer and I lost that feeling of protection in scary moments. I was scared all the time. I was convinced my house was haunted, I was afraid to be in any room alone, I would panic at night at the slightest sound.
     And then the fear expanded. Not only was I afraid of being in concrete places alone, I was afraid of being without a friend, without someone who understood. And I felt like I always was. Like there was no one looking out for me, like I was always alone. All the confidence of my earlier years was gone, and I was afraid.
     That went on for so long that 2 weeks ago, I couldn't have even told you the last time I wasn't afraid of being alone. Then, out of nowhere, an amazing friend came into my life and changed the way I think about things. One of the biggest things he did was remind me that there are angels among us. Not pathetic, Cupid-esque babies with wings but mighty warriors sent by God to protect me from harm. We're constantly being watched over and protected. "For he will command his angels concerning you to guard you in all your ways." - Psalm 91:11.
     How awesome is that?

       

If You're Happy and You Know It

     For as long as I can remember, I have always hated being happy. My favorite times of the year, Christmas and Thanksgiving, were also my happiest times of the year; and yet these beautiful days were tainted endlessly by the knowledge that eventually the day would be over, the food eaten, the cousins gone, and life back to its daily grind.
     For a few years I tried to resist the happiness. I would tell myself not to bother to get excited over these single days, because all too soon they would be gone. I approached Christmas with about as much excitement as I approached writing an essay - there might be a mildly enjoyable moment or two, but eventually the work would be done and it would be time to forget it all. Don't freak out. There's no point.
     If you know me (and especially if you've just recently gotten to know me) then it is needless to say that this was IMPOSSIBLE to keep up for long. I get far too excited about most things, and holidays are even more exciting than most things. So for the last few years, I've allowed myself to feel the incredible happiness and excitement. Not just on holidays, but on sunny days, snowy days, warm days, days I get to spend time with friends, days I'm super productive, days I spend relaxing, and so many other days.
    The problem with this happiness is that even though I'm allowing myself to feel it, it is still accompanied by the sadness of knowing the time is limited. I've been allowing the sadness to overcome the happiness. I've avoided situations that may cause happiness so that I don't have to face the sadness. I thought it was for the best.
     I was wrong. Avoiding happy situations didn't take the sadness away. It just made it a different kind of sadness. And that kind of sadness is even less bearable than the kind that comes from happiness, because at least the latter occurs when there are people around to pick me back up.
     Today I finally figured out something that I should have known from the start: Just because happy times have to end eventually isn't any reason to spend the whole time dreading what will come later. Because what will come, will come. And the only part I can control is what comes in between.

The Trouble With Men

UPDATE: If you don't know me, this post may not come off correctly. I am not a feminist and I do not think men are awful. Sarcasm, people.
     I am a raging feminist, and I hate men because they are all pigs. All they ever do is objectify us and reduce us from people to a means of getting sex, and as a result women spend all their time applying makeup and choosing outfits and dieting and exercising and hating ourselves. Women are so oppressed these days. There's nowhere we can look for a positive role model to show we don't have to be the skinniest, prettiest, most perfect girl ever to be loved. It's deplorable, really. Because men have it so easy.
     I mean, I'm sure none of them ever doubt themselves, because women would certainly never do the same thing to men that men do to women, making them feel like they have to fit a certain image to be lovable. After all, I know for a fact that all the females in this country want to marry Channing Tatum because they've personally gotten to know him and have determined that his personality is compatible with theirs. It's preposterous to suggest that a woman, who knows the feeling of objectification, would think for a second that being physically attractive is the only quality that matters in a man.
     And can we talk about advertising for a second? Because it seems to me like every company is using clothing on women to sell their product, with absolutely no regard for the way these women are being turned into objects. Meanwhile, the men get away scot-free. I'm sure I speak for all women when I state my disdain at the interruption of the Super Bowl by the appearance of a soccer player. Not only was this man not of the right sport, I wasted valuable time watching his commercial several times before I actually figured out what they were selling. And then when I did figure it out, I was angered again - I am not the target audience for men's underwear, and there was no other reason to spend so much time watching it besides having an interest in the product. Because women don't view men as objects purely for visual gratification.
     There are no real women anywhere in the media, and no one ever bothers to promote people who don't look like supermodels. No one ever tells real women they are beautiful. Meanwhile, real men are everywhere in the media. Every guy walking down the street should just automatically know that he is perfect, without anyone ever having to tell him. It's not a man's job to need reassurance. It's a man's job to tell a woman she's beautiful. But not in such a way as to make her feel that beauty is the only thing that matters, because men also need to reinforce that what's truly beautiful is what's on the inside. Without accidentally implying that the outside is not beautiful also.
     So basically, there is a war on women going on in the advertising world and the world at large. Women are under constant pressure to be perfect in every way. Everywhere you turn there's another commercial, another ad, another spread in a magazine showing us how we should look and act at all times. The trouble with men is, they just can't understand what it's like.
     
    

Words I Need to Say

UPDATE: Okay, I admit, I've had this written for a while, but I got the idea to publish it from here. My sincerest apologies for copying!
I generally try not to publish stuff like this, because I feel like it's not relatable and ramblings about why I love the people I love aren't something the general population wants to read. However, there are a lot of things I want to say to some people, and I want everyone to know how awesome you all are, so this is the best venue I can think of. For the most part I avoided calling people out by name in case you're embarrassed by this. So, I guess, sorry in advance for the longness and mushiness and general suckishness of this post. But I wrote it all out so I'm posting it now, for better or for worse.

To the survivors of the Taylor experiment: What can I even say, beyond thank God we made it out alive? All kidding aside, it was a wild ride. Twelve years long for some of us, and I cherish every second. Adam - To this day I can't look at a marigold without calling it Zaffaffania. And I'll bet you don't even know why at this point. I know we had our bad days, but thank you for (almost) always making me laugh. David - Boy do I miss getting to talk to you in Mrs. P's room once a week last year. I don't know if you knew it or not but you kept me sane most of the year. Super Siah - Gotta admit, I thought you hated me for a long time. But after I got over that I found out you're actually extremely awesome and I'm really glad I got a chance to get to know you. Michael - After all these years, I think I am finally comfortable admitting that in third grade, your baseball sand shelter was way more effective than mine and prettier too. You win. Morgan - I don't know why we didn't become friends earlier! I missed out dude. We definitely should've united before high school. Regardless, I'm glad I had one female ally in that group. We may have been outnumbered but we were still the most influential part of that group most of the time. I miss your seeing your beautiful face all the time and having lima beans shoved in my ears and being able to talk to you every day. Luckily we're the same person so I know we'll end up together again eventually and I know you'll always be there to talk if I need you. (And to Mariah and Liza, who sadly did not survive the Taylor experiment - I still feel blessed to have met and gotten to know you, if only for a little while. I hope you're both doing well, wherever you are. Probably a model and a concert pianist at this point.)

1: There are very few people to whom I can say, "I remember how we met," but I remember every detail of meeting you. It was kind of a weird way to meet a best friend (both in ways I knew then and ways I found out later) but I'm unendingly thankful that it happened. You have had my back through so many situations in which you had no obligation to do anything and you've saved me from a million things, from boredom to unnecessary anxiety to my very self. I think the thing I'll always remember is the day before graduation, just walking around Bellwood running errands and sitting on the playground reminiscing. I don't know if you knew how much I needed that time with a friend at the moment, but it meant the world to me. I feel like I've known you way longer than 2 years. Thank you so much for being an amazing friend even when I don't deserve it.

2: You stress out too much, kid. I know you feel a lot of pressure but the honest truth is you are under no obligation to be me. Yeah, I've been an overachiever my whole life. It's not all it's cracked up to be. Honestly the biggest thing I've learned from college so far is that there's way more to life than getting a great SAT score. Lots of people can do that. Very, very few people know who they are and what they want in life. I think you have a better grasp on who you are than most people I've encountered in my life. Relax. No matter what happens, you're going big places.

3: Some people assume you're the same as me. Some people think you're the polar opposite. Both sets of people make a huge mistake. You are a unique person who happens to have the unfortunate position of being the youngest sibling. But you're going to set the world on fire someday. You're smart, artistic, and personable, a triple threat, and unlike everyone else in our family you aren't going to have stress ulcers by the time you're 21. Don't sell yourself short. Sometimes I think you understand life better than any of us.

4: It's true to say you're my newest friend but it really doesn't feel like I've only known you a couple weeks. I gotta admit, my first impression of you was that we were polar opposites and I would never be able to talk to you. You were intentionally throwing yourself into the spotlight while I was trying desperately to hide in the shadows, and people ate it up. They loved you. I wish I could remember what I wrote for your mailbox, because I don't think I wrote what I was really thinking (that I was totally jealous of how comfortable you were in crowds). I didn't think I would ever be getting to know you. Turns out I couldn't have been more wrong because now you're one of my best friends. And you're bringing me out of my shell a little bit, which people say is a good thing. Thank you for always being there even when I'm being excessively needy and making me do things I don't want to do so I can learn that they are good. Thank you for making me feel included and comfortable. Thank you for always doing the stuff I tell you not to do. Your capacity to love is astonishing and will get you through anything life throws at you. Please never lose it.

5: I know for a fact you don't usually read this, so I don't expect you to ever see this. That's fine, I'm still gonna say it. I have literally known you for as long as I can remember. There have been better times and worse but I have to say that I think I knew how special you were all along. We've literally been through hell together and I'm incredibly glad we're here on the other side, still together and in one piece. If I could push a button to make you believe in yourself and be happy, I would push it in a heartbeat. But until such a button exists, you're just going to have to figure those things out for yourself. I believe you can do it. Know that you are wonderful and loved, and no matter how many times it gets bad I'll be here to pull you through, because the good times are worth it.

6: I did a stupid thing by saying we were probably never going to be friends again like we used to be. At the time I was frustrated and tired of missing something I didn't think I was ever going to get back. I regret that now, although I doubt it still matters to you. If you ever need anything, know that I'll always have your back. Love you Scottie<3

Love Grows

    "Until you love yourself, you can't love anyone else." People have been telling me this, and variations on it, for as long as I can remember. And yet somehow, I've been tuning them out for over a decade (because obviously, I always know best) and thinking I can get along just fine without giving myself a thought. What do I need to love myself for? I love everyone else. I'd give anything for my friends. If I took the time to love myself I wouldn't have the time to give them, wouldn't be able to relate to their feelings as well. I would just spend all my time talking about how awesome I am.
    But recently I'm realizing more and more that those adults in my life who gave me advice actually knew what they were talking about (shocker, right?) and I should really listen to them. Because if I tell you that you are beautiful, then turn around in the same breath and put myself down, what am I really saying to you? That it's okay for me to have these thoughts but not for you? That nothing I say is actually worth believing, because I don't even believe it myself?
     Even deeper than not being trustworthy, how can I expect to understand you and your feelings if I don't even understand me and my own feelings? It isn't possible. And until I understand you, until I truly appreciate what you're feeling and going through, I can't really love you.
     So if my ultimate goal is to love, and I can't do that until I learn to love, how do I go about achieving success? Ironically, it seems that it isn't actually possible to do one without the other. I can't love others until I love myself. But through loving others and allowing them to love me, I'm learning to love myself more effectively than I think I ever could in isolation.
     Maybe that's the secret to all of it. Love can't exist in isolation. But through reaching out to others and showing them our love, we learn a little about our own strengths and weaknesses, our own values and beliefs. We see that there are people out there who want and need our love, and that validates us. We realize that their are people who want to love us. They have reasons to love us, usually good ones, and those also give us reasons to love ourselves. And little by little we start to understand. We start to love.

Double Plus Goodfeel

     Happy New Year! Yep, it's that time of year again. The liturgical new year, that is, and my very favorite liturgical season - Advent! A time of waiting and preparation for the coming of the Lord. A time to make all things new and share God's love and rejoice in his birth.
     Every year around this time I become absolutely overwhelmed with what I can only call pre-Christmas spirit. I transform from my traditionally quiet self into a bubbly, bursting with joy philanthropic mess. And with no outlet for my surplus of happiness, I end up conducting Mannheim Steamroller Christmas concerts on YouTube with excessive vigor and laughing in situations where laughter is not appropriate, just to dispel some of the good feelings before they make me explode.
     This year, I thought maybe I'd try for something more productive during Advent. This is where all the lovely people who read this blog come in. You're all wonderfully creative and good beautiful people, so give me a hand. If you've got a fantastic idea for community service or random acts of kindness or any other way to share love and joy this season, clue me in. I'm glad for all the help I can get. No idea too small.
     So hit me with your best shot! I'm pumped to figure out some stuff to do with all this excitement (besides being embarrassingly giddy all the time, which will probably still happen anyway). A very happy new year to all of you, and God bless.

Eye Contact

     So first of all, readers, if you haven't read this yet it's fantastic and you should check it out. At the very least you should read this before you go any further because it was the inspiration for this post and a little background is never a bad thing.
     That's about all the introduction I have for this really. If you read the background this will probably speak for itself. If you didn't...sorry. Although if you read regularly you're probably pretty used to being hit with random poetry by now. I don't have much else to say besides:

"Eye Contact"

What an odd concept to consider.
eye contact-
holding another with your eyes
when arms won't suffice.
Contact - touching
And to think, we all have contacts
not just contact lenses (which touch the eye)
but contact eyes (which touch the heart)
...touch the soul.
Maybe that's why we struggle
to hold a gaze (contact, a touch)
We're afraid to be embraced in body
let alone in spirit
by those we're unsure of.
And yet we do - sometimes - make eye contact
What a powerful, awesome deed -
How strange to think
we touch with our eyes
the things we merely see.

God bless<3

Biology Notes

     So today in Biology I learned that insects have a hard outer shell called an exoskeleton; a suit of armor of a set size that they grow to fill completely and then stop growing (I think...but I was actually scribbling this post on my notes during class so I can't be sure). That's why you don't see obese bugs running around - they have a limit. They can only get so big.
     I've felt a lot like an insect lately. I've been running around frantically trying to fill myself up. Not just with food, but also faith, love, hope, and the ability to help others. I took the persona I've been creating for four strong years, the emotionally apathetic, academically over-productive, chronically high-strung, stressed out timid self, and tried to transform her into an icon of love, a beacon of faith and hope and morality and strength, a landing site for hurting souls. And I tried to do it almost literally overnight.
     Quite obviously, I hit a point at which I realized I wasn't the awesome saint-like influence that I wanted to be, and I became frustrated. I was putting so much energy into myself but I wasn't getting any bigger. I'd filled the shell I'd built for myself years ago, and there was nowhere for any new substance to go.
     The thing about insects, though, is that although each stage of their lives involves a certain set size they don't stay in that stage of life forever. Insects (because of pathways and hormones and factors that I actually did write down at this point) molt. They shed the shell they've been inhabiting in favor of a new, slightly larger one that allows for more growth. And slowly, stage by stage, they grow into the adult they're meant to be. Not all at once. In stages. Like so:

     My life span is, thankfully, much longer than that of an insect, so maybe that means my growth stages are longer too. And maybe, just maybe, I'm finally reaching the end of one. Maybe I'm getting a chance now to build again, to grow again, to make changes.
     Maybe I'm molting.
    

On Lessons Learned

     What is it about this time of year that makes everyone all reflective and wanting to change? Is it the cold, the isolation, the grind of school work setting in? There's something that makes the Thanksgiving/Christmas season the season of looking back at where we've been and trying to figure out where we're going, and I'm no more immune to it than the next person...I'm just more prone to write about it.
     It's hard to look back on where I was a year ago today and believe that I am the same person now as I was then...and in a lot of ways I would contest that I am not actually the same Angela as I was 365 days ago. That Angela feels in a weird way like she is a day and a decade away at the same time. It's actually difficult to think backwards and chronologically remember everything that has happened between now and last November, but there are some general impressions I have of this year and some big lessons I learned.     A lot of what happened over the last year is part of a long story, a story of a lifetime of joy and hurt and confusion. The story isn't all mine to share, so I won't share it, but I can summarize: you never know who is hurting on the inside. Often, it's not the people you would suspect. And often, there's not much you can actually do to fix it. Or at least, there's nothing you can do if you have a set preconception of what exactly "fixed" looks like.
     Although the story isn't mine, I think I have exclusive rights to the lessons I learned from it and can share those. The biggest thing for me was this: Trust in God. Sometimes, there are situations in which you personally are powerless. Those situations are the scariest, because all most of us really want in life is to have control over what's happening to us. But that can't always be. Sometimes, you just have to say a little prayer and give the situation over to God to make what He can of it. You might be surprised by how well he can handle it.
     Another thing I learned is to accept life's challenges and focus on beating them - don't waste energy trying to deny what's in front of you. Nothing is going to change just by you denying it exists, so don't bother trying to pretend a situation that's right in front of you isn't there. Act on it. Never wait to do what's right. There is no guarantee you'll have a second chance if you pass this one up.
     Love intensely and unconditionally. Because why not? Contrary to popular belief it is not possible to love too much. How could you possibly put too much of something as good as love into this world? There is always someone out there looking for some love, and you could always be the one to give it. Earth would be a pretty dull place if no one ever loved anyone. Love your spouse. Love your siblings. Love your parents, your grandparents, your aunts and uncles and estranged random relatives. But also love your cashier at the grocery store. Love your mailman. Love your bus driver, your 8AM professor, and the cleaning lady in your building. Love the person opposite the intersection from you. Love yourself, really love yourself; love yourself as well as you love everyone else. Love them all as much as you can, and then love them more. For it is in giving, that we receive.
     Most importantly, never, ever, EVER give up. Even when it seems like you've lost the war. Because you never know which battle will be your last until you've won it and survived past it, and just doing that takes so much. Because God gives his toughest battles to his strongest soldiers. Because you'd be surprised how much you have in you when you really try. Because even when you're at your lowest point, God is still above all things just waiting to stand you back up. Because nothing worth having comes easy. And because some of the best people in our lives are sent to help us through our worst times.

"Have I not commanded you? Be strong and courageous. Do not be frightened, and do not be dismayed, for the Lord your God is with you wherever you go." (Joshua 1:9)

The Thanks

     This Thanksgiving, I spent a lot of time considering how I could give thanks. Normally that would have resulted in a lengthy, mushy post about how much I love everyone in my life, but I seem to have taken care of that with my over-tagged Facebook status yesterday. So today I thought I'd mix it up and give you all some advice on expressing gratitude in one of the most confusing situations I've encountered to date: walking through a door at the same time as someone else. These questions have plagued mankind since the dawn of time, or at least since the dawn of buildings.

At what point in a series of doors do you thank the person in front of you? 

     This is a tricky situation that does not have a simple answer. Many other factors must be taken into consideration when determining how exactly to give thanks in this situation:
     - How much space is between the doors?
     It seems that college campuses were constructed specifically to present this challenging question. In some buildings, doors are so close together that it is physically impossible to go the whole way through one door without opening the next one. With multiple doors coming at you within seconds of each other, it can be difficult to know at what point you should thank the kind soul navigating the pathway before you. I've found it most effective to begin with a full "thank you" after entering the first doorway, and then offer an abridged "thanks" or just a nod and smile at each subsequent door.
     If however the doors are far enough apart that several steps are required to get from one door to the next, a full thank you may be in order at each doorway. Try to gauge how annoyed the door-holder is getting with saying "you're welcome" and base your decisions off of this data.
     -What if they turn around after each door to look at you?
     Turners always seem to be expecting something, and people like me feel as though we're disappointing them by not offering a fully grateful "thank you" after every door hold. If you're following a turner, give full appreciation for each door regardless of which category above the series fits into.
     -Was it a full door hold or a half-out-the-door, stick a single finger back to slow the slamming of the door afterthought?
     A full door hold deserves gratitude under any circumstances, especially if the holder stopped walking completely to hold the door while you caught up. Extra appreciation is necessary if it is cold, raining, or the door leads to somewhere you have to wait in line and the person has sacrificed their place in it to let you in.
     An afterthought hold depends on the circumstance. If the person was bopping along listening to an iPod and intentionally tuning out your cries as you raced for the door with your arms full of kittens and 2x4s and other various debris, he or she deserves a stern look. If however the person was just walking along when they glanced back at the last second and noticed the door closing in your face, a terse nod at least is appropriate.
      - Did they actually open every door in the series, or simply hold the first one and then leave you trapped awkwardly between the two doors?
      I'm not sure why people do this. These people won't even notice if you thanked them or not, because they're already several steps away on the other side of a wall. You may mumble anything you like in this situation.
     Bonus!!!
      Just for you guys, because I love you, I'm adding a bonus section of other gratitude questions.
If someone is cleaning a window or other area on or near the door and stops to allow me to pass, do I thank them or apologize? 
     I always apologize in this situation, because I just feel bad. But thanks also seem appropriate. All I can really recommend is that you avoid this situation at all costs, possibly by untying and retying your shoe multiple times or making an unnecessary stop in the bathroom.
What do I do if I'm a male and the female holds the door open for me? 
    Put aside your sexist preconceptions and thank her. (Although I gotta say, it really gets me when guys insist on holding the door.)
Do I thank the professor for handing me a stack of homework?
     Of course. Brownie points never hurt anyone but those who don't have them.
What do I do if I'm so accustomed to thanking everyone for everything that I accidentally thank the person I held the door for? 
     This is a problem created by our excessively etiquette-centered society that I don't have an answer to. However I must say that at this point, I don't think anyone would really notice if you thanked them at an inappropriate moment. They'll probably assume they did something for which thanks were in order and just accept it.

There you go.

     Now you probably know the answer to every thanking question you ever had. I'd bet on it. Gratitude is not just for Thanksgiving day. (Thanks for reading this!) Go forth and give thanks.

 

Spontaneous Love Rant

     This started as a Tumblr post in response to someone, but it turned out really awesome in my humble opinion so I decided to post it on my real blog. Enjoy guys.
     I’ve been thinking a lot lately about how stuff people say can stick with you and change your life. I’ve been upset and grieving over the people I’ve lost, who’ve turned on me or dropped out of my life for no apparent reason after finding out my greatest insecurities and using them against me. I’ve hated myself for loving too deeply, too often, before I’ve even figured out if the person on the receiving end deserves it at all. I was ready to give up on love itself because I was tired of being hurt.
     I met this really great guy at school, and we were talking the other day, and this is what he told me: “People may come and go, but love remains. Even if the faces are different, you will always be loved to the measure you love.”
     People may come and go, but love remains. Love is just how God works through other people. Sometimes the particular carrier of love doesn’t work out, and God finds a new one, but the love is still out there somewhere floating about. There is always someone out there, someone like me, someone like you probably are if you’re still reading and relating to this, who is just waiting to love you. Someone who is bursting with excitement to know you and share in you and make you feel loved, and willing to let you love them in return.
     This doesn’t justify what people do to others. It doesn’t make it okay for people to use other people or be randomly mean or tear down the things about ourselves we’ve worked so hard and been so proud to build up. But this is the other smart thing he said. “You get hurt because you love…but that’s no reason to stop.” I suppose it’s something anyone could have said, but it struck me at that moment how incredibly right he was. Getting hurt isn’t a reason to stop loving. It might be a reason to protect yourself from a certain negative influence, but there is never a reason to stop loving. God is love, love is God, and I don’t know about you but I never want to give up on either. I want to keep loving somehow, somewhere, anyone. I can’t just turn it off. Love is bursting out of me and I need to pass it on.
     So I’ll search for the next face. I’ll find the next person who is going to receive my love, who is willing to let me in, even a tiny crack, to share all these beautiful feelings I have right now. Pain is always going to be there. Hurt is always going to be there. So if you’re going to end up hurt anyway, what better mechanism than one that can turn around and mend the wounds right away? Whether you have love to give, or feel like you could stand to be on the receiving end, I urge you to let yourself be open and participate in this most wonderful part of life.
     Keep loving.<3

Walking back from the library at night: an exercise in the senses

     Isn't snow just beautiful? Especially on a perfect night, like tonight. I love how you can't see snowflakes falling right beside you, but when you look over at a street lamp there they are drifting gently down just waiting to be noticed. And if you try to look way up into the sky to see their origin, you lose track of them altogether; but when you start focusing closer and closer to your face you see them, materializing as if out of nowhere and fluttering about, dancing in the air. It seems like there are so many flying around you that you should be covered, but barely a drop touches your skin. And on an absolutely perfect night, with no wind, you can stand outside in a sweatshirt for a long time and just watch this perfect show without even shivering.
     Snow is so quiet. It isn't like rain, that has to stormily announce its coming with pounding on the roof and tinkling in puddles and rushing through streets and storm drains. If you never looked out the window you'd never know it was snowing. It just unassumingly descends to the ground, going about its business whether people care to watch or not.
     And then to reach out your tongue and catch a flake, that first sweet taste of winter. There's nothing inherently more special about tasting a snowflake as compared to tasting a raindrop, except that it's just better. It's light and fluffy and cold and wet and more satisfying than anyone who's never done it could imagine.
    I don't even care that snow is cold. For some reason it only feels unpleasant if you're lying in a large pile of it for a long time and start to get wet. Then maybe you get pretty chilled. But just walking through snow is a delight. The touch of a snowflake is the lightest, sweetest kiss. It lasts for a moment; til you look down to see what touched you it's just a droplet of water on the tip of your arm hair. It doesn't feel the need to soak you like rain does. It simply melts away and disappears. It's still a mystery where the snow that lands on your hand goes.
     It's really a shame that it's so hard to capture snow falling at night with a camera. You can't see the blend of gray to darker gray, with lighter gray and white speckled on top, on a screen. You can't make out how perfectly the snow contrasts with the glow of the streetlamp, the still green leaves on the trees. But it's there, if you just look. And the feelings aren't too far behind.

A short moment of poetry by Angela

Sorry guys, this is completely random and not my usual style. Really wanted to share this though. I don't know if you can call it poetry or not. It seems just about anything can be poetry if you read it right. Read this right.

Honestly. 

I don’t understand you.
      I don’t know why you do what you do. I don’t know why you think what you think or feel what
      you feel.
I don’t understand you.
     I don’t know how your pain feels. I don’t know what you put yourself through when you’re alone
     or what you’re hiding when we’re together.
I don’t understand you.
     I can’t offer advice, because our stories are different. I can’t tell you what you’re doing is wrong,
     or that you should do it my way.
I don’t understand you.
     I am not a mind reader. I am not a therapist. I am not a garbage disposal for all your dark thoughts.
I don’t understand you.
     I can listen. I can be a sounding board. I can try to empathize. I am trying. But
I cannot understand you.
     I wish I could.

UPDATE: For everyone who's asking, this isn't about any one person in particular. It is not about you. It's just a poem based on a feeling. Not an attack aimed at someone specific.

40 Love Dares

     For those of you who have never seen the movie Fireproof, you should probably go watch it right now. Especially if you're a hopeless romantic like me who's prone to saying things like "Back off scumbag, she's married!" or "Oh, he did something sweet, please notice please notice please notice...why didn't you notice?!?!?!?!" or "Awww! Yay God! Yay marriage working! Yay love! Wooooo!" while watching movies. (By the way, I sincerely apologize to anyone who was bugged by my running narration last night. I am not and have never been a quiet movie watcher. I'm working really hard on learning to restrain myself.)
     But basically, the movie chronicles 40 days of the life of a man whose marriage is falling apart and shows his attempts to save it despite his wife's resistance. And God is woven in there as well, because who is better qualified to help save you marriage than Jesus Christ? Pretty much no one.
     Whoever decided I should watch Fireproof last night must not know me very well, or else doesn't care that I will now be obsessed with trying to recreate the 40 day love dare in my life for at least a week. Even as the movie was going on, I caught myself surfing the internet on my phone trying to find a list somewhere. I eventually managed to locate one late last night, and I'm determined to see it through to the end (so I say...we'll see how it works out). For the record, I am not married. But I feel like almost all of them can be applied to non-marriage relationships (with the exception of at least one day I know I'll have to skip - I'll cross that bridge when I come to it). Maybe it defeats the purpose to use it on a non-marital relationship. I don't know, but I really don't care. I am seized with vigor and I will try this. So with no further ado, Day 1: Love is Patient.

     This day was easier than I thought it would be as patience is not really a virtue that I possess. I did have one slip up but other than that I managed to keep a positive spin on most things. It sounds cliche but it's actually amazing how differently the day goes when you have a positive attitude. A lot of things that normally would have sent me into a fit today sent me instead to my wrist where I could read my reminder, and I chose to laugh, smile, or close my eyes instead. And the magical thing was, my day wasn't bad because I didn't give in to anger. I don't have any less sense of fulfillment tonight looking back and realizing how many people, objects, and situations I didn't unleash my wrath on. So it's possible that no one else noticed my love dare today, but it definitely improved my outlook on life.
     I also spent some time alone today just reflecting on what it meant to be patient. This is something I want to make more time for in the future. I've never been big on quiet reflection but today it was refreshing and almost kind of fun to retreat into myself, and I feel like I may have learned a thing or two.
     All in all, I think the 40 Love Dares is something I could stick with. I'm interested to see where this journey takes me. And I invite you to join me on this crazy path...because otherwise I will be way less likely to go through with it. Much love!
     P.S. Just a note: I did a whole post on just the first day so I could introduce the topic and such, but I'm probably not going to do one post individually for every single day. I'll likely end up combining several days together but I will try to touch on each day in a post at some point.

Call me a freshman, I'll just tell you "thanks"

     I never pictured myself at a small school. Advertisements boasting "Small class sizes!" and "Discussion based classes!" were never appealing to me. I was ready to head out into the big wide world and allow myself to be lost in it, hiding behind the personalities of people much more confident than me, sitting in the 76th row of a lecture hall and dutifully copying notes with no fear of having to answer a question out loud. I wanted to dive into the college experience holding my breath and stay underwater as long as possible. I wanted to be able to be lost in the crowd the way I never could be as the valedictorian of my high school graduating class of 104. So how on earth did I end up at Saint Francis University (undergraduate population 1,746 and average class size 21)? I have no idea.
     What I do know is that whatever brought me here, to a university where there are fewer people in my classes than there were in high school and even kindergarten, I'm glad I came. There's something about this place that gives you a feeling that's hard to describe to someone who hasn't felt it. Prospective students feel it the moment they step foot on campus - there's something about certain places that just makes you think "This is a good place. It's nice here. I like it. I want to be a part of this." And whatever it is that causes that, Saint Francis has it.
     I'm not going to try to sound like a sap and be all "Everyone's so close here, it feels like a family, I can tell I'm meeting people I'll be friends with for the rest of my life," because honestly there are people who aren't so nice and I have no idea if I'll stay in touch with these people for the rest of my life. I'd like to stay in touch with a lot of them but we'll see. But regardless of whether or not I meet my lifelong best friends here, there's something about a chapel full of college kids participating in student-led praise and worship. There's something about having a free activity to do every night, a comedian or musician or movie or craft night. There's something about seeing your Introduction to Literature professor serving as the leader of song at mass on Sunday morning, and having him greet you by name afterward. There's something about being able to prop your door open and have people stop by and just chat for a few minutes, see how you're doing, what you're up to.
    Maybe it happens at bigger universities, too; I don't know now and I probably won't ever know really. But I'd bet my bottom dollar that it just feels better here. There's something about Saint Francis that just feels right, and I hope to never lose that feeling as I go through my next five years here. Call me a freshman, but I am, and always will be, proud to be a Saint Francis University student.

To the girl who walked in on me in the basement bathroom today

Dear girl whose name I may never know,
     We may never meet again. You seem to hope that will be the case, as you ran away from the scene before I had a chance to come out and defend myself. Had you stuck around, I would've told you not to worry about it. I fully expected to be walked in on, because the door wasn't locked. I tried my hardest to lock it, I promise, but it just was not meant to be. I am aware that the sign on the door says to jiggle the door and press the bottom corner in if you have trouble getting the lock to stick, but I was in a situation of dire urgency and didn't have the time to carry out this delicate process of trying to lock the door. I thought to myself, "I'll just make this quick, no one comes down here anyway." So I'll take full responsibility for jinxing the situation. There really is nothing about this whole ordeal for you to be ashamed of. I just wanted you to know that, and know that I don't hold a grudge, and if we ever see each other again I probably won't even recognize you because I've only seen your shoes. But the fact that you ran away makes me feel like you think that I am angry, or embarrassed, when really I just want there not to be hard feelings between us. I hope that this can be a reality.
     Sincerely,
    That idiot girl who doesn't know how to lock a door

Why Fitted Sheets are the Bane of My Existence (and should be outlawed entirely and swiftly)

     Today was a Tuesday like any other. I woke up at 6:45, 6:50, 6:55, 7:00, and 7:05; dragged myself to that ungodly hot shower (see "7 Simple Joys From the First Day of College"); went to my 8 AM Sociology class to watch my peers sleep and listen to them asking irrelevant questions; ate a lazy breakfast in my room; and then prepared to do my laundry. Laundry is always a pleasant part of the day for me. The laundry room is usually empty and provides a nice escape from social interaction, the smells of detergent and fabric softener and dryer sheets are soothing and pleasant, and I have an hour and a half block of time where I can force myself to sit, focus, and get some work done. Today as I descended into the laundry room, only one machine was open. I required two as I had neglected laundry for some time. I did not foresee a problem however, because the other three machines were all off and just waiting for someone to come empty them. I started a load in the empty machine and sat down to wait. Surely someone would be down in the next half hour to empty their machine.
     But it was not to be. So I settled for spending twice as long on laundry as I had originally wanted to (the price I pay for putting it off, I figure). After a lunch break, I return to gather my clothes from the dryer and begin the real task of the day, the one I've been putting off for as long as I felt I could: the washing of my sheets. I admit, I have no idea how frequently normal people wash sheets, but it isn't an activity I care for. Today, not having a lot of activities to do and in great need of dedicated study time, I decided to go for it.
     I started by stripping the bed (easier said than done when you have as many pillows and other things on your bed as I do). Still, the covers came off easily enough and I began to think, "Hey, maybe I can do domestic things." Then I got to the sheets, and everything changed. The flat sheet came up easily enough at the top, but the bottom seemed to extend interminably back underneath the mattress. I tugged and twisted and pleaded with them and finally managed to extricate them from the boards. I feel like I should mention at this point that my bed at college is a loft bed, so all of these activities must out of necessity take place while I am actually laying, kneeling, crouching, balancing on one toe on, or otherwise occupying my bed and the three feet of space between my mattress and ceiling.
     After the flat sheet was added to the pile on the floor it was time to face my arch nemesis: the fitted sheet. Our rivalry is not a new one. For nearly two years of my childhood I slept with absolutely no sheets on my bed out of disdain for their very existence. What purpose did they serve? I could just as easily sleep on top of my comforter, which was easy to lay over the bed and tuck into the side, and cover myself with a separate blanket.
     But I digress. Sheets are a social norm and I've come to accept and love them. I only wish they would accept and love me in return. I whispered this to them as I lay across my bed, spread-eagled, preparing to get to work. Delicately, I pinched a corner of the sheet between my pointer finger and thumb and pulled up. Nothing happened. I grasped the corner more firmly with my whole hand and pulled up. The whole mattress lifted but the sheet did not come free. I used my other hand to force the mattress down while wrenching the sheet upward. It came free and I punched myself in the face. One corner down, four to go. The rest are easier after the first, requiring only a mild struggle-and-tug dance on my part. The fitted sheet is free and I have conquered the beast!; or so I thought, but there sitting on the bare mattress, mocking me with their foldedness and readiness and cleanness, was the second set of sheets I had to put back on my bed. I wanted to do this before I left so that my room was in some semblance of order should visitors come knocking, but I was also in a race against time so as to avoid being the aforementioned person who leaves her clothes in the dryer forever with no explanation so that everyone else's laundry schedule is ruined.
     The frustrating thing about sheets is that putting them back on is even more work than taking them off, which is why I wonder why we must bother with this exercise at all. However, after twenty minutes of endless searching to find the short end of the fitted sheet (I swear they're actually circles) a good ten minute effort to get the first corner on (involving balancing very delicately on the edge of my bed frame, some significant abuse of the window blinds by my backside, and very nearly crashing through the window itself), and some fifteen minutes of effort to place the last corner (involving a miraculous act of balancing on my toes on the ladder slats of my bed while applying the full force of my body weight to haul the sheet into place), I am proud to say that the bed is made, the dirty sheets are in the washing machine, and I have taken advantage of this nice chunk of study time to relax in the laundry smells and update my blog for the first time in three weeks.
     But really, I could've found the motivation to update my blog while I was washing my clothes. So there's no practical reason to continue using sheets at all, really.

UPDATE: Have you ever tried to fold a fitted sheet? Impossible. Just another strike against them.

I'm a Bee Student

     At the end of my first week of college, I already have a pretty extensive list of ways I've experienced class being disrupted. So far, I've heard catcalls outside the window, car alarms going off, cell phones ringing, and even the construction of a whole new building (including loud working music, whistling, chainsaws, jackhammers, and the like) going on fifteen feet from the open window of my biology classroom. I've also heard from some fellow students that they had to actually evacuate their classroom for a fire alarm that no one else in the building could hear.
     By and large though, the most distracting thing I've experienced to date in a college classroom took place during my first biology lab the other day. We're sitting on squeaky, spinning stools surrounded by sharp pointy tools, cutting tools, 3D models of a human being's insides, little living creatures swimming in jars, big dead creatures floating in jars, and a multitude of different knobs, buttons, and levers to investigate. We are handling these things surprisingly maturely, all looking forward and listening to the professor explain the syllabus. And then we here the buzzing.
     Flying overhead, darting about with no regard to the people trying to learn below it, an enormous hornet investigates our ceiling lights. And I do mean enormous. I could clearly see the different segments of its body even from across the room. I'm guessing everyone else could as well, because I could see that every eye in the room was dedicated to following this bee. No one was listening to the professor anymore. The collective train of though went something like, "Okay, don't clean microscope lenses with -- Oh my God, is that actually a bee? Where is the bee now? Is it going to sting me? Can I react quickly enough to kill it if it came near? What if it stung the professor, that might be funny. Unless he's allergic...oh, no, where did it go?" Even the professor couldn't help but keep tabs on the insect as it resisted our every attempt to free it by opening windows and continued to try to find an escape route through the lighting.
     The only living object in the room that seems to be unaware of the bee's disrupting presence is the bee itself (and of course the paramecium). What's irritating to me is that the bee doesn't have to care. It has a singular power over every person in the room because of its innate ability to inflict more pain on us than we perceive being able to inflict on it. I mean, with a well-placed swat we could take that creature's life; but instead we all cower under our desks, praying it doesn't land on us unnoticed and decide to attack. And then we could take its life in revenge.
     So I guess the real question is, why do bees get to have stingers? Has anyone ever stopped killing a bee because it stung them? I don't think so. It seems like an unnecessary irritation.
     I don't really know where I was going with this, but it's uncomfortably hot and I have nothing better to do with this day so screw it, I'm publishing it. Ha.

7 Simple Joys From the First Day of College

     I woke up this morning absolutely terrified, shaking in my sheets. It was my first day of classes for my first year of college. A whole weekend of walking, repeatedly introducing myself, and being lectured on the dangers of sexual assault had come to this. I was thoroughly unprepared. I briefly considered not even leaving bed, as though hiding from college would fix my problem.
     Knowing it wouldn't, I decided instead to just give it the old college try and see what happened. The result was surprisingly good. So with no further ado, here (in no particular order) are the 7 things that happened today to make my day awesome and put happiness at college into perspective.
     1. Getting a WARM Shower
      It's something I always took for granted before. You want a cold shower, you turn the knob all the way to the left. You want a super hot shower, you turn the knob all the way to the right. You just want a normal, comfortable shower at 6AM, you put the knob somewhere in the middle and gently adjust until the water temperature is perfect. Those showers are nice. But they are a different breed of showers than the ones in college residence halls. Here, if you want a cold shower you turn the water on. Instant popsicle, guaranteed. If you want a hot shower, you turn the knob halfway around. Instant blazing inferno of death. If you want a warm shower, tough luck. You're going to have to go home. Because there is a hairline difference between Hell and Antarctica, and there is no in between.
     That was the story of my last four mornings. Today, I tried my fifth different shower stalls in as many days. In my blurry sleep cocoon, I expected nothing less than another wholly tortuous showering experience. But with a wishful thought I turned the knob exactly to the middle anyway. And suddenly, angels sang. The room got brighter, hell froze over, pigs flew, and someone sold ice to an Eskimo. My shower was warm. Just warm. And it stayed that way for 15 whole minutes. Best morning ever.
     2. Not having to introduce myself to a group even once
     Another thing that doesn't sound like a big deal, but felt like winning a million bucks. For the first day since last Thursday, I was not once forced to stand up and tell a whole group of people my name, major, home town, and a fun fact about myself. I did however introduce myself to several individual people. It's a lot easier when their first impression of you isn't the "I'm Angela, I'm from Tipton, and my fun fact is...um...I...was first in my class" they've already heard 12 times in different group sessions.
     3. Internet Access
     The internet in my residence hall stinks. There's very little wireless signal and the badness is compounded by the fact that every other person in this hall is still has safari running in the background of their smartphones even though they aren't using them anymore because we have computers now. But IT ran out of network cables yesterday, so I was stuck with neither a wireless nor a wired connection to the internet. In fact, I couldn't even log on to my computer. So I had a class in the library today and I told myself since I was down there, I might as well stop and get a network cable at the laptop help desk on my way out. And then completely forgot. But the walk back down was one of the most worthwhile things I've ever done, because when I plugged into the wall I got a successful login in only two tries. Great feeling, being connected again.
     4. Free Snack
     The receipt of the free snack actually occurred on Friday at the "Spirit Dinner" in the dining hall, but I've been hoarding that bag of Italian Herb & Cheese Baguette Chips like it was gold just in case an emergency arose. Having class from 11-1 and then having too much work to start to have time for work constitutes an emergency in college. So I ate them. I was expecting the dry, kind of spicy taste of those weird brown chips in chex mix? No. Best thing I've tasted in weeks. I highly recommend them. Although they may not be as good if you have to pay for them.
     5. Internet Access, Part 2
     Of course after I made the trip down to get a network cable and invested the better part of 20 minutes crawling under my roommate's desk, around my loft bed, behind my dresser, under my own desk and then up the back of said desk to connect the cable, I glance down at my phone and see Facebook notifications and email alerts. The wifi works much better now. Still not great, but better. Which is good, because Steve Jobs had obviously never been on a mountaintop when he decided not to put a jack for wired internet in his iPhone design.
     6. Loving Neighbors
     I've had my door propped pretty much 100% of the time I've been in my room awake since I've gotten here, because everyone's like let your door open and people will come in and talk to you, it's a great way to make friends. Bull crap. I live at the end of the hall, no one even knows I'm back here. Before today only two girls had ever wandered in to make friends, and they don't even live in this building. But today a girl from down the hall stopped in just to chat...and then stayed. Most people who try talking to me are instantly repulsed by my complete lack of conversational skills and choose to leave the room rather than sit and stare awkwardly at me while I stare back. But she stayed, and we talked, and now I have her number. I've never been one for meeting new people but that honestly meant the world to me.
     7. Eating Algae
     Again, having class from 11-1 makes you hungry and desperate. My politics of food professor mixed algae in mango juice. And I drank it. Not bad, if you're a goldfish. But hey, what's better than trying new things? 

UPDATE: The 8th thing that randomly made my day: Go to McDonald's thinking you only have $8 cash left in the world. Find a 20 hidden in the back of your wallet behind some receipts. Have a fantastic evening.
    

I Learned Something From a Six-Year-Old (and I'm proud to admit it)

     It's crazy how many notions adults have developed based on things that are "proper" and "right" and "true" that have no real basis in reality. It's even crazier how easy it is to destroy most of these notions by looking at them from a child's point of view. I have been babysitting for several years as an on and off job, and over that time I've learned a lot about cooking, cleaning to cover up mistakes, being a dog's chew toy, and the meaning of the words, "I have to potty NOW!" I've discovered though that some of the most profound wisdom comes not from lessons learned through experience, but straight from the six-year-old's mouth.
     The other day while babysitting, I found myself baking a pizza for the first time while also supervising a painting session. Somewhere between keeping up with all the color and clean brush demands and frantically calling my grandmother to find out how to bake a pizza, I noticed that my charge was about to dip a brush covered in blue paint into the orange paint jar. Reacting purely out of instinct, I said, "Oh sweetie, don't do that. It'll make yucky brown." And with the most innocent face ever she looks up at me and says, "I like to mix the paints, 'cause sometimes you get a color you've never seen before." And she proceeded to dip.
Huh.
She was right.
Blue and orange do in fact make a color I've never seen before. And it isn't all that yucky.
I'd love to be six again.

Just One of Those Days

     Have you ever had one of those days where you crawled up onto your bed to think at 10 PM and then realized you absolutely did not have the energy to get up and change into pajamas, then stayed up until 2 in the morning because you were laying in bed in the dark and thinking and couldn't seem to fall asleep? So you chose to just text random people instead which of course kept your brain stimulated to the point where it is physically impossible to fall asleep. Then when you finally pass out, you are in the middle of a conversation with your old physics teacher and end up drooling on your iPhone all night because you didn't have time to put it away before the sneaky sleep monster crept up on you and you started snoring. Somewhere in your dreams you end up thinking, "At least I don't have to be up early tomorrow. I can sleep 10 hours starting now and still be okay." So you feel somewhat at peace.
     Then magically at 7 AM you become awake. You don't know why or how, but you are wide awake and your brain and body are completely united against you ever falling back asleep. So you go back to laying in your bed and thinking, still wearing the same clothes you had on yesterday. About an hour later you become seized with the urgent need to go watch My Little Pony: Friendship is Magic. And that is how your family comes to find you at 9 in the morning, stretched out on the couch watching Applejack try to harvest an enormous orchard full of apples all by herself and Twilight Sparkle trying in vain to offer her help.
     After about an hour of cartoons, you realize that you absolutely have to go make papier mache right now, RIGHT NOW, even though you haven't done that in at least 10 years. So without saying a word to anyone, you get up, walk away from Rainbow Dash and Princess Celestia, and start mixing together flour and water and ripping up newspaper. The sound draws your family out to see what on Earth you're doing, and when they see they just shake their heads and walk away. You continue frantically crafting your papier mache until your younger sister forces you to stop and eat the lunch she made for you.
     Once you run out of the paste mixture, you realize you don't have any paint to put on your sculpture. So you take both of your sisters to a warehouse craft store (still wearing the same clothes you were wearing yesterday) because the extreme apathy from last night and this morning has all of a sudden turned to unrestrainable energy that must be expended immediately. You buy paint and a bunch of other things to make your craft super awesome.
     When you get home your vase is still wet and you still have lots of energy so you decide it would be fun to go for a run. You forget how much you suck at running and how much it hurts until you're already in the middle of a workout, but you keep going because your brain is screaming "GO DO GO GET STUFF DONE RUN PLAY SING SCREAM AHHH!!!!" Then you get inside and sit down with a Gatorade and realize how nice it is to sit down, and suddenly the apathy is back and you swear you're never going to stand up.
     Until you realize that you work in 40 minutes and still haven't showered, and the frantic urgency comes flooding back and takes you over for the next 8 hours to carry you through a whole shift of scooping ice cream non stop.
     And then you go home and lay on your bed and write a really long blog post about your day and start feeling like maybe you'll never get up again. Again.
     No? Well I have.

I Took The Gifts Up Today

     Every week since I was about eight years old, I have walked into church on Sunday with my heart full of dread. I knew full well that at least once a month when we swung open the big wooden doors and stepped our little dress-clad bodies into the building, the nice old ladies that stood in the back to welcome churchgoers would descend upon my two sisters and I like so many vultures. "Oh, you girls just look precious," they'd swoon. "So pretty in your little dresses. How would you like to take up the gifts?" (For anyone not familiar with this term, taking up the gifts basically entails carrying the bread, wine, and money basket to the front of the church before Communion while every single other person in the church watches, and then turning around and walking right back up the center aisle, also while everyone watches.) My sisters would jump with joy at this opportunity to have a special job, but I, as the oldest and most world-weary of the three, would hang my head. I knew that what we had really signed on for was public humiliation to the highest degree. What if I tripped and spilled the wine on everyone? What if I walked too slow and the music was over before we even reached the altar, and everyone just had to stare at us and listen to our footsteps as we made the harrowing journey? What if there was something on the back of my dress? What if all the holier-than-thou front pew sitters judged me for not bowing deep enough at the altar? So many things could go wrong. So invariably, when we were asked to take up the gifts, I would nod my head. From there, operation Get Out Of This commenced.
     Sometimes I would fake illness, claiming I didn't feel well enough to walk up to the front. Sometimes I would claim I wasn't dressed as nicely as the other two and didn't want to embarrass my mom (which was true surprisingly often, as I always was more of a tomboy.) Sometimes I would be completely honest and just tell my mom I didn't want to do it. Sometimes it even involved tears. No matter what tactic I chose, the result was always the same: my mother would take up the gifts with my sisters, and I would kneel  in the pew by myself and experience the bitter mix of success and failure. Each time I vowed that next time I would man up and just take the gifts already. But it never happened until today.
     At eighteen years old, I no longer step into church with my mom and two sisters in a dress every week. This week, it was just me and my youngest sister, both in simple dress clothes. This did not deter the vultures. They descended before I'd even had time to dip my fingers in the holy water and asked if the three of us would be willing to take up the gifts, still picturing us as at most twelve and assuming our mommy and sister would be along shortly. When telling them there were only two of us still didn't deter them, I just agreed. I was finally trapped and saw no way of getting out of this one.
     As the mass progressed, I considered faking sick. I considered going to the bathroom at the exact wrong time. I considered offering to take the screaming child two rows up to the cry room. But I didn't do any of these things. When we started the prayer of the faithful and I realized that I was very likely going to have to go through with this, a shot of pure adrenaline ripped through my gut. I was terrified. But I walked to the back of the church on shaky legs with my sister at my side. And suddenly, I was sitting back in the pew. It was over. I had walked up. I had bowed. I had carried the wine and not spilled anything. I had seen all the faces looking at me and I looked right back, inordinately proud that I had accomplished what I had never seen most of them do. As I thought back through those monumental thirty seconds, I couldn't keep the smile from spreading over my face. I had won.
     I didn't trip. I didn't die. No one laughed, or even really seemed to care. I took up the gifts today, and lived to tell the tale. And I can only go up from here.

UPDATE: I am ashamed to admit that I stayed out too late partying to post this yesterday when it actually happened. I will have to be more prompt from now on.