Why I'm Thankful I Still Have Fingers

GUESS WHAT EVERYONE. My last blog post reached audience members in Germany and Russia (and if my new international friends are reading this... thank you!) It's so awesome to know that people are looking at this even when I do things a little differently and step away from my humorous posts... maybe I should do it more often? I'll keep the idea in mind. Thank you all from the bottom of my heart! 

Now let's go back to laughing a little bit more. In summer 2009 I went to Knoxville, Tennessee with my youth group for an event called Covenant High in Christ, or CHIC. It was the time of my life and I had an unforgettable time. However, what would a trip be without me doing something super embarrassing? Luckily this time around, I had partners in crime, including two of my best friends. This makes it all the better.

So here's a little background: one afternoon, some kids from my youth group and I decided to join a few other people living in our dorm in an elevator sing-a-long. What we'd do is get in the elevator and hit the buttons to all twelve floors, picking up people along the way to join in whatever song we were singing. Everyone who came on the elevator was really receptive to it and had so much fun they didn't mind all the stops on the way down. Even the two forty-year-old women we expected to yell at us instantly hopped in and contributed to "Build Me Up Buttercup". So, when one does something a little mischievous and doesn't get in trouble for it, what do they do? Usually, they'll continue to do it until they get in trouble for it. Some even push the buttons (no pun intended) and keep going after that.

So naturally when we got back into the elevator later on that night, a few friends and I got on the first floor and hit every single button, 2-12, to start another sing-a-long. But the fun hadn't even begun when our parade got pooped on. Right as the doors were shutting, the meanest, scariest, and grouchiest security guard, Nancy, put her hands between the doors and hopped in. Now picture her: a large woman, probably a solid 250 pounds, wearing an oversized t-shirt, huge glasses, a bull cut, and the largest frown you have ever seen. We have to stop at every. single. floor... with this lovely woman.

The elevator door shuts.

I accept death.

We try to act normally and ask her what floor she's going to. "Seven," she replies.

My friend Chelsea looks at the buttons, every single one of them lit up, awkwardly responds, "You're good! Wow, lucky number seven!" and looks at the floor. I am biting my tongue trying not to lose it, partly because it really was hilarious and also because that is all I can resort to when I feel that uncomfortable.

Nancy glanced at the buttons, realized what we had done, and stares at the four or five of us huddled in the opposite corner of the elevator. By now the door was opening to the second floor. No one was there. Crap.

The door shuts. This is so incredibly awkward. But what happens next is what has haunted me ever since. Nancy looked every single one of us straight in the eye, stops, and snaps in the coldest, most daunting manner possible,

"I am going to break ALL of your fingers."

Oh sweet baby Jesus. Andddd there go my hands, straight in my pockets. Forever.

My friend Anna texts us: "We'll wait for her to get off at the seventh floor and continue." Got it. She continues to text in order to mentally leave the situation. Chelsea and I look over her shoulder to see what she's typing, which looked like:

Asdfjgoiewpajf pwoierjfksldf pwiefjlxkjfo eifhgppdfiwaovnv idfjorjfgldsaoif

The sucker was faking texts. And Chelsea called her out on it. In front of Nancy.

"Anna you big silly, faking texting because you feel awkward! Ha ha ha!"

Well my eyes just about were bugging out of my head at that point. The door opens on the third floor, the fourth floor, the fifth floor. Absolutely no one is getting on this elevator. And after what seemed like an hour, the elevator FINALLY opens on the seventh floor. But Nancy doesn't budge.

"Lucky number seven, here we are! It's all you!" Chelsea says cheerily, trying to lighten the mood.

In the most monotonous growl, Nancy replies, "I knooooow."

I think that's when my friend Gayle may or may not have begun to tear up. It's also when my life started flashing before my eyes. 

But it's also when Anna saved the day. The eighth floor comes, and she casually remarks: "Oh you know what guys? I forgot my cards. We need to go get them if we're going to play a game. Good thing we're on our floor!"

"Oh! Yeah yeah right!" we all say as we go along with her. There was only one problem: our floor was actually the fourth floor, which was long gone, and now we risked getting onto a guy's floor, which wasn't allowed. Praying that the eighth floor was a girls floor, we all get out of the elevator. We walked casually until we were out of Nancy's sight, stopping once we rounded the corner to take a breath of relief that we all still had our fingers. Then we looked down the hallway... to see a guy walking from one room to another.

Well shoot. Shoot me. Shoot us all.

We all looked at each other, and seemed to make an agreement with our eyes that there was only one thing to do if we were going to make an impulsive decision: run. Run really really fast.

We all went into a mad sprint to the other end of the hallway where the door to the staircase was, and about halfway there was when we heard a man shout "HEY! WHAT ARE YOU DOING ON THIS FLOOR? STOP!"

Aw no, we ain't stoppin' for nobody, good sir.

We reach the staircase and begin to break the world record for the fastest time anyone's ever ran down four flights of staircases. After about two we hear "I'M A YOUTH PASTOR AND I CAN RUN FASTER THAN YOU." It probably looked a lot like this:

We hit the door to the fourth floor still out of his sight, and the five of us file through the doorway. Right as the last one of us, which of course was Chelsea, is about to make it through, the rest of us hear from the hallway, "STOP RIGHT THERE." Chelsea turns to see this guy standing at the top of the stairs. Caught.

"What were you doing on a guy's floor?" he asked.

The rest of us huddle by my room door in safety, watching Chelsea ramble: "WellwehadasingalonginthelevatorearlierandwewerejustgoingtohaveanotherandhitallthebuttonsbutNancyandourfingersweregoingtogetbrokenandAnnapretendedtotextbutitdidntworkandshedidntleavesowegotoffonyourfloorbecauseshesscaryandImsorryImreallyreallysorry"

If any of you actually figure out what that whole thing says I'll be thoroughly impressed.

Well thanks to Chelsea's rambling, the guy let us off the hook, but "only because it's Nancy." He knew. She even struck fear into thirty-something year-old men. After calling our youth pastor to explain what happened so he heard it first from us (which he laughed hysterically at... thanks for always being cool Dave) we knew we were in the clear. We may have power walked by Nancy every morning for the rest of the trip, but aside from that we were good. And to this day, although all of us have graduated and gone to college, the story lives on in Woodstock Evangelical Covenant Church youth group history. It was worth it.

Sadly, it can be pretty often we experience people like Nancy, and these people are the hardest to love. But God calls us to love them too, even when they aren't loving us the way they should be. John 13:34 reads,

"A new command I give you: Love one another. As I have loved you, so you must love one another." 

It is a command that we love always, no matter who someone is or how they may treat us. It's the people who don't show others love that usually need to be loved the most. As my favorite social work professor likes to put it, "Hurt people hurt people." Looking back on it, maybe we should have treated her with more grace after the elevator event. Maybe she isn't so scary on the inside once you get to know her. There's a reason people like her are so unpleasant. Everyone has a story, and until you know what that is, choose to love. Even if they want to break all your fingers.

This song of the day absolutely turned my day around today. To be honest with you all, I've been a little down the last few days and was going to post a song that was pulling at my heart strings a little. But then I heard this EDM beauty! I hope it makes you feel as free as it made me feel. The song title provides a perfect one-word description of the outlet music is for me on a day like today: "Escape" by 3LAU, Paris & Simo feat. Bright Lights". Free your mind.

The Pass-Out Trilogy Part 1: You're Never Fully Dressed Without a (Grey) Smile

Before I start this story I just want to say that I have been over the top excited to post this story in particular on here. This is partly because it's not only one of my favorite ones to tell, but also because I feel that this story starts off a streak of the most awkward/embarrassing things that have ever happened to me. So, if the past few stories have been boring you, perk up friends, because this is about to get real.

This story is also from summer 2008, just after my freshman year of high school had finished. My friend Errin (yes, the one from the post "Not So Good AIM") was over per usual for a sleepover. It was just like any other sleepover Errin and I had - catching up on life, going in the hot tub, making silly videos... you get the point. It was about 11:00 at night when we decided to have some ice cream. So, we make massive sundaes with all the toppings one could think of and sit down at my kitchen table to eat them. Sounds like fun, right? Well it was. Until about five minutes later.

As we're enjoying our ice cream, Errin begins to tell me a story. Luckily for her, I'm much too nice to tell it on here since it would probably be incredibly awkward for her and the rest of you if I did. So I'll just say this: there was a lot of blood in the story. Now, up until Errin was telling me this story I didn't realize how blood and I did not get along very well whatsoever. At first I was fine, but as she began to go into further detail, I started getting incredibly squeamish - my stomach turned upside down, my head felt light, and my fingers were tingling as if I had stuck them in ice for an hour. The next fifteen seconds or so went like this:

"Errin... I don't feel good."

"Why?"

"Your story is grossing me out you need to stop talking."

"I'm almost done!"

"Nope you have to stop shut up."

"Seriously like two more sentences!"

"Well if you're going to keep going I need to stand up and hold onto..."

BOOM.

As Errin continued her story, I stood up to grab onto the half wall that separates my kitchen from my living room to get a hold of myself. However, before I could even do so, I passed out cold. Now this wasn't a graceful pass out where my head just slumped over while I was sitting - that's what should have happened. But instead, the idiot writing this blog post decided she was going to stand up. So I literally fell flat out, flipping over a kitchen chair (and breaking it in the process), face first on my hardwood kitchen floor.

This part is according to what Errin told me because I was too busy being completely unconscious to know what was going on. Errin freaks out, sprints up the stairs screaming for my mom, who had heard the bang and thought we were just making some stupid video like we always did. She tells my mom I passed out, and as they are both coming back down the stairs, I start waking up.

When I was on my way to being conscious, I cannot tell you how much pain I was in. Since I had fallen flat out, not only my face, but my entire body hurt. I couldn't remember passing out at all, so I thought I was waking up from a nightmare. What was my solution to that? Waking myself up by screaming.

But it wasn't a nightmare. I was totally awake, my face still in the floor, screaming. By this point Errin and my mom were in the kitchen with me and trying to help me up. As I lift my head up, what's on the floor where my face was? Blood. Perfect, the whole reason I passed out in the first place. My teeth had gone through my upper lip, which was now the size of a golf ball. I was then lead to the couch, where I laid down as my mom got me a huge ice pack to put on my face. Meanwhile, my mom is asking me what happened and Errin is giving me the wide-eyed look that translates to "Don't tell her the story." So, I say what I've still said to this day: "She told me a gross story with a lot of blood in it" (you're all so curious right now. I know). As this is happening, Errin is also texting my boyfriend saying, "Molly passed out." His response? "Wake her up."

Aw! I knew there was a reason I broke up with that one.

The next day I woke up and looked in the mirror to see that the swelling had gone down. However, one of my front teeth and the other tooth next to it had turned grey. That's promising!

We called the dentist to learn that the nerves in those two teeth had instantly died on impact, and to replace the nerves I would need two root canals. This happened, but as for the color of my teeth, the dentist could not do anything until I turned eighteen because if he recolored them and my teeth grew, there would be a line separating the two colors. So friends, for the next three years of my life, I looked like this:

CHECK OUT DAT GREY TOOTH.

So once I turned eighteen, those two teeth were shaved down and replaced with two fake teeth that matched the shape and original color of the old ones. So thankfully, after three years of having to answer the question "what happened to your tooth?", my smile was back to normal.

It was also three years of having to learn to be secure despite a physical flaw that took a while getting used to in the mirror. I had to remember even though my mouth was different, my heart wasn't. In 1 Samuel 16:7, God says to Samuel, 

"The Lord does not look at things people look at. People look at outward appearance, but the Lord looks at the heart." 

We live in a society that tells us our thighs are too thick, and that the gap in between them is too thin. That our hair isn't voluminous enough, our legs aren't long enough. Our teeth aren't white enough. But those aren't the things we should be focus on. When we work out at the gym to get fitter bodies, do our hair to make it shinier and softer, and shop for clothes to flatter us, do we ever take a look at what actually matters to God? I know I'm guilty of not doing so. Beauty has been externalized, and it's time we give it the definition God gave it. Beauty is determined not by what we put on ourselves, but what we find within ourselves. God loves your heart just the way he made it - beautifully and wonderfully. A happy heart that chases the Lord is the secret behind the most beautiful people. Let's try to work on those instead.

Until next time, the song of the day! I haven't done a worship song yet, and I think it's about time it is. Here's one of my favorites that gets me choked up nearly every time I listen to it, by a woman with a voice from heaven - "Love Came Down" by Kari Jobe. Listen and bask in the truth that set you free.

Wet Shorts and Headphone Attacks

This recollection is back from the summer of 2008, when I was going into my sophomore year in high school. My youth group had traveled down to North Carolina for a week to participate in a program called JAARS, an non-profit organization that helps support Bible translation around the world. This is a great cause, however, this trip was not my cup of tea. We stayed in the woods in an area set up to have the atmosphere of Papa New Guinea as we learned what it was like to live the missionary life. We slept in chompas, which are basically tiny log cabins on stilts. Picture something like this:

 Yes, friends. I slept in something like this, except the door was just an open space, there weren't any windows and there were large spaces between the pieces of wood. Right up my alley, isn't it?

We also didn't have any electricity, so we went to the bathroom in outhouses that smelled like the end of the world. I've never smelled hell and thankfully I never will, but it probably smells like those outhouses. I'm not exaggerating. That was the worst thing my nose has ever experienced. Also, when we went to bed it's like all the bugs in the state along with their extended families came out to play. And they were big. Very big. But not big enough to make me cry at night in fear that they'd touch me.

Just kidding, that definitely happened.

But it was scary! I would be lying in the chompa in my Mexican hammock (which I chose to sleep in because when I laid down in it the sides would wrap around my whole body to protect me deathly insects) and it was like an army of bugs were surrounding it just waiting for the perfect time to attack. And with the spaces between the wood, a baby bear could probably climb through, never mind cockroaches and spiders. One night a bat actually came to visit another chompa. Thankfully it wasn't mine. However, my two chompa-mates did find a spider in ours one day and when I asked about its size they wouldn't tell me because they didn't think I'd sleep again.

Well, all of this got to my head. One night, I was wrapped up in my Mexican hammock with my iPod, which tuned out the army of insects. As I was falling asleep, I heard and felt something land on my pillow. I shot up as if I had woken up from a nightmare and shouted to my friend Kailyn, "TURN ON YOUR FLASHLIGHT !" She woke up, managed to find the flashlight, and pointed it at my pillow to reveal what life threatening species had come to visit me. And when she did, it turned out to be a vicious, dangerous, man-eating...

... headphone. The headphone that had fallen out of my ear and hit my pillow. Yikes.

After Kailyn laughed at me and went back to sleep, I eventually managed to get my heart rate back to normal and catch some z's myself. But only for a few hours, because I woke up in the middle of the night. This was my least favorite, because it forced me to remember that I was in the dark woods lying in a hammock surrounded by lethal headphones. But what was even worse than this is when you're in the dark woods lying in a hammock surrounded by lethal headphones and you have to pee, because that means you have to get out of your hammock and face it all, only to enter the end-of-the-world outhouses that make you gag until your eyes water. So you could understand why I would hold it for as long as I could.

Well, I tried for a good twenty minutes to avoid leaving my protective hammock, but after a while I had to go so badly I knew I had no other choice but to sprint down the trail to the outhouse. But the thing is, I waited so long that I did not give myself much time to get there. When I got up, I couldn't find my flip flops. After realizing I wasn't going to find both of them, I put the first one I could find on my other foot. I'm fairly positive I had two left shoes on when I began to tinkle right on the spot. I b-lined it out of the chompa and down the trail, but by the time I got to the outhouse there was nothing for me to leave there, and a trail to prove it that started at the top of the stairs and ended midway down the dirt path.

Perfect.

After everything was said, done, and changed into, I went back to sleep and woke up the next morning, only to walk down the stairs to my youth pastor, who said, "Molly, I hear your headphones were out to get you last night." And per usual, this girl was the laughing stock of the day (it's okay, I take ownership of that daily with pride now).

Sometimes we have to face our fears (usually not wetting ourselves in doing so). Sometimes taking on the things that scare us helps us to get over these fears, and other times it just makes us stronger in experiencing them. This trip took me way out of my comfort zone. But I think we all need to go through things like that in order to develop character. Did I have the time of my life there? Not necessarily, but I look back on that trip and am glad I was able to have that experience. Usually we don't realize how much we take the things that comfort us for granted until we're outside of our comfort zones.Whenever we're in a spot like this, we need to remember Romans 5:3-4: "Not only so, but we also glory in our sufferings, because we know that suffering produces perseverance; perseverance, character; and character, hope." It's the times we feel the most miserable that bring the times we feel the most strength. I can say I've been through much harder times than sleeping in the woods in a chompa, but I can also say God has brought me through each one with more character and more hope that He will be with me through these times until He brings me out of them. The trip also made me have a whole new appreciation for those who make a living out of their comfort zones. Next time you talk to a missionary, thank them for the work they do.

And next time you talk to a Mexican, tell them they make quality hammocks.

Song of the day time! I have always loved Coldplay, but their new album "Ghost Stories" is beyond my expectations. Please do yourself a favor and listen to it. Here's a magical track off of it, which I love in particular not only because of Chris Martin's beautiful falsettos, but because of the unusual EDM feel it has. Enjoy "A Sky Full of Stars".

Zero Score and Seven Years Ago

PEOPLE. I'm so sorry. I'm so so sorry. It's been too long! College is hard. But it's finally done for now, which means I can be much more committed to making you laugh. So let's pick up where we left off.

The summer going into 8th grade very well read into how the following school year would turn out. It might have been one of the overall most awkward years of my life. My very dark hair had very blonde highlights, which were legitimately yellow. Ask any of my friends. They were (and still are) very honest individuals who told me it didn't look good. Did I listen to them? No, of course I didn't. So for the remainder of the year, I looked like a burger with too much mustard on it. Bad life choice? Yes, Molly. Very bad life choice. I try not to think about it, but whenever I do I wish my 21-year-old self could have been there to scream "STOP WHAT YOU'RE DOING RIGHT NOW YOU'LL REGRET THIS." But I couldn't. So I did it. And I regret it.

I digress. This story is from May of that year. It was the time every 8th grade student dreaded; the assignment they had been hearing of from their older peers for the past three years: memorizing the Gettysburg Address and reciting it in front of the class (and if you wanted to embarrass yourself even more, choosing to sing the school house rock version of it). Since the whole hair situation was bad enough I opted to say it rather than sing it because I wanted to be at least somewhat comfortable with myself. So for the next two weeks, I went home to burn the Gettysburg Address into my brain. I listened to it on my iPod, split up the sections into flash cards to study, and recited it to myself in the shower. I mean, all I wanted was a good grade.

So the day of reciting came, and my work paid off as I nailed it. But there's one more thing I meant to mention... our history teacher chose one student out of the whole grade to recite it in front of hundreds of people at our town's memorial day parade. So the next day, after a night of pondering who to choose, who do you think she approached in the hallway to let them know she picked them?

Yes. That would be me.

At the time, my 14-year-old self was honored, and I figured, "I recited it perfectly once; what's another go?" Had my 21-year-old present self again had been there, she probably would have said "Molly, save yourself. It only gets more awkward from here so you might as well have one less story to write on your blog."

But as I said before I had no future self to hold me back, so I began the routine again: iPod, flash cards, shower, and now reciting it in front of my family and their friends, and going to bed listening to it. I could NOT mess this up.

The day of the parade came. We listened to our first selectman speak, then a poem was recited by another girl in my grade. And then it was my turn.

Did I mention that I was in the middle school marching band that was participating in this parade? The one with the big, bulky maroon and gold uniforms? The one that I had to wear as I stood in front of the entire town and their cousin? Well, I was in the marching band with the big bulky maroon and gold uniforms that I had to wear in front of the whole entire town and their cousin. As you picture this, don't forget the previous description of my hairstyle at the time. This is hard for me to do, but I do it because I love you all. Here is a picture from this very day so you can accurately picture the embarrassment I faced without even having to get up on stage:

Oh, yes I know. That's bad. You're welcome.

So in my band uniform and cheeseburger hair, I took a breath, looked at my history teacher next to my mom with the camera, and began: "Four score and seven years ago, our fathers..."

And I went right through it without missing a word, then confetti fell while everyone did the Harlem shake.

Just kidding!

I got about halfway through, and it was right around "It is for the living, rather..." when I completely blanked out. And I'm not talking about a little awkward pause, I'm talking about an absolute brain fart in which I had literally no clue what came next. So a little awkward pause turned into about thirty seconds (it was probably ten, but if felt like eternity to me) of "uhhhhh..." and nervously clicking my tongue. And you know that face people make when a football player accidentally tackles the opposing coach trying to catch a ball going out of bounds while going "oooooh"? That's the face everyone was making, including my history teacher and my mom with the camera... still recording.

After skipping two or three lines, I found my way to the end of the speech. My face was on fire with embarrassment as everyone gave me the pity applause and Abraham Lincoln rolled in his grave. I then did probably what any other eighth grader would want to do after putting an iconic speech to shame: hopped back in line with the marching band, clarinet in hand.

Thankfully, the incident isn't brought up too much anymore, and six years later I have yet to watch the video of it. But on the bright side, if it hadn't happened it would be one less blog post/opportunity for me to make fun of myself.

In the winter I finished Joyce Meyer's daily devotional "The Confident Woman" (please note that as I typed that I began laughing hysterically picturing the name of this book along with the picture of me above). A few of the messages toward the end of the study had been about how God sometimes uses trials in order to prepare us for something else in the future. Usually, these are humbling experiences that turn prideful people into ones who find their confidence in God rather than in themselves. Maybe I failed miserably that day because my pride was in myself, the girl who had nailed the speech in class a week before. Or maybe God was trying to better prepare me for the next time I had to memorize something. Either way, our failures along the road shouldn't discourage us. Rather, we should look at it with a positive attitude as a learning experience from God. Proverbs 1:5 says, "The wise also will hear and increase in learning, and the person of understanding will acquire skill and attain to sound counsel." This was just one of many lessons God taught me - my self-confidence will only be effective if it's in Him. He builds this up in us as we go throughout our lives. While God further prepares us for future opportunities, our pride lessens as he gives us learning experiences that humble us.

Here's the song of the day that I found to get me through finals week, and I LOVE IT SO MUCH. The covers by this girl are phenomenal. This song is great for relaxing, driving home after a long day, or spending time to yourself: The Postal Service's "The District Sleeps Alone Tonight" by Birdy. (I'm now linking them since the videos haven't been showing. All you have to do is click!)

Through the Roof

This was the summer going into my eighth grade year. For some reason, a lot of people in my class had pool parties that year, including myself. This recollection comes from the very first one. Leave it to me to go out with a bang right off the bat.

At this particular pool party, the girl hosting it had a barn next to her house. Once we were all done swimming, we gathered into the barn to hang out. Some people were shooting hoops at the basketball net inside of it, others were singing along to Rascal Flatts (I recall one kid using a canoe paddle as a microphone to "Life Is A Highway"... middle school), and others just talking on the side. Somewhere along the lines, someone requested a game of manhunt. And this, my friends, is where it really begins.

This barn had second-floor loft that looked over the bottom of it. A few people thought it would be a good place to start the game, so three or four of us went up the stairs to hide there. Once at the top, we spread out a bit. However, my friend and I began to goof around a bit. He found a pair of crutches and started hitting me with one of them. So, in my defense, I took a step back, which was naturally landed right on top of a loose piece of wooding in the floor.

And through it went my right leg.

I remember a girl on the first floor of the loft screaming as she saw my limb coming through the ceiling. My friend’s face looked as if he had hit me with a car. He instantly grabbed my hand and pulled me back so the entirety of my body was on the loft once again. However, my thigh looked as if it had gone through a wood chipper.

So I limped down the stairs, out of the barn, and into the house to show my leg to two of the moms who were chaperoning this rowdy middle school pool party. Somewhere between the loft and the house, someone started a rumor that my little fall occurred while I was making out with someone (who wasn't even on the loft by the way, so props to whoever set that one up). When I entered the kitchen, the two moms immediately began cleaning up my leg. When they asked how it happened, I simply stated "playing manhunt," two which one of the moms replied, "Well, that makes sense because I heard you hunted down your man."

GREAT. So now not only does it look like I fell victim to an army of cats, everyone there (including two MOMS... seriously, moms!) thinks I'm a big hussy. No one ever believed me when I said there was no smooching involved, and even through high school people brought it back up: "Hey, remember that time you fell through Andrea's loft makin’ out with TJ?" Eventually I stopped defending myself.

Oh, and I forgot to mention that I had to run in a state-wide track championship the next day. My wrecked thigh ran a 6:02 mile; one second behind the winner, two seconds from going to nationals in Pennsylvania. I probably would have claimed victory had that boy not been kissing me! Shucks (cue the sarcasm).

Truthfully, we all fall down sometimes, literally and figuratively. I've fallen down many times, and there are more blog posts that will be inspired from these tumbles. Luckily, those were hysterical and make hilarious stories. But sometimes it's not so funny when we fall. It's not so much a physical one, but a shortcoming that makes us feel hopeless and miserable, one that makes us wonder if we'll ever be able to lift ourselves off the ground. Bad news is we can't lift ourselves off the ground. Good news is, we have a God who can.

Isaiah 41:10 says, "So do not fear, for I am with you; do not be dismayed, for I am your God. I will strengthen you and help you; I will uphold you with my righteous right hand." God upholds us. Isn't it an awesome thought to picture the Creator of the universe keeping us upright with His very own hand? Next time you're feeling an all-time low, know that Someone wants to pull you up from the floor, whether or not your leg is descending from a ceiling. He won't walk away once He picks you up either. He will hold you until you are strong enough to stand up on your own, and even then He will continue to hold your hand through the good and the bad life brings.

Here's some love for your ears. I stumbled upon this hidden gem by Adele a few years ago and had forgotten how beautiful it was until (to my pleasant surprise) I heard a girl sing it at a bar last week. I've been listening to it constantly all over again ever since. Sit back, relax, and let "Daydreamer" ease your stresses for a few minutes. Enjoy!

Not So Good AIM

I've been trying so hard to think of the next awkward memory, and middle school is surprisingly an era in which I can't think of too much. Therefore, the next one is another jump, this time to seventh grade. I apologize for this, but I promise that as the timeline of my life gets closer to the present I'll remember more.

When I reflect back on being thirteen, one of the most prominent memories is a little thing we liked to call AIM - don't act like you don't remember AOL instant messenger. We all did it. We all had a cheesy screenname and a nicely decorated profile with stupid quotes about love (because when you're that age you definitely know what love is; you could tell by the profile sections dedicated to boyfriends. Example: "You and I collide... Ilysm Luke 4/28/06 forever and always <33333" which was of course posted a week after the romantic start of their "relationship"). You did it. You know it. Be embarrassed for your 13-year-old self. On a side note, anyone else have the "bloop" sound of receiving a message going through their head now too? Because I freaking do.

But I digress. One day, I was chatting via AIM with my friend Errin aka SincerelyxoMe (you know, the one I was sad wasn't next to me when I blew snots in 3rd grade? ps. Errin, what even did that screenname mean?) We were talking about my current crush of the week, whose name was... let's call him Billy. We sat next to each other in language arts class, where every super romantic relationship begins. And no, I didn't sneeze all over that desk too thank you very much.

Anyway, as Errin and I were discussing my undying love for him, who sends me an AIM message? You got it - Billy. I nearly fell off my chair and concussed as my heart pounded like a jackhammer. So what would any other girl do? Message the other friend about it in absolute freakout mode. And this is what it looked like.

mollayyyx22: omg errin. billy messaged me

mollayyyx22: hes so hot

mollayyyx22: im so nervous im sweating like a pig :x

mollayyyx22: he said hi. wut do I say?!

And guess what? Errin never responded. Why? Let me guess. You think I'm going to say I sent the whole thing to Billy himself.

Well good for you for guessing right because that's exactly what happened.

So of course, my word vomit was followed by

mollayyyx22: omg... Im sry. I sent this to the wrong person.

mollayyyx22: just forget that ever happnd

I really wanted to die, partly because I had just told homeboy I thought he was hot and that I was sweating profusely because of it, and partly because I couldn't even completely spell out "sorry". But you know what? It didn't turn out so bad because although it was super embarrassing in time period it took for him to respond, it was very relieving when he did. He ended up saying "lol its ok I think ur really cute too."

WELL BE STILL MY HEART IF THAT'S NOT THE SWEETEST THING ANYONE'S EVER SAID (MESSAGED) TO ME.

And that's when our very serious, romantic, kissless two-week-long relationship began. And no, I never got to the point of having his name and our anniversary with a sappy song lyric in my profile.

And yes, the last sentence was a complete lie.

My point for this one is, sometimes things don't go the way we expected them to - they end up being even better (not that the result of my story was of a pressing trial followed by a complete miracle from God, but you see my connection. Here's my first example of a teensy stretch I said I would make at times, but it's still relevant!). We freak out about our huge exam next week only to get an A. We get rejected from one job only to receive a better one. We send messages to our crush by accident only to find out he likes you too (alright, well not anymore. But sometimes he does end up liking you back and telling you IN PERSON). Things do go our way!

Romans 8:28 is one of the most reassuring verses in the Bible. It reads, "And we know that God causes everything to work together for the good of those who love God and are called according to his purpose for them.” Trials are inevitable. They're going to happen. But they happen for a bigger reason. Sometimes one thing goes wrong so that something better can go right. When it's hard to understand why things aren't going the way you planned, trust that God has something even better in store for you. The result will be beyond anything you'd ever expect!

Anyone who knows me well knows I'm quite the fan of EDM music. Today I bring you my most recent love from the genre. Hope it's a head banger for you: W&W's take on "U" by Gareth Emery featuring Bo Bruce.

Lights, Camera... Awkward.

It's a rainy Sunday, but I hope you're finding sunshine in other places today! Like faith, music or laughter ;) speaking of which... on to the next one, shall we?

So after I recovered from my boogery episode, it was quite some time before I had another incredibly embarrassing encounter. Actually I can't recall one from the rest of that year or even the next year, which means I either did a pretty good job avoiding similar situations, or I can't just can't remember it... in other words blocked it out of my memory. Probably that one.

Anyway, the next happening I can recall was two years later. I was in middle school at this point, which consists of the four most awkward years of your life (true for most people, however my life gets more awkward as I get older). My mom had taken my younger sister and I to a children's museum on this particular day, and we had a blast. There was a plethora of activities kids my age would find engaging, so my sister and I had a pretty good time. I just ALMOST made it through the day without embarrassing myself. Almost.

But before I get there, we need a little background. My favorite part of the museum was definitely the room with the mock news broadcasting station. You sat in a chair behind a desk, at which there were papers about the weather and such. As you pretended to be a news anchor, you could look at yourself in a little television screen in front of you. So naturally, always being on to love the camera, I ate this right up. I sat in the chair, telling my invisible audience what to expect in the forecast over the next few days. However, after a few minutes I cared less about the news and more about the fact that I could see myself in a television.

So I made things a little more interesting. I decided I was going to pretend to be the worst news anchor the world has ever seen. I made the ugliest faces possible, sticking my tongue out, pretending to pick my nose... you get the picture. I left my seat and got right up into the camera so it could get an inside look at my eyes, my nostrils, my mouth, and the rest of my purposefully unattractive face. It was a great way to entertain my 10-year-old self. After ten minutes or so, my sister and I decided it was time to move on. So we went from room to room, enjoying the rest of our day partaking in the various activities the museum had to offer.

Just before we were about to leave, my mom decided to take a look in the gift shop, which was located in the front lobby. As we were looking at all of the souvenirs, t-shirts, and stuffed animals, I heard someone laughing. I turned around to see a woman pointing up at a monitor attached to the wall in the corner of the room. On the monitor was a little boy doing the news. I thought to myself, "Oh how funny! They have a live view of the news room!"

Oh sweet mother of God. They have a live view of the news room.

Which means that as I was making a complete and utter fool of myself, I actually did have an audience in the gift shop of the museum. These people saw up my nostrils. They saw me pretending to pick them. They saw the inside of my mouth. My ugliest faces. And to think the only people who could see me were my sister and Mom. WHAT WAS THIS SOME SORT OF CRUEL TRICK. A children's museum ruining the self-esteem of children scarring their memories of 5th grade forever! Go figure. I wanted to crawl in a hole. If I ever had a dream of being an anchorwoman it was shot right there. I have never been so happy to leave somewhere that's supposed to be fun. 

I guess we never really know if and when people are watching us. That's why it's so important to be a witness to what we believe in. Matthew 5:16 says, "In the same way, let your light shine before others, so that they may see your good works and give glory to your Father who is in heaven." We can glorify God in the simplest of ways, whether it's holding a door for someone with a friendly smile, doing the dishes for our roommates, or leaving a nice note for someone we care about. Even when we don't think people are watching, people notice when you do things differently. Our light can shine before others even when we don't think they're paying attention to our actions. Even when the camera is on you alone, consider who could be in the lobby.

I've noticed that the Youtube attachments for the song of the day have only been showing up on my computer and not my phone. I hope that I can fix this, and until then if you can't see the video I encourage you to look it up (otherwise you'll miss out on making your ears happy).

So here it is! I'm obsessed with this cover of "Red" by Tyler Ward (which in my opinion knocks the socks off the original). Perfect for a rainy day! Enjoy, wonderful people.

Let's Start at the Very Beginning, A Very Good Place to... Snot.

Happy Saturday beautiful people! It's time for the official first post. Are you ready?

Let us begin with the very first awkward moment of my memory. If I wanted to go really far back, I guess I could start with that time in kindergarten I knocked over the puppet show stand on top of this girl named Briana, sending her to the floor. But I think that was just straight out funny. I actually don't recall feeling embarrassed.

So, skip to third grade because that's the next one I can think of. It was my first day at a new school. My family had moved a town over, which is scary enough for an 8-year-old that has lived in the same place since the world was ever so blessed with her presence (I'm joking). I remember my mom walking me into my new class, with twenty new faces that were staring at me as if a giraffe had walked into the room (which could be taken literally... I was always tall for my age). In addition to this, my teacher was not the warmest and fuzziest teddy bear. Actually she scared me. She scared me a lot. Especially when she lowered her eyebrows. I don't even remember her smiling when she introduced me as I clung to my mom like a freaking koala bear. I instantly missed my teacher from the other school, who could be compared to Miss Honey from Matilda.

Once my mom peeled me off of her leg, she went off for work and I was left to fend for myself in a new world of foreign creatures. My teacher led me to my new desk, which I already hated because my best friend Errin was not in the seat next to me. She wasn't even in the same building. What was this life?

It was the beginning of an incredibly awkward one; I can tell you that much.

I was sitting in my desk, not making eye contact with anyone. No one had even said hello to me yet. As I looked at the clock, pondering what my other class was doing at the time and wishing I were with them, I felt something coming on. Oh no. Not a sneeze.

Yes, a sneeze. And not just a cute little "a-choo!" that would break the tension. This is the sneeze that rocked the world. I leaned back to brace it, so far as if the grossest 3rd-grade boy was trying to kiss me, and shot forward like a crash-test dummy as it came out. And it wasn't just a sneeze that erupted from my little self. It was every booger in my being as well. I'm not even kidding. This was the snottiest sneeze I've ever experienced, and it was all over my new desk. And the worst part is, I'd been in the room for about 2.5 minutes.

Do you think I knew where the tissues were?

So here I am, the new girl, attached to my desk by the line of snot protruding from my right nostril, scanning the room from left to right hoping to come across a Kleenex. It was probably a perfect freeze frame for one of those "wanna get away?" commercials. Unfortunately, Southwest Airlines wasn't there for me. Luckily, somebody was. Before I could find the tissues myself, the precious girl sitting next to me quickly ran up, grabbed the box of them, and returned them to my desk. I ever so quickly cleaned up the mess my sneeze had made, hoping that a minimum amount of my new classmates had witnessed the whole event. I thanked my new friend for saving me, and she asked if I wanted to eat lunch with her, a question I got from three more people before it was time to eat my sandwich. It could of been out of pity that all the girls wanted to eat lunch with Molly McSneezy-Sneeze, but at that point I didn't really care. If others are willing to brush off your embarrassing moment, you might as well do it too. And it actually ended up being a pretty good day for the new girl.

Isn't it nice when others help clean up your mess, not because they have to but because they don't want to see you do it alone? Proverbs 17:17 reads, "A friend loves at all times." All times meaning yes, even when you have boogers all over you. Even when you're falling apart and have no clue what to do with yourself. I know I'm blessed enough to have more than a handful friends who will always come running with the Kleenex, and if they're reading this, hey friends, thanks for the times you've provided the tissues, literally and figuratively. If you have friends like these, cherish them and don't let them go.

So there it is, lesson of the day: keep the friends that will always be there to help clean up your boogers. To my own, thank you very much for every time I've said "I'm getting snot on your shirt" only to hear "It's okay!"

And as promised, I bring you the very first song of the day from one of my favorite artists who I am lucky enough to have met. If you ask me, this is a really great song to listen to while cleaning or night driving. Take it away, sir.

"Signs of Life" - Andrew Belle

The First Post

Hi there, friends! Thanks for taking the time to even click the link to this, never mind reading any of it. You are awesome.

So you probably want to know what the heck you are reading. I'm kind of asking myself the same question. You see, I've tried this whole blog thing before, with the same concept as this blog will have. But there was one problem: I didn't post it anywhere. I was way too shy to, so only a true few knew about it. And even though everyone said it was hilarious, that still didn't give me the confidence boost I needed to make it public. But I decided that today was the day, because why not just suck it up and do it?

Whether this is your first time reading my blog, or if this happens to be one of the five people who knew about it before, I want to explain the basis of my new-and-improved blog. Since I'm now posting publicly, I wanted the title and url to be more catchy and memorable. This is why I am now calling my blog "FML". This is for two reasons:

1. This blog follows my incredibly awkward self and the frequent unbelievable situations I get myself into. And what does our culture usually say in times like these? You know it: "F My Life", usually abbreviated into "FML."

2. But we don't want to F our lives, because life is an absolutely beautiful thing. So coincidentally, I realized that the three things my old blog revolved around actually made another FML acronym: Faith, Music, Laughter. When I'm personally having one of those "FML" days, I tend to turn to the other FML to feel better. I think this stands true for a lot of people, or at least the ML. For me, all three are incredibly huge parts of my life. So, I wanted to be able to share that with others. I want the sharing of my faith to encourage you, the music I post to make you feel something, and the stories I write to make you laugh. I hope I am successful in at least one of these.

This is how my blog posts work:

I begin with the hilariously awkward story, which is usually the biggest chunk of the blog, because what is a good story without every single juicy detail? Then I connect the story to a bible verse, and elaborate a bit on what we can learn from that. I know what you're thinking: how does this girl think she can connect some awkward story from her childhood to a devotional that's supposed to encourage me? I'll admit, sometimes it's a stretch, but I do my absolute best. Bear with me! Whether it ends up relating pretty accurately or if it has nothing to do with the price of tea in China, I hope that whatever I say in that section will uplift you. If it helps, read it completely separately. Lastly, I post the "Song of the Day", which is simply a song that is so good I wouldn't want to hide it from anyone!

I also occasionally post what I like to call "awk-words", which are shorter stories that don't need much detail or simple little moments or thoughts that occur as I go throughout my day. This could be pertaining to the F, the M, or the L.

So whether you're here for the F, the M, the L, or all of the above, I hope you can apply whatever I say to your life. Maybe you're here because you, as well, are awkward and it makes you feel better to know it happens to other people. Perhaps you love music and just want to refresh your ears with something new. Or maybe you need some encouragement and cheering up on a rough day. Either way, I thank whoever you are for being here and embarking on my journey of life with me!

I'll be taking the blog posts I've already written from my old one and adding one each day, until we're all caught up and ready to continue where I left off. Also - I'm a fan of constructive criticism. If you aren't a fan of something I wrote, please don't hesitate to tell me!

I hope you learn, I hope you listen, I hope you laugh, and most of all, I hope you dance.
God Bless you all. Let's make "FML" a phrase that embraces life.

Molly