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!)