The Pinata

November 5, 2015

And right when I least expected it, there It was.
Its undeniable beauty, charm, and alluring temptation caught my eye like a blinking streetlight in the middle of the night.
It was different from the others I had seen; something about Its vibrant colors and child-like nature made my heart skip a beat.
It called me in.
The way It just loosely drifted where the wind blew It made it impossible to look away, as if It was directly saying "Go ahead. Give me a chance."
And I couldn't say no. I wanted whatever was inside.
I approached It, cautiously but with wonder, slowly but with haste, and took a whack at It.
It jerked away quickly in response and wandered back slowly, completely unbroken.
Without hesitation, I took another swing. This time my efforts left a dent, but  It still refused to break.
I hit It another time, this time with more force.
Nothing.
Now the frustration was building inside of my body as my heart began to burn, but I wasn't letting go without a fight. I knew what I wanted. I knew It held promise.
"Enough for today," I said to myself, "maybe tomorrow, or the next day, or the next..."

I came back everyday for weeks upon weeks until they turned into months, but I still couldn't get It to come down from where It was knotted so tightly.
Perhaps someone once tied It a little too securely.
But I wasn't giving up. There were times I almost thought It would open, that Its beautifully colorful pieces would fly through the air as I caught whatever came out of It to keep to myself.
Oh, the joy the vision of that held in my head.
Other times I felt too exhausted, almost to the point of hopeless, as if I had nearly accepted that I wasn't strong enough to keep trying.
"You'll always be there, over my head as I beg you to come down."
But I couldn't walk away,
"It'll be worth all of this effort", I promised myself each night as I faded away to sleep, dreaming of the prize It held.

One day, when the construction of my confidence was almost complete, I pursued another attempt.
But today was different.
Today It was gone.
So I ran, full speed until I could find It.
No matter where It was, I still wanted It.
And just as I thought that maybe now was the time to finally let go, to finally open my clenched fists of the fantasy I pictured beyond Its cardboard walls,
There It was - with all the promise the world could offer, retied somewhere new, and this time not as tightly.
I breathed a sigh of relief.
"Finally."

Thinking I could take down Its prideful refusal to move with one blow, I went at It with all I had.
But there It stayed, swaying and stubborn over the defeated limbs It was teasing.
"I can't do this anymore!", I shouted at It as if I expected a satisfactory response that might offer comfort, "I can't take another day of this false hope!"
I resented It.
I lost trust in It.
I almost hated It, for all that time It lured me in only to stay right where It was despite Its desperate begging to come down.
I broke.
I picked up my bat and I swung, over and over and over again as if nothing would come next if I failed to complete the mission my heart sent me on so long ago.
I was relentless, fearlessly striking It with controlled yet desperate hands as hot tears revealed themselves from where they had been hiding, and with an exhausted breath I gave in.
And in that moment, as I threw away the bat, I looked up from the ground I had fallen on, to see that
It had broken and almost in slow motion,
As its knotted string slipped loose
And its colored exploded
It
Was
Falling.
And when It finally joined me there on the ground, broken and vulnerable after the fight was fought and the white flags were risen,
I surrendered on my knees in tearful defeat and felt the most heart-wrenching, heavily-sinking disappointment as I studied all of Its aesthetically shattered pieces on the floor.
Because then was when I realized that to my dismay, but not to my surprise, that the entire time

It was Empty.

"I Found" - Amber Run

Learning To Let Go

I think from here on out I'm going to stop apologizing from my lack of posts and gently ask you to not expect me to post too consistently. As much as I'd love to have an hour or two to literally sit and write every day, that does not happen for months on end. But I'm here tonight, and that makes me so grateful! I've been itching to blog for weeks and I finally caught a good moment to curl up with a little wine, a couple candles, and a lot of writing material to approach this one with. I hope it was worth the wait (I say this as if you were waiting for it. You probably weren't but that's alright). Also, disclaimer: this is one of my more vulnerable posts. Bear with me. Thanks)!

Five years ago to the day, I was at the tail end of my eighth and final cross country season. One crisp autumn day at practice, coach decided that our form during races while going downhill was terrible - he explained how we were locking up our bodies, as if we were afraid to fall, and that it was slowing us down when we could be taking advantage of the downhill momentum. He instructed us instead to loosen our limbs as much as we could - expanding our arm span to further widen the strides between each step. In his words, "you have to learn to just let yourselves go."

As a senior, I was the captain of twenty-one girls and therefore was depended on by my coach to be a leader - the one who goes first. So of course, he volunteered me to demonstrate what a proper downhill should look like - "Molly, you're the captain here. Why don't you show the girls how it's done?"

I laughed as I confidently strutted to the top of the steepest hill of our course. I gazed down the yellow grass that sloped to the flat surface at the bottom of the incline, assessing the difficulty and carefully planing out my steps before taking the first one. When I felt ready, I went for it - I leaped my leg out in front of me and let the other follow, transforming every joint in my body into jello. I felt as if I had a hold of myself for maybe the first five steps, and then quickly realized I was doomed when my legs began moving with too much speed for the rest of my body to handle. I guess this is why they say it's the captain that goes down with the ship.

Before I knew it, my legs had completely given out behind me as my body slammed into the ground halfway down the hill, my face planted into the muddy grass, and my legs ending up over my head as I front-flipped my way to the bottom. And then I just laid there as my coach and teammates burst into hysterics (which is okay, because I was doing the same). Since our course was in the back of our fairgrounds (yes, the one I passed out at), the grass was covered in cow droppings. That day was the day my teammates endearingly coined, "the practice Molly literally ate shit."

I got up and tried again, the next time more successfully. After each attempt, I slowly began to develop the art of letting my body go in a somewhat-controlled form without ending up covered in crap. With each meet that went by after that, I used each downhill to pass as many people as I could. It quickly became my favorite part of each race, aside from the end.

Several autumns later, I'm in a completely different stage of life but I'm still learning to just let myself go - except I'm currently in the position of front-flipping out of control. For as long as I can remember, I've been running through life in a locked-up position: planning my future carefully before I take a step to ensure everything goes exactly how I expect it to, kind of like I did that day at cross country practice right before face-planting. And that's exactly where it lead me today - a place I never pictured myself in when I took the first step into this new stage of life.

I'm over ten months out of college (what), I can barely pay my rent, my job is beyond mediocre and not a day goes by that I don't think "what the heck am I doing?" Before I had a purpose in waiting this season out, but to my own surprise the relationship I planned my life around no longer exists. I'm suddenly trying to figure out what the future looks like by myself, and I'm in a space where I literally don't know to do that. This has caused me to wrestle with a ton of emotions, a lot of soul-searching, answer-seeking, confusion, hurt, and hopelessness, to be honest. I haven't thought about Molly's future with no one else attached in five years. It's one of the most strange and uncomfortable places I've ever been.

To deal with this, my natural, control-freak instinct wants to carefully narrow each option down and carefully plan out the next step in my life - and that's where I'm being challenged. I just returned home from a college retreat with my church here, now that I'm a college ministry leader (which is an absolute blessing, by the way). Last night during our last session, Todd Roberts, pastor of Antioch Sheffield in England (I know - awesome, right?) spoke about making ourselves available to God's call. It's less about being called to a specific vocation or ministry, and more about making ourselves available to what God has for us. During his message, he asked "Are you making yourself available, and if not what is it that's holding you back?" It hit me like a brick wall. I realized that for the last five years, I've just been waiting for the ultimate call, never really feeling as if I'm right where I'm supposed to be. And it never really came because I was never available enough for God to use me the way He wanted to - the relationship I was planning everything else around was holding me back.

Another addition to God's art gallery from last night.

When Todd found himself in this position, he felt God was telling him to sacrifice the American Dream - stop worrying about finding your wife and settling down. Nothing has ever resonated with me so much. I've never wanted anything more than that - to settle down, start my life with someone I love, and have a family, a dog, a house that looks like Pinterest threw up on it, a Subaru Forester with a youth league soccer bumper sticker (I know, someone slap me please). But last night I realized that I've been living my life with my body locked, my mind fixated on the idea of that - and I wasn't going anywhere too far until I was moving toward that. Last night was also day one of God teaching me, "you just have to learn to let yourself go."

So here I am - letting go. Of the American Dream, the ridiculously good-looking husband, the rustic, quote-filled house, the yellow lab, and not just the things of the future, but the present - my job, my finances, the opinions of my family, my comfort, and the things that make sense. I'm available, and I'm ready for anything. I'm at the top of the hill again, but this time I'm not planning out my steps - I'm taking the free fall, trusting that my eternal Coach is there to keep me from falling as those I'm leading watch on. I have no idea where it will take me, and I'm scared out of my mind to let go of the control of the future I've always clenched in my fists - but I'm excited to see what happens as I surrender that to the One who holds my future. I'm already slowly seeing the beginning of this journey - but I'll wait to see it come to fruition a bit before I share that part with you all.

I was given some hope last night, as I had a bit of deja vu. Three years ago (almost to the exact day), I was a sophomore in college on my own retreat as a student. The message was the same, and I decided to let go (temporarily) of the things that were holding me back. The band called those who were making that decision to surrender themselves to God's call to the front - and as I knelt before the Father, I sobbed - but I had never felt so free. That year, I experienced the love of God more closely than ever before, and at the end of that spiritual high I was baptized. Last night, I decided to permanently give up control of my life and make myself available to whatever it is God has for me. I was again called to the front to kneel down and receive prayer. I again felt the freedom I hadn't felt in three years. It may have been a completely different retreat with totally different musicians, but as all of this happened the band played the same song that had played in that very moment three years ago. Here it is, of course today's song of the day:

"I Surrender" by Hillsong

"Here I am, down on my knees again

Surrendering all, surrendering all,

Find me here, Lord as You draw me near

I'm desperate for you, I surrender...

...Lord have Your way in me."

The Pass-Out Trilogy Part 3: Life Isn't Fair

AMIGOS! I apologize for my sense of humor taking a hiatus there. My sensitive side really threw a hissy fit for a bit but it's slowly calming down. I'm back and ready to make fun of myself. So let's throw it back to my senior year of high school, where my next awkward recollection takes place.

Every year, as the summer comes to a close, the town my high school is in has a massive fair. It's a pretty big deal. People come from all over to spend money on food that makes your arteries clog just by looking at it and to go on rides that look like they could fall apart at any given moment (can you tell how much I enjoy fairs?) And yet it's still important enough for my high school to get a half-day on opening day so that everyone can go.

I've never had positive experiences with fairs. I was the kid you would see get off of rides and sprint to the trash can because she absentmindedly ate a cheeseburger before going on it. In seventh grade I got dumped while waiting in line for the ferris wheel. One year in high school some dude's cigarette lighter flew out of his pocket on a spinny ride and skyrocketed smack dab to the middle of my forehead (that left a bruise). Do my faithful followers remember my Gettysburg Address tragedy? Yup, that was on a fairground too. You think after that I would have stayed clear of any fairground in America. But it was my senior year, and I figured this was my last chance to maybe, just possibly, have an enjoyable time and watch the fireworks with my friends at the end of the night. 

And I did! For the first two hours. Then my friend convinced me to get on that stupid ride that spins around so quickly that you stick to the wall. And that, my friends, is where the story begins.

I knew the second I walked into that circular death trap that I was making a really bad life decision. I don't do motion very well, so I knew there was a snowball's chance in hell that I would walk off of it in the same state I walked on. But even still, there I stood, in front of a rubber mat just waiting to be tortured. And then it began. A few seconds of spinning went by and next thing you know, the floor drops and I'm still sticking to a wall.

Can I pause here? The floor drops and you stick to a wall. Who came up with this mistake?

Press play. This is just about where the night began to go downhill rapidly. The second the floor dropped, I'm fairly certain my heart ceased to function. I honestly felt as if I was trying to take deep breaths with an Escalade on top of my chest. My friends could tell I was driving the struggle bus big time, so they tried to get the attention of the carnie in the middle to stop the ride. But here's the catch: his back was turned toward us, and for the moron who probably had between two and twelve DUI's, turning around to check on every passenger apparently wasn't an option. A very long three minutes therefore ensued, all of which I was breathing like Nemo on a tanning bed. When the ride finally ended, the floor rose back up, and the mats dropped to let me back down about as gently as a tornado would. This does not go well for a person whose body has gone completely numb. That person is me, who flopped on the floor in a nearly unconscious state. My friend proceeded to lift me up from underneath the arms and drag me out of the ride.

She hauled me out onto the grass and next thing I know someone was taking my pulse and blood pressure (which were both high) telling me I needed to be brought to the emergency center at the fair. They put me on a stretcher and took me away. But at the Woodstock Fair, one does not simply get put on a stretcher unnoticed. About half of my high school watched on as some girl was getting taken off a ride on a stretcher.

Then I heard "some girl" rapidly turn into an identified "MOLLY? EHMAHGAWD THAT'S MOLLY!" from a sea of voices. Do I close my eyes so I can't look anyone in the eye, or not because everyone will think I'm dead? Looking back on it, I should have just looked up at the crowd and done a graceful side-to-side Duchess Kate wave. But on that day, my solution was to just look at the sky and pretend the rest of the world didn't exist. That trick only worked for so long, because Monday came and it seemed as if every person I walked by was asking if I was okay because if they hadn't witnessed the event they sure had heard about it.

Needless to say, I haven't gone back to a fair since.

The scary part about the experience was that in those moments when I felt suffocated, I was completely out of control. I couldn't just hop off the ride at my own discretion. As much as I felt that I needed the ride to stop, it was being controlled by someone else and I needed to wait on his timing.

Friends, does that sound familiar at all?

I have always been a planner, and perhaps a bit of a control freak. Okay, definitely a lot of a control freak sometimes. Things need to go exactly this way at exactly that time. And let me tell you all, that has done absolutely nothing except for kick me in the butt. If you had asked me four years ago where I would be the summer after graduating college, I would say "in an advanced standing program getting my Masters degree and living with my best friends, but not for very long because I'll hopefully be engaged!"

... I just laughed at loud at myself. My not-in-grad-school and not engaged self who is currently living alone and also currently in a long-distance relationship, which I told my sister (who dates a Marine) multiple times I could "never ever" do.

But through all of this, I've sure learned my lesson. My plan is not the best plan. The best plan is in the hands of the Almighty Controller, and life needs to lived according to His perfect timing, not mine. Lamentations 3:25 (ESV) reads,

"The Lord is good to those who wait for him, to the soul who seeks him."

I used to think my timing would work out if I prayed for it when I wanted it. Ask and you shall receive, right? Well, it depends on how you're asking. I prayed as if God was a waiter who would bring my burger to the table after twenty minutes, and if it didn't come on time I would be sitting there snapping my fingers asking why I haven't gotten my food yet. That's not how God works. God hears us and wants to bless us, but we have to be patient. We have to be willing to wait for it and trust that His timing is better than our own, and continue to seek Him faithfully in the season of waiting. 

Picture God giving you a present, in a perfectly wrapped box with a bow on top. As you anxiously and excitedly go to rip it open, God says "No, not yet." Confused, anxious, and even frustrated, you put the gift down and you wait. Day after day of God saying no, you begin to wonder what the purpose of it was. After what seems like forever goes by, one day God smiles at you knowingly and finally gives you permission to open it up. You unwrap it, carefully and hesitantly as the waiting has made you uncertain, but open the box to see the most beautiful, breathtaking, and lively flower you have ever seen in your life. If you had opened it when God initially gave it to you on your own timing, you would have simply opened up a box with a measly seed. It's not until after you open the gift that you understand why God made you wait for so long.

And that is exactly what's happening during the seasons of waiting - God has planted the seeds in our lives that are just waiting to blossom into something more beautiful and satisfying. Remember this when you are waiting on God - and recognize that He has not forgotten you. The gift doesn't have to be opened for it to still be there, right by your side in His hands. 

Last but not least, here's a song for you all per usual. This band is a hidden gem I discovered in high school, and I frequently (and regretfully) forget about them. This is a beautifully soothing song that's perfect for turning down at the end of the day after the sun goes down. And this guy nailing high notes? Just wait for it.

"Time To Mend" by Barcelona

What Comes After Monday?

 This past Saturday, I officially graduated college. Although I technically graduated in December and have been in the "real world" for five months, I feel like the actual process of graduating alongside my best friends of four years brought me back into the world I experienced back in the winter. And it's a scary world. It's like there's a million transitions going on at the same time, and the universe is moving at a pace that makes it impossible for you to catch up. It's the constant questioning of "what the hell am I doing? Is this what I want to be doing? What if it's not? Where do I go? Can someone PLEASE tell me how to do this? Has 'Post-Grad Life for Dummies' been published yet?" It's exhausting. For the past five days all I've wanted to do is sleep and wait to wake up until my life figures itself out (can I get an amen)?

The baccalaureate speaker, a lovely elderly lady who I would like to take to tea sometime, told us repeatedly that "It's Friday, but Monday's coming." The last four years has been an absolute blast. I've made more memories during my college years than I have the rest of my life, it seems. But this is it. Those years are gone, and now we're left to figure out the world of adulthood. Okay, we get it. But she forgot to tell us what we're supposed to do when we wake up on Tuesday morning.

This terribly miserable stage of life has made me feel... well, the feels. Reminiscent, emotional, sappy, cry-y. You know. It made me think back to something I wrote at the end of my junior year, when I felt that all parts of my life were slowly unraveling, I was in the midst of transitions I didn't want to be experiencing, and I was feeling a lot of regret (looking back on it, it was really just a test drive to what was coming in another three-hundred and sixty-five days). But the words my hand scribbled out are still relevant.

It was a year.

A year a lot like the waves.

Roll in, roll out. 

Inhale, exhale.

Abrupt crashes followed by a graceful tide.

I watched parts of my life cast out to sea, but found healing in a message in a bottle that ever so slowly made it's way to me.

I felt the stabs of loneliness, frustration, betrayal, and insecurity. I had wide-eyed nights of listening to the water kiss the sand and the raindrops hit the roof.

But without the rain, you can't appreciate the sun.

Just like the flowers, it's the rain that makes us grow.

And when I realized this, I found peace in the endless uncertainty of the ocean and the One who painted it, carefully and beautifully.

I found release in the carefree moments under the moon, in the fits of laughter on the living room floor, and in the glasses of wine I lost track of drinking.

Just like the flowers, I grew.

I learned who would still be holding my hand after the riptides.

I mastered the art of burning garlic bread.

I accepted that twenty-one-year-olds sometimes still need to sleep with the light on.

I was introduced to my worst flaws, and they all shook hands with grace.

I was given several little pictures of what it's like to grow up, and the negatives are in the process of being developed.

And as I listen to the waves outside my window for one more night, I wonder about the horizon I gazed into so many times, wondering what's beyond it with the same uncertainty of what the future holds.

What I am certain of is that a different girl will close the door labeled "thirty-two" than the one who first opened it.

It was a nice place to drop the anchor. But it's time to sail.

5/23/14

It's a weird thought to think that my past-self could give advice to my present-self, even though present-self really doesn't want to listen to it. Right now (if we're sticking to nautical metaphors) I'm kind of feeling like jumping the boat. What if I left it all behind, forgot the apartment in the city and the job I worked so hard to attain, packed my bags and started fresh? It sounds rather tempting.

But at the same time, when we jump the boat I guess we just get soaked with no paddle.

Friends, I don't know about you, but I'm feeling pretty stuck. We found a place to drop our anchor, and that place is telling us it's time to sail whether we like it or not. It's time to grow up. It's time to move forward, to go our own ways and chase our own pursuits with no guarantee that we'll end up next to each other. It feels awful, and it's in no means comforting. But this rainy season is only making us grow, and the sun will peak out from the clouds in due time. You will be okay.

In her bestseller Tiny Beautiful Things (please read it), Cheryl Strayed writes,

"The useless days will add up to something. 

The shitty jobs. The hours writing in your journal. The long meandering walks. The hours reading poetry and story collections and novels and dead people's diaries and wondering about God and whether or not you should shave under your arms or not. 

These things are your becoming."

Thankfully, the life we see now is not the one we always will. There is more to this. There is more to this than the stress of figuring out who is going to help you pay your rent, the exhaustion of your mediocre job, the emptiness of your checking account, and the forty-seven hour car ride that separates you from your best friend. Within it there is purpose; there is growth. 

So go ahead, do what you can to push through it. In the question of "should I have a glass?", the answer is always yes. Buy the shoes. Order the ice cream. Call that friend. Write that letter. Cry. Take the day off. The drive is always worth it. Go home. Have that extra cup of coffee. Celebrate small victories. Thank your parents. Don't go to sleep without praying, and don't get out of bed without grace.

Monday came, but you'll figure Tuesday out.

"101010" - Sleeping At Last

Speak Now or Forever Hold Your Pee

How's it going, everybody?
It's pretty good here. I'm curled up on the couch accompanied by a double ear infection.
I know, you're jealous.
But on the bright side, being sick motivates me to do nothing, and then I get super motivated to blog. I'm also particularly motivated today because I had a couple super encouraging experiences this afternoon and it just makes me want to tell the world about how great Jesus is. So here I am! And I thought it was about time I tell you all another recollection from the saga of embarrassment called my life, followed by a reminder of how very loved you all are.

This one comes from my sophomore year of high school - a prime time to get yourself caught in an uncomfortable situation. I was in Newport, Rhode Island (a lovely place you must visit if you haven't yet) on a church retreat with my youth group. Every year we took this trip in the spring and stayed at an adorable little camp by the water. It brought some of my favorite memories from this stage of my life (this being one of them that I still haven't lived down... six years later).

One of the traditions of this trip was going on a cliff walk. It's an absolutely gorgeous view, walking above the water adjacent to beautifully historic mansions that I'll never get to live in.

Example A:

Out of the four cliff walks I went on throughout my time as a high school student, this year stood out to me the most. Why? Well, for a reason only I could find myself capable of - I nearly wet my pants. For the entire two and a half hours we were there, I had to pee. SO. BADLY. And do you think there was a port-a-potty to be had? No, of course not. So I was forced to hold it for that long and attempt walking at the same time. It was the longest two and a half hours of my life, and I could barely enjoy the cliff walk because I just about did the entire thing with my legs crossed. Thankfully, I made it, but it took begging our bus driver to pull into a Stop and Shop and let me sprint through the parking lot, down the cereal aisle, and into their bathrooms, practically diving into the porcelain bowl. It was the best pee I ever took.

So great! Happy ending, right? Hold on. It hasn't gotten embarrassing enough.

I'm enjoying myself a couple hours later back at the camp, just hanging out at the basketball courts with my friend Chelsea. During our conversation, I realize I have to pee again. Because I had been holding it for so long earlier in the day, it came on like a wrecking ball and my bladder went from zero to 100 real quick. As I'm awkwardly running away as fast as a sixteen-year-old with a full bladder could, Chelsea is laughing hysterically, which makes me also laugh hysterically, causing more difficulty in my fight to control my fluids. I book it into the main hall, run down the hallway and barge into the bathroom, slamming the stall door shut behind me.

And that's when it happened.

I was literally locking the door when my body decided it couldn't take it any longer. Realizing I had no time to spare, without even taking my shorts off I sat on toilet and peed straight through them.

Okay great, that's out of the way. Now what?
"Well Molly, you have no other choice but to try to run to your cabin, which is all the way across the camp site, without anyone noticing that your shorts are soaked."
Alright. Go time.

So there I was, wet shorts and all, taking off for my cabin and ignoring anyone who questioned me. Now here's the kicker: I wasn't supposed to be running. I wasn't even supposed to be jogging. Because two weeks prior, I had gotten surgery... on my butt. Yes, on my butt. Because where else would a person like me need a surgical procedure? Don't ask.

I think we'll end there. Just know that I quickly showered and got changed into dry shorts.

It's moments in my life like this that were so incredibly awkward, miserable, and rather soggy when they were happening. But for years later, it has made such a great story over and over again. Don't get me wrong, those hours of holding in my pee were painful and at the age of sixteen I was understandably ashamed that I wet my pants. But now here I am, laughing at myself.

I think we go through a lot of really painful seasons in life, not knowing in that moment that years later it will make a really great story to tell.

I was reminded of this in my devotionals today, which lead me to Lamentations 3:19-23:

"I remember my affliction and my wandering,

the bitterness and the gall.

I will remember them,

and my soul is downcast within me.

Yet this I call to mind

and therefore I have hope: 

Because of the Lord's great love we are

not consumed,

for his compassions never fail.

They are new every morning;

great is your faithfulness."

I know - my comedic anecdote is not the worst thing that's ever happened to me. But trust me, there have been times in my life that have been so dark and lonely that out of my bitter, angry, sinful heart I've refused to pay any attention to God. But as I look back on these times and reflect on their outcomes, I realize that what I should have felt is hope. God never throws you on the ground just to leave you there forever. You might be there for a while, but I believe He always does it with the intention of picking us up. 

Have you ever tried to help someone up without them leaning forward at all? It doesn't work out too well. In difficult times, it's tempting to just lay flat on the ground like a child who is upset with their father when they don't get their way. The light at the end of the tunnel will come, but God will pick you up more quickly if you reach out your hand toward Him first. It might feel like the world is toppling over you right now, but you are loved by a God who is greater than it all, and because of that you will not be defeated. Call this to mind, and therefore have hope. It is going to get better.

Today's song of the day comes from a band I had the privilege of seeing live three years ago. Their style never gets old and I absolutely love the back-up vocals on this one. I hope it makes your heart as happy as it makes mine:

"Wherever This Goes" - The Fray

A Snowtorious Monday Morning

I'm going to try something new today, my buddy pals. I'm going to start posting stories on the same day they happen, and then continue to go through the older ones chronologically. That way it's more fresh in my mind and you don't have to miss a detail. Because let me tell you, a lot happened this morning. A lot. I may have shed a tear. It may have been right at my work desk. And it may have happened in an empty office considering I was the only one stupid enough to drive in the lovely New England weather we're presently experiencing.

Here's a picture from my family's house in Connecticut just for a little glimpse of this ridiculousness:

Hot tub, anyone?

Let me get the record straight by first saying that I really, really, hate snow. I don't hate a lot of things. But snow is one of them. 1. It's cold, wet, and uncomfortable. 2. I cannot drive in it. 3. Fun things get cancelled because of it. It is just a miserable form of nature and there is not one thing I like about it. I've only been out of college for seven weeks and I'm already regretting not escaping this part of the country while I could have. But now that I'm employed I'm a tad bit tied down and kind of want the money. So there's that.

Now, here's the thing: this new job I have is not salaried. We therefore do not get "snow days" because I get a paycheck by seeing clients. So whether or not I work is based on my judgment. I had also been checking my email as I got ready for work to see if there was any word on who was going t work or if my meeting for the day had been cancelled. Over the hour it took to get ready, I heard nothing. So being the rookie in the office, I want to look like a hard worker who isn't afraid of a little white stuff. After all, it seemed as if my coworkers weren't saying too much about it. This was my mistake, as I left for the office at 8:30 this morning in a snowstorm that is predicted to bless us with 8-12 inches on top of the 24 inches that is already on the ground from last week (did I mention I want to move?)

I take my time getting to the office, and had a feeling this wasn't going to end well about halfway down the highway. By the time I got off my exit, I could barely see anything, because my windshield wipers do this really cute thing where they choose selective parts of the glass they are going to clear and sections they are not. So today, the only part they actually wanted to do the job in was the top 6 inches of my windshield. So here I am, driving the little Honda that could through the horrifically plowed roads of Massachusetts, with my driver's seat moved as high up and far forward as possible so I can peak into that little cleared off section of my window. I pull into the parking lot, and it's looking pretty empty. Bad sign.

I walk upstairs into a pitch-black office. This is good. I punch the code through the door and walk in to see an empty waiting room and absent receptionist. Wonderful. I mosey my way into cubicle land, give a little holler to see if anyone would answer, and I hear nothing. Really? The rookie is the sole person in here right now?

I sit down at my desk, and open up my email. While waiting for it to load, I pick up the phone to call my client just to make sure we're still on for today. It was right that very second when an email came through. Not that I opened my inbox. I had literally sat down the moment an email came through, telling me that my meeting was being rescheduled. This was immediately followed by an email explaining that all of our bosses would be working from home.

IS THIS A SICK JOKE.

I just about broke down into tears over my empty rookie desk in utter defeat, knowing I had just woken up after 5 hours of post-Superbowl sleep (side note: GO PATS!), cleared my buried car off and driven to work only to sit down for thirty seconds and turn around. But wait - it gets better.

I make the tearful trip home, and finally get back to my parking spot on the street which has been covered in snow. Out of too much confidence or maybe pent up frustration, I somehow get it into my head that I can just park right where I was without a problem. This was my second mistake. I drive down the street, throw it into reverse, and gun it backwards as if the snow is a pile of leaves I can crumple to the ground. This is when I a) got my back tires incredibly stuck and b) spun the front half of my car across the road.

I said a bad choice word, got out of my car, and begin shoveling my back tires out as another car starts coming down the street. Because my car is taking up half the road, this poor fellow has to hug the edge of the road, where a lot of snow had been pushed to the side. Now he gets stuck, and his back end is fishtailing toward my front end. And all I could do was watch.

After about three minutes of maneuvering his car and mutual mini heart attacks, he thankfully makes it through and continues on his way as I continue to shovel. When I finish, I get back in my car and rev the engine, which fishtails my car AGAIN, this time nearly into a cute fluffy dog dragging a leash behind it. I step out of the car, hoping to find the owner or catch it.

And that's when I saw him. A man in his sixties running down the street with a cigarette in his mouth shouting, "OH F@!#, MOLLY! MOLLY! MOLLY!" Not even thinking about the impossibility that this man would know my name, I apologize, probably looking rather terrified thinking that this crotchety man is swearing at me. But he ignores me and continues to chase after the dog. It's then that I realized that the dog, in addition to half the female canine population, has my name. El. Oh. El.

After making sure he retrieved his Molly, I get back in my car, finally get unstuck, and park on the street. Right about then was when people started coming out of their apartments and moving their cars off the road. Of course - what a perfect moment that we would decide, after all of that, to move and actually think it would make a difference in the quality of plowing our street will receive.

I run upstairs to tell my roommate Kellyn my Monday morning saga, and she offers to drive me to Stop and Shop and leave my car there. Lovely! We go outside, quickly shovel her car, and hop in. As she slides her window down to get the snow off of it, the glass separates from the rubber liner and is falling through the crack in the door. It is now her turn to offer some choice words.

We both get out of the car (again), and are standing by her car in our back parking lot with her door ajar. She is pushing the window button on the inside, while I push the slope of the window toward the edge, hoping to push it back into the rubber liner. We are successful in our attempt, until the force of the window fixing itself into place ensues a crack, straight down the middle of it. Kellyn, bless her soul, is just happy the window is shut and gets back in the car. She drives me down the street to my car, where I again get stuck. She again gets out of her car to push me as I attempt to accelerate. After thirty seconds or so of pushing, I finally break through, and Kellyn, who was pushing on my trunk, suddenly has nothing to lean on and falls face first into the snow.

Then we dropped my car off at Stop and Shop, and surprisingly enough nothing unfortunate happened here. We drove home, I passed out in my bed, and Kellyn got on the phone with AAA for a quote on her window. All because I decided to be the one idiot who drives to work in a snowstorm.

Don't you just love days like this? One bad thing just can't seem to happen on its own - there has to be a million other things that follow it (sometimes all before 11:00 in the morning). But the funny thing is, a friend of mine had a terrible day last week, so I looked up a verse I could text her that might encourage her. It's hard to remember these things for ourselves, isn't it?

So here I am, back on the same webpage I was on just a few days ago, this time to give myself some uplifting. And naturally, I come across a verse that was included in my devotionals two days ago:

"Rejoice in the Lord always; again I will say, rejoice."

- Philippians 4:4

Key word: always. I ironically always forget this part. This means praise God in good days and in bad. This means that as I'm looking back on my fun-filled morning spent crying at my desk and spinning in the snow, I should be finding little moments to be thankful for. And when you focus on that, it's quite possible you'll find more things to be grateful about than bitter. I'm thankful that I didn't get into an accident. I'm thankful I didn't hit the dog, even if she stole my name. I'm thankful for gracious roommates who will help you move your car and take you home with a cracked window. I'm thankful I had a warm, cozy place to go when it was all over. The tricky part is to remember this kind of attitude in the moment, when you're punching your steering wheel and shouting profanities to yourself. It's a work in progress, and it's probably why this reminder keeps coming back to me (think God is telling me I need to practice?)

Some of you may be having a good day, others not so much. But I encourage all of you to find something, even if it's one little thing to give you hope and carry you through the rest of the day. Rejoice in that one little thing - it brings glory to our one big God.

So right now, I rejoice in the comfort of my bed, a "beach house" candle, a cup of raspberry pomegranate tea, and the song of the day on repeat.

Speaking of... here it is (I'm obsessed - not with the fact that it's off the Fifty Shades soundtrack, but come on, it's the beautiful Ellie Goulding and she kills it per usual). This song is nothing short of special - I was hooked from the first note.

"Love Me Like You Do" - Ellie Goulding

Was Blind But Now I C-Section

Friends! I am sorry. So sorry. So so sorry. I haven't posted since June. That was a bad thing. In short, summer brought me some hardship, the fall was the craziest semester of my life, and after a few months I figured "why bother" with this thing they call a blog. But here I am, on the cold night of January 13 at 11:09 at night, curled up in bed with some caramel vanilla sleepy-time tea. The mood just struck me. So here I am, ignoring the fact that I've been on such an extended hiatus and writing my next post, even though I start a full-time job a week from today and will likely not post for a while again (I would prioritize this and try to get Pinterest-famous, but I kind of need the money).

Chronologically, the next awkward moment of my life comes from my junior year of high school. I was taking a child development class, which I remember really enjoying. However, on this particular day, we had a student teacher visiting the class who gave a presentation on childbirth. Yes - the miracle of life, everyone. That beautiful moment when a watermelon flies out of a pinhole.

Anyone who knows me well knows that I could pass out cold at the sight of a needle. So do not come near me if you want to talk about the birthing process. It makes my extremities tingle. It makes me shut my eyes and shake my head back and forth really fast as if I don't have the ability to simply say "please stop talking before I find myself laid out on the floor." I once had to tell my hairdresser to shut up and get me a cup of water because she got a little too detailed about what it's like to have a massive ice pack soothing your swollen lady parts that just expelled a human being. Don't get me wrong, I love children and dream about the days I will have my own. They are already named. However, my love for them will be shown through the fact that I give birth to them in the first place because making it through an experience such as that, for me, will be the miracle of my own life.

So you can imagine how this presentation went for me. I really was okay for quite a while, and thankfully there weren't any videos, pictures, or diagrams for me to shut my eyes for. But apparently that wasn't enough for me that day. All I needed was to hear some descriptions and picture it for myself. I have literally no idea what this girl said that sent my eyes to the back of my head, but something about c-sections did not sit well with me. I felt myself get nauseous, the blood rush to my ears, and started blacking out. Just as I was about to announce that I was going down, I was waking up on the hard, cold, tiled floor of the classroom with my teacher, the student teacher, and the school nurse looking over my pounding head, which felt kind of like it had gotten struck by a Mack truck. Happy times!

I'm not quite sure which was more painful, the consistent throbbing of my head or the permanent image of the other twenty-five people in my class staring at me as if I were a car accident. Let's just say the latter still haunts me to this day. But in that moment as I was feeling both, the nurse wheeled me out the door in a wheelchair and through the halls of school, right past the gym where a blood drive just happened to be that day. As I was scooted by the doors, a girl my droopy, sullen face and attempted to encourage me with, "Aw! It's okay! At least you tried!"

Gee, that might have been somewhat uplifting if I had given blood that day. My timing is impeccable.

The saga continues. I go to the nurse's office, who decides to send me home for the day, and waited the next half-hour for my Dad to come pick me up. He finally arrived to rescue me from my embarrassment, right on time for the student teacher to walk in from her presentation. Before I left, she gave me the lovely news that my little incident would have to be included in her paper for class.
"But don't worry," she assured me, "I won't use your name. You'll just be 'student A', who passed out during the c-section slide."

So there I was. Student A.

It's an honor, really.

You see, right about there is when I thought it all couldn't get any worse. But it somehow did, because when I walked into class the next day, out of all twenty-five students and the teacher, how many people do you think asked me if I was okay?

One. And it had been over Facebook the night before.

But I'm thankful for that one girl. Over those four years, I really didn't talk to her very much. But whenever her name comes up, I always think to the time she sent me a simple little message asking how my head was feeling, saying it was really scary to watch and that she was worried about me. It was such a small thing to do, and yet I still remember it five years later. It still means a lot. At the time, she probably had no clue she would be the only person to ask, and that I would remember it all this time later. Thank you, Monica.

It makes me wonder how many times I've given up short and sweet opportunities to be a Monica to someone else, assuming someone else will do the job or that it won't make a difference. But on that day when I needed some encouragement, it wasn't from one of my friends. It was from someone who was checking up on a classmate she barely knew, just out of the kindness of her heart. Why do we hold back from doing that more often? It is out of pride? Is it just too uncomfortable? Whatever our excuses are, none are good enough. 

John 13:34-35 reads, 

"A new command I give you: Love one another. As I have loved you, so you must love one another. By this everyone will know that you are my disciples, if you love one another."

People, this is SO important. First of all, this is a command, not an option. Jesus didn't say, "Love one another, if you're feeling up to it that day." That's not how he does it. So if we are to love as he has loved us, this has to be a constant, daily decision that we make. To love like Christ is to love everyone - not selecting who we find deserving of it based on what we know about them or whether or not they've loved us properly. This is how people will see that we're different. You know the song - "they will know we are Christians by our LOVE." Not by our WWJD bracelets, not by the judgmental picket signs held in the city streets, not by the crosses on our neck. This is where people are getting it wrong. This is why those who claim they know Jesus are getting a negative rep - because we are forgetting the most important piece of our faith: love. And we can start fixing this by making the choice to be somebody's Monica next time we get the chance.

And of course, I give you the song of the day. I choose this artist because it's one I've always loved, but have found an increased appreciation for since seeing him live over the summer. His beautiful work is different than any other artist for me, as it always forces me to go beyond just listening to the music and allowing it to make me feel something. His lyrics are truly an art as he reflects his faith in quiet, yet attention-grabbing undertones. I hope they touch you too.

Sleeping At Last - Sun

"With golden string our universe was brought to life,

that we may fall in love every time we open up our eyes..."