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..."

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!