Maybe a Puppy

Being on the edge of the new year is always a bittersweet thing. I mean let's be real. New years could be one of the most anticlimactic holidays ever. Only second to arbor day. I don't blame new years. It can't help that it comes exactly one week after Christmas. It's just vanilla grey in comparison. Which is much how comparison goes, is it not?

Okay okay. So I dislike new years because it sucks in comparison to Christmas whose nostalgic feelings I still cling to even though it was a week ago. I'm done being a drama mama, for now.

But today is different in a good way, for which I'm grateful. I can't put my finger on it. I want so much for 2012.

This year has always held so much for me. The year I graduate college. The year I become an adult. The year I should have figured out what I'm doing with my life. The year I thought I would have known my soulmate by. The year I make yet another transition from fun college student to mature, working adult. From house with alot of friends to a little apartment with my working self, meager "just starting" belongings, and maybe a puppy. From a fridge full of icecream and yogurt and takeout, to a fridge of perfectly healthy, adult meals.

It's okay if you're thinking that's the most ridiculous thing i've ever heard. It's easily one of the most ridiculous things I've ever typed. That's a lie. But it's equally as ridiculous.

This is what goes down in my mind. I have expectations of perfection for myself. Perfect hair. Perfect future plans. Perfect interactions with my perfectly maintained relationships. Perfectly decorated room and a perfect wardrobe full of fashionable clothes that make my body look, you guessed it, perfect. I expect to have a perfect job and a perfect little handle on my perfect plans for the future. I expect to be the perfect employee, roommate, wife, mother, daughter, sister, friend, adult. And what happens when I don't measure up you ask? I keep acting like I have it all together when I'm crumbling on the inside. It's ugly. It's the truth.

I confess this to say, I want grace for 2012. I want room to mess up, and fail, and make wrong decisions, and mourn, and heal, and love deeply, and do something crazy, and have an adventure. And not just any adventure, but an adventure full of freedom. Freedom from myself. Freedom from "should haves" and "could have done mores". Freedom of what others think of me. Freedom from the thought that the Lord is disappointed in me. I want more peace to reign in my heart than anxiety. Freedom from being hard on me. Freedom from thinking I'm in control. Freedom from thinking the Lord needs me to fix things. Freedom from my own arrogance. I want to face my opinions and feelings and stop hiding them. I want to hold the hand and hug the neck the Jesus of the bible and not the Jesus i've crafted in my brain. I want to think less of me. I want to eat more oatmeal and drink more water. I want to eat more breakfasts with my dad. I want to know true rest. I want to send more letters. I want to get to a place where I can dance and not be embarrassed by my lack of rhythm. I want to let go and fall down and surrender and break and heal and get filled up by the only One who can make this all happen. Because I can't.

Happy new years eve, friends!

Jolly Be Good

Some things in life are simply ridiculous. Going to starbucks with your shorts on backwards more times than you would like to admit. Eating popcorn and skittles and fresca for dinner. 5 days a week. Loving Jon Foreman (No, I'm not throwing you Jon Foreman lovers under the bus. I'm among you, promise. But it's time we face the truth. He's ridiculous. What am I talking about? He's great! I LOVE YOU, JON FOREMAN!!) Wearing the pants you forgot had a hole in a less than appropriate place to work. Spilling your coffee on yourself, getting a burn, and contemplating if it's worth being that girl who sues the restaurant because I just burnt myself. Sometimes anger isn't the brightest crayon in the box. Chewing 15 pieces of gum in 3 minutes. What is it about gum and self control? Like oil and water I tell you. How nail polish is one of the only things that defies age. Yes, I painted my nails red, green, and gold sparkles for Christmas. No, I'm not seven. Onesies.

Some things in life are intricately profound. Walking across a stage at a graduation. Riding a bike without training wheels. Getting an "F" on a final. The first job you love. The first night at college. Your first puppy. Christmas time. Your grandma's funeral. Sending your foreign exchange student home who has become family. Getting ready in the same bathroom as my mom. Getting a gift so beautiful it makes you cry. Someone buying your dinner unexpectantly. Laughing and dancing and whipped cream in your coffee. Almost getting into a car accident, but miraculously not. Having something long prayed for finally happen. A sweet, silent snow. One on one time with dad. When someone you've known since you were a baby has a baby. Watching your parents cry in the drive way as you go to your home in another city. A book of letters for someone you don't know. The way one feels in a beautiful dress. A list of baby names in the back of a journal just waiting to be doled out. Dinner with your brother. Watching your puppy turn into an old man dog and be sick. Weeping. Breathing. Knowing you're broken. Knowing you're loved in the face of it.

Is there a point to this? Not particularly. Sorry, this is not wrapped up with a pretty bow, truly. It bothers me almost as much as it bothers you, promise. Sometimes it's just necessary to write things down to get them out of my hamster wheel mind.

Merry Christmas, friends. Jolly be good!

Never Stopping, Never Giving Up

I need everyone who reads this (yes, all three of you) to know that I have a laundry list of half finished blog posts hiding in my inbox that have accumulated over the past month. It could be the most defeating thing ever. I'm not exactly proud of my inability to finish things, and sometimes this blog reminds me of that. One time I painted a canvas that was supposed to say "Never stopping never giving up always and forever love" but instead it says "never stopping never giving up" because I got bored. Story of my life. Come to my house. It's on the mantle. So today, in an effort to finish something and better document my life for future generations, I'm going to fill you in on life here lately.

I am officially 22 years old. Isn't it ridiculous that you can go from 21 to 22 in just one day? Am I the only one who acts like I literally change ages in 1 days time? Oh okay. Nevermind. I don't think that. It is officially winter. It snowed a week ago and I'm still not over the excitement of it. There's nothing like a good snowstorm that turns me into my giddy 7 year old self. But really. I spend my days working and schooling and enjoying being a senior in college (that's still weird 4 months later).

Side note: I don't think I've shared with the class some exciting revelations I've had about my life. A) I've come to terms with the fact that I love cooking and feeding people and the dinner table. Put those things together and I've never been so alive in my entire life. B) In the middle of the chaos and unknown of this semester the Lord gave me a job I can't get enough of. Yes I used to make more money at my job in high school. Yes I was at work at 5 am this morning and will be there at 5 am tomorrow morning. Yes I've washed more dishes than I ever wanted to in my entire life. But- I have learned so much. I get paid to make pie and be creative and feed people. I'm in love. I'm a drama mama. C) I was made to do this for this time, and It's just good for the heart to know you're at the right place at the right time.

Back to what's going on here. My last final is in the morning. Time is moving ridiculously fast. I have been listening to nothing but sleeping at last. My poor roommates. I'm learning what rest is and what life looks like without k-life in it. I got to see my bestie's baby a week ago and the child could not be more precious. She's intuitive (it feels like she knows my whole life) and smiley and loves it when her mom holds her. Let's be real. I love to see her mom holding her so it's a win win all around. She's snuggly and sweet and I can't get over her existence. Thanksgiving came and went. I gained 5 pounds in 2 days. That's got to be some kind of record. I got a job catering a Christmas dinner and I could not be more excited about it. I'm continually thankful to be living with the people I do. Life of course isn't always rainbows and butterflies. Stress has been creeping back into my life like a black cloud. Finals week seems to have that effect on my existence. You would think after 7 years of finals taking I would figure out that the Lord is still in control during this week but normally I just strive and stress alot. Which doesn't help anything.

So I have to go buy Christmas presents now and tame my fuzzy hair. Love you all, deep!

Gap teeth and trans fats

Oh goodness y'all. It has been so long. Too long, some would even say. Maybe that's just me.

Okay okay I admit I check my own blog more than anyone else does. It's like I'm checking in to see if I posted in my sleep (that's a lie). Really, I just check in to laugh at my own jokes. Yes, I'm well aware that I'm that girl.

So much has happened and changed since September 16 or whenever my last post was. My hair is longer and I'm considerably less tan. I'm wearing a sweatshirt. I have a job. I'm 2 months older (wiser). It now gets dark at 3 pm and the sun doesn't make its appearance until 10 am (Minor exaggeration. It's more like I don't make an appearance until 10 am, but that's for the world's benefit. You're welcome.) The trees are all sorts of beautiful. I can see my breath in the morning. I've stopped sweating whilst walking to class. I've been learning what it means to accept life on God's terms and not my own. It's not weird for me to be drinking hot chocolate anymore. The semester is nearly over. They put Christmas lights on the fountain at school. Merry Christmas, Y'all. I'm no longer mentoring the babies I love so much. I haven't worn my retainer in easily 3 weeks and I'm terrified my gap tooth is making a reappearance. I've stopped trying to be outdoorsy. I've been listening to nothing but Christmas music. Sorry I'm not sorry if you're offended by the joy it brings me to celebrate my Saviors birthday 4 out of the 12 months of the year. Too far? Probably. Obviously some things haven't changed. I'm still a ginger, drama mama school girl.

But really. Things have changed so very much. I feel like my life is one big transition. And I've discussed with the class how much I love transitions aka I'd rather die. But once again here we are at a big one. What on God's green earth am I going to do with my life next year you ask? Well join the club of askers. Normally I tell people things like "that's the million dollar question" or "joining the circus" or "Selling plasma" or my personal favorite "WHAT'S THIS 'GRADUATION' YOU SPEAK OF!?! I DON'T GET IT!!".

The Lord is teaching this girl who hates all things unknown the most gloriously hard lesson as of late. He has put me in a position where I don't know the future yet I love the present. I love living with these girls. I love running the crumbly streets of my neighborhood. I love dancing in the entry way. I love my sweet little cooking job. I love precious little Conway. I love drinking diet coke at 8 am with Mrs. Alicia once a week. I love dreaming about the future. I love my sewing class. I love being loved on by the people in this town. I absolutely love where I am. I long to drink up everyday like the gift it is.

But in the back of my mind there's always a nagging of "Morgan...MORgan....MORGAN!!! I know you can hear me. What are you going to do next year?! Where are going to live?! Who are you going to live with?! Are you going to be lonesome?! What if you go 3 years without a hug because you don't know anybody?!?! Are you going to survive?! Are you going to be (heaven forbid) SINGLE FOREVER?! Are you going to be that girl who owns 1,000 cats and justifies eating chicfila for every meal because they fry their chicken in peanut oil instead of that trans fat infested other nonsense?!?!?!! Are you going to have to live in a shack because you're only going to be making $3 an hour?!?! What if your car breaks down and you can't get ahold of your dad to fix it because you weren't able to pay your cellphone bill?!?! AHHHHHHHHH!!!!"

You laugh. Maybe you're not laughing and you just think I'm a crazy person who needs help (semi true). But these are my thoughts and fears in the midst of this joy. The Lord has been teaching me to eat his gift of the icecream cone today and to let him worry about the love handles down the road. To enjoy the smell of the rain and let him worry about the tornado. To skip class and enjoy the beautiful weather and let him worry about this quiz I missed. To float down the river and let him worry about the rapids. To celebrate Christmas from September 1- December 25th and let Him worry about December 26th. There are a million insertable metaphors here. I'll spare you.

I don't know why learning to not let the future steal my current joy is such a big deal to me. Probably because I anticipate and worry and look forward to the future more than anyone I've ever known. Probably because I've been letting the future steal my joy for years. For a lifetime. There is such freedom in enjoying today. Such richness to everyday. I don't know why I've been living anywhere but the present for so long.

But y'all. Welcome to right now. For this moment, it's a delight! For always, it's a gift.

A Lesson on Being Outdoorsy

There are things in my life that are easy to understand. Eating grass doesn't make me a cow. I get that. Easy to wrap my mind around. Getting a tan doesn't make me any less ginger. Understandable. Living in a different city than my family doesn't make me not a Thomason. Okay. Of course. Cavemen understand those things.

Sometimes I forget that wearing Chacos and nike shorts and drinking out of a camel back doesn't make me athletic, outdoorsy, and/or granola.

I was reminded of this Saturday. Let's start at the top.

I woke up bright eyed and bushy-tailed promptly at 10:30. More like groggy eyed and frizzy headed and confused but I would have rather been the former. Then my roommate and I did what my roommate and I do best. We sat outside in our pajamas. We drank coffee. We read the Word. I ate cereal. Suddenly it was 12:30. I read anxiously. I looked at my watch. I impatiently did laundry. The day dragged. I remained in my pajamas for good measure. I think I literally watched the time stop. That's dramatic. The time finally came and you best believe I was ready. Chacos on foot. Nike shorts on body. Water bottle full. A little defensive Tylenol in system for preparation.

Pinnacle Mountain is the small hill in Little Rock. Outdoorsy people like to hike it with thoughts of training for Kilamanjaro. Now, there are multiple ways to attack this bad daddy. Walk up the steps. Scale the side. Teleport (only in my dreams). The options are endless. Scratch that. Normally the options are endless. Saturday the "easy route" was closed for some reason. Some nonsense about "trail reconstruction" or something like that needing to be done. Regardless, that meant one thing: We would be going about this the hard way.

At this moment in my life I was torn between two evils. Do I let me Saturday dreams of climbing a hill and adding the accomplishment to my dreams of being outdoorsy, die? Do I let those dreams die a quiet death and just leave and eat Chipotle instead? Tempting. So very tempting.

Or.

Do I buck up and climb the harder side with everyone else instead of sitting in my car and eating a burrito? My pride had one answer. My body and tastebuds had another. My tastebuds would have won the fight if it weren't for one thing.

And that one thing is this. Who wants to be the girl who would rather eat and nap in the car when you're with 4 other people who are perfectly capable and excited about climbing the harder side? Nobody. That's who. And since I'm included in "nobody" I prepared my heart, and started trekking. And sweating. And then my legs slowly but surely turned to jello. And then I suddenly I wished I had something stronger than tylenol in my system or a ski lift. Or 8 months of training for this moment. The rapture. Something.

We made it up and down without too much trouble. Except I almost had a minor heart attack. And feared my for my life. And needed 10 hours to climb it instead of 1.5. I was left feeling like I was that girl. And what happens when you're that person? The person who needs help. The person who's not prepared. The person who struggles. The person who needs to go slower. The person who needs someone, or a herd of people to stay behind? The person who would rather just sit out than live for fear of not being able to?

I've realized something over the course of these past weeks. Everyone is that person. It gets lonely in our brain because we feel like we're the only ones at that place of being the "weak link" of life-when in reality we're all the weak link. Some are just more aware of the need. If I didn't have that deep human need for something better then there would be no need for Jesus. Or grace. Or mercy. Or others. Or all things wonderful and true and real.

Suddenly, I realized being that girl was the most precious and perfect place to be. Only there do I see my dependency on Jesus in it's truth. And embrace it. And experience real life.

"For I am the LORD, your God, who takes hold of your right hand and says, Do not fear; I will help you"

Isaiah 41:13

More

Oh my goodness gracious. I never thought I'd see the day when it had been almost 3 weeks since I last wrote on this thing. Maybe I thought I would always make time for it. Maybe I thought I would always have hours of free time a day. Maybe I have dreams of being a famous blogger. Maybe I irrationally dreamed (but dreamed nonetheless) of receiving a shout out from the Pioneer Woman by now telling me to come be her neighbor and marry a cowboy and be her partner in blogging crime. Sometimes life just goes and there's no time to document. Lord, please don't let me ever forget.

But, never fear. I'm back and ready to CATCH. YOU. UP.

Coming back to school has been a whirlwind of anxiety, joy, transition, confusion, hilarity- basically a culmination of things hoped for and things feared, for a really really long time.

Do you want the good news or the bad news first?

Good thing for you the bad news is in fact good news too although it might not seem like it for a few thoughts. Bare with me. It's truly a win win.

I never thought that this time of my life would be a time of brokenness. I'm mean let's be real. I'm living with some of the best friends i've ever had. We have been blessed with a fun house to decorate and dance and live and rejoice in. I get to live life with some of the most hilarious and eager 9th grade divas i've ever known. I'm taking 3 gen eds as a senior (high fives all around). I am supported and loved by genuine-hearted, Jesus loving people. The truth is obvious: This is a recipe for the best year of my life thus far.

Here's the problem. I have been running from being broken my entire life. I have jumped through the hoops of perfecting my behavior. I have stepped on and off soap boxes like I was in an aerobics class and wearing spandex. I've chained myself to the lie of, "There's no need for brokenness when your trying to follow the Lord as closely as I am. Plus I don't have time for it. I mean look at all I'm involved in and all the people that depend on me!" (I just cringed a little at my own arrogance. It's okay if you did too). I've had my fleshly efforts congratulated and then taken those compliments and shoved them into my emptiness over and over (which doesn't fill you up, I've found). I would internally beat myself up over failures, and lost dreams, and hurt feelings, and fear, and the presence of loneliness in my heart, and lost relationships. They hurt me, but I just called myself "understanding" and "resilient" and let it "roll off me". (Which, let's be real, doesn't happen. It clings to you like a burr on your patagonia or a 2 year old around your leg.) The truth is obvious: This is a recipe for disaster.

So what happens when the two meet you ask? Something so very beautiful and painful all wrapped into one.

Over the past few weeks I have hit rock bottom, watched my self confidence made of my efforts crumble, and panicked. Alot. It's a scary thing to watch your world fall apart and be called to live like an open book. It's like being naked in the street. Or being broken and vulnerable in front of the very people you thought you needed to be strong for. I don't know which is scarier. I could write screenplays for movies about quarter life crisis. Excuse my drama-mama-isms.

Here's the best part. I have prayed and prayed and prayed for the Lord to be the firm foundation of my life. For me to understand grace. For the gospel to be something that fuels me and satisfies the deepest cries of my heart. For the Lord to be my Joy. Love. Strength. Life. Light. Satisfaction. That I would have a deep hate for the things that the Lord hates and a deep love for Jesus and the abundant life He offers me every second I'm breathing.

FINALLY. Finally. finally. I'm at a place where I can hear Him. Need Him every second of the day. Lay my attempts of living my life on my own down willingly- desperately. Beg him for rest and receive it. Sit in my weakness. See my need for more of Him. More realness in relationships. More grace. More love. More from this life. Look my human self in the face and embrace her- In weakness. In strength. In times of harvest. In brokenness.

So, here's the thing. Life gets to me. I'm hurting. Things affect me. I need the Lord. I need people close to me. I need prayer. We all need help with life. No one can do it alone. Not even partially alone. That's all.

In other news, there is no other news. Except, I've been eating guacamole for almost every meal, and listening to Josh Garrels nonstop for a week. You should do the same. His voice is a delight! And our house got rolled in the middle of the night a couple of weeks ago. More on this later. Stay tuned for the ridiculous saga of that.

Hugs and love all around!

It's bananas

I know you all have come here to read the intense and life changing and spiritual revelations that I've had since spending 6 weeks at camps. That's an exaggeration but let's be honest, I expected to have some. I looked forward to the end when I could attest what God had done in my life. I also dreaded the end when I would be ripped away from a super loving and encouraging environment that I had been immersed in for 6 weeks.

So here we are. The lessons I've learned are so simple and elementary. This summer I learned the Lord loves me. I'm sure most of you are thinking, "Doy, that's the foundation of our faith". So I'm a little slow and striving. Better late than never. I always saw the Lord as a parent who always loved me but was always hoping I eventually got my stuff together. I always feared disappointing the Lord with my decisions. I always felt the need to do my best and all I could for the Lord (which is exhausting, let's be real). I began to focus more on becoming Christlike and lost my view of Christ Himself in my "helping". I feared falling away from Him. It's amazing how simply realizing the depths of the Lord's love for me freed me from the cages of those lies.

I think the biggest thing I've learned is that the Lord's love for me is unlike anything I could experience from anyone else. It's different. It's better. It's healing. It's enough. The Lord isn't sitting around "loving me" but not liking how I don't have my life together. He isn't frustrated with my inability to get things right. This summer I gave up on doing better. I gave up on trying. Period. The Lord has brought me to the absolute end of myself this year. I have worked and strived and prayed and acted and performed. I have pursued becoming more this and "working on" being more that and trying to rid myself of weakness. I'm not getting any better y'all. I realized this summer that I have pursued more excellent behavior instead of the Lord himself. I forgot that pursuing the Lord makes me more like Him and instead traded that truth for the lie that He must help me in my most exemplary efforts to become more like Him.

The Lord loves me. Period. In my weakness. In my strength. In my heart, He sees Jesus. He sees me as perfect and righteous. He's not frustrated with me. He's not angry. He's not waiting around for me to get my stuff together. In His eyes, my stuff is together, because of Jesus.

After this rollercoaster ride of being broken and then having the "trying makes me feel accomplished" rug pulled out from under me, I was left floating around in a sea of "who am I" and "I've made banana pudding for the Lord my entire life and He doesn't even like bananas!" confusion.

I'm still in that confusion a little bit. But the Lord has made it clear that He has only asked me to rest in Him. Abide in Him. Delight myself in Him. He'll do the rest. For His yoke is easy and His burden is light. Period. What could be more opposite of my life as of late?

So what have I been doing with my new found freedom you ask? I have been myself. I have laughed and worried a little and been a little selfish and asked for rest and received it. All grace covered. All guilt free. It's incredible.

Thank you for all the mail and encouragement and packages and prayers while I was at camp. They filled me up deep. You are LOVED. Not nearly enough by me, but hugely and without stipulation by the CREATOR of the universe. Bask in it. Eat it for dinner. Period.

Frogs and Praying

This week was confirmation, as if I needed it, that I for sure don't want to go to hell. The state of Texas experience some of it's hottest weather on record AKA it was 105 at midnight and 117 by noon. Whilst sitting on a lifeguard stand in the middle of the day my only thought was, "This aint right. Lord please bring the rapture or a snowstorm. Right now preferably." Coming off of week 10 I'm exhausted and more tan than a ginger ever should be. I don't know if It was too much sun or not enough sleep but I was reading through my journal and found some dramatacisms that should probably be shared with the class (aka whoever is reading this).

Tuesday August 2nd

"Morgan.- don't forget that above all else the Lord loves you. Also don't forget during your camper call when you and those two little girls were looking for frogs and you couldn't find and for 20 minutes. Naturally, since you guys couldn't find any frogs they wanted to go on that boat. Let's be honest, that's the last thing you wanted to do. That made you feels so selfish and it was as if you could hear everyone at camp saying in unison, "Now Morgan. It's not about you. Get on that boat." As you were walking to the boat you prayed, "Lord. I'm so tired and hot. Please help these babies find some frogs." Then you knelt down and prayed with them for frogs and sure enough you found 3- one for each of you. And it was almost as if the LORD Himself was saying "let me decide who's selfish or not". And in that moment you suddenly understood mercy."

Friday August 5

"Remember when you were with Maggie and you had that convo about sincerity and competition and how when asked to be "eager to serve" it makes the performer come out in you in full force. And if service is love but your service is out of competition to be first in hopes to not look like the "lazy, non eager counselor with no work ethic" than it is not service or love- it's a show. And suddenly that show begins to feel like truth and I get confused about true love. The Lord's love isn't a show. It's behind the scenes. It's whispered and in the background. It's the foundation not the add on. And then we talked about sincerity and how sometimes it's not "my pleasure" to do the things I do because I'm a sinner and not the Perfect One. I can't decide which is worse. Being insincere about things being my pleasure and acting like I'm 100% selfless 100% of the time or being the one who acknowledges that sometimes it's not my pleasure to serve or love because the Lord is working my selfish flesh out of me still. And then family walked up and asked us, "What happens when things aren't your pleasure anymore. What's your prayer?" and the irony of that question and timing stopped you in your tracks. And you thought to yourself, "If I were being honest things are hardly ever my pleasure but it's always the Lords JOY to serve and love us. If I identify myself with Him than it is my pleasure too even when it's not." And then the family stopped and prayed for us right then and there. Eventhough it was bedtime and 107 degrees and we were sweating bullets . They prayed that the LORD would be our focus and our joy and our service. And it was if the Lord Himself said, "Yes. It's okay to be human. Your flesh isn't what is being judged anymore. It's me within you and I'm perfect. Claim me. Always claim my perfection." Morgan. Remember that when you have those guilt ridden thoughts about your insincerity or service. You're claiming the Lord's joy of loving and serving His children."

Yes. Yes. Yes. I talk to myself in my journal. Yes the Lord is doing a mighty work this summer. Yes I have been guilt ridden about being insincere this week. Thank goodness we serve a God who is patient with my school girl tendencies. This week at camp i'm with 9 little ones under the age of 2. Start praying now. My time is short to write this and I dislike that alot. LOVE LOVE YOU ALL. Can't wait to get back and see each one of you!

Treasure Hunt

Y'all. There are reasons why going to huge open markets and having cash should not walk hand in hand. Add some lack of self control in there and you've got a recipe for full blown ninnyness. Today I was a full blown ninny. Lord, thank you for being strongest when I'm weakest. Today I was weak. Real weak. Heat stroke and vintage chic goodies will do that to a ginger. (If you've ever had a heat stroke and you're reading this please forgive me. I'm a school girl. That was a lame attempt at making a joke. Don't feel bad if you laughed. I did too.)

There's a gem in Texas named Canton. For those of you asking yourself, "Self, what in the world is a Canton and where can I get myself one" allow me to clear that weary head of yours. Canton is a little ridiculous, eclectic town in Texas. People caravan there to experience it. If you're looking for a good place, scratch that, the best place to people watch, Canton is your stage. Canton is a huge open market that basically expands the entire city. You can buy anything from a puppy to a fox pelt (Morbid I know. But you win some you lose some.) to vintage mirrors to linen pants to corn on a stick. It's a shopper's dream and worst nightmare. The dream part because there are so many possibilities. The nightmare part because there are so many possibilities.

Yesterday, I got to experience Canton with some of the most fun people in my life. Yes I'm a drama mama, but it's true. You know it's the truth when the process of getting to a destination is just as fun as the destination itself. The process of getting to Canton looked like the following. I got off work and immediately put on my frat tank and chacos. It had been a long time coming. I can't wear either really during the week and Canton was the perfect excuse to put those bad daddies on. I was secretly hoping for a increased chaco tan. I feel like when people secretly hope for a chaco tan instead of just looking down one day and having one that they're posers. I'm a poser. We got some sonic. I got the delicious and healthy meal of cheese sticks and a slushie. Sometimes I'm afraid I'll never grow out of having the tastebuds of a 7 year old. Then again, I feel like 90 year old me would tell 21 year old me to eat all the cheese sticks and slushies I could while I could. I think she would also tell me to love well and worry less and enjoy my gingerness. I should listen to her more often. She has a lot of perspective, that one.

We got to Canton with a few goals as anyone wise and capable should. A) Find 4 people riding motorized scooters B) Find 6 people with sequined visors C) Find some goodies D) Eat a Turkey leg. All were accomplished except for the Turkey leg part.

In an effort to make all real life circumstances into metaphors of Christ, because let's be honest, they are, life is like Canton. It's fun. It's overwhelming. There are too many options that distract me from the real beauty that is there. There are things that pain you to see. Sometimes it's too hot. From the outside looking in it looks classless and confusing. A broken mess. From the inside it's the time of your life. A treasure hunt of sorts. I feel like the Lord is just like that. Worth sifting through the mess for. Worth laying down my wants for. Worth stopping everything I'm doing and following with everything I am and everything I'm not. The treasure in the midst of the the chaos. I tend to focus more on the chaos than the treasure. Future me: Remember to focus on the treasure and not on the chaos.

On a camp note, this week was chaotic and exhausting and sweet and stretching and fun and overwhelming and foundation setting. This next week I'm lifeguarding all week. Praise Him!

Embodiment

Week 8 last summer was my most favorite week of the summer. I was a lifeguard. I was getting paid to sit in the sun all day and eat popsicles. I lived the dream. Week 8 was a week full of families who have been coming to family camp for years and years. Lord knows I love me some consistency and and tradition and week 8 embodied that.

I couldn't wait for week 8 to get here. I expected to get another lifeguarding week. I tend to expect consistency in a life where it rarely exists apart from the Lord Himself. I tend to be a ninny. If there's a picture of why one shouldn't have expectations, it would be my face at meeting last Saturday when we found out what we would be doing during week 8. It's weird now that it's over to even try to explain it. When I found out that I would be a "counselor" to 4 college girls: 1 of which spent years in a death camp in the Congo, 1 of which was separated from her family and thought them dead for 13 years, and 2 of which have been living in chaos since tragedy rocked their lives 8 years ago- Overwhelmed suddenly had a new meaning.

What I didn't know was that a mirror would be held up to my life and struggles all week long and I would be forced to look at my weakness in the lives of others.

There are things I don't like to look at in myself. My insecurity. That I perform and could be the walking and talking, human embodiment of pretense. -Yes I just realized that I have used the word embody twice in one post, as I'm sure you have noticed as well. No I don't use that word often. Yes I'm going to from here on out. - I get embarrassed easily. I'm awkward. Preferably I would like to act like those things don't exist within me. But instead, I normally realize them and then stew over them inside myself until my hamster wheel brain is about to melt out of my head. It's a gift. Not a good gift, like gummy bears and a note in my mailbox. A gift that hurts just as the giver intended. A gift that's not a gift at all from a giver who's not a giver at all.

This week made me openly stare down all those things in the face. From the girl who refused to talk to me because she doesn't speak very clear english and it embarrassed her. Her embarrassment made her feel trapped. From the girl who felt the need to always put on a show because she didn't know who she was. From the girl who had struggled with seeing the Lord as perfectly in control and true.

This girl, This ginger, This human, This child, was given the truth that I needed to hear more than anything. And not only that but was given the chance to immediately tell it to people who needed to hear it too.

On Friday, I had breakfast with one of the girls and she said, "Morgan. You observe a lot. You think a lot. Speak the sweet things you think."

Warning: I'm about to talk to myself.

Self- 4 weeks from now, 2 months from now, 9 months from now, 2 years from now, when you're looking back reading this- because you know you will- because you will need to- because you might forget between now and then-Remember this: Remember what it felt like to have that breakfast after praying for it all week. Remember what it was like to know that you were chosen. Remember what it felt like to know that a herd of people, and more importantly the God of the universe thought you were capable in your incapability. Remember what it felt like to defend your faith. Remember what it felt like to realize you can't experience joy or peace, or healing, or truth apart from the Lord. Remember when you were confided in. Remember the responsibility you hold. Remember defending the Word as the whole, complete truth- and not only defending it but realizing that it really is. Remember what it felt like to realize how undeservedly blessed you are, and the thankfulness that poured from your heart in that moment. Remember how your world perspective grew. Remember when you realized that our need for Christ is deeply the same across humanity, whether in the Congo or in Texas.

Y'all. We're halfway done. I miss you. I love you. Thank you for praying and for reading and for the phone calls and the letters and the visits and the hugs and the encouragement. Thank you for not judging me even though I write run on sentences over and over and over.

This week I'm with 9th grade girls. My soul comes alive around girls that age. Probably because I act like a 9th grade girl 89% of the time. Probably because I live life with some of the coolest 9th grade girls I know at home (Girls. That was something called a "shout out". Bask in it. Miss you, love you, thinking about you always!) I don't hate it.

Lord, bring me to my knees.

Fireworks

How in the world am I two weeks down? Am I in some alternate dimension? (That's a PC reference. Yes, I'm a school girl who hates to be out of the loop on things like that. It's my pleasure to get you in the loop.)

This week. This week. This week.

This week was a monotonous blast, if such a thing ever existed.

This week I intended to have minimal interaction with campers. I was tired and felt at the end of myself after a week full of 5th grade girls. Any intentionality I would've mustered this week in my own strength would be insincere and I knew that. So, naturally, in a momentary lapse of judgement, I welcomed the break like a convict welcomes a hiding place.

There's certainly nothing wrong with the hiding place. Work crew week was fun. I worked with FUN FUN people. I got a lot of downtime. I didn't have to make awkward conversation. I worked behind the scenes. I was quiet. I acted ridiculous. I watched tangled while folding napkins. I fell into a position that made it easy to hide from everything I find uncomfortable. Most of those being awkward encounters and being ridiculous when all I want to do is sleep. Let's be real. The hiding place isn't the problem. It's the hider.

With that realization in my pocket, I feel like I haven't grown at all this week because I have avoided hard things. It's the lie I'm being sold at the moment. Praise Him that moments are only momentary.

In my weakness grace still abounds. Every week I get the privilege of sitting in with a family every day while they do devotionals together as a family. I used to dread this time with a passion. It was weird and I felt like that weird cousin that no body really knows but feels like they should invite to intimate family functions because after all, we are cousins. As of late, it's a time I've come to like...enjoy even. I'm like the kid who suddenly realizes they love ketchup and wants it on everything. Everyone knows what I'm talking about. I remember the day I realized I loved ketchup. I was in Branson (all important life realizations happen in Branson). I was 8. I was with B White (Hey girl. Missing you.) More on this another day.

On Thursday we were talking about anchors. How everyone needs them in their life to remember how great God is and how He has worked in the past. How they need to exist for times when we barely remember our own names. It could be a song. It could be journaling. It could be a blog. This family keeps a book on their coffee table that they write in when they see God do things in their lives. Big and small. Life altering situations and everyday, overlooked blessing.

When my devo family's son was 6 his dad was in Iraq. His dad had been gone for a long time and the little boy was having a hard time remembering his dad, but he remembered that they loved shooting fireworks off together. He begged his mom for fireworks. To remember his dad. To ease the gaping hole in his life ( I could write romance novels with dramaticisms like the previous statement. It's a gift Nicholas Sparks and I share. Except he gets paid for it. Back to the story. Grab a tissue. Better yet, grab a box of tissues.). It was October and surprisingly fireworks are hard to find in October in Texas. Texas Texas Texas. The middle child of the United States, that one. The begging was going on while they were walking in the post office and on the way out a guy drove up and asked this little boys mom for some gas money. She gave him $20 and he gave them a box of fireworks in return, minutes after the little boy asked his mom.

In a life full of hilarity and confusion and shortcomings and being a schoolgirl and pouring out and fireworks and sweetness and pain and chicken suits and ups and downs and highs and lows- I've come to one small conclusion. I need an anchor. A sure foundation. An everlasting, faithful, faultless, gracious, never giving up, never changing, consistent, constant, Savior. Lord, take full, sweet residence. Lord, be my full, sweet Residence.

A Broken Record

Seven days. 42 hours of sleep (you do the math). Grossly ridiculous amounts of sweating. A 2 lb bag of skittles. 6 little girls. Lots of prayers. 4 showers (you do the math). 23 sweet bible stories. Lots of vitamin D. Too much coffee. One fantastically witty game of apples to apples. 100,000 calories (This could be what one would consider an exaggeration. My school girlism strikes again). At least 7 shades of tan (which is a feat for this ginger). And with that, week 6 is over.

I don't even know where to begin.

I should probably start exactly one year ago. A) Never fear, this will be brief. B) Maybe not so brief C) I can almost guarantee you this will be long-winded.

Put on your excited pants. We're go back in time.

Exactly one year ago today I finished my first week ever working at camp. I had been a counselor to nine energetic, chaotic, frazzled, hilarious 8 and 9 year olds. We ran around like chickens with our heads cut off the entire week. We discussed the drama of their lives aka if their parents would be buying them icecream after they got picked up. We sang countless disney songs. I made them put sunscreen on and wear their tshirts over their bathing suits around the boys so there were times when they disliked me. By the end of the week I was completely overwhelmed by my inability to do anything right in my brain.

I was too much of a school girl for this. I wanted to jump in my car and drive away. I couldn't handle the chaos. I kept getting in trouble like a disobedient 4 year old in big church. I wanted to run. I wanted to run fast.

In the course of 6 days I had been late, I overslept not one, but two mornings, my shorts fell off when I was getting out of the pool (gasp!), I momentarily lost one of my campers, at any point of the day I had atleast 3 little children latched onto me, I had gotten sore dancing for an hour and could hardly move the next day, I sat on a fire ant hill, and I accidentally forgot to take my kids to archery. How does someone do that you ask? Beats me. Needless to say I was asked nicely to "please come in 2 hours early this weekend". Gladly. I remember thinking to myself "Oh my goodness gracious. Where am I? I tired. I hungry. I need my mommy." Lack of sleep and sheer chaos apparently turns you into a incoherent caveman. Noted.

I would like to think that time in my life was characterized by a sophomore-in-college immaturity and that I've grown incredibly mature and selfless and efficient since then. Then I find myself wearing a chicken costume for 3 hours and remember that I'm still a school girl.

This week I was positive they wouldn't want me to council those same girls. Surely they didn't like me. I had done a horrible job. I was... I am still embarrassed about it. Honestly I went the rest of last summer acting like that first week hadn't happened.

Last Saturday I was informed I would be doing EXACTLY what I did this time last year. I would be chasing around the same little girls. I would be doing the same activities. I was praying I would not be the same panicked ninny I was last summer.

This week was redemptive in every way possible. It was such a cool thing to be in these girls lives a year later. To see their growth. To answer their questions. To be pummeled and bear hugged by 6 preshy little beauties. To be able to hit the ground running immediately and not have to wait for the awkward "I need to impress you so you think I'm cool" stage to be over. We made it to archery AND stayed relatively organized which was ridiculously enough a huge feat. I have prayed and prayed for consistency and stability in my life. That I would find it in Christ. That my faith wouldn't be characterized by an on again off again roller coaster ride but rather a steady walk.

I think I'm scared to repeat situations that I did not perform well in the first time. Scratch that. I know I'm scared to repeat situations that I did not perform well in the first time. Who wants to chance failing twice? Not this girl. I think knowing the redemptive power of Christ takes being willing to jump back into situations we don't like over and over. The Lord is always willing to give me a second chance at things but rarely am I willing to jump in. I would much rather avoid the situation because of fear of failure rather than let it be redeemed.

Thank the Lord grace abounds and sometimes He doesn't give me the choice. Lord, please be a broken record for me.

This week I'm on work crew which means minimal camper interaction (the only bummer), lots of serving, a night off, and a mind nap. Praise Him for He is good!

Chapter 2

The annual Thomason family beach vacation slays me. I suddenly feel the need to give myself permission to do all the things I would never do on a daily basis. Eating 7 meals a day, laying a chair half naked for hours, reading a boo in its entirety, and blatantly people watching are all on the list. I wear lipstain and bronzer and too much eyeliner. I suddenly care about what my hair looks like. My outfits match. I order things like "remoulade" for my blackened butterflied shrimp. I say things like "I would really love a ginger ale, hold the ice please". It's true. In a round about way I'm confessing to you that I'm a vacation diva. I don't know when it started or what causes it. Sun exposure? Increased caloric intake? Decreased physical activity? Lord forgive me for my vacationing gluttony.

All that being said, it's incredible to be sitting here on this plane, on the brink of a huge transition. Between one extreme and the next.

Y'all I really don't like transitions. I'm bad at them. It makes me feel like 8 year old me and I've lost Tina in the mall. It strips me of all of my self imposed maturity and security. Even writing that sentence makes me want to write some sort of witicism to mask the vulnerability of it. It requires me to look straight into the face of Jesus and see if I really believe that He's my security and savior. I want to be a woman who feels and lives in the light of the truth I've received. It's a struggle. It's a process my flesh would like to happen in a single 3 minute event- or sometimes not at all. My brain knows the truth of Christ, His redemptive power and the security that is found in Him. Transition requires me to live in the light of His truth. Lord baptize my mind.

I feel like there are so many people I need to thank for pursuing me and for loving on me in the transitional weeks at home. The weeks I was not ready to face, but came to love. The weeks I feared, but rather found confidence and foundation in. The weeks that looked like a bowl of nasty pea soup from afar but ended up being a bowl of mint chocolate chip ice cream when I got to it and actually ate it. Thank you for sitting with me on the porch. Thank you for letting me hold your baby. Thank you for letting me go grocery shopping with you-always. Thank you for the late night skype calls. Thank you for leaving me funny pictures of yourself on my facebook. Thank you for laying with me on the beach. Thank you for taking me to lunch. Thank you for letting me be your student again. Thank you for being the same. Thank you for the letting me be in your everyday even though we're hours apart. Thank you for calling me from camp. Thank you for helping me discover the organic gas station. If I could hug each of your necks right this second you know I would!

So here we are! Ready or not, PC! Here I come.

Coonicide

You guys might need to sit down for this one. Grab a box of tissues and some chocolate. Have your mommy on speed dial.

Also. This post could certify me as a redneck. I desire to be the opposite. Sometimes I view the opposite of being redneck as being British. I want to be able to say "Cheerio, mate!" and wear floral from head to toe and have afternoon tea. Instead I'm a ginger Arkansan with a father who has a "man cave" in our house where he keeps his shrine of deer heads and stuffed in flight ducks. One of the ducks has duck calls hanging from its neck. Oh the irony. You win some you lose some.

This is a tragic tale about a relatively normal Wednesday night. The night started out with Jo Beth. Sister is my ridiculously tan, hilarious bestie who just got home from too many weeks in Costa Rica. That's false. It was the perfect amount of weeks in Costa Rica but i'm selfish and wanted her with with me to laugh and be absolutely ridiculous with. Jo Beth is one of those people who I laugh with like no other. Ugly laugh x 10. Snorting. Crying. Lack of breathing. The kind of laughter that mends your soul and makes you feel lighter. Being with her is pure joy.

We started out working on our fitness. It's a favorite pasttime of ours. Ask anyone at the HPER. We're animals. All the boys stare. Not really. But really.

About 3 steps into it I was doubled over in laughter because we started talking like cavemen. I know that's not funny. Needless to say we made a scene. The walk continued. We walked to Meg's house and loved on the sweet one for a little bit. We got chased by a herd (atleast 5) of miniature poodles. Then we decided to go get a snowcone to make up for all of our burnt calories. Life was sweet. All was right with the world.

I got in my car. Sang my little heart out to Sleeping at Last. I was smiling and laughing and driving down a country road with no one around but the Lord Himself. It was like a scene straight out of Gilmore Girls. I thought I saw Lorelei and Luke sitting on their front porch. Then I remembered they were fictional TV characters and not real life. And I think that show was set in New Hampshire or something cray cray like that. Let's just say I was plum confused.

And that's when it happened.

I was speeding along a back road singing and that's when I saw it. A huge. Wriley. Angry raccoon. Bless it's furious heart. It was no match for my 2005 Suzuki. I couldn't swerve fast enough. It couldn't scamper quickly enough. It's too small brain couldn't function that fast. I literally saw it's life flash before its eyes and then the rest is history. I drove the rest of the way home in a, "Oh my goodness gracious. I just killed a raccoon. I wonder if it had little raccoon children? Don't think that!" stupor.

Fifteen minutes later I was texting Jo Beth and laughing my head off about it. Dumb bunny, coon. Served it right walking in front of my beast of a car. Did I just say that?

Headgear

I have a confession. I am not an athlete. I know this comes as a surprise to 89% of the people reading this, but it is the honest to goodness truth. I have truly tried being a poser in numerous sports.

Softball being the first. It was hot, and I spent more time playing in the dirt than listening to my coach who just happened to be my best friend on the team's dad. He was serious business and we were going to ANNIHILATE the other seven year old girls teams. I was terrified. My only claim to fame is that I hit a grand slam once. But then it took me 13 minutes to run around all the bases. By the time I was done my little team had totally forgot why I was speedwalking, and had resorted to playing with eachother's hair and drinking pink gatorade.

Ballet, Tap, and Gymnastics were my next victims. I was awkwardly tall for my age and that was certainly not to my advantage. The other little girls were petite and dainty and cried when the teacher looked at them. I was lanky and had a frizzy ginger fro that nobody knew what to do with. I giggled and overexaggerated all the the dance moves the ENTIRE time. It starts young, y'all. All the other little girls wore little black leotards. I wore a pale pink leotard that made me look like I wasn't wearing one at all. We have a home video of dance class. All the other girls are dancing gracefully and unified with the teacher and I'm standing in the back smiling, waving, and posing for the video camera. It starts young, y'all.

Basketball was the sport I was convinced I had a future in. Basketball is the sport I'm convinced I have a future in. That's a joke for those of you who have never seen me run. Or just seen me in general. I played upward and that of course made me legit. I made 3 baskets my whole 4 year grind of basketball playing. I did however get hit in the face with the ball 5 times, tripped countless times, elbowed in the eyesocket, scratched, yelled at, you name it. I came out of games looking like I had been trapped in an alley with a cougar. Another perk about my basketball years is that those were the years my orthodontist decided to attack my gap tooth. I would literally practice basketball in my driveway wearing my headgear. For those of you who don't know what headgear is, google it. That actually has nothing to do with playing basketball, but it's a funny mind picture. You're welcome.

The last, but certainly not least was my valiant attempt at golfing. Now, I went to a new highschool and naturally we got to be involved in whatever our little hearts desired. My logic in higschool worked like this. "P.E. is for unathletic losers. Ope, I have a brilliant idea. I'm going to play golf for my P.E. because I've done so well in all the other sports i've participated in." I soon realized that P.E. was for normal people, and golf was for cray cray gingers who thought they knew all the answers. But grace abounds and playing golf was the best decision I ever made. Ask anyone who golfed with me. I missed the ball over and over. My first golf practice I tried to Tee-up the ball in the fairway. For those of you thinking, "I had no idea you weren't allowed to do that" I'm right there with you. I was ignant and I basked in it. I would ugly laugh, loudly, and yell at my ball to go further. I was that girl on the golf course. At one point a group of old men simultaneously asked me to be quiet. I got so good that my coach promoted me to snack cart driver. It required no golfing and a whole lot of eating and socializing. I'm a master at both of the latter.

The Lord has refined me so much through the things I am terrible at. Trust me, the things i'm bad at are not solely sports. They include actively listening, singing on pitch, patience, and a laundry list of other things. They are things I used to cringe at and think of as ugly. They stayed in the cave of my brain, the place I never took anyone, especially the Lord. He couldn't see me like that. It was gross and embarrassing. I think the older I get the more He puts me in situations where my weaknesses are on full display. "But he said to me, "My grace is sufficient for you, for my power is made perfect in weakness." Therefore I will boast more all the more gladly in my weaknesses, so that Christ's power may rest on me." ( 2 Cor 12:9) Those words are like candy when I've been eating nothing but saltines. A snowcone in the desert. An open field when I've been in a maze. I have fretted and acted like an absolute ninny in the process of trying to get things right. Trying to cast of my weakness like last year's shoes. I think i'm learning to wear my weakness openly and honestly because only there will we find God's grace and power. When I'm weak I get to humbly point to Him and my need for His power. There's no room for my own strivings and assumed strength. It's an opportunity and a blessing to put my weakness out there like a banner. It's an opportunity I can't pass up anymore.

Tom Foolery

Y'all. There is a reason why I don't venture out into public before 11 am. This morning affirmed that I have been making the right decision.

I have never ever lived in a house outside of my parents house before. I have no idea how it works. What do I do with my trash all week? You mean there's not a neighborhood dumpster? You mean I'm responsible for my own lawn care? Wait a second, I HAVE TO CLEAN MY OWN GUTTERS? I HAVE GUTTERS??! Lord, please forgive me for my dramaticisms.

Our house was in desperate need of some internet. How are we supposed to facebook and shop online and waste time if we don't have internet?! And by we I mean me. Four phone calls, a spoonful of confusion, and a headache later, we had an appointment. I was secretly impressed by my mature completion of adult duties. But then again I just laughed at the word "duty" as I typed it so I guess the former sentence is void. The sweet lady on the phone informed me that the internet man, let's just call him Tom Foolery, would come between 7am-12. Of course in my brain, combined with my selective hearing, I heard "We'll see you at 11". Let's just call me Silly Sue.

So, this morning, when the doorbell rang at 7:30 am, you know why I was dazed, confused, and just about ready to call the fuzz.

Whit and I had pulled our mattresses into our living room amidst the array of our randomly moved in furniture because we couldn't handle sleeping in a room just yet. That's translated to I'm a pansy and it was our first night sleeping there and I didn't want to sleep in a room by myself. So, naturally, we pushed our little twin mattresses together and placed a lamp in between us and slept right in the middle of our living room. I felt like a little kid who had made a pallet in the living room. All we needed were pigtails and retainers. You can guess which one I had covered.

The next sequence of events are an unbelievable blur to me. The doorbell rang. I immediately thought to myself, "Dumb bunny doorbell. Tina will get it. What time is it....oh my lanta where the heck am I!?" I rolled off the bed, and slapped on my nike shorts. The next thing that happened will haunt me for the rest of my life. I opened the door and simultaneously realized I had my shorts on backwards, I didn't have a bra on, and screamed, "GOOOOOOD MORNING!!!!!" in a pitch that only dogs can hear. It was an inappropriate recipe for disaster.

The person staring back at me could have been a jcrew model. I tried to play a mind game with myself and say he looked like an ogre to save myself compounded embarrassment, but it was to no avail. The more I tried to tell myself he was ugly the more he looked like a handy man version of Jude Law. Lord help us. He came in and immediately got to work. I ran to the bathroom to brush my teeth and try to salvage any piece of dignity I had left. I looked in the mirror. The latter would be impossible. And that's when it happened. He couldn't find the cable. And, to my horror I heard the following conversation happen:

Tom Foolery (TF): "Where's the other lady?"

Whit: "Umm...in the bathroom"

TF: "Um. Erm. Okay."

Oh geez. Oh no. Please Lord, let me be dreaming. Please don't let him think I'm doing something embarrassing in here. I ran out of the door and moved quicker than I had in 24 hours. I wanted to inform him that I was just brushing my teeth and putting a bra on but that would be SO MUCH MORE inappropriate and embarrassing than anything I had done prior to that right? Am I right?! Thinking clearly only minutes after waking up is not a strength of mine.

After 20 minutes of tinkering around and being a handy man, Tom Foolery got us all set up. I signed the papers, I made no eye contact, and prayed he wouldn't remember the past 30 minutes of his life. On his way out the door Whit said, "Thank you. Sorry we were sleeping!". Bless you Whit.

Tom foolery, if your reading this A) I'm dying of embarrassment B) Has anyone ever told you that you look like Jude Law? C) I'm sorry that I'm not sorry I was sleeping at 730. I am sorry for a list of thing including bralessness, my hair standing on end, and acting like a psychotic dog trainer but I refuse to apologize for being asleep at 7:30 am. Whit's a better person than I am.

Pumpkin oatmeal

I'm going against my better judgement, and I'm writing this bad boy at 12:11 am. If you see me tomorrow, haggard and glazy eyed and frazzled- No it's not because I'm a cray cray 21 year college student. It's because my mind is a hamster wheel and keeps me awake. I'm still unsure of who the hamster is. One day I'm going to stick it to the man and find an off switch, but until then you get to put up with my strung-together-late-night thoughts. Bless your heart.

In the fall, I was fresh out of camp. Jesus was pumping through my veins like a venti iced coffee with a quadruple shot. I had seen miracles there. Redemption. Healing. Reconciliation. Sancitification. All the -tions were in attendance and in full force. I was fired up. I was humbled. I was broken. I was ready to give Conway a big a bear hug and inform her that we had some work to do. I refused to think it was a camp high. No not me. I'm too cool and disciplined for that baloney. I had a smile slapped on my face and I was going to buckle down and GET. ER. DONE. I had my chacos and nike shorts on and I was going to take Conway BY STORM!! Sometimes i'm a skipping home from church camp, striving ninny poser.

The Lord planted a seed in the middle of my "I'm going to get strive alot" ninny-ness. Over labor day, I went with a couple friends and stayed at a girls ministry house with some of their friends from camp. It was sketchy and beautiful and old. It had character and style and a prayer room and most importantly lots and lots of space for them to have people from their college town over. They had plenty of space to love on their town.

It made us want to throw up. It was everything we wanted for Conway. A place to have small group. A place to feed people. I place to call home instead of to call apartment. A place to make cute. A place to stay up late and be giggly, irresponsible school girls. Rather, a place for me to stay up late and be a giggly, irresponsible school girl.

Every Tuesday morning from then on out we would meet for breakfast and pray when it was still dewey and foggy outside. I would muster up all my culinary abilities and make them pumpkin oatmeal and cereal. We would stagger to my room with cereal mostly because the pumpkin oatmeal was weird, and would pray. And pray. And pray. We would pray for Conway. For the Lord to provide a ministry house for girls if that was His heart in Conway. We prayed for the people who would live in it, that He would prepare them to live there together. We prayed that in the end that He would be glorified through it all, that He would be the sole provider of it. We wouldn't look, or ask around, or horn in, or make it happen. You know, all of my go to responses to things. We would pray for the family we nannyed for. We would beg the Lord to give us grace on our tests that day. We would pray that above all He was glorified in us and through us.

Winter came in went. Christmas break ended. Spring semester started with a vengance.

We quit praying together in the spring. Mostly out of doing too much. Mostly out of exhaustion. Mostly out of lack of passion, for me. I think I just took the lack of anything happening as a sign that we would just live in pairs in apartments.

Sometimes I think the world revolves around me and my time table and that I know the thoughts of the God of the Universe.

Sometimes I write run on sentences and leave them.

Sometimes I stomp my foot like a disobedient 4 year old wanting skittles in the checkout line at walmart. But that's another story.

In March a miracle happened. It makes me want to weep, jump for joy, fall on my knees, tell everyone I know, "Oh my goodness gracious great balls of fire. The Lord is REAL and He hears me. Little, ginger, ridiculous, overthinking me!"

Without us doing anything, a house opened up, and we were asked if we wanted to live there.

It's brown. It's unassuming. It's in a quiet older neighborhood. It's perfect. I entertain thoughts about it all the time. About how I'm going to decorate my room. About having people over for dinner for the first time and the joy that's going to flood my heart in that little moment. I pray over it. It's almost like i'm crushing on it. I stare off into space and think about it. I write it's address all over my notebook. When it looks at me I blush and giggle and flip my hair off my shoulder. Too much? You win some you lose some.

From the outside, the house is not impressive. When people drive by they don't think to themselves, "Hey! There's the house that the Lord provided for those girls!" The majority of people will never know. Although in my brain I think everyone gets weepy and goofy joyous when they look at it. It's a complex.

It's amazing what lengths the Lord will go to grow our faith in Him. The detailed huge scale things He will do for an individual for His glory. Humbling is the understatement of the year. We'll never be the same. We'll never look at prayer or provision or faith or persistence the same ever again. Praise Him!

Yesterday

There are days that I live the dream and don't even realize it. Yesterday was one of them. There are also days that are weird and cray cray stuff happens and I don't even realize it. Yesterday was one of them. I like to think of myself as observant. I think the evidence is against me.

Rick busted up in my room at 8:47 am and scared me so bad I almost fell off my air mattress. Mind you, I had not seen God's green earth before 9 am in what felt like 47 years, so this was a shock. Also, I'm well aware that the drop from the air mattress to the ground is probably 6 inches tops, but in that state of horror and confusion the last thing I was doing was thinking rationally. Rick informed me we were going to breakfast. Praise the Lord above. I slapped on the clothes I had worn the day before and quickly forgot about the past 3 minutes of life and ran out the door. The prospect of donuts has that effect on me. (Affect? I can never get it right. If you're one of those people who cringes at the thought let alone the sight of school girl bad grammar, please forgive me for my schoolgirl bad grammar.)

We arrived at Rick's bakery. Rick and I have graced Rick's bakery with our presence for years. It has character and spunk and you immediately feel like you're a little kid again. It makes me want to stuff my face with cream filled donuts and drink chocolate milk. It also makes me want to grab Rick's hand and skip. One of these days i'm going to just to see his reaction. I had only be awake for 12 minutes and was certainly not in the mood for holding hands or skipping so I acted like a caveman instead, pointing and grunting at the donuts I wanted. At times I shoudn't be allowed in public.

We sat in the back room and ate and talked about life and laughed. The kind of laughter that bubbles up in you and is really loud and you can't control it. Rick had been in China for a week and a half and it was a delight to have him sitting across from me eating donuts. He didn't even care that my hair was standing on end and that I was wearing that outfit round 2. Love abounds. We left Rick's and got coffee at Starbucks. Rick would never admit it, but he's a coffee snob. I'm a coffee snob. Lord, please humble me and my coffee preferences.

I got home and took Foxy for a walk in an attempt to walk off the donuts. I probably would have needed to walk from my house to Chicago to make that happen, but one can dream. We had been gone for 2.3 seconds, and that's when I saw it. A huge, ginger colored dear standing in my neighbors front yard staring at me. Now, I live in suburban Arkansas complete with cookie cutter houses, mowed grass, sidewalks, mulch and roses, the whole 9 yards. And it was noon and broad daylight. I thought I was seeing things. I thought the donuts were playing tricks on me. When the deer saw us it ran through peoples front yard and down the paved road. "Probably off to go scare some other unsuspecting ginger trying to walk off her donuts" I said to Foxy. Not really. But I wish I would have.

After I got back from the walk my day started over. Rick and I went and got starbucks, yes again. No I didn't get the same thing again. Yes I wanted to.

Tina and I went on walk round two after starbucks visit round two. As we were rounding the corner, we saw a ground hog and some friends scampering around. I've never seen a ground hog in my neighborhood. I exclaimed, "Mother dearest! I cannot handle all of the wildbeasts in and around our neighborhood. A ginger deer, and now this?!" Not really. But I wish I would have.

We ate dinner, and sat by the fire pit, and went and got icecream, and I ran for a wee bit.

I can't define grace. I don't understand it. I know I need it every moment of every day. And then the Lord gives me a day like yesterday. A day full of starbucks and time with Rick and Tina and blessings and donuts and ground hogs and ginger deer and fire pits. That's grace and blessing. I don't deserve it, but then he abundantly lavishes the gift on us. Praise Praise Him!

The Time Machine and the Monkey

Y'all it is no joke when I say coming home makes me regress to a hormonal 15 year old. I have wandered around, slept for 12 hours a night, eaten more fruit snacks then I would like to admit, spent too much time on the couch watching food network, and listened to "I still care for you" on repeat. I've acted jaded like a moody highschool bandie who just got dumped by her shakespeare loving boyfriend of 2 weeks (Note: if that is your situation and your reading this, forgive me. I'm a school girl.)

But as much as I like to make light of my own feelings and actions, this weirdness has really affected my everyday. I knew it was deeper than jaded feelings, but I was afraid to look it in the face. It worries me. It's the monkey on my back I can't get to go away. It's the reason I didn't want to come home.

Conway is a superb distraction. Complete with a Slim Chickens AND a fantastic park. And a kazillion people to worry about and pour myself into. Basically, the park in Springdale sucks and the closest thing they have to slim chickens is a sweet little place called rocking chicken- Which is close. But sorry RC, you just don't measure up. And your floors are sticky. Most importantly there's no one here to distract me except Foxy- my annoying, overgrown lap dog.

In the middle of my confusing inner turmoil, I have been living in a time machine. I ate lunch with my kindergarten teacher at my elementary school. I drove by the house I grew up in, twice. I went through my room and heartlessly threw away almost every memory of my childhood, except for a box of nostalgia that Tina couldn't stomach getting rid of. I got a snowcone at the snowcone stand that my friends and I lived at during the summer in highschool. I read through the journals of prayers I wrote while at John Brown. I've ran around my block night after night. I've eaten more meals with Tina during this time than I have in the past year. I've sat on our back porch and prayed and cried and read.

During this entire time, I've ashamedly and confusingly felt really rebellious against the Lord. I would read truth and understand it in my brain and think about it a ton but it wouldn't affect my heart. It was almost as if my heart was hardened, and have you read the bible?! That's BAD NEWS BEARS. Needless to say the Lord is good, and he's teaching me what faith in Him to save my life really means- even when I act a hardhearted fool. Even when I feel like an unsavable ninny. Which is the basic, but if we don't have Jesus then what's the point?

I needed to come home in more ways than one. I knew I needed to. It's like knowing you need medicine and someone to take care of you. But, In your head you know that the medicine is a pill the size of your fist and it tastes like a mixture of brussel sprouts and Maalox. And you've done so well taking care of yourself. But taking the pill and letting yourself be taken care of heals you. And in the end you end up liking the taste of maalox. But who would ever admit to that.

Praying for a buffet

I have a list of things I don't like doing. Things that I need to quit "not liking"- It's a work in progress. A very slow process. If you want to throw up a prayer asking the Lord to change my heart about said things, I wouldn't hate it.

Going to celebritory functions for people we barely know out of obligation is on the list. If it were up to me we would just send them a gift card to target in the mail. Tina is a better person than I am.

To add insult to injury, my morning was a wardrobe catastrophe. Tina insisted that the only thing appropriate for me to wear to said function was a black dress I've owned for the past 4 years. It's cute, but it makes me look like I have a muffin top. I have a muffin top, but I don't want to look like I have a muffin top. I like to live in denial. Living in denial looked like me wearing an obnoxious floral romper that makes me look like I have the build of a stocky 14 year old boy. I love it. It was also an immature act of rebellion against the black dress and Tina who, bless her heart, gets the brunt of my regression to a hormonal 15 year old when I'm home. Lord, help me and my school girl ways.

The romper was on. It was staying on and that's all there was to it. And then, I accidentally walked past my mom's full length mirror. What a mistake. The romper came off. The black dress came on. Once again, the mirror. Someone needs to get rid of that mirror. The black dress came off. The green dress came on. I had grown since wearing that green dress. No, surely the green dress just shrunk- in all ways possible. It was too tight. It was too short.

Tina was in the car laying on the horn because we were 20 minutes late. I was out of time and the green dress was it. Time was up. I was that girl.

We arrived at the country club on all of our late, frazzled glory. Rather, my late, frazzled glory. Tina, her petite self, looked precious in her plum little dress and tan skin and newly painted fingernails. I looked like a yeti wearing baby dress, chipping off my bright blue nail polish as we walked in the door. I was praying for a buffet. You win some you lose some.

The first person I saw was my pastor's wife. Immediately I tried to act like I had the modesty confidence of someone wearing a turtle neck and a floor length skirt. Ope. It was a no go. I was Bathsheba.

Praise the Lord my bestie got drug to the same occasion. Grace abounds. We hid in the corner and cuddled with her baby and laughed and ate chocolate covered strawberries. We covered my naky legs with the baby's blanket so no one could tell that my watermelon was nearly uncovered. I tried to look good and impressive and instead I ended up looking embarrassingly inappropriate. I dreaded the occassion and instead it was a delight. I think that's how God works sometimes. Showing that He's in control- and that our efforts are useless without him. That although we assume something will look one way, our human minds can only assume human outcomes. Praise the Lord we serve a redeeming God who makes beauty from ashes- and covers naky legs with baby blankets.

My bestie's baby

Meg is weaved into almost every part of my life growing up. Our parents are best friends. Our dads work for the same company. Our moms made a life out of raising us. We each have brothers that are five years younger than us. Over the years her family has become family to us. Through Christmas's spent together, birthdays, summer dinners, card games, sitting beside each other in church, sledding together, helping each other get ready for prom, growing up together, making our dads eat our disturbing easy bake oven creations, through heartbreaks, moving houses, decorating rooms, broken bones, football games, the thick, and the thin. Meg has always been there, just like her mom has always been there for my mom and the same for our dads and brothers.

When Meg and I were little we used to have those babies that looked so real that people often mistook them for real when we would push them around in strollers in the mall, at Walmart, and all the various other places we took them. Meg was three years older than me and I wanted to be exactly like her- naturally that meant doing whatever she did. When she would hold her doll out the window while we were driving by its foot, I would follow suit. When she would act like she had tripped and dump her doll onto the floor on its face, I would just happen to trip too, less gracefully of course, and fall on my face along with my doll. People would run to us horrified, screaming, "That poor child!" only to find out they were only dolls. It was the funniest thing this ginger had ever experienced. We would giggle and high five and look around for another unsuspecting grandma to terrify. Tina and Kell would tell us to stop. Our dads would laugh.

What we loved most about it was that people actually thought these babies were real. We would fantasize about what having our own kids would be like. We couldn't wrap our minds around the idea. I would have giggly ginger children. Hers would be dark headed and sweet. My daughter would be named Eloise Rose, and hers would be named Addison Marie. They would be the best of friends and grow up together, just like we had. If something went horrifically against our plans and one of us had a son, that would be okay. They would just marry each other. Even better.

In April, when I met Meg's baby for the first time, I was speechless, and emotional, and overjoyed, and humbled, and out of control, and excited, and changed. She was tiny and snuggly and warm and innocent and really real. Her little hand couldn't fit around my finger. That day will forever be in my memory file. The real life day when something hoped for became incredibly real and life changing and infinitely better than we could have ever imagined.

Cheesecake for dinner

Tina makes the best cheesecake of all time. It's just fact. Ask Mason. He ate it for dinner last night. It's the kind of cheesecake that makes you want to die after eating it because life certainly couldn't get any better past there. Overdramatic? Probably. True? In my brain, sometimes.

We have cheesecake 3 times a year. One being my birthday. The second being Memorial day. Side note: I just love memorial day. The pool opens. All of your family comes over. You get to eat all sorts of grilled food. Summer is ahead of you. School is behind you for a little while. Flies are everywhere but you don't really care because, hey, it's summer. Tina makes cheesecake. It's a win win win. The third being thanksgiving/Christmas time. Not necessarily on those days but around that season. When Tina makes cheesecake it's a special time. Let's be real, the day of my birth is special. Christmas? So special. Memorial day? A delightful rarity.

I told Tina that we should make a cheesecake every week this summer. Try something new. I mean we love it why don't we have it more often? Right? I've got to be right. But my petit, slim mom shook her head and said, "I would weigh 481 pounds by... the end of summer and it would steal our joy of only having every once in a while. In the meantime, we should definitely eat it for dinner."

My first thought? Mom, you cray cray.

Eat it for dinner? But it's against everything you ever taught me! I should be eating vegetables for dinner. Perhaps something considered "lean cut" and fat free. Cheesecake for dinner? That can't be okay. It's against tradition. You've been lying to me my entire life. The rug is getting pulled out from under me. Just the thought of that makes me want to run a marathon. What will my vegetarian friend think of me? She'll probably shake her head and think, "That unhealthy, fatty. She should be eating something considered lean cut and vegetables for dinner". She would never actually think that about me. At times I'm an irrational and dramatic schoolgirl.

I think learning to rest is a lot like learning to eat cheesecake for dinner. For the longest time I didn't think I needed to rest. I didn't think it was okay. I was too busy meeting with my small group girls, or working, or trying to rest to no avail, or running from one crazy overwhelming situation to the next. Over time I just get more and more exhausted and confused. I panic. I forget that rest is where pure joy and peace meet. Rest recognizes that the Lord is fully in control and that life continues without me thinking everything through. Truth is, when I try to run my life I usually run it into the ground.

Rest is so necessary. Eating cheesecake for dinner is so necessary. It's countercultural. It's against everything you think is right. It's against doing, because you don't do anything. It's blissful and joyous. It's the sugar of life. It's a God given gift. It's a hard gift to accept when you haven't accepted it in a long, long while. He uses it to recharge me. He uses it to show me who's boss. He uses it to hold me. He uses it to teach me grace. He uses it to show me I'm weak.

There are times when you just need some cheesecake for dinner. A big piece. And when you're finished scrape the plate. Make sure you get it all. Thank the Lord for it. Refuse to feel guilty about it. Let your heart feel sweet satisfaction.

If that isn't enough, watch the celebrity apprentice in your unders with your mom for a couple hours. Make a fire pit in your back yard and roast marshmallows with your brother when it's still light outside- and then laugh a lot when you smoke up the entire neighborhood. Read Cold Tangerines and cry like a little baby because it so resembles your life you can't handle it. Lay in your bed really still under a quilt that your great great grandma hand sewed and see how it feels to be really still and really quiet again. Discover peace again.

Dad and Starbucks

My mom just informed me that she thinks I'm very witty. With those words of affirmation in my back pocket, It's time to blog a little. I discovered 12 hours ago that I should no longer blog after 10 pm. It causes overactive, sleepless thinking. Noted.

Almost every Sunday afternoon I can count on 3 things. A) Running errands with my dad B) Intentionally being asked about life C) Free starbucks. Since Dad and I are the intellectual type, we enjoy us some coffee and good conversation- and skinny jeans and good music and playing ukeleles and wearing berets. The last 4 are questionable.

My dad is a blessing and a treasure. He has been so consistent and solid over the years. I've learned so much from him.

For instance, 21 years ago Rick had a ton of black hair, big glasses, a love for sweaters, a great laugh.

Now, the glasses are gone. The "ton of black hair" has turned into a little graying black hair. He still loves a good sweater. His laugh still makes me laugh.

He's hardworking, has a servant heart, he wears socks with sandals, he's witty, he's smart, he's kind, and he always takes the time to pet our 12 year old basset hound everyday. He's strong and when I was little we used to flex our muscles and watch WWF (wrap your mind around that one). He laughs at my jokes. I see him when I make certain facial expressions and every morning at our kitchen table when he meets with the Lord. He loves my mom with his whole heart. He likes to garden- and he's really good at it.

I just love him. I love the view He gives me on our Heavenly Father.

These words ain't cheap

The thought of condensing the past week into a few paragraphs just doesn't seem right. I need to write a novel. Perchance I need a camera crew following me around 24/7 filming my every move. Perhaps a video diary. Better yet, some papa-paparazzi. Let's just T5 this bad boy:

T5 loves:

1) I love me a good reunion. Especially one that is extremely overdue. I get giggly and excited just thinking about doing life with these silly bananas this summer.

2) Granola and punch. There's a reason I'm back to work camp this summer. Scratch that. There are two reasons why I'm coming back to work camp this summer. First of all, I don't remember life prior to eating the granola at camp. Okay I do, but life is now sweeter because I have. I don't know if it's the fact that everything I eat there tastes like manna (I've never actually eaten manna but my guess is that it was the best thing ever- I mean come on, it was food God-sent from heaven), or that I'm just overly dramatic while eating it, but it is delish. The punch- I'm literally acting like a giddy school girl right now just thinking about it. It tastes like melted pink popice. Don't act like you don't know what I'm talking about. It is a delight. I need a punch dispenser in my house. Too much? Probably.

3) I love getting poured into every single day. It's like a bear hug for the soul.

4) Dressing like I'm a rock climbing, ballin, athletic, marathon running, 80's workout instructor. Don't worry, I am none of those things. I'm just a poser.

5) The comfort of sleeping like a little baby.

T5 learnings:

1) It is hard, painful, frustrating, and annoying to learn how to be selfless over and over. Story of my young existence. I had a terrible attitude about learning it again all week long. But y'all, there is so much joy and satisfaction when life is not about myself. I forgot that this semester. It's due time to remember.

2) Texas is hot. Now, I knew this. Really I did. But being back just reminded me of this fact.

3) Working hard for the Lord and nothing else is such a blessing. It is so good for thinking and the my heart.

4) What I learn at camp is not about camp. It's just the place that I learn it. Every good thing comes from THE LORD. I love that. And embarrassingly enough I get that confused sometimes and like to pin it to camp.

5) There is reason and purpose behind everything. We are part of such a big, blessed, production. THE production. It's mind boggling.

People. The Lord is GOOD. Praise!

Humble Pie

Oh brothers and sisters. Let's be real mostly sisters, but I think my dad and my brother might read this. It is the wee morning hours. Why am I awake? It certainly couldn't be the fact that I took a full out 2 hour nap on Autumns couch this afternoon. The kind of dead to the world nap where you drool a little and have really odd dreams about the girl on the progressive commercials marrying your brother and then you have to spend Christmas and such with her. But whatever.

The last two weeks of life have been spent recouping after wrapping up my junior year of college. By recouping I mean doing nothing, laying on the couch, eating my feelings, watching too much food network, wearing a coat of denial about being a senior in college, and creeping on The Pioneer Woman's blog- and secretly wanting to be her best friend in a kind of "hey we're both gingers and we both like to cook! It's so meant to be" sort of way. It has been two weeks that I haven't known what to do with, given that I spent the entire past year of my life running around like a chicken with my head cut off. I almost forgot what Bobby Flay looks like. What tragedy. I have forgotten how to rest and have done too much on my own weak strength- at times I am a ninny. I love the word ninny. To my shock and utter terror, 2 weeks of doing nothing doesn't cure a year of pouring out like Niagra falls while drinking a spoonful of "Lord, will you help with this one thing? I've got the rest." Most of the time, I'm a BIG BIG ninny.

This is how I'm coming into orientation at camp. I'm exhausted. I'm humbled. I'm confused. I am so excited to jump back into that sweet community. I'm scared. I'm a little bit giddy. I'm ready to be back at a place where the Lord is the absolute focus and the joy that comes with it is unbearably rich and satisfying. I'm so thankful for the opportunity to be back. I'm weepy. I'm hungry. I'm loopy. I'm gingy. I trust and hope and pray that I'm right where the Lord wants me.

So here we are y'all. On the brink of summer 2011. I could not feel more excited or ill-prepared. Praise the Lamb that His truth is much bigger and better and honest than my feelings or my sense of being prepared.

"For it is God who is working in you, enabling you both to will and to act for His good purpose"

Philippians 2:13