In A Thousand Words Or Less (Pt. 6)

Today I am exhausted.

In my 8:30am class we talked various philosophies in literature. It’s too dang early for that nonsense.

At 10am I had my Barnabas Group; it was good to be back and together again.

I was able to grab a quick lunch break around 11am before heading back to the apartment.

The hours leading up to 2pm were filled with cleaning, sweeping, laundry, various RA things, and cooking, not in that order.

I finalized my first Advanced Composition essay, crossed my fingers, and sent it in. (Send prayers PLS)

2pm was Crisis and Trauma Therapy, which left me dwelling on a friend who died. He was too young to die, I was too young to have to say goodbye. (I really wish that didn’t rhyme but it does and I’m not changing it so)

After class was more cleaning (one of my roommates has the flu so everything must be disinfected) and reading for classes the next day.

At 4:30pm I visited my work to drop off some books and enjoy the company of my wonderful coworkers.

Before dinner, I took a minute to sit by the pond and breathe. Gold trees were reflected in the water. It was nice.

I finished up some RA stuff and then headed out with friends to the cardio room.

3 miles biked, 1 on the elliptical, 1 on the treadmill. We laughed about splits, stretched, did some sit-ups and hiked it back home.

Or at least I would’ve, but I had forgotten to print some things from the library.

Before making it back to the apartment, I stopped and enjoyed conversation with other students.

At 9pm I am starving (because I am a bottomless pit), so I take out my frozen veggies and season them in a pan.

Keojah watched as I promptly shoveled them into my mouth while simultaneously maintained a conversation about boys. This was actually the most normal part of my day.

She was determined to beat a specific score on Just Dance, and I offered my services (competition usually gets her going).

She refused but I joined anyway. I was no competition. I gave up and after another try she broke the highscore.

9:30pm excited feet and nervous chatter began as some friends and Fiance #1 enter the apartment. I tried really hard not to get distracted by the conversation and focus on the last piece of homework I had instead.

I finished, jumped in the shower, and by the time I was out there was mischief in their eyes. They wanted to go for a drive.

11pmish we jumped back into the cold air again. The sky was clear and the stars were beautiful. I made sure not to bring my wallet, because if I bring my wallet I will get Taco Bell, and I’m trying to stay healthy and all that crap.

I got back around 12am. All is quiet, except for my stomach. Curse you. Luckily, I had Mac and Cheese begging to be made. I ate a few spoonfuls straight out of the pot, stuck it in a Tupperware, washed the last of the dishes, and sat on my bed.

It has been a full day, and I am exhausted.



In A Thousand Words Or Less (Pt.5)

As I walked from one apartment to the next, my thin sorry-excuse-for-sneakers grew heavy. Cold water seeped into the cracks in the soles, and I did my best to protect my backpack from downpour, as it contained my laptop, or as I like to call it, “my literal child.”

The fastest route was still a few minutes of walking, and included long stretches with no cover (and too many stairs to count, though if I’m truly honest I’ve counted them a dozen times). Though cold, the feeling of my shoes, sweatpants, and hoodie clinging to my body closer with each step was comfortable. A familiar chill settled into my limbs, and I was suddenly hit with more memories.

Rainy days were always my favorites. They were the days when my sister and I would dress in our mud-clothes: the central piece to my outfit was a one-size-too-big raincoat in a memorably unpleasant olive color. We would wait until the storm had filled all of the holes in our yard and then beg Mom to let us out and play. Standing under the drain pipes that hung off the roof, we would take turns getting as soaked as possible, and then race through the puddles until our boots were so full we’d have to pull them off and dump them out. Sometimes we would take the empty egg cartons from our kitchen and build boats to race across the biggest puddles, which in our imagination were daunting oceans during a tempest.

Though I have no idea how the game began, my sister and I would always role-play as children who had gotten lost in the storm and stumbled upon the “warm-looking cottage in the woods” (our house) where a “kind woman” (our mother) would welcome us in from our weary travels, and let us dry ourselves in front of the fire while she made us tomato soup and grilled cheese (naturally), which we would finish off with a hot chocolate. Then, pleading Mom to play along, we would ask her if there was “a bed we could stay in for the night”, and she would pull out our cozy Christmas nightgowns (red flannel with white lace trim, I found a similar one and added it just for fun) and tuck us into our beds. 17478714

Days spent inside on a rainy day were just as happy. Tucked into my bed, I would sit with the blinds open and my cheek pressed against the cool glass as I read a book (at that time it would have been A Horse and His Boy ). Every once and awhile I would look up to watch the lightning streak across the sky and feel the vibration of the thunder through the glass before the crash met my ears.

Even now, those happy memories keep me from ever being miserable in the rain, though I can’t help but wonder how many children are out on the street tonight without a “warm-looking cottage” and a “kind woman” to give them refuge.

**As a side note, I didn’t miss my writing for yesterday, I simply applied it to a school assignment instead! Carry on with your night, and stay safe out there!**

In A Thousand Words Or Less (Pt. 4)

Today I’ve been feeling very nostalgic, so I’m offering up a piece of a childhood memory:

It was summer, or at least it felt like summer. The Florida heat was blocked just enough by the enormous trees that had taken root at various spots in my back yard. All the neighborhood kids were taking shelter in the small shady spots, relishing in the slightly-cooler air. The humid air kept our shirts stuck to our bodies, and my hair was at max capacity. Frizzy curls flicked from side to side as I tried to fan myself with my thick ponytail.

We had just finished exploring another area of woods in the neighborhood and deemed it unfit, like the rest, for our clubhouse. Of course, we had no idea how to build a clubhouse, but that was irrelevant. A neighborhood gang of kids needed the neighborhood gang tree-fort, no question about it.

“Did we check the Robertson’s property?”

“Yeah, last week.”

“Bob Saget!”

And down the list we would go. As it got closer to dusk, I found energy creeping back into my limbs, and I popped up, brushing the dirt off my legs which were cut up due to the unforgiving Florida underbrush. I paused with my hands on my hips, staring at the woods next to my house. It was the smallest stretch of woods in the neighborhood, but my sister and I had done plenty of exploring and found lots of interesting places.

“Hey, why don’t we try here?” The boys, both with pink noses and blonde hair, protested,

“Nah, we’ll have to look at the next street over.” Morgan jumped up,

“I think it’s worth a try! We don’t have any daylight left anyway.” Savannah gave her support, and the three of us badgered the boys into submission. The only trail was faint–the best a 6 and 9 year old could do– but we had no problem tromping through the brambles in our sneakers. Basketball shorts got snagged on branches and vines as I led them towards the center of the woods. A tree with long branches stood close to the middle, and if you could climb high enough you could sit and watch the sun set over the house tops.

After a bit of pulling, pushing, and scraping knees and hands on the bark, the gang sat perched on the branches, watching the sunlight shine straight through the leaves, illuminating every detail of each vein. A slight breeze picked up, and though the air was still warm, it made the sticky-sweaty part of my neck get goosebumps. It was quiet except for the occasional smack of a hand on a leg or arm as we fought in the never-ending battle against mosquitoes. Staying out as late as we could get away with, the curly-haired boy stated decisively, “Nope. We’ll go by the Allen’s place tomorrow.” With just enough light left to see, I aimed a potent little fist and drove it into his shoulder.

“Ouch! What the heck?”

The group clamored down the tree and raced down the street, taunting and stealing one another’s bikes until the sun was completely gone and our mother’s voices bounced off the black pavement, still warm from the sun’s rays.

We never did build that fort.


In A Thousand Words Or Less (Pt. 3)

So I’ve managed to start writing this blog before midnight tonight (yay, improvement!).

Lately the Lord has been impressing upon me the importance of embracing the gifts I’ve been given, and tonight at church I was reminded yet again.

First of all,  it’s easy for me to get caught in a vicious cycle of self-improvement. I spend so much time working on my weaknesses that I exhaust myself because I’m not doing what I love and succeeding. Instead, my energy gets sucked into a void that only feeds the idea that I’m not enough.

This semester, I want to make a change. I want to focus on my gifts and grow them. I want to invest in things that I’m passionate about, instead of trying to become more passionate about things that aren’t necessarily important to me.

Second of all, I need to learn what having a true servant’s heart means. Loving, giving, and serving are a huge part of the Christian faith, and using my gifts to serve others is one of the most satisfying things ever.

But, this Scripture sticks with me, “For am I now seeking the approval of man, or God? Or am I trying to please man? If I were still trying to please man, I would not be a servant of Christ.” (Galatians 1:10)

In other words, I’ve started to question why I am serving, and who. Yes, I am serving others, but it’s under the headship and direction of Christ. When I get caught up in the principle of self-sacrifice I lose sight of the beauty and purpose of the act of serving others. I’m serving others as a reflection of Christ.

If I start looking at sacrifice as something I’m doing for the good of others, my reward will be their response, or the impact of the service, rather than the act of serving itself as a means of following in Jesus’ footsteps.

I know this is a really slight difference, but it’s the difference between using your gifts and growing and using your gifts and becoming exhausted by them. Humans fail us: their responses and happiness will never be enough to fuel us.

Thirdly (Is that an actual word?) I’ve struggled with a deep fear and shame of my gifts. This also goes along with Galatians 1:10. I automatically assume that, if I’m using my gifts the way the Lord is asking me to, people will enjoy and encourage my gifting (or at least other Christians will). Time after time I have experienced quite the opposite. Not only is learning how to use your gifts confusing, messy, and filled with a lot of mistakes along the way, but it will (eventually) step on peoples’ toes.

Gift of mercy? People will criticize you for being an “enabler.”

Gift of exhortation? People will say you’re too harsh, critical, or (HEAVEN FORBID) judgemental.

Gift of faith? People will say you’re irresponsible and blind.

Gift of underwater basket-weaving? People will say your baskets are ugly.

Okay, obviously the last one is a joke, and of course there are times when we can be the worst of those things, but honestly, our gifts (even gifts of service) are not for the people we are serving. These gifts are not of this world, and as we grow in them they will draw us closer to our Creator and simultaneously cause us to stand out like a sore-thumb.

Do what you love and love what you do, even if no one understands the significance and importance of your actions.

Have a great Monday!

In A Thousand Words Or Less (Pt. 2)

I procrastinated (again), but here I am! My inspiration for today’s little blog came from the amazing weather we had today in Northern Georgia.

Cloudy and rainy, with just enough wind to make it interesting. Needless to say, I spent the majority of the day indoors, curled up on my bed alternating between looking out the window (partially to enjoy the birdsong, but also to cackle at the people running from one dorm to another desperately trying not to get wet) and reading. 10/10 would recommend. Listening to the combination of the birds and the rain was practically heaven for me. But, any time this sort of weather pops up, I get a craving for a certain kind of music, and I blame it all on living in Georgia.

Now, before I specify, I want to take a minute and explain why this is a somewhat guilty pleasure. I grew up in the north (Florida is totally a northern state culturally), was raised by northerners, and had little to no exposure or attraction to any kind of southern music, especially “country.” Living in Georgia has obviously caused me quite a bit of trouble, as not only are the majority of my friends country fans, but it’s nearly impossible to go anywhere without hearing it! My friends, of course, being the vindictive little devils they are, force-feed me country as much as possible,

Insert my favorite Into the Woods moment- AGONYYYY!


Over the course of a few years, there has appeared a small, justifiable crack. I have a tiny soft spot for bluegrass. Okay, maybe not so tiny. Where country music is repetitive and whiny, bluegrass is refreshing, fun, and complex. Maybe it’s because I’m obsessed with stringed instruments, maybe it’s the visual of little old men playing their instruments together in harmony the same way they’ve been doing it for decades, or maybe it’s because it’s a crazy blend of a bunch of different music genres. I’ll be honest, I don’t fully understand (or care to admit) the way this music has crept into my heart, all I know is when I was listening to the rain patter on my roof and window, and watching the birds dart from tree to tree, bluegrass began to play in my head.

Now don’t get me wrong, I’m already incredibly picky (haha, get it, like “picking” the banjo? Give me a break it’s like 2am) when it comes any music genre, and bluegrass is no exception.

My artist of choice?

The Punch Brothers.

The arrangements are gorgeous and winding–the instrumentals alone are enough to make a girl swoon. But the words? Wow.

A lot of their songs focus on different areas of our lives that have been damaged or distorted because of our dependence on technology and social media. They’ve found the perfect balance between humor and truth, and somehow that doesn’t get lost in the beautiful maze of musical mastery that each song brings to the table.

Some of my favorites include:

I Blew It Off

Movement and Location

Rye Whiskey

Another New World (actually a cover of a song, but still amazing)

Don’t Get Married Without Me

I can’t really think of any one song that I don’t enjoy, to be fair, but these are the ones that stick out to me off the top of my head.

So, for anyone who hates country, don’t be afraid to give bluegrass a try! It’ll be worth the risk, I can guarantee it!

“Next to the Word of God, the noble art of music is the greatest treasure in the world.” Martin Luther

“The true beauty of music is that it connects people. It carries a message, and we, the musicians, are the messengers.” Roy Ayers



In A Thousand Words Or Less (Pt.1)

This blog is about to be a lot more all over the place than usual, but here it goes!

I was challenged by one of my professors to write between 500-1000 words every day, and so I thought, sure, I can do that! Plus, there are so many benefits: establishing my writing discipline, exploring topics that I otherwise put on the back-burner, and (OF COURSE) the thrill of controversy! So, in a thousand words (or less, depending on how tired I get), I want to explore a topic that is completely misunderstood according to most Facebook posts I read.

*DISCLAIMER* There is no need to fear, I have no interest in talking you into or out-of supporting our new President. This is just an informative blog about a largely misunderstood part of our government.


During every election there’s an uproar about something, and the roots are usually embedded in a false belief about our government and how it works. So, without further introduction, this is why the ELECTORAL vote is more democratic than the POPULAR vote.

*SECOND DISCLAIMER* This is going to be wayyyy simplified, but I’ll probably post more specific blogs about exactly HOW the electoral college works and how we can work on finding presidential candidates that we can be excited for and proud of in the future.

Definition time!

Popular Vote: The total amount of individuals who vote for a specific candidate

Electoral Vote: (More complicated) A total of 538 votes– each state gets a certain amount of votes, and in order to win the candidate must get 270 of them. (In addition to the 50 states, the District of Columbia, or Washington D.C., also gets a set amount of votes). In order to gain a state’s electoral votes, the candidate must win the popular vote in that state (there are two exceptions, in Maine and Nebraska, but I’ll save that for a different time).

In other words, while it might seem that the Popular Vote is more democratic, it is actually the Electoral Vote that makes sure all demographics and voices are heard equally in the states. Instead of pouring all of their resources and interests into a select few highly-populated cities or states, the candidate is forced to gain the support of the majority of each state. This is important, because (according to the US Census Bureau study of 2013),

the 5 states with the highest population carry 36.9% of the popular vote.

Bring it up to the top ten, 45.7%.

The top fifteen states? 57.55%.

That means 35 other states combined can’t compete with the high populations of the largest states, leaving large areas of the U.S. without a voice.

This system (along with plenty of other systems in our government) is NOT perfect, however, the system was created to prevent the largest, loudest demographics from having the final say in our government, not to complicate things with the “evil of politics.”

Still feel like your voice isn’t being heard? I get that, trust me, I do. But if you want to complain about something, start by examining the people who represent you- who are your local government officials? Who are your state senators? Who is sitting in the House of Representatives in your stead?

If you don’t know, you might want to hold off on complaining about “the system”, and instead start talking to the people who have the power to make the change. And hey, if you can’t find someone who does the job to your satisfaction, maybe that’s because you’re the person for the job!

Okay guys, looks like I made my word count! Keep on reading, and keep on asking questions– especially if it seems like the most popular opinion on Facebook! 😉

As my gov. professor always says, “Be well!”