Five Thoughts On: being a decade after puberty

Long story:

Today I felt the need for some comfort. Like, the-way-your-mommy-hugged-you-when-you-were-thirteen-and-your-friend-said-something-mean, type of comfort. My mommy is out of town, (and I’m 22 for goodness sake) so I self-soothed.

Cue me sheepishly searching for WOW hits 1999 on Spotify.

Cue me frantically searching WOW ’00, ’01, ’02, ’03, ’04, ’98, and ’97. Yes, in that order.

Cue me realizing, thinking I counted wrong, then re-realizing that I am almost fully one decade away from thirteen-year-old me.

It’s weird.

I don’t like it.

Part of me still feels so connected to my thirteen-year-old self, but at the same time, I know if I were to meet that self, I wouldn’t be able to get far enough away.

All that said, I thought this would be a good topic for “five things”.

Thus, without further ado…

1) When I was almost thirteen, I called myself a dork… and I didn’t care what you thought. (Or so I said). Today I call myself a nerd, and I actually do not care what you think about that.

2) I finished my only completed novel. It’s called the Road to Matahoi, but c’mon… really.

3) Thirteen seemed really old, like hello! Teenager… but life wasn’t anything like Babysitter Club book covers (I wasn’t actually allowed to read them), Boy Meets World (the occasional episode I over-saw), or any of the other media-driven examples of pubescent life. (Just like my current life isn’t anything like Taylor Swift’s “22”).

4) In October, it will be exactly ten years since my appendix decided that it wanted to be where the people were. However, instead of going to a sea witch and being saved by a handsome prince, that nether region of my digestive tract decided that it should just explode. Fun stuff. There’s nothing quite like a gastro tube, catheter, and hospital gown to make a visit from your crush that much more embarrassing. Teen angst at its best.

5) When I was almost thirteen, I felt the first tugs on my heart for ministry. Jesus had a hold of me, and even in my hormone riddled brain, I knew that I wanted to go all out for Him. Not because I’m that great (I’m really pretty meh), but because He really is that great.

And there ya’ have it.

I would post a picture of myself… but that would just be a terrible idea ;).

Keep those heads in the clouds, y’all!



Five Thoughts About One Thing: Wearing Glasses

I have worn glasses since I was about ten years old.

I remember really wanting a pair when I was six (back when I also thought braces were cool), but after my initial diagnosis of 20/60 vision at ten, the novelty quickly wore off.

Now, I’m not complaining, I really don’t mind wearing glasses, but at a lovely 5.5 in one eye, and a 5.0 in the other, vision correction for me is not an option. Thus, being well versed in the world of frames, lenses, and little half orbs you stick on your eyeballs, I figured it would make sense to write five things about it.

1) I regularly lose my glasses when I wake up. Being that my range of vision extends to about five inches in front of my face, this is understandable. There have been mornings when I eat, put makeup on, and get dressed before I solicit the aid of another pair of eyes.

2) Your tolerance for dirty lenses increases exponentially the longer you wear glasses. I used to clean my classes multiple times a day, now, I don’t usually clean them until there is obvious vision obstruction. “I didn’t see the stop sign, officer…”

This being said, if you splash me in the face with water, you are dead to me.

3) New glasses wearers treat their spectacles like precious china. (They cost about as much as precious china). My glasses end up on the floor, in a shoe, or underneath my sleeping body.

4) Wearing glasses has saved me from much blunt object trauma to my head. The frames usually hit the doorway, cabinet, car door, person, table edge, or brick wall before I do. Granted, my peripheral vision is a bit sketchy due to my, oh so stylishly chunky frames.

5) If my glasses were to spontaneously combust, explode, implode, or fall into another dimension, I would be, for all practical purposes, helpless. How can I tell if that dog is friendly or not before I pet it? Is that ice cream or mashed potatoes? Or butter? Or Crisco? Are you smiling at me? Do you even have a face? Man or Woman?

What do you guys think? Do you guys have any weird habits from wearing glasses?

Keep those bespectacled heads in the clouds!


Check In

Hello all!

I have three pressing and drafts and a few new posts, but I feel that I need to “check in”.

I have a bit of  a paranoia when it comes to saying too much about myself, (I don’t need any stalkers, thank you.) But I had the urge to write life… especially since I’ve been writing so many short stories.

SO this post is called check in for numerous reasons. 1st, I’m checking in with you all (whomever you may be, I flatter myself.) 2nd, I have recently gotten home from a vacation that required much checking in.

Vacation was lovely. We took it upon ourselves to see more of the US than we have ever… and all in a vehicle. Thank heavens for “Green” by Ted Dekker, and the BBC Pride and Prejudice. Fortunately, I am of the disposition to enjoy road trips, and despite having to sleep in a bucket seat, each state we visited charmed me in its own way.

In Arizona we saw the Grand Canyon. Despite being told numerous times that it was the result of the Colorado River and millions of years, you cannot look at such splendor and mistake the hand of a Creator and enough cosmic power to result in such a chasm.

In California I finally made my way onto a surf board. I tried to convince myself that refusing to surf because I was afraid of sharks was akin to refusing to hike the Grand Canyon because I was afraid of mountain lions. (Don’t think about that too hard). The beaches were really beautiful, though. However, I enjoy seasons. As much as I enjoyed the surf shops and beach bums, I’m not a Cali girl. I’m not skinny enough anyways.

Utah was by far my favorite… though, the fact we were staying at a ski resort could have had something to do with that. Though I didn’t have my skis with me, I was able to revel in the irrational delight of being a “ski person.” We also saw Pirates: On Stranger Tides, and I enjoyed it. Haters gon’ hate.

New Mexico has strange clouds.

Mount Rushmore was inspiring. (Teddy is my favorite face). ((And chipmunk)).

The only place I found difficult to enjoy was Vegas. The roof top pool, pause-able TV, and virgin piña colada I drank were pretty much the only perks.

The thing I particularly like about long vacations, is how your home takes on a familiar newness… or new familiarity. You’ve been gone so long you look at everything with a fresh eye, but it feels so comforting to be back where you belong.

I swept my room today and I feel complete. Summer, bring it on.

P.S. I’m memorizing the book of John.

Keep your head in the clouds, love~



The Lemony Writer… No, Not Lemony Snicket

I have felt very much like a lemony writer lately, almost a lime-ish writer but not quite. Because you all are probably baffled by now, and thinking I have probably lost my mind (all the cool kids are doing it), I will expound.

My ideal, and the place I am generally at in the absence of school work, is what I like to call the ripe peach writer. All I need is one good bite, and the creative juices come running out. I feel like writing, the writing comes, ahhhhh…. inspiration.

The place I have been stuck for this last semester, is the slightly more tiring lemony writer. I have to squeeze myself to get the words to come out. They’re there, mind you, they haven’t disappeared, but in the ceaseless flow of reflection paper after reflection paper and essay question after essay question, my precious ideas have bottled themselves into little capsules waiting for me to work up the stamina to wring them out. In the past two days I have read two books and written two book reports. Tomorrow the tally will be three. The collected words from the respective authors are taking the precarious seat in the front of my brain: easy to file, easy to fall, easy to never return. I suppose I should be glad that my own thoughts are taking up a more permanent residence in the lemony pockets in my brain, but… ehh, maybe I should invest in a juicer.

Fortunately, the lime-ish writing state seems safely away with the end of the spring semester drawing near. Anyone who has ever juiced a lime can guess at what I mean. I’m sure there are VERY juicy limes out there, but the type I happen to hit generally take some work before they relinquish their nectar. In fact, a firm squeeze rarely does any good. Results are won only by digging the fingertips deep into the lime and violently demanding payment. I’m not sure if my poor little noggin would survive that abuse.

No, I look forward to the day when my genius *giggles* becomes a peach again. Though I have to say that I infinitely prefer lemonade to peach juice. Perhaps the struggle makes it that much sweeter. Either way the words will come, and when they stop, I’ll pray for more.

~Noggins in the clouds people!