Something along the lines of a broken nose.

Here's the novel about how I broke my nose. I apologize for the length, but the excessive details felt necessary. Feel free to skim.

There are about a million places I could start with this story. So...

We were on vacation. My brother and I slept on bunk beds that were built into the hallway of the hotel room. The hallway was pretty narrow. Remember that.

My brother and I fought over who should have the top bunk. I called it first, so clearly it was mine. He told me I would fall out or the bed would break and fall on him and he would die. When it was clear I was getting the top bunk, he asked that I refrain from moving at the risk of his life.

Alright, backstory: I love to read. To be more specific, I love (and I mean obsessive here) cheesy historical Christian-fiction romance novels. Side effects of me reading these include and are not limited to: biting off the head of someone who interrupts me or suggests something as ludicrous as a family dinner, emotional instability of every kind (we're talking tears because I can't find a good lamp to read by), the use of phrases and words that don't actually exist within this century ("constitution," as in a person's well-being, is a personal favorite), and most importantly, NO SLEEP. I tell myself one more chapter, then it's ten more chapters later and I'm still telling myself I'll put it down next chapter. Then, after I finally bite the bullet and head for bed, I literally lay there for hours thinking about those dumb characters that will inevitably get married and have a bunch of kids. But that doesn't stop me from tearing up over their circumstances, or swooning over the Mr. Perfect that isn't even a real person (that's embarrassing) and getting outrageously mad at him for some sort of insensitivity, or being overly perfect and completely unattainable. I could go on and on about my problem here, but I think you get the point.

Well, I got a book for Christmas.

So, l was doing my "one more chapter and then I'll go to bed thing" for three and a half hours, when I finally realized it was 2 am and I had to get up early that morning to go to my favorite place ever (Panera, duh) and it's vacation so I really wanted to get as much sleep as possible. So, I put the book down (it was hard, the heroine was just about to realize she's claustrophobic) and turned off every light. I tried to be quiet as I stuck my hands out in front of me, attempting to feel my way to the wall where my bunk bed existed. I finally hit something that I thought could be it and aimlessly stuck my foot out trying to find the rung. When I missed and realized I had a long way to go for the ladder I started laughing hysterically (I told you, my emotions are not okay when reading) and was holding my mouth shut so hard that I started to tear up. Well, long explanation cut short here, I made it up to my bed by some great miracle. Only here's when the aforementioned effects kick in.

I couldn't sleep. And I mean my eyes wouldn't shut to save my life. All I could think about were Cullen and Della (the main characters and basically the most adorable fictionalized people ever) and how they loved each other so much but neither of them admitted it. I spent over a good hour and a half fuming about that alone. It felt like someone was giving me caffeine through an IV.

Well, I tell you all this to explain why when I was woken up a few hours later, I was completely in a daze. I don't think I slept much at all due to that stinking book, so when my mother shook my arm to tell me I needed to get ready, my mind was not in a good state. Mistake number one: I didn't go down the ladder backwards like you're supposed to. Mistake number two, I didn't exactly look to see if my foot made it onto the top rung of the ladder. Well, the first foot did. I pulled my other leg to join it, and that's when it all went south. Literally.

I missed the rung, lost my balance, and fell face first into the wall on the opposite side of the hallway. Nose first, to be exact. As I hit the wall, I heard a distinctive crack and I'm pretty sure my mouth got a little smooshed, too. 

I crumpled to the floor and sat there a second to take that all in. Then, I did a little, "AHHHHH" and stumbled into the living room where I dropped to my knees and protectively held my nose. By then, my brother had hollered to my parents and my dad marched into the hallway asking me what happened. I had yet to make the decision of crying, so I matter-of-factly stated, "I think I broke my nose." I decided to stand up then and I told him I missed the ladder and hit the wall. My mother then joined us and a lot of questions started getting thrown at me, and that's when I decided to cry. And my nose hurt. A lot.

Well, throw in a bunch of dramatics and some upset and concerned parents and I think you get the gist of what happened next. My dad calmed down first and started explaining what to do. He told me we would know pretty quick if it was broken because there would be bruises under my eyes. I took those words and marched straight out to the hotel balcony and stared and cried and refused to go in and look at a mirror for what was probably about five minutes. I eventually got cold and came in to have my mom demanding that I put ice on it and my brother going off into a long soliloquy of how he knew I would do something like this.

Nobody likes missing the ladder and face planting into a wall. Nobody likes hearing mom and broski say, "I told you so." In fact, I'd venture to say people dislike these things very much. In addition, these things should probably never happen one after the other. Well, they did. Safe to say I was not a happy camper.

Anywho, I ducked my head inside the freezer to get the ice, only I forgot to duck on my way out and nailed my head on the top shelf of the freezer door. Thankfully, I was so emotional by then, I started laughing hysterically. I didn't mention the hitting the head thing to mom because I knew I would get another grunt of distress and probably some more words about watching what I'm doing.

Finally, after I had a splitting headache from either the fall or the ice or both, I washed my face to check for the ole bruises under the eyes. Sure enough, my nose had a lovely ring of bluish purple and under my eyes had started looking like I hadn't slept in days.

I didn't end up going to Panera, mainly because I couldn't stop crying (I still blame that on the book). I did, however, get a little excited because somewhere between the hitting my head thing and checking my eyes I remembered Jennifer Aniston broke her nose and who doesn't want to follow that. But, I would like to point out that it is not nearly as cool to break your nose at twenty years old than if I would have done it at, say age 12. That could be a conversation piece right there. "Back when I was twelve, I blah blah blah and it was this funny thing..." But as it is, I can't use it because let's face it, it sounds ridiculous and lame to say, "Yeah, a couple weeks ago I broke my nose by falling off a bunk bed. And oh yeah, I'm twenty. Like an adult."

So there you have it, people. The story of how I broke my nose just in time for the family Christmas pictures. Only, prepare yourself. My dad told me after further examination that evening, it's probably not really broke. So all that dumb pain and a potentially good story, and it could not even be fully broke.

But I don't believe it. It's broke and I feel kind of cool and elite and in pain. The end.

Oh, these jagged lines.

I am massively proud of the one-inch, itty bitty line on my right foot that has minute jagged marks surrounding it. You have to squint to see it now, but that doesn't stop me from telling the story of when I dropped a glass vase on my foot. (It's a harrowing tale, I assure you.)

Scars have a story. Scars scream that you survived. Scars have a purpose of reminding. But, oh how it hurts getting them.

Sometimes, I feel like I can feel the scars this spot is making.

My heart breaks, my mind is laid oh, so low, my legs go numb from walking in tired places, my eyes overflow with salty water, and my hands start to drop because it feels like they have been outstretched and empty for far too long.

It starts to make jagged lines on the inside. Starts to feel like permanent. And do you know what my human self craves more than anything? It begs understanding of the world. It tries to explain the scars. Tries to get someone, anyone, to understand.  It starts to feel like I’m trying to get a blind man to see the color of the sky. No matter how I explain, no matter how hard I try, there’s no understanding. There’s disappointment. There’s frustration. There’s a lot of missing it.

Do you think Jesus looks at me when I thank Him for his scars, and says, how little you understand these.

Do you think He gets frustrated because I don’t really get it all? That I do a lot of missing it? I can’t even begin to comprehend the pain?

He willingly got them knowing He was the only one who would ever wear nail marks from the world in His hands. The only one who would understand the burden of it all. He survived to show me, to prove to me, love wears permanent marks. Love bears pain. Love takes the jagged lines and knows that no one, not one, has the picture you wear. But, oh what a sweet story. What a thing to survive for the sake of love.

You have scars. You might feel completely at a loss for being understood. You may not know how to explain the way you survived. But fear not, my sweet friend. You are understood by someone far greater than I. You are explained by the one who writes your story. The one who got His scars first so He could love yours.

On the lighter side.

My left eye has been randomly twitching for two weeks. I keep getting told to eat bananas. I'M EATING THEM PEOPLE.
I'm turning 20 in a week and a day. (Someone please freak out. That is CRAZY. I can still distinctly recall trying to teach myself how to raise one eyebrow. Who knows how long I stood in front of my mirror holding down my right eyebrow. This is not a 20 year old's memory. That's something you're proud of that day and then you bury the fact you worked hard at being cool.)
I spilled milk on my cute scarf.
I went thrifting and bought the awesomest old man sweaters.
I'm wearing one now and sweating profusely.
My professor told me I should get some sleep. Imagine that.
I only went to Panera once last week. #crimestatus
I AM OFFICIALLY A DECLARED DOUBLE MAJOR.
I might go exploring next year in London.
I ate my first candy cane of the season yesterday.
I was sweating so hard in class today my face dripped. Ew. 
I played in leaves this weekend and took goofy pictures of me throwing them. Cool, cool.
I made up a song on the guitar (with the three cords I can play) and sang it loudly to my friend who didn't appreciate it as much as I did. 
I laughed a lot. 
AND THE FINAL THING THAT SHOULD MELT ALL OF YOUR HEARTS AND MAKE THIS POST WORTH READING:
Some precious third graders wrote me poems:
(These are copied verbatim...So. Cute.)

"Dear Lindsey,
We are having an alien atack so fill your shelfs with red velvet cupcakes
before a apple pie lands on your face.
Stop up your sink with markers
stuff 500 squids under your bed before it rains"

"Dear, Lindsey
Your mom is funny your scares are punny
you are a good girl in any way.
What does the fox say?"

And my favorite:
"Lindsey Perkins in college you've gone so far. 
Writing is what you like
all your writing is such a delight."

And then he drew me a heart.

Basically, in the midst of all the crazy and the meetings and the homework and the procrastinating and the papers and the eating, good things happen. Well, that whole spilling milk thing, the twitch, and sweating wasn't good but it was at least interesting.
Shine on, sweet people.

Dancing till the sun shines.

So lately I've been writing metaphorically and poetry (gasp) and not so typical things that frankly I don't know what to do with...I think I just need to get them out of my system so I can go back to telling you my embarrassing stories. For now though, I'm learning a lot about point of view and writing seems like a lovely way to grapple with it.

Walking in these troubled woods, the trees sometimes seem to cover and drown out my tiny sunshine desperately trying to get my attention. The sun that pokes and bleeds through the canopy of leaves above me. I don't notice. I'm staring at the ground. I'm staring so hard, my eyes have adjusted and my mind has gone numb. The ground is all sorts of hurting with rocks and pebbles and branches clawing at my feet. I watch the distance disappear as my unsteady strides swallow the dirt whole.

I stumble, over and over, again and again, as it all gets darker and darker. I'm squinting at the ground, asking where it's going.
I curse the sun for not shining.
If only I knew, if only I realized the sun wasn't hiding from me, but I was missing it.

If I would stop staring at the hardness of the ground, the pain in these steps, if I would stop wondering why I had to walk this way, and merely look up. Look way up. If I would notice the shreds of light shining just for me a little beyond what my eyes can grasp, and know that darkness is only darkness when you don't look elsewhere out of blind instinct. If I held fast to the dots of light I would probably walk a little lighter. I would probably lift my hands to the sky and grin, telling the light to come on down. I would probably pick up my feet a little differently. I would probably learn to dance on this tired ground.

I would probably dance so hard, I would forget the floor beneath me.
Oh, what a joy to redefine the darkness.
Oh, what a thing to learn how to dance until the sun shines.

Here's my heart.

I haven’t written in such a long, long time. A lot of life came and went in those long but oh, so brief months. It’s a happy thing to be back with this web thing and a lot of words to say to you.

This spot of mine…it feels like thorny ground today.

These days have been a lot of growing. That’s code for hard. It’s also code for glorious, beautiful, faithful, miracle filled, digging deep, and oh, so marvelous.

A couple days ago I was sitting on a rod iron bench with a million feelings pounding my insides, so I grabbed a piece of paper and tried to explain how my soul could be so confident in this faith, while my so very human thoughts were anything but. I don’t know if you understand what I mean, but here’s what spilled out.

Oh, dear heart.

How you hurt and twist and complicate and feel and love and mend and break. How you demand answers in a place where I have no words. How you ask of me what I've yet to know. How confused you become with my heavy mind. Yet, oh, how at peace you are when told by my soul to cling to the light.

This inner light pours and seeps into all the fibers of my humanity that were else wise useless, cold, and empty. It begins a war that demands my very being to willingly walk through fire in an effort to hope. It stirs feelings and shakes loose all reason and ease to find more meaning. To find a thing, to make it whole, a thing like faith.

How hard and yet how easy to love a thing like this light. One that pushes me until completely broken and then yet again breaks those pieces to ask of myself is this truly real. It places shards for my bleeding feet to walk on; it pulls on my already hurting strings of me, and then pulls again.

Yet, it is impossible for my heart to believe that this light is not Love.

My head and reason may scream and pound against the bones of my tired shell, but never will my heart give in, never will my heart not know the truth of this light. It speaks to my soul and my soul answers with a reflection, a tiny glimmer that won’t let go of where it came from.

It knows.

It more than knows, it believes, it understands what my head cannot, that this breaking comes from the leaving of a temporary thing, of a body with feelings that are directed by a selfish and unknowing human. This breaking is the making of a devastated heart’s story that finds my soul. A soul that is not swayed, broken, or defeated, but consumed and wrapped by this light. A soul that learns to shine for all its worth.

Yes, my mind my fail me. But my heart.

My heart, it knows this light is Love.

Only here and now.

I just realized, as in right now, how future-driven I am.

I mean, I know I daydream a lot. I know I’m constantly thinking of what’s next. But never like this moment have I realized how not-present I am. I’ve never experienced such a conviction over it and such a desire to change it.

I realized while I was showering that my thoughts immediately go to what my to-do list is. Then I think about the what-ifs and the big what’s like the summer, next semester, getting married, on and on and on.... (that's not to imply I plan on getting married next semester, whew, not even close)

You know what? I think I’d like to live in the now.

Dear You. The one right now.

Oh my dear. Your thoughts go so fast. Why? Are you really so disappointed with your life at present? It is so hard to think about ONLY right now. I think that some of your disappointment over right now would fade if you truly dwelt on these moments because you would see you make yourself discontent waiting, impatiently or patiently, for the future. Everything you do is future driven. Live in the now. The now choices will take care of the future, and you can do it without worry. Your Father, your Savior has called you to a fearless life. Not because He’s mean and wants to see you struggle so hard with that thing you want to cling to because it’s the natural, sinful, human response. He called you to a fearless life because he wants to see you maximizing the moment right now. He called you to a fearless life because He loves you that insanely much. He’s not distant. Get rid of your feelings of being far sweet child, He’s right here. Waiting for you. Waiting for you to join Him. Breathe easy, everything is going to work out according to His glory. Everything will come to pass with or without your fear. Why not enjoy this moment? Why not realize you don’t always have to picture the future? Why not live right now. Not when you’re hypothetically married, not when you’re hypothetically dating, not when you’re hypothetically out of college, not when you hypothetically own a dog. Now. There is a deep, desperate part of you that has been screaming this for so long. That part wants you to know it’s okay and that soul is so glad you finally were still enough to hear it. Peace is here. Not coming, here. Here for the taking. Soak it in, right now. Rest in the peace that right now is good enough. Rest in the peace that yesterday is gone and tomorrow will bring a new day to think about then and only then. There will always be things in the future, be excited, but don’t be consumed.

I think if I could hear God's words for this moment, He'd tell me something like this...

“Think about Me now. I am so much greater than the things you are waiting for. I am holding out Peace to you. It is my banner of love. It is my banner of joy. Waving right now. You, my daughter, are my chosen precious child and I only want the best. I have written tomorrow, I have taken care of it so you can rest and enjoy right now. So you can be used to the fullest in the moment you are living. Oh child, you are mine. Oh child, you are so loved. I am pursuing you. I am strengthening you. I am here. Right now. Please, don’t leave to worry about the things to come. Oh joy, my daughter. I have called you to a life of joy. I have called you to the fearless life. You have a gift. You have a passion. And it's for right now."

~Your Heavenly Father. Your Savior. Your King. Your Rescue. The One who calls you Beloved. The Creator of your story. The Writer of your days. The Peace in every moment. The Author of now.

Moments like these.

You beautiful soul.

I haven't written a good few days here because I have locked myself up nice and tight in my room to work on my finals. But while I kept company with my books, I came up with a lot of things to say...

Here's the highlights.

I hope someone told you how loved you are today. If not, consider this that moment.

If it's raining, I don't suggest going outside if you have a cold.

Drinking sweet tea right before bed is dumb because you'll end up laying there with your eyes peeled open for hours.

Even if it doesn't feel like it, today has a purpose. It's incredible to me how one moment has about ten (more like ten thousand) things that come from it, even if we don't realize it. Two days ago I got to talk about life with the most kind-hearted person on the planet. I didn't know it at the time, but her words were exactly what I needed to hear. Her faith was the exact inspiration I needed. Her prayers and listening heart were the exact forms of encouragement I was unknowingly waiting for. My point...this is going to happen to you. I don't know when, but there's going to be a moment where you're going to get exactly what you need. There's going to come a time when you are that moment for someone else. The fact that these moments exist means your life is part of a beautiful plan. You are loved that much by your Creator.

Believe the unbelievable. Not because it's strange, but because great, outlandish things are worth hoping for.

Basically, we have something to smile about :)

Beginning with Phillip Phillips and ending with a pep talk.

Today I discovered a new Panera shop.
Seriously, obsessed.
Just to let you know.

Phillip Phillips is coming to sing to me in four hours. GET EXCITED PEOPLE. Well, technically he's coming for all of my college, but I prefer my version. I've been playing his music obsessively and I even tweeted about it. For clarification, tweeting is real dedication there. So call me Miss Dedicated.

This week is finals and honestly I am not feeling it. I'm taking suggestions, how in the world do you motivate yourself for things so ridiculously awful that you want to cry when you think about them?? I'm pretty sure that blogging about nothing is not one of the suggestions.

Maybe it's your finals week. Here's the deal, let's pretend I'm actually going to work and I'm an expert at it and I'm going to give you some tips to get you motivated to do whatever you don't want to do.  

1) Get coffee. Like invest stock in Starbucks.
2) New pens, preferably some awesome colors.
3) Smile at a stranger until it's massively obvious you are staring and smiling at them. Then smile at your work. See how smiling makes this fun?
4) Turn off the music that makes you want a spotlight. Bring on the classical stuff that you can't sing to. THEN when you reach a point where your head is going to explode, turn up the beats and DANCE YOUR HEART OUT. If there's people watching that's even better.
5) Spit. I know, it's gross. But really, if you get a big sip of water and spew it everywhere it keeps you awake. That's why all the baseball people do it.
6) GO GET 'EM!!! You got this. Really. Did you know you're a genius?? I'm sorry if someone hasn't told you yet today. That's silly of the world, cause really you're a smart one. You also have this amazing capacity to look at something and absorb it right up. Just keep at it, today's the day you realize you're even more amazing than you originally thought. Smile! And did I mention you're looking smashing today? Wow.

I'm honored you spent a couple minutes of your time reading about my goofy self, it proves you are a beast. You go rock the world now :)

This is what happens when I sit in public.

I am an embarrassing person. Like the fact that I just spilled my chocolate milk in front of a group of law grad students. And the fact that I tried not to laugh at this funny video I was watching, but I ended up busting out in laughter and sounding like I might be dying. I didn't look over at them to see if they noticed, I just used my peripherals.They definitely noticed.

I also was dancing (very minimally I assure you) in my chair before I realized I was in public. To be honest, I bet those graduate smarty pants wished they could be having a little bit more fun with their life. Wouldn't it have been funny if I would have unplugged my earphones and turned up my song with the wonderful beat and just danced my heart off right in front of them. I would have paid money to see their faces. Deep down they'd have wanted to join me. Man, that would have been hilarious.

This is the kind of thing I think about when people sit down at the table next to me.

I also wrote some very lame poetry today. I didn't do it because I wanted to, but because my creative writing portfolio is due in a week. Oh, joy finals week. If you are in finals week...I send my sincerest apologies and wish you the best luck.

Working out. As in problems, not like the gym.

I'm having issues with college right now.

Mainly because I don't want to write an essay due tomorrow. I want to read my dumb romance novels and watch Nicholas Sparks movies. And eat non cafeteria food. The good kind that taste good without any grams of fat. Well, okay, I like the stuff with grams of fat, too. (But I don't seek it out or anything. I'm trying to eat healthier.) If you looked in my fridge right now you'd be impressed. There are two cups of carrots and water bottles. But you wouldn't be so impressed when I told you that I eat the good stuff and if there's stuff left in my fridge it means it's disgusting and it can rot. Now you know.

Anyway, I actually am liking college at the moment, too. For starters, this morning was registration for upcoming semester classes. And LO AND BEHOLD I DID NOT CRY. I got all my classes relatively speaking and I didn't even call my mom more than once. Thankfully it was nothing like last time. In case you didn't know, the dumb portal that lets you register for classes opens at 7 am and everyone and their buddy (literally) gets on and fights for the same minuscule amount of class spots so it's crazy stressful. Well, last year I drove far away so the Internet wouldn't be bogged down, ordered myself my very favorite coffee, and waited. Only when 7 am hit, I couldn't get in the system. My natural response was to cry. Then call my mom. Then call the Office of Registration. Thirty minutes later while I'm on hold with those nice people, I realize that the only reason I can't get in the system is that I forgot how to read and hit the button before correcting what semester I was in. As the lady from the Office of Registration finally picked up I realized my brain-dead move and then apologized for my brain-dead move, got in the system, and then cried again because my classes were all full. But hey, did I mention that didn't happen this time?!?!? No, it didn't. It went GREAT. And for all those curious people, yes I have been attending classes this semester cause even though I had a brain lapse, my schedule eventually worked out wonderfully.

So look it there, everything works out in its own way. One of my friends asked me once when I was stressing out over a million things to do, "When has it ever not gotten done?" Honesty I couldn't think of a time. And if there was one, it apparently didn't ruin my life. So there, it's true, it works out somehow. Maybe not like we want. But always like we need.

It's life, and life keeps going. Good news, people, good news :)

Learning, Coffee, and Trashcans.

Have you ever had those moments where you want to compulsively write down everything someone is telling you? I have a blue "Notes On Life" book. I wanted it today.

I went to coffee with one of the most life-giving people. Literally, she's insanely inspiring and basically just amazing. She's one of those people you want to learn from. As she was talking I wanted to store up all the words, grasp all she's talking about....look people, I just want to know how to soak it up. Someone please tell me. I mean it, how many of us come in contact with someone and learn everything we can from them? If you have, call me.

But here's the thing, I don't suggest walking around with a notebook scrambling to write everything down...the problem is that you forget to actually be with that person and somewhere you don't actually live. You just become a typewriter. Now, I am NOT saying don't write wisdom down. Do that. Really. Just write it on your heart and not only your paper.

I don't know why I'm instructing you on this. I just told you up there at first that I don't know how to do this. So forget it, do what you'd like.

I'd like to mention one more time how wonderful of a time I had. And I tried a new coffee that was part chocolate, part coconut. I think I died a little when I realized it was all gone. That good.

Embarrassing part of the day, when I went to throw my coffee cup away, I missed the trashcan and it bounced off and hit a guy who was dressed in a snazzy suit talking to some fancy people. He didn't smile at me understandingly when I apologized. Why would he sit by the trashcan anyway.

Moral(s) of the story: try new coffees, beware of men in suits next to trashcans, and learn all you can from the people around you. I think that's it.

For the broken.

Sometimes life gets so, very hard. Sometimes it feels almost impossible to let the funny things sink in past the momentary smile. Somehow your soul returns to the deep aching, your heart hits the bottom, and it feels like there's nothing you can do but break. Over and over.

If you're in that spot...this is for you.
If you're not, save this for a rainy day.

Oh precious soul. You are not alone. It can feel like it. It can seem like it. But I need you to know that you are so precious to the Author of it all that He has chosen exactly what you can handle, and I promise you can do this. You are worth it. You are beautiful. Oh, so beautiful. Did you see the sunset today? Did you see the tiny little flower that smiled in the sunshine? Did you see somebody smile? Did you feel the wind wrap you in its arms?

The hands that made all of it, even the pinks and oranges that fill up the great beyond...those hands made you. And that sunset doesn't even compare.

He wanted you to see the sky in all its glory. He wanted you to smile. He wanted you to know He's thinking of you. He hasn't left. No, He won't leave. He's much, much bigger than that.

Hold on. Please, hold on and take heart. A miracle is coming.

I hope you read this over and over until your heart hears it.

It's hard to talk to a broken person without making them feel more broken. I would know, I've been broken. I am broken. It's hard to hear the truth behind well-intentioned words. It's hard not to just cry forever. Surprisingly enough, I'm a huge fan of crying so maybe you should just try to cry as long as possible. You'll stop eventually, and you'll realize there is an end to tears. And if there's an end to tears, then there can be an end to the huge hurting within your inner most being...Maybe it's not today, maybe not tomorrow, but like those precious tears of yours, there will be something beautiful that glimmers and shines through this.

Hold on. Please, hold on and take heart. A miracle is coming.

Today I got the ham sandwich.

I was taking a survey this afternoon on my overall college experience thus far, and I was just roaring through with my opinions on how successful have I been with making friends, (What kind of college survey question is that?! If I put "unsuccessful" just how do they plan on changing that? Stick me on eHarmony to find college friends?) and how much do I love my school, yada yada. I usually stayed in my safe, indecisive zone of "somewhat" for every single question. Then, in the middle of nowhere, it asks: How often have you taken a risk because you felt you had more to gain?

WHAT?

Amidst the cafeteria ratings and scales of how much faculty members care, they hit you with this. This huge, life thing that you have to answer with "somewhat often, always, never." I sat and stared at this bomb for awhile, mainly because it made me think hard. And I didn't really like my answer. I got a little intimidated and a little pompous and went for the "always." But may I just say, I think I lied.

There's no way on earth I "always" choose the risk. I'm one of the lamest, not-a-risk-taker there is. Why? I like the safe side. I get the peanut butter and jelly sandwich every day of my life because I know that's what I like. I don't try the others cause it could be disgusting. But you know what? Life like that gets boring. And this dumb, stupid, survey reminded me of the whys of taking risk. The reason is because you have more to gain than to lose. Yeah, it's gonna get uncomfortable, and you could possibly lose. Possibly. But you could also possibly gain. And gaining is good :)

So today I stared at my options for lunch and lo and behold, I didn't get a PB and J.  I went for the ham sandwich. And you know what?? It wasn't bad at all! So, all this to say, go risk. I don't think you can use the word like that, but I'm going to anyway. Take a risk on something good (not like physically dangerous, that's just dumb). But maybe do something out of the ordinary safe zone in hopes of the good that can come from it. Big or small, you gotta start somewhere...like maybe even with a ham sandwich ;)

Kroger Problems.

Today I happily went to get groceries like a big girl. I walked through the doors and decided against a cart because the only thing I was planning on getting was Greek yogurt and a toothbrush (I lost my last one...How do you lose a toothbrush? I don't know.). Anyway, I pass the apple display and the big 5lb bag of my faves were on sale so I grabbed a bag after closely examining the entire selection twice. I proudly carry my discount apples and start walking towards the yogurt section. Guess what happens? Disaster strikes. My key gets stuck in the side of the bag, so I pull it out, no big deal. Well, that dumb string it was caught on must have been the entire stinking backbone to the bag because all of a sudden, the bag literally explodes. Apples shoot everywhere. Really, I'm not exaggerating. I stand there with a lone apple in my hand that I attempted to save and stare at the ground and the rolling missiles. Of course people stop and stare. I look at the guy next to me and my stunned and slightly frozen self said, "Oh dear, what do I do?"

Anyway, long story short, an attractive guy ended up helping me pick them up and stack them in the freezer isle until I had to move all of them (it took three trips) back to the nice lady working in the bakery section. People stared as I tried to carry as many apples as possible and I'm pretty sure that one lady thought I was being illegal as I threw away one of the busted ones dripping on me.

After that, I think the attractive man thought I was stalking him cause who knew he needed toothpaste and I needed a toothbrush...

I had some issues with the Kroger card, too. But we don't need to go there.

Musings of a Monday

This weekend I went home for Easter. I slept a lot, saw my wonderful family, and realized a couple things. First, my brother and I use the same deodorant. (Of course, if you are one of the whopping 19 people that follow me on twitter then you already knew that). But really, what are the odds of us being miles apart, going to the store, sniffing through every single scent possible, and we both pick the same exact one? Anyway, next thing I realized, Steel Magnolias makes me cry. For the record, I don't cry much at movies. I mean I might tear up here and there, but I'm pretty sure the only other movie where I actually bawled was My Dog Skip. That movie was traumatizing.

Next revelation is that I keep to myself more than I ever realized. Not in a bad way, I just spend a lot of time with myself. I'm not sure why it took me forever to figure that out, but it did. But like I said, this isn't a bad thing. It's just weird that me, people lover of the year, finds company writing to you on a Monday night while I eat my second peanut butter and jelly sandwich I've had today. I actually think it's pretty incredible. A year ago, I don't think I would have been okay with knowing I'm not gonna hang out with my friends 24/7. In fact, it would have terrified me. I even struggled with learning to eat by myself. Not because I'm massively needy, just because I love people. However, I have become so okay with grabbing dinner and sitting outside with just me and God and sometimes Coldplay. (Their songs that is, not like the real guys...maybe next year.)

Anyway, my last thing about my weekend is that I lost my toothbrush.

Now I'm back at good ole college, sitting in the lovely sunshine watching some birds attack each other. I'm contemplating if I should move (I'm not a big fan of birds). I'm not going to, but the girl sitting at the table next to me did. I think I was chewing my Chex Mix a little loud. 

Heinous Weather.

This is a post about this heinous weather. Mainly because I'm freezing and mainly because my stories have been too embarrassing lately to post.

Let's start with all these guys walking around campus. Either they look like they're going to a picnic and the snow/wind/wet/freezing doesn't bother them, or they look like they are literally dying as they walk. I followed a group of guys out the door and when coatless guy #1 walked out he said, "Man, it feels good out here." His posse had the most hysterical looks. They looked like they were debating on if they should try to match his dumb macho attitude or rag on him for blatantly lying. They went with the first option. I silently went with the second.

Later, I passed a girl and she said to her friend, "I wish I didn't exist right now." Amen, is all I can say.

Walking back to my dorm was like debating on how I'd like to die. If I put my head down to block the wind I would inevitably run into something. Most likely an oncoming car. If I tried to speed walk, I'd slip. If I walked carefully aka slowly, I'd freeze to death. If I didn't go outside I wouldn't get to eat, so I'd starve to death. And that is NOT how I want to die.

I went with running into something then freezing to death. And now here I am, an hour after de-frosting. Telling you it's bad out there.

Stay warm.

Today I blushed.

In case you haven't hit up my About Me page, I hate blushing. With a passion. Here's what happens, I turn red not when I'm embarrassed, but when I start to worry if I'm going to blush...I know, it doesn't really make sense. Here's the deal, I'm not that easily embarrassed. However, blushing embarrasses me. And I blush a lot. I don't really know why I blush so much. All I know is that the minute I start feeling like my face is turning the shade of a flame, I lose all train of thought, any type of normalcy, any type of wit or humor and turn into this bumbling babbler who can't make sense of anything. It's awful. And people (and by people, I mean the male type of people) get the wrong idea. And my communication skills are just gone. Totally.

So, here's what happened today. I got a notice in my mailbox that I had a package (and may I just say that those little pink slips just make my life). So, I turned on my walking music, put in my purple earphones, and walked to the post office feeling legitimately like a superstar with the breeze in my hair, base turned waaaay up, and the gangster walk that probably looks ridiculous to those who can't hear the beat I'm walking to. I finally reached my destination. I turned off the music, opened the door and lo and behold, what is standing there?!? Guys. Problem number one...they're cute. Problem number two...they're well...guys. Somebody help me. My first thought was Crap, I'm gonna blush. I don't know why this popped in my head, but it did. Anyway, I tried my very stinking hardest to just walk up to the counter and not turn unnatural shades as I handed in my ticket to my package. (May I pause here and say I was FINE for a good minute.) The first guy tells me my package is the last one on the shelf today and my reply was that I was honored. And here comes the problem, another one of them actually tried communicate with me. He said, "But, are you really honored?" "Oh, of course," was my highly intelligent reply. Then the kicker comes, he smiles and says "Prove it."

I read in wikiHow once that if you take deep breaths you'll get more oxygen to your head and the red should go away, so I started trying to breathe as deep as possible cause there it went. Bye-bye to witty. The awful color, the blazing heat that attacks my face and makes my stinking brain stop. Never fear though, he didn't. He started giving a hilarious monologue of "I'd like to thank the people who were so kind to send me this package...and my mom..." By this point I was doing good to sign the little machine thing with the right name while still trying to remember how wikiHow said to breathe. All I could think was that my face was red. Really, really red. But, the frustrating and ridiculous part was that I wasn't even embarrassed about the situation. I was just embarrassed that I was blushing. I thought everything else was hilarious, but my dumb face didn't cooperate and I started sweating. And the only thing that came to mind that I finally mustered out was, "Well, as long as I have a disco ball." The first guy looked at me confused, "Someone sent you a disco ball?"

Oh gee, smart one Linds. I don't have a clue where in the confused world disco ball came from, but I looked at him (well, kinda him, slash the floor) and clarified, "No, I need the disco ball for my speech! No one sent me a disco ball. I need the disco ball for my speech to prove my honor...Duh." The duh must have come from my inner sixth grade self because I don't typically use those three letters to strangers. GOOD GRIEF. Thankfully, I think I left everyone in a state of confusion that I told myself it didn't really matter what my parting words were. I just grabbed my package and left. Still blushing.

You now have no more questions why I'm single.

The Problem with Nicholas Sparks (don't get me wrong though, I love this guy)

In case this isn't painfully obvious....I'm single.

I don't have a mile list of all the exciting dates I've been on. I've never been kissed on New Year's Eve. Or any other holiday for that matter. My hand is not attached to my phone because there's some adorable stud on the other end of cyberspace. Roses aren't waiting for me to get home. I've never been called "baby." I've never used that term either. Well, at least not with someone over the age of three.

You get the point here.

But, here's what I do know. Josh Duhamel exists. And because he does, us single girls have a major problem.

My friend and I went to see Safe Haven a couple weeks ago, and we walked out looking for any guy that looked like he could produce a canoe and bashfully invite us on a date to the nearest body of water that is magically unoccupied (except for birds) and then ask the clouds to let it rain. It worked for Safe Haven, and it worked for The Notebook. Let's be real here. There's a theme. Well, here comes the boom. There was no guy that looked like Josh Duhamel to whip out a canoe. Forget the canoe thing, there wasn't even a guy. The only ones we saw were the un-responsive ones being drug from the movie theater by their lovely girlfriends who had forced them through the lovey-dovey movie. Talk about depressing. For me and them.

So thank you Josh Duhamel for being adorably attractive and completely unrealistic. And Nicholas Sparks, thanks for getting me stuck on stupid canoes.

No Eye of the Tiger. What is wrong with this world.

I'm sore all over. Why? Because I tried kickboxing for the first time in my unathletic life. I had to walk up six flights of stairs today to get to class and I literally thought I was going to die. There were people behind me and I almost asked if they would mind simply catching me, but then I figured it'd be smarter to fall forward because I could at least catch myself with my hands, but then I remembered that my arms have been giving out recently because they too are stinking sore, so that would be dumb. Basically, I came to the conclusion that I should try my hardest not to fall because there was no good way to do it.

Back to kickboxing. Would you like to know the most depressing thing about that class? It was a great class, don't get me wrong, but let me tell you I was pretty disappointed because they didn't play the ultimate song. The one and only, "Eye of the Tiger." WHAT?!?! is probably what you're thinking right now. I know, everyone knows that's the universal song for motivation, especially in boxing. My poor soul sang that song in my head ALL DAY waiting for the moment when I would really be a boxer and then everything would be perfect as I expertly retracted my right arm and kicked focusing on my heel with "IT'S THE EYE OF THE TIGER, IT'S THE THRILL OF THE FIGHT" playing inspirationally in the background (the caps lock meant I was belting it out...well, in my head). This didn't happen.

Instead, I couldn't hold the dumb plank stretch for 30 seconds and some song I didn't know was playing. Disappointing. However, I am consoling myself with the fact that I have ran up those stairs of the Philadelphia Museum of Art where good ole' Rocky ran. That should be enough.

So no worries. I'll go back to boxing class next Thursday and have a grand ole time sweating and singing in my head. If you ever get the chance to take one of these classes, you really should. Minus the music catastrophe and the soreness, it was great.

To you.

To you.

To you. The one who is not merely letters but words, not merely words, but thoughts, not merely thoughts, but a life. A life filled with feelings in the making. To you. The one who holds the power of perception, the power of contemplation, the power of living.

 You are bold. Even if quiet words make you feel like a quiet voice, you are bold. You are precious. When the loud voices scream inside your heart convincing you that today is not your day, tell them you are precious. You are more. Even if you think you were more yesterday, more a couple minutes ago, more a lifetime ago, you are more right now. You are unique. In a sea of normalcy and standards, there is the power of a person in that you are your own self that replicates no one. You may try to copy, you may try to compare, but those tries will never be as beautiful as your original. You are valued. More than the very most feeling of value, more than the very most being of value, your value goes beyond it all. You are incredible. You are doing incredible things, and they don't stop here. Every single moment you write in your life has more impact than I could ever tell you.

Most of all, you are defined. Not by man, not by you, and not by this hurting place that’s called the world. You are defined by a perfect Savior who has named you Beloved.
 

The Traumas of Dance Class

I'm taking this lovely little thing called Jazz I. How hard is it to spin in a circle? Watch any dancer and it looks as easy as breathing. Then watch me. Now you realize that spinning in a circle isn't just hard, it's impossible.

 

First of all, I love to dance. Second of all, the minute I walk into the classroom all sense of right and left, down and up, and any other type of skill that might just be necessary in a dance class LEAVES ME COMPLETELY. Who knew one could struggle so much with, "Start with your right leg and swing the opposite arm and walk across the floor." (In case you didn't know, this is how you naturally walk. A loving friend so kindly pointed that out to me.) I never start walking on time because I'm too busy trying to figure out which leg is my right which leads me to be on the wrong leg anyway because I started a beat late which now means I am in danger of being stepped on by the perfect dancer girl behind me which means I get the disappointed and halfway puzzled dance instructor looking at me with the, "Ah, poor white girl," face. (Too bad she doesn't know I'm related to Thomas Jefferson.). All this from a dumb walk across the floor. And I haven't even gotten to spinning ("pirouetting" if you'd like me to be technical).

 

So, here's the deal. To all you people out there that cannot dance, or would like to think you can until you stick a wall with mirrors plastering it in front of you and fifteen other dancers who were born with their toes pointed and you realize you may not be as good as you are in your Michael Jackson sing-a-longs, it's okay. I have good news.

 

Public humiliation gets easier to take. Ha ha, just kidding. The good news is that I'm comically awful at jazz class, but I still love to dance. So what am I doing? Dancing. So, if you love something, go ahead and do it! Don't look at the person to your right who seems to be doing whatever it is perfectly, don't worry about the person on your heels that's there to let you know you're falling behind. Just give it your best shot :) Mark Twain once said,“Twenty years from now you will be more disappointed by the things that you didn't do than by the ones you did do. So throw off the bowlines. Sail away from the safe harbor. Catch the trade winds in your sails. Explore. Dream. Discover.”

Losing it...

Losing your I.D. stinks for a number of reasons…let me narrow them down for you.

#1. Who are you? Yeah right, you can’t prove that now.

#2. You automatically realize how terrible you look because there is real threat of having to pose for another awful picture that you get .3 seconds warning that a blinding flash is coming…then that brute of a picture is what you’ve got to work with  for however long you’ve got till you lose your I.D. again. Tragic.

#3. You can’t get into your dorm with those fancy swipers and end up standing around waiting for someone who hasn’t lost their I.D. to open the door, and now you look like a creeper listening to everyone’s conversations waiting for SOMEBODY to wrap it up and walk towards the door. Nobody likes that.

#4. People take pity on you (maybe) and help you search. Then when it ends up being somewhere embarrassing like your purse, your pocket…or hallway (?) you feel really lame. To say the least.

#5. You look ridiculous examining the ground everywhere you go.  And when you run in to the adorable guy because you were scanning the cement for that critical article (because looking for it everywhere within five blocks of where you walked the past two days is always so logical), you just tell him you’re sorry, you were looking for something. See if he believes that. 

#6. The whole picture reason is worth mentioning again.

Basically, I lost my I.D. today. And it was a particularly horrible hair day. Thankfully it was found and I’m no longer in an identity crisis.

Being Rapunzel...

Is there something wrong with a college kid watching Tangled on a Monday night? Probably. But regardless, I am. In fact, I'm sitting here REALLY wishing I could be Rapunzel. I'm pretty sure I was meant to be her. I'm not asking for the crown, or the cute little chameleon, and not even the miles of blond hair, but singing a duet about lanters with Zachary Levi (aka Flynn Rider)? Oh, goodness. Is that really too much to ask???

Thought #2 to ponder. We're kind of all Rapunzel's in our own way. Stuck in our towers imprisoned by the fear of the unknown. So how in the world do we brave the outside of our comfort zones and take the plunge hanging on to literally a strand of faith? Believe it or not, I have the answer to this one (although it's easier said than done). Actually Sarah Young, author of Jesus Calling, (for those who aren't familiar with the book--it's this amazing little devotional told from the perspective of our Savior) portrays it beautifully. Today's entry stated, "Bring me your weakness, and receive my Peace. Accept yourself and your circumstances just as they are, remembering that I am sovereign over everything. Do not wear yourself out with analyzing and planning. Instead, let thankfulness and trust be your guides..." Wow. It might as well say, "Lindsey, time to get over your fears and jump on out that window into my arms because I've got you and we've got work to do!"Not to mention the whole "don't wear yourself out analyzing and planning" thing, something I'm practically famous for...and I'm pretty sure I'm not the only one. So, what's your tower? If you still feel stuck with something you're dealing with, I dare you to ask yourself what's holding you back from leaving it behind. I guess it's not quite so simple as literally letting your hair down and sliding--but, I think it can be. Trust. Five letters all tied together to create something so revolutionary, it takes a lifetime to work on it. However, you gotta start somewhere! And here's the great part, we've got this promise that says He's sovereign over it all. Even the scary parts. So go for it! Start with those toes, then maybe sit on the ledge. Don't look down, just up. And when you finally jump, you're gonna see He's got you :)

So please, go and let that hair down!

...and then picture Zachary Levi and I singing this amazing duet with the lanterns making the water look like glitter and all those fancy flowers in my hair. Yeah, I'm seein' the light ;)

Welcome...And Other Facts of Life :)

I don't know how you got here...but I'm glad you came!

Life is complicated and messy and sometimes it rains and pours...and then again, sometimes it shines so bright you've got no choice but to unroll the windows and blast the music in order to properly soak it in. Whatever weather you're in, I hope you can smile at all that is and can be, because I promise miracles are out there. In fact, there's one coming with your name on it. And along your way, I hope to be here to share my miracles, stories, ramblings, thoughts, and embarrassing moments (mostly the latter). But hey, that means you can blush, sweat, laugh your little lungs out, and everything in between right along with me! Welcome :) Where to start? Well, let’s start with yesterday…;) Or not. Let's in fact start with 237 years ago (thank my fellow blogger for help with the math :)) mainly because I think it will explain so much about me...and because the people who created this blog told me I should tell the story pronto....

 

Once upon a time...ha ha, just kidding. This is actually, quite possibly, in fact, true. You are reading (please brace yourself) the blog of...THE 18th-great-granddaughter of Thomas Jefferson. Yes, that's me. Now, before you all run to the books to check his descendants list, please note I used the word "possibly." But, for all accounts and purposes, we're gonna go with it as the hard truth. This also means that I could possibly get my mad pop-and-locking skills from being roughly 1/700th African American due to the alleged affair Mr. Jefferson had with his slave. I'm sure there are many other shaping factors to myself that are vital for you to know...and someday you just might know them. But for now, this should lay a pretty intense foundation for the blogs to come. Prepare yourself.

 

 ...and have a great day :)