The other night I took my little sisters to the library with me and it was so good to be there. It had just been such a long time since I'd been at the library and once I was there, my heart rested.
The library has always been so special to me. I used to go there and spend so much time reading the backs of books and sometimes opening to the middle and reading a paragraph just for fun. I used to get giant piles of books to read and, while attempting to walk out to the car, I would always drop some off of my stack. Back before the interwebs were as distracting to me as they are now, I could read a book a day. My life was full.
I'm not quite sure what happened and why I don't read so much now. I think I maybe just got busy and then slowly forgot how incredible reading is. I used to look down on people who said, "I just don't have time to read" because, duh, make time and you'll have time! And then I became one of those people. I still believe that if you make time, you'll have time, but it seems like during the school year there is no time to make.
But then I came home for the summer and, you guys, it's wonderful. Books. Reading. Words. I love it all.
I am so happy that I have this whole summer to read. I'm going to relish every minute and every page and every word and every sentence and then school is going to start again and I'm going to try to read more but it isn't going to work.
But it's okay. Because college has a library. I don't think a lot of people agree with me on this, but I love the Clemson University library. I know it holds a lot of blood and sweat and tears and panic and last-minute cramming and bad coffee and late-night hysteria, but I love it.
Like everyone else, I do study in there and do homework in there and drink bad coffee in there (although I've heard Java City's coffee is better than Harcombe's) and try to physically insert the knowledge into my brain (unsuccessful. Every time.) and cry in there occasionally. But come on, it's a library. It holds so much knowledge. Being in there calms me...until I get really focused on homework and I forget where I am and start to panic way a lot. But I love it most of the time.
However, back to reading. I love getting a big tower of books to read and the feeling in my heart when I walk out and just my excitement to read all of them as soon as I possibly can because I so much just love stories. I love love them. I feel like I overuse the word "love" but nothing else describes my feelings so I'm just going to stick with it.
When I was at the library the other night, I got to help my sisters pick out books. They're both perfectly competent and can pick out their own books, but I kind of made them let me help them. It was so fun thinking about the books I liked when I was their age and I took way too long to help but no shame. I introduced Grace to Janette Oke, who I loved when I was in middle school, and every time I saw a familiar title I just got more and more excited and I may have not been very quiet. And then when I helped Sallie, I got to go back to the children's section. It was smaller than I remember it being, but I kept on seeing all of these books that I had completely forgotten existed! I loaded those girls up with good books to read.
Being back in the children's section made me a little sad because I knew I didn't belong there. I'm too tall and the reading level is (apparently) too short for me. But there were so many good stories and good memories of reading those stories over and over and over. I was never one of those little girls who was obsessed with horses, but there was this one book called Riding Freedom that I read so so many times, and I read every book by Sharon Creech at least six times.
In short: I like to read. A lot. When I was younger I used to read instead of doing my homework because, why not? Reading is so much more interesting than homework. And it's good for you. Most kids got grounded when they were in trouble, but when I was in trouble, my parents took my books away from me.
Reading is so good for you though. I am telling you right now. Do it.
I love writing, and I want to be a better writer, and you know what I realized yesterday? Your writing is only as good as what you read. It's kind of like "you are what you eat." I like literature, but also I have a secret fondness for teen novels...and not the award-winning teen novels. The ones about summer romances. I mean I guess it's not so secret now that it's on the internet, but I love those, and they are not really literature. So if I want to be able to write things of actual substance with a less predictable plotline, I should probably read a variety of different books, by different authors, from different time periods and of different genres.
Reading has had such an impact on my life. I was the best reader in my 1st grade class (not to brag or anything...also I promise I've had other accomplishments since then) and I spent all of my childhood reading. Especially at boring grown-up parties.
I was thinking recently and realized that I've learned so many life lessons from reading so much. I really think reading sped up my moral development somewhat. I want to share some of those life lessons so these are the main things I learned from some of my most favorite books:
A Lantern in Her Hand by Louise Aldrich - you may not get the chance to fulfill every childhood dream you have, and that's sad, but all hope is not lost! Your children can achieve those dreams and it is awesome to watch them be successful and realize your own dreams.
Gone with the Wind by Margaret Mitchell - don't take your money for granted and don't be a brat and don't be a floozy because it's not cool and will make your life sad and awful. Also the South will rise again!
Rebecca by Daphne du Maurier - be confident in yourself, even if you think you're being haunted by the dead wife of your new husband who is 15+ years older than you.
A Wrinkle in Time by Madeleine L'Engle - the relationship between a father and his daughter is absolutely irreplaceable and so important. Also you are capable of more than you know.
A Tree Grows in Brooklyn by Betty Smith - no matter the changes in your life, no matter how dull or exciting or traumatic, the tree outside of your window grows at a steady rate and one day, you'll realize that both of you are all grown up. (the tree outside of my window is metaphorical, because I don't even have a window in my room, but in the book there's a real tree)
A Little Princess by Frances Hodgson Burnett - you don't have to be rich to be classy. You can be a princess without having any material possessions because a true princess is a daughter of the King.
Anne of Green Gables by L. M. Montgomery - ask questions about things. Love people. Be content with yourself (if you're not, you might accidentally die your hair green) because yourself is awesome and adorable.
And that, my dear friends, is why I love words.
Love,
Lauralicious
Friday, May 31, 2013
Tuesday, May 21, 2013
Somebody Once Told Me My Summer Would be Boring But...
If you've asked me what I'm doing with my summer anytime over the past two years, I will have told you that I'm working at the Clemson Outdoor Lab, in Camps Hope and Sertoma, because that's what I've done with my last two summers and it's what I'm doing with this one too (and hopefully a lot more after this one!) It's the best thing I've ever done and I love it with all my heart. I have learned so much about myself and others at Camp. I've learned a lot about how to ask for help, and learned that that's exactly what other people are around for, but most importantly I've learned about how much I need Jesus.
Camp taught me how much I need Jesus because I am all of my campers. I'm the campers who are really dependent on me as their counselor and know it. They're the campers who need me to cut up their meat and help them in the shower and bathroom. They're the campers who, if I don't help them, sit still and don't do anything. They are helpless. They need someone to take care of them so badly that they don't even know that they need someone to take care of them.
But more than that, I'm the stubborn campers. I am every camper who thinks she is my counselor instead of the other way around and tells me what to do and does not let me help her when I know she needs it and yells at me when I ask her in the most polite way I can to do something. I am the camper who hates her counselor just because I want to be in charge.
And that's exactly how I am with Jesus. I need him more than I need sustenance or clothes or hugs or anything else ever. But I am so stubborn and I just want so badly to be right. I want to know what is best for me, and I don't like being dependent on anyone else, King or otherwise. It's very sinful. I'm very sinful.
But Jesus voluntarily and daily is my wonderful counselor! He is my Prince of peace, my everlasting Father. And not because His daddy told Him to be. Because He wants to! Because He loves me, He chooses to spoon-feed me (or fork-feed me for certain foods I suppose) and wash me white as snow even though as soon as I get out of the bath I'm going to get dirty nasty again and He does this over and over. Every single day. He doesn't get paid for it and He doesn't get time off twice a week and Saturday nights off as well. He has better things to do, yet, every day until He comes back and takes me to Heaven where we get to be together forever, this is what He is going to do. Because He loves me and He wants to do this for me. I'm so blind and stubborn that I neglect to thank Him constantly, but I should. He is King of Heaven, yet simultaneously and willingly, Lord of me. It's not fair, not even a little bit. His mercy is more than a match for my heart, which wonders to feel my own hardness depart. Dissolved my His mercy, I daily fall to the ground and take up my cross to follow Him and weep to the praise of this mercy I've been shown!
I have loved working at Camp. It has been an honor and a pleasure to learn this, as well as so many other things, but I have to be honest...Camp makes me nervous.
When I was in the shower yesterday, I had a small panic attack. I suddenly felt like I couldn't breathe and I felt so confused and I wanted to cry but I didn't. And it was because I started thinking about Camp. I started thinking about how there are only two and a half more weeks until staff training starts. Only two and a half more weeks until freedom and sleeping in and staying up late and Kangaroo slushies all the time and doing what I want are shut down. The more I thought about the things I'm going to lose when I go to Camp, the shallower my breathing got.
What? Camp caused you to have a panic attack? But Laura, you love Camp!
Okay yes I know that. And I know that I just wrote a lot about how much I've learned from it and how great it's been for me. But Camp is hard. It's the hardest thing I've ever done. I say that to people all the time, and somehow saying it makes it feel more casual and less true, but it is absolutely the hardest thing I have ever done. Every time I drive up Camp Road, I feel anxiety pushing me down. It presses on my chest until all I feel like I can do is turn my sassy car around and go back home and not get out of my bed for a couple of days.
But I don't. I always keep driving down Camp Road, loosely following the speed limit of 15 mph, then I park my car and go put my keys/phone/wallet down in Betty's Place, then I go back and find my campers. And then I hug those babies like I haven't seen them in a year and then they tell me about everything they've done in the six hours since I've been gone (because when you only have a week with someone, six hours feels like a year) and then it's like I was never gone. I forget my anxiety and I jump right in and don't think about the fact that pretty much everywhere else in America has air conditioning except for here (and probably Alaska because it's already cold there so they probably have their heat on) and I forget that there are probably a lot of fun things going on tonight in Clemson that I won't have the opportunity to attend, because I'm here. But I chose to be here. And I want to be here. There is no place I would rather spend my summer. Sometimes I have to remind myself of that.
Camp is a place that requires me to be selfless, and I am not a naturally selfless person. Nobody is, because we're all sinners. Even awesome people are sinners, although sometimes it's really really hard to believe that.
When I'm at Camp, it doesn't matter what I want to do. We're doing what's on the schedule/what our campers want. And that's really good for me, and I have SO much fun at Camp, and, most importantly, it's what I am called to do. I am not at Camp to sleep (even though it is important that I sleep as sleep is a necessary human function) or to not sweat (because that's just impossible), or to benefit myself. I go to Camp to serve others. I go to serve my campers and fellow counselors/supervisors. And if I start thinking that I'm at Camp for myself, I won't enjoy it at all. I go to love my campers as hard as I can. That means loving them when I am tired of them. It means telling them to go back to bed in a nice voice and not yelling. It means hugging them and letting them sit on my lap even though it's over one hundred degrees outside and I feel like a furnace instead of a human. This might be my campers' only glimpse of Jesus, and it is up to me to represent Him in the best way that I can and show them the unashamed and always love of Christ.
Camp is a very uncomfortable place. I've had some of my lowest lows there, and I think most of the staff has seen me cry multiple times and for multiple reasons. But that's why it's my second home. Because there are not a lot of places where it makes sense to celebrate one person putting their head underwater for the first time ever. There are not a lot of places where you can hear from a mile away the singing of a song about a banana. There are seriously not a lot of places where I get excited about vegetable trays for staff snack. And there are not a lot of places where I know that even when I mess up really badly, I have the support of and free hugs from everyone I know.
Camp is my family, and I know I will be loved and accepted there this summer, the next summer, and a summer twenty years from now when I go back to visit and the staff has changed. Camp is where I belong.
Love is always louder at Camp Hope! We are better when we're together; Camp Sertoma needs us all!
Love,
Lauralicious
Camp taught me how much I need Jesus because I am all of my campers. I'm the campers who are really dependent on me as their counselor and know it. They're the campers who need me to cut up their meat and help them in the shower and bathroom. They're the campers who, if I don't help them, sit still and don't do anything. They are helpless. They need someone to take care of them so badly that they don't even know that they need someone to take care of them.
But more than that, I'm the stubborn campers. I am every camper who thinks she is my counselor instead of the other way around and tells me what to do and does not let me help her when I know she needs it and yells at me when I ask her in the most polite way I can to do something. I am the camper who hates her counselor just because I want to be in charge.
And that's exactly how I am with Jesus. I need him more than I need sustenance or clothes or hugs or anything else ever. But I am so stubborn and I just want so badly to be right. I want to know what is best for me, and I don't like being dependent on anyone else, King or otherwise. It's very sinful. I'm very sinful.
But Jesus voluntarily and daily is my wonderful counselor! He is my Prince of peace, my everlasting Father. And not because His daddy told Him to be. Because He wants to! Because He loves me, He chooses to spoon-feed me (or fork-feed me for certain foods I suppose) and wash me white as snow even though as soon as I get out of the bath I'm going to get dirty nasty again and He does this over and over. Every single day. He doesn't get paid for it and He doesn't get time off twice a week and Saturday nights off as well. He has better things to do, yet, every day until He comes back and takes me to Heaven where we get to be together forever, this is what He is going to do. Because He loves me and He wants to do this for me. I'm so blind and stubborn that I neglect to thank Him constantly, but I should. He is King of Heaven, yet simultaneously and willingly, Lord of me. It's not fair, not even a little bit. His mercy is more than a match for my heart, which wonders to feel my own hardness depart. Dissolved my His mercy, I daily fall to the ground and take up my cross to follow Him and weep to the praise of this mercy I've been shown!
I have loved working at Camp. It has been an honor and a pleasure to learn this, as well as so many other things, but I have to be honest...Camp makes me nervous.
When I was in the shower yesterday, I had a small panic attack. I suddenly felt like I couldn't breathe and I felt so confused and I wanted to cry but I didn't. And it was because I started thinking about Camp. I started thinking about how there are only two and a half more weeks until staff training starts. Only two and a half more weeks until freedom and sleeping in and staying up late and Kangaroo slushies all the time and doing what I want are shut down. The more I thought about the things I'm going to lose when I go to Camp, the shallower my breathing got.
What? Camp caused you to have a panic attack? But Laura, you love Camp!
Okay yes I know that. And I know that I just wrote a lot about how much I've learned from it and how great it's been for me. But Camp is hard. It's the hardest thing I've ever done. I say that to people all the time, and somehow saying it makes it feel more casual and less true, but it is absolutely the hardest thing I have ever done. Every time I drive up Camp Road, I feel anxiety pushing me down. It presses on my chest until all I feel like I can do is turn my sassy car around and go back home and not get out of my bed for a couple of days.
But I don't. I always keep driving down Camp Road, loosely following the speed limit of 15 mph, then I park my car and go put my keys/phone/wallet down in Betty's Place, then I go back and find my campers. And then I hug those babies like I haven't seen them in a year and then they tell me about everything they've done in the six hours since I've been gone (because when you only have a week with someone, six hours feels like a year) and then it's like I was never gone. I forget my anxiety and I jump right in and don't think about the fact that pretty much everywhere else in America has air conditioning except for here (and probably Alaska because it's already cold there so they probably have their heat on) and I forget that there are probably a lot of fun things going on tonight in Clemson that I won't have the opportunity to attend, because I'm here. But I chose to be here. And I want to be here. There is no place I would rather spend my summer. Sometimes I have to remind myself of that.
Camp is a place that requires me to be selfless, and I am not a naturally selfless person. Nobody is, because we're all sinners. Even awesome people are sinners, although sometimes it's really really hard to believe that.
When I'm at Camp, it doesn't matter what I want to do. We're doing what's on the schedule/what our campers want. And that's really good for me, and I have SO much fun at Camp, and, most importantly, it's what I am called to do. I am not at Camp to sleep (even though it is important that I sleep as sleep is a necessary human function) or to not sweat (because that's just impossible), or to benefit myself. I go to Camp to serve others. I go to serve my campers and fellow counselors/supervisors. And if I start thinking that I'm at Camp for myself, I won't enjoy it at all. I go to love my campers as hard as I can. That means loving them when I am tired of them. It means telling them to go back to bed in a nice voice and not yelling. It means hugging them and letting them sit on my lap even though it's over one hundred degrees outside and I feel like a furnace instead of a human. This might be my campers' only glimpse of Jesus, and it is up to me to represent Him in the best way that I can and show them the unashamed and always love of Christ.
Camp is a very uncomfortable place. I've had some of my lowest lows there, and I think most of the staff has seen me cry multiple times and for multiple reasons. But that's why it's my second home. Because there are not a lot of places where it makes sense to celebrate one person putting their head underwater for the first time ever. There are not a lot of places where you can hear from a mile away the singing of a song about a banana. There are seriously not a lot of places where I get excited about vegetable trays for staff snack. And there are not a lot of places where I know that even when I mess up really badly, I have the support of and free hugs from everyone I know.
Camp is my family, and I know I will be loved and accepted there this summer, the next summer, and a summer twenty years from now when I go back to visit and the staff has changed. Camp is where I belong.
Love is always louder at Camp Hope! We are better when we're together; Camp Sertoma needs us all!
Love,
Lauralicious
Monday, May 13, 2013
On My Way Back to Georgia
May is my favorite month because it's spring. And spring is my favorite season because of plants. Spring is just prime plant time. Daffodils are my favorite flowers ever, and they're all over everywhere making my heart feel like the way they look. Only happiness. Then there are clovers and honeysuckles, and the smell of them swims in the air and I want to, too, except for I can't swim in air. Only water, unfortunately. When I was little, I used to eat honeysuckles, which I'm pretty sure is normal, but I also ate clovers, which is less normal. Somebody told me you could eat them, so I did. They taste like green apples, and I don't even like green apples that much, but I like them when they're actually clovers. They didn't kill me or do any damage serious enough for anyone to notice (that I know of).
I went to Statesboro, Georgia, this weekend for my great-grandmother's 90th birthday, and for the first two hours I slept, but for the second half of the trip I drove, and for the entire two hours and ten minutes, I was dying to pull over and pick the flowers on the side of the highway. There were pink flowers and purple flowers, and flowers that were both pink and purple, and blueish flowers, and yellow flowers, which were my favorite. I think some of them were weeds, but I still wanted to pick them. I've always felt a little bit sorry for weeds, because nobody loves them, but they're special too, right? They're pretty, even if they are kind of annoying. People can be annoying, but we don't spray them with chemicals with the purpose of killing them; we love tolerate them with the purpose of loving them. I'm just saying.
So for those two hours that I wanted to pull over and pick flowers, I also didn't want to, because I wanted to get to Statesboro very soon! I was pretty conflicted. But for the sake of my family, who was in the car with me, I didn't pull over to pick flowers, I just thought about it for the whole entire time.
Statesboro is just one of my favorite places ever. The land my family lives on there has been in our family for a really long time, and we call it "the farm," but most of it isn't so much of a farm anymore. We have a lot of fish fries when we're at the farm (and by fish fries, I mean an event that is called a fish fry, not a french fry made out of fish. I just felt like I should clarify that), except for unfortunately I do not enjoy the taste of fish in my mouth. Not even a little bit. But I enjoy the event. And the grits.
I hate to pick favorite people because I love everyone so much, but if I could, my uncle Ralph (who is actually my great uncle) would definitely be one. For as long as I can remember, every time I see him, he asks me if I have a boyfriend yet. I've never been able to say yes to this question, and I used to hate it, but now I like it. (The question, not the fact that I can't say yes.) I just like knowing that when we go to the farm, I'm going to hug Uncle Ralph, and he's going to ask me that, and I'm going to laugh uncomfortably and say, "Nope, not yet," and then he'll say something really sweet to me and talk about those young men.
After fish fries and Uncle Ralph and, of course, my most wonderful grandparents, my favorite thing about the farm is four-wheeling. It makes me feel so cool and Southern. I like it when I get to ride on the back and somebody else is driving, usually my dad or my brother. This weekend, my brother and I went four-wheeling kind of a lot and it was awesome. He would say, "Let's go sploring" and I would say "Okay!" and we would go.
My brother is kind of ticklish, so I have to be careful if I hold onto his stomach while he's driving. It's great. He drives fast (but carefully of course) and we have the best times. Sometimes I throw up my arms and say "I'm invincible!!!" and feel the wind on my face. Sometimes he makes pterodactyl yells as we speed through the forest. You never really know what's going to happen when my brother and I go sploring. Also he periodically forgets what gear he's in so we have to stop and go back to neutral and start all over. But I don't mind.
On Friday night, while we were on our first sploration of the weekend, and we were going so fast and I could feel the wind all over everywhere and it wasn't too hot but it also wasn't too cold and the air smelled like honeysuckles and Jack pulled over and let me pick some and eat them and then he ate some and then we went sploring even more, this song was going through my head. I had always thought that this song was about romantic love, and I still think it is, but singing it in my head the other night during our adventure was so perfect. The song fit just like a little puzzle piece, just like a key in a lock. It made me so happy. I love my brother.
On Saturday we had this huge lunch with everyone we're related to plus a few others, all in honor of GG, my great-grandmother, who is wonderful. She and I had on the same color of toe nail polish, which is a huge honor because she is stylish. I'm not even kidding. She always looks good. She even sacrifices being able to hear for the sake of fashion, because she wears hearing aids but then sprays hair spray which cakes up on her hearing aids and does not help her to hear. At all.
I didn't get to talk to her a lot because there were so many people there to see her, but before I left, I got to hug her and talk a little. We talked about how I'm at Clemson, just like my daddy was, and she told me I keep getting purtier and purtier, and that I look a lot like my grandmother, who died when I was ten. She and I were very special to each other, so looking like her is a huge privilege and honor. Then GG hugged and kissed me and I had to go.
A few observations about my family/the South in general: Only in the South are 4-year-olds fed sweet tea for lunch and dinner and only in my family do we keep 24-packs of beer in the bathroom.
I learned at a young age that ohana means family (Lilo and Stitch, anybody?), but this weekend I decided that waking up early to set up tables and chairs and listening to what Aunt Mary tells you to do and your dad telling you to be a man even if you're a girl is what family really is. It's enjoying yourself through tolerating things you don't really always want to and sharing DNA with a bunch of crazy people you didn't get to choose, but loving them anyway.
Some guy who prayed for us at lunch on Saturday (I honestly don't know who he was or if he's even related to us) said it well when he said, "Father, you created family before you created the church. We are thankful for that and for each other."
some other pictures from the weekend:
Love,
Lauralicious
PS - Sorry I'm not sorry this post is so long!
I went to Statesboro, Georgia, this weekend for my great-grandmother's 90th birthday, and for the first two hours I slept, but for the second half of the trip I drove, and for the entire two hours and ten minutes, I was dying to pull over and pick the flowers on the side of the highway. There were pink flowers and purple flowers, and flowers that were both pink and purple, and blueish flowers, and yellow flowers, which were my favorite. I think some of them were weeds, but I still wanted to pick them. I've always felt a little bit sorry for weeds, because nobody loves them, but they're special too, right? They're pretty, even if they are kind of annoying. People can be annoying, but we don't spray them with chemicals with the purpose of killing them; we love tolerate them with the purpose of loving them. I'm just saying.
So for those two hours that I wanted to pull over and pick flowers, I also didn't want to, because I wanted to get to Statesboro very soon! I was pretty conflicted. But for the sake of my family, who was in the car with me, I didn't pull over to pick flowers, I just thought about it for the whole entire time.
Statesboro is just one of my favorite places ever. The land my family lives on there has been in our family for a really long time, and we call it "the farm," but most of it isn't so much of a farm anymore. We have a lot of fish fries when we're at the farm (and by fish fries, I mean an event that is called a fish fry, not a french fry made out of fish. I just felt like I should clarify that), except for unfortunately I do not enjoy the taste of fish in my mouth. Not even a little bit. But I enjoy the event. And the grits.
I hate to pick favorite people because I love everyone so much, but if I could, my uncle Ralph (who is actually my great uncle) would definitely be one. For as long as I can remember, every time I see him, he asks me if I have a boyfriend yet. I've never been able to say yes to this question, and I used to hate it, but now I like it. (The question, not the fact that I can't say yes.) I just like knowing that when we go to the farm, I'm going to hug Uncle Ralph, and he's going to ask me that, and I'm going to laugh uncomfortably and say, "Nope, not yet," and then he'll say something really sweet to me and talk about those young men.
Uncle Ralph
After fish fries and Uncle Ralph and, of course, my most wonderful grandparents, my favorite thing about the farm is four-wheeling. It makes me feel so cool and Southern. I like it when I get to ride on the back and somebody else is driving, usually my dad or my brother. This weekend, my brother and I went four-wheeling kind of a lot and it was awesome. He would say, "Let's go sploring" and I would say "Okay!" and we would go.
My brother is kind of ticklish, so I have to be careful if I hold onto his stomach while he's driving. It's great. He drives fast (but carefully of course) and we have the best times. Sometimes I throw up my arms and say "I'm invincible!!!" and feel the wind on my face. Sometimes he makes pterodactyl yells as we speed through the forest. You never really know what's going to happen when my brother and I go sploring. Also he periodically forgets what gear he's in so we have to stop and go back to neutral and start all over. But I don't mind.
On Friday night, while we were on our first sploration of the weekend, and we were going so fast and I could feel the wind all over everywhere and it wasn't too hot but it also wasn't too cold and the air smelled like honeysuckles and Jack pulled over and let me pick some and eat them and then he ate some and then we went sploring even more, this song was going through my head. I had always thought that this song was about romantic love, and I still think it is, but singing it in my head the other night during our adventure was so perfect. The song fit just like a little puzzle piece, just like a key in a lock. It made me so happy. I love my brother.
On Saturday we had this huge lunch with everyone we're related to plus a few others, all in honor of GG, my great-grandmother, who is wonderful. She and I had on the same color of toe nail polish, which is a huge honor because she is stylish. I'm not even kidding. She always looks good. She even sacrifices being able to hear for the sake of fashion, because she wears hearing aids but then sprays hair spray which cakes up on her hearing aids and does not help her to hear. At all.
I didn't get to talk to her a lot because there were so many people there to see her, but before I left, I got to hug her and talk a little. We talked about how I'm at Clemson, just like my daddy was, and she told me I keep getting purtier and purtier, and that I look a lot like my grandmother, who died when I was ten. She and I were very special to each other, so looking like her is a huge privilege and honor. Then GG hugged and kissed me and I had to go.
GG and me this weekend
A few observations about my family/the South in general: Only in the South are 4-year-olds fed sweet tea for lunch and dinner and only in my family do we keep 24-packs of beer in the bathroom.
I learned at a young age that ohana means family (Lilo and Stitch, anybody?), but this weekend I decided that waking up early to set up tables and chairs and listening to what Aunt Mary tells you to do and your dad telling you to be a man even if you're a girl is what family really is. It's enjoying yourself through tolerating things you don't really always want to and sharing DNA with a bunch of crazy people you didn't get to choose, but loving them anyway.
Some guy who prayed for us at lunch on Saturday (I honestly don't know who he was or if he's even related to us) said it well when he said, "Father, you created family before you created the church. We are thankful for that and for each other."
some other pictures from the weekend:
Could it be a farm without a big red barn? No. No it couldn't.
It's just so weird to think that this is so run-down now but it used to be brand new. My Statesboro family is very much like me in that we never throw anything away, including buildings. I like it that way.
This is my favorite. I love staring at scenery next to water; looking at the reflection and the real thing and how they're almost exactly the same, except for one disappears if you try to touch it. Also I love the boat.
Love,
Lauralicious
PS - Sorry I'm not sorry this post is so long!
Thursday, May 9, 2013
Early in the Morning Our Song Shall Rise to Thee
It is springtime in America! And by America, I mostly mean Clemson and also my mind. All I can think about is that it's springtime and every time the wind blows it smells like clovers and the clouds look so picturesque, kind of like the wallpaper in Andy's room in Toy Story. The sky is so blue and the clouds are so perfect and puffy and I want to eat them.
Today was particularly like this. The best way to explain today is expressed through my favorite literary character ever, Anne Shirley: "'What a splendid day!' said Anne, drawing a long breath. 'Isn't it good just to be alive on a day like this? I pity the people who aren't born yet for missing it. They may have good days, of course, but they can never have this one.'"
There was nothing specifically exciting about today, just that it was warm and pretty outside and I got to do fun things and enjoy my day because no school! And recently I've just had time to enjoy things a little more. I have loved it. I've been reunited with friends who I've missed so much (and so much more reuniting is to come!) and also had to say goodbye to new friends who are graduating but I'm not thinking about that because it's too sad.
But the other night I had a sleepover with my most delicious friend ever, and for breakfast in the morning we ate oranges and cookies and other borderline healthy things, then sat out on her porch eating banana popsicles. I love banana popsicles. Love. It was so much goodness. My heart was swelling with happiness because banana popsicles + pretty weather + my delicious friend + morning = bliss.
And then I remembered how much I love and enjoy mornings. I've just been so busy recently with school and when I'm awake in the mornings it's only because I have class and I'm cooped up inside half-asleep. But Tuesday morning I was able to thoroughly savor. I was wearing striped pajama pants and my giggle muffin t-shirt and no shoes (being barefooted is my favorite thing ever) and eating a banana popsicle with my delicious friend and I could not imagine anywhere else I would rather be.
I had dinner with another dear friend tonight, and she said to me that she had been thinking about how God's mercies are new every morning. And then thinking about Tuesday morning just made me think about it more.
Lamentations 3:22-23 - Because of the Lord's great love we are not consumed, for His compassions never fail. They are new every morning; great is your faithfulness.
Tomorrow is Clemson's graduation. Tomorrow God's mercies will be new. On the morning of the day I graduate from college His mercies will just be as new and on the morning of the day I get married His mercies will be just as new and on the morning of the day I die, His mercies will be just as new as they were this morning, yesterday morning, the morning of the first day of last semester, and the morning of the first day that was ever in existence.
Without God's love, without His daily mercies, we would be consumed. Consumed is different than nibbled on or having just a bite taken out of. Consumed is eaten entirely, bones and all. His compassions never fail.
Great is His faithfulness! You guys. Listen and engage and think about this. We sin a lot. A lot a lot. Sometimes even on purpose because it's no fun to love mean/annoying people so we just avoid them and that is not love. But even after we do that, God makes the conscious and aware decision to continue loving us, on purpose, because He wants to.
So even on the mornings when it's chilly-chilly, or it's raining, or you didn't sleep at all the night before, this is just as true. God's mercies are not dependent on the weather of each particular morning.
Every morning. When you wake up already sleepy, when it's happy outside, when you have a big presentation to give or test to take, His mercies are the same amount of new as before. Whether you like it or not, whether you ask for it or not, it's there.
Also I read today that the cross was harder for Jesus than it could have been for any of us. I had never thought about this before, but the author of this book pointed out that Jesus was the Son of God, and wasn't accustomed to being tempted to sin and had never been anything but the one and only Son of God, His right hand. We're used to having sinful natures, but He isn't. So for Him to go through all of that, to go from privileged royalty to the lowest it is possible to go and to Hell was so so hard for Him. He experienced being forsaken by God, being completely alone, a feeling that we will never have to feel. It was more painful than it would have been for us and He did it because He wanted to. Because He loves you. On purpose.
So when you woke up this morning, God had brought all of these new mercies into the world, and there is no limit on them. There are enough mercies for everyone in the world at every second and every minute and every hour and every encounter with a person and every decision to do what you shouldn't. God has the incredible patience and dedication to do this for you, even though you don't always think about it or acknowledge it or thank Him for it.
So now you have a reason to enjoy your mornings even more than you did before. While you're having your breakfast (even if it's inside at the kitchen table and you're eating something less exciting than banana popsicles), consider this, that His mercies are new. Not reduced or reused or recycled, but brand spanking new. Not a hand-me-down, but shiny with a red bow. Each and every one of them.
Love,
Lauralicious
Today was particularly like this. The best way to explain today is expressed through my favorite literary character ever, Anne Shirley: "'What a splendid day!' said Anne, drawing a long breath. 'Isn't it good just to be alive on a day like this? I pity the people who aren't born yet for missing it. They may have good days, of course, but they can never have this one.'"
There was nothing specifically exciting about today, just that it was warm and pretty outside and I got to do fun things and enjoy my day because no school! And recently I've just had time to enjoy things a little more. I have loved it. I've been reunited with friends who I've missed so much (and so much more reuniting is to come!) and also had to say goodbye to new friends who are graduating but I'm not thinking about that because it's too sad.
But the other night I had a sleepover with my most delicious friend ever, and for breakfast in the morning we ate oranges and cookies and other borderline healthy things, then sat out on her porch eating banana popsicles. I love banana popsicles. Love. It was so much goodness. My heart was swelling with happiness because banana popsicles + pretty weather + my delicious friend + morning = bliss.
And then I remembered how much I love and enjoy mornings. I've just been so busy recently with school and when I'm awake in the mornings it's only because I have class and I'm cooped up inside half-asleep. But Tuesday morning I was able to thoroughly savor. I was wearing striped pajama pants and my giggle muffin t-shirt and no shoes (being barefooted is my favorite thing ever) and eating a banana popsicle with my delicious friend and I could not imagine anywhere else I would rather be.
I had dinner with another dear friend tonight, and she said to me that she had been thinking about how God's mercies are new every morning. And then thinking about Tuesday morning just made me think about it more.
Lamentations 3:22-23 - Because of the Lord's great love we are not consumed, for His compassions never fail. They are new every morning; great is your faithfulness.
Tomorrow is Clemson's graduation. Tomorrow God's mercies will be new. On the morning of the day I graduate from college His mercies will just be as new and on the morning of the day I get married His mercies will be just as new and on the morning of the day I die, His mercies will be just as new as they were this morning, yesterday morning, the morning of the first day of last semester, and the morning of the first day that was ever in existence.
Without God's love, without His daily mercies, we would be consumed. Consumed is different than nibbled on or having just a bite taken out of. Consumed is eaten entirely, bones and all. His compassions never fail.
Great is His faithfulness! You guys. Listen and engage and think about this. We sin a lot. A lot a lot. Sometimes even on purpose because it's no fun to love mean/annoying people so we just avoid them and that is not love. But even after we do that, God makes the conscious and aware decision to continue loving us, on purpose, because He wants to.
So even on the mornings when it's chilly-chilly, or it's raining, or you didn't sleep at all the night before, this is just as true. God's mercies are not dependent on the weather of each particular morning.
Every morning. When you wake up already sleepy, when it's happy outside, when you have a big presentation to give or test to take, His mercies are the same amount of new as before. Whether you like it or not, whether you ask for it or not, it's there.
Also I read today that the cross was harder for Jesus than it could have been for any of us. I had never thought about this before, but the author of this book pointed out that Jesus was the Son of God, and wasn't accustomed to being tempted to sin and had never been anything but the one and only Son of God, His right hand. We're used to having sinful natures, but He isn't. So for Him to go through all of that, to go from privileged royalty to the lowest it is possible to go and to Hell was so so hard for Him. He experienced being forsaken by God, being completely alone, a feeling that we will never have to feel. It was more painful than it would have been for us and He did it because He wanted to. Because He loves you. On purpose.
So when you woke up this morning, God had brought all of these new mercies into the world, and there is no limit on them. There are enough mercies for everyone in the world at every second and every minute and every hour and every encounter with a person and every decision to do what you shouldn't. God has the incredible patience and dedication to do this for you, even though you don't always think about it or acknowledge it or thank Him for it.
So now you have a reason to enjoy your mornings even more than you did before. While you're having your breakfast (even if it's inside at the kitchen table and you're eating something less exciting than banana popsicles), consider this, that His mercies are new. Not reduced or reused or recycled, but brand spanking new. Not a hand-me-down, but shiny with a red bow. Each and every one of them.
Love,
Lauralicious
Friday, May 3, 2013
Not Quite Home But Still Sweet Holmes
So I moved out of my dorm today. It was pretty weird. I started packing on Tuesday, then last night I packed up everything I own with the exception of the clothes I was planning to wear today, my toothbrush, makeup, hairbrush, and bedding. Then this morning I went to work and when I was done I started packing up the car!...which took two hours to do. And a lot of rides up and down the elevator. But then I was done. My RA checked me out and then I walked out of my room for the last time ever.
It was pretty weird. I spent about 8 months in that room, eating, plucking my eyebrows, sleeping, doing homework, folding clothes, brushing my teeth, watching movies instead of doing homework, washing dishes with hand soap, missing my parents, and a lot of other stuff.
Dorm life was not my favorite of all my lives. I didn't so much love that I had one room, which was half the size and double the population that I was accustomed to, to do everything in. But it wasn't awful. I learned a lot. A lot. And I had tons of fun. Tons. I laughed and I cried and I hiccuped in that room, along with a lot of other things.
So next year I'll be in an apartment, and I'll have my own room (!!!!), along with a kitchen and a living room and a bathroom and it's going to be awesome. However, I'm going to miss Holmes 517. It didn't quite feel like home to me, but I knew it was where I lived and I became very comfortable in it.
I feel like I'm currently in a state of life where I'm a semi-nomad. Not completely homeless or anything, but I don't have a permanent home. I'll be at home for part of the summer, and at Camp for part of the summer, then I'll be in my apartment next year, but I know I won't be there forever. It's an interesting feeling.
Some things I've learned from being in college/a grownup:
1. Life doesn't revolve around college students. I've always heard grownups say this and I was aware of it, especially because I grew up in Clemson around all the students, so I didn't think it would be a problem for me. But then it was. When you're a student, you're pretty much only around other students, with a few exceptions, and you're on your own. You don't have to be responsible for anyone but yourself so you can go to bed as late as you want and be extremely spontaneous if you so please. It's really fun, but then you realize how selfish you've become.
2. I'm really judgmental. I'm super good at looking at people and making assumptions about them and what they're like and their background and how smart they are and, if they have a tattoo, where it is and a general idea of what it says. And that's not okay. I am doing the absolute opposite of communicating Jesus's lovely relentless grace to people around me when I'm judging them like this. I'm just being a meanie.
3. Studying in groups is really helpful. Really. Like a lot.
4. Also, studying is really helpful. Just as a general concept.
5. Friends are better than medicine and you don't have to wash them down with water. Sometimes when I'm feeling really stressed out I'll go hang out with my friends, even for just a short time, and getting their hugs and being in their presence helps me to realize that I'm overdramatizing my life and to just chill out. And to do my homework.
6. This is more of a life lesson, but...use your mirrors when you're backing up. Every time. Even if you are driving the only car in a very empty parking lot. Sometimes there are telephone poles directly behind you and rearview mirrors and side mirrors allow you to be aware of those and not hit them.
I'm sure I've learned other things, but those are the main things I can think of right now.
And, with that, I'm 1/4 done with college! I don't feel old enough! This morning while I was moving all of my earthly belongings from my room at school to my car to my room at home, I thought about how weird it was that just a year ago I was trying to imagine what college would be like, and now, here I am, coming home from my freshman year. Bam. Killed that. Donezo.
Love,
Lauralicious
Wednesday, May 1, 2013
The Affliction
My parents did a pretty good job of passing on traits to me. There are definitely some things that they have given me that aren't so great, like my awful eyesight and stubbornly crooked teeth, but also I'm so glad that they gave me my blue eyes and my height and other good things.
The trait that I am least thankful for is the fact that I hate coffee.
And it's like I can't even help it! If I drink it I start to shudder, to cringe at the touch of this weird dark liquid to my tongue. It's an affliction.
You see, my lifestyle is one that requires coffee. I sleep a very small amount and I do a lot of activities while awake, some academic but others not so much. I'm not saying this to complain, but just to prove my point. I get up early most mornings for class or work and I go go go all day and then I stay up late to do my homework and I'm fine with that. I love being up late at night. It's so calming to see that the world is putting its feet up and relaxing and I don't feel any rush. I know I have things to do but the night tells me that I have plenty of time. And that is why I go to bed so late. I honestly don't want to, I just know that I need to.
I had been pretty okay with not drinking coffee until now, but last week there was a day when I needed it more than ever before. Physically needed it, like I honestly could not stay awake without it. I was falling asleep while playing solitaire at work. I was moving my hand and engaging my brain and still I could not stay awake. It was pretty rough. So I got some coffee and that made me feel a little more awake.
When I was younger and I told my parents that I didn't like coffee, they told me that when I got to college I would. I would just drink it so much that I would learn to like it, and I never really believed them. And then most people I knew who, like me, didn't like coffee, liked the smell of it but didn't like drinking it. But I didn't like coffee one little bit.
Once, when I was babysitting for a family who will remain unnamed, I was snooping in the freezer for delicious goodies when I found some frozen chocolate stuff, so I put it into my mouth, and it was frozen chocolate covered coffee beans. And it was real nasty. And then it happened again a couple of months later at another family's house. I need to start smelling mysterious food before I eat it because then maybe I wouldn't keep accidentally eating coffee beans.
But the point is, I was repulsed both of those times. I hate it a lot. I don't like to use the word hate, but that's just how I feel. Coffee's never done anything to me, so I feel bad being so mean to it, but I just don't like having it in my mouth because it tastes so bad.
But now, the tables have turned. I've had a change of heart. There is no hot tea or soda with enough caffeine to work on me. I decided I'm going to condition myself to like coffee. Congratulations, cruel world, I'm changing my stance. It's just that the life I lead absolutely demands that I partake of this liquid caffeine.
I'll keep you posted on how it works out.
PS - I do sleep some, don't worry. My immune system is running strong and it's almost summer so I'm about to catch up on sleep!
Love,
Lauralicious
The trait that I am least thankful for is the fact that I hate coffee.
And it's like I can't even help it! If I drink it I start to shudder, to cringe at the touch of this weird dark liquid to my tongue. It's an affliction.
You see, my lifestyle is one that requires coffee. I sleep a very small amount and I do a lot of activities while awake, some academic but others not so much. I'm not saying this to complain, but just to prove my point. I get up early most mornings for class or work and I go go go all day and then I stay up late to do my homework and I'm fine with that. I love being up late at night. It's so calming to see that the world is putting its feet up and relaxing and I don't feel any rush. I know I have things to do but the night tells me that I have plenty of time. And that is why I go to bed so late. I honestly don't want to, I just know that I need to.
I had been pretty okay with not drinking coffee until now, but last week there was a day when I needed it more than ever before. Physically needed it, like I honestly could not stay awake without it. I was falling asleep while playing solitaire at work. I was moving my hand and engaging my brain and still I could not stay awake. It was pretty rough. So I got some coffee and that made me feel a little more awake.
When I was younger and I told my parents that I didn't like coffee, they told me that when I got to college I would. I would just drink it so much that I would learn to like it, and I never really believed them. And then most people I knew who, like me, didn't like coffee, liked the smell of it but didn't like drinking it. But I didn't like coffee one little bit.
Once, when I was babysitting for a family who will remain unnamed, I was snooping in the freezer for delicious goodies when I found some frozen chocolate stuff, so I put it into my mouth, and it was frozen chocolate covered coffee beans. And it was real nasty. And then it happened again a couple of months later at another family's house. I need to start smelling mysterious food before I eat it because then maybe I wouldn't keep accidentally eating coffee beans.
But the point is, I was repulsed both of those times. I hate it a lot. I don't like to use the word hate, but that's just how I feel. Coffee's never done anything to me, so I feel bad being so mean to it, but I just don't like having it in my mouth because it tastes so bad.
But now, the tables have turned. I've had a change of heart. There is no hot tea or soda with enough caffeine to work on me. I decided I'm going to condition myself to like coffee. Congratulations, cruel world, I'm changing my stance. It's just that the life I lead absolutely demands that I partake of this liquid caffeine.
I'll keep you posted on how it works out.
PS - I do sleep some, don't worry. My immune system is running strong and it's almost summer so I'm about to catch up on sleep!
Love,
Lauralicious
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