Saturday, July 30, 2011

My second home

So I've gone to the same church since I was 4 years old. I went through all the programs I could growing up (preschool, Awanas, kids choir, youth group) and have graduated from the church. Of course, there's been the weird summer period where I don't really belong anywhere, and it's been fantastic, but that's irrelevant. What matters is that tomorrow will be my "last Sunday".

Next Sunday, I'll be at Fish Camp. The next Sunday, I'll be at Impact (Christian Fish Camp). The next Sunday will be move-in day, where my parents will drive home and I will stay in College Station until October or whenever I feel like I want to come home for a weekend.

It's just so weird to think that I place that I've been going to weekly for the past 15 years will suddenly no longer be a part of my life. I'll have to find a new place in College Station that I feel as at home at as I did at VRBC. And it's going to be hard to keep my mind open in this new church because I'll be looking for what I grew up with and it's not going to be there. Not the same thing, anyway. I know I'm going to cry tomorrow.

After 15 years somewhere, you kind of grow attached to it. I'm accepted and not questioned when I walk into the church offices. It's not weird to see me up in the youth area helping out with stuff. I feel like I belong at VRBC because that's all I've ever known. And I'm scared of not finding somewhere that I love just as much when I go to school. God will push me in the direction I need to go, I know. But I'm still just wishing that VRBC could move with me. The staff, the members...everything. It's my second home.

I know I'm ready. It's just a matter of accepting my readiness, if that makes any sense at all.

So, VRBC, thanks for seeing me through. Thanks for teaching me the difference between an apple and an orange. Thanks for teaching me John 3:16 and Psalm 86:12. Thanks for giving me opportunities to grow in Christ and as a leader. Thanks for seeing me through everything. Thanks for having a solid foundation physically and spiritually. Thanks for giving me people to lean on. Thanks for showing me how to step out of my box. Thanks for feeding me. Thanks for the memories. Thanks for the leaders. Just...thanks. You've left your mark and have a chunk of my heart. And it'll travel down I35 with me as I head to A&M. Love you.

Bye.

Wednesday, July 27, 2011

LIFETIME MUTANT NINJA THYROID!

So I have this condition and I don't really know what it's called (I know it has a name). But, basically, I don't have the use of my thyroid.

What's a thyroid, you ask? Good question. Basically, it's this little gland in your neck, right under your Adam's Apple and it does a few fairly important things. As a baby, it helps to develop your brain. But as you grow, it does things like control your weight by using energy, distribute hormones, and gage hormone reaction. It works closely with your pituitary gland, which is at the base of your brain. I have a perfectly functional thyroid and a perfectly functional pituitary gland. But there's a small problem: the message from my pituitary gland to make my thyroid work gets all messed up.

It's called the TSH, or the thyroid stimulating hormone. The hormone that informs my thyroid that it's time to start producing is mutated, making it so that it doesn't work at all. The message is lost because it was never fully formed. As a result, my thyroid never hears what it's supposed to do from the pituitary gland. Something goes wrong. The only reason my thyroid doesn't work is because the hormone never gets there.

Now, I wouldn't be telling you about my mutated hormone if I didn't think it was important/interesting. What I find cool about this is that my family is one of five recorded families in the world who has this condition. My sister and I are the only ones in North America. The others are in Brazil, Belgium, and Germany. It's easy to deal with--I just take a pill every morning that acts as the hormone--but it's just so weird/awesome that I have this unbelievably rare problem.

Obviously, I'm normal (don't make jokes, smart alecks). I have a normal height, weight, and brain abilities. I was given hormones fast enough so that the lack of the natural hormone as a baby didn't affect me, thank goodness. If I hadn't had care within a certain time frame, I would've had mental disabilities.

So that's my medical quirk, a form of hypothyroidism.


I am...

Listening to: "What I Know" by Parachute
Pumped for: the Rangers game tomorrow!
Thinking about: the great night I had with my friends and at Bible study
Reflecting over: judging and how to stop
Happy because: I get to babysit my awesome cousins tomorrow

Tuesday, July 26, 2011

Why I write.

I've found that, in a very loose way, I am like King David of the Bible. When I write about my toils and things that I'm going through, I find that I change a lot from the beginning of the piece to the end. I typically start out at point A and, by the time point B comes around, I'm a lot different. Normally, it goes from a negative to a positive. And I do a lot of learning about myself.

Now, go find a Psalm. You'll see that David normally starts out with some problem and complaining about how he feels forsaken and like he isn't being looked after and by the end of the Psalm, he's all, "I LOVE YOU GOD!!!"

See what I mean about David and me? He lived a few thousand years ago and was royalty and I'm a 21st century upper-middleclass girl but we both share two things: our love for our God and a love for writing.

Transition.

I write for a lot of reasons. One being that when I speak, my words aren't words and when I'm actually speaking English and not my own language, I have a bad tendency of stumbling over my words. Another reason is the one I mentioned earlier; I learn about myself when I write. I overcome things when I write. I get lost when I write. And only when I get lost can I ever be found. Because, honestly, what idiot would go searching for something if they knew where it was?

If you looked around my room, you would be hard pressed to not see any books. Books on my desk. Books on my nightstand (a whole stack of 'em). Books on my shelves. Books on my dresser. Books on the floor. A whole library of books neatly organized in my closet. Writing and reading has built me. It's the reason I am who I am. Without the fictional worlds that I have a tendency to overanalyze, there's no way I could even think about existing in the "real" world.

When I write, I build a character that is like me. I modify the character, of course. Give her blue eyes and a better ability to speak coherently. Give her weaknesses. Give her a boy to fall in love with. Give her a mission she'll fight for and people to love on. She is me, but she definitely isn't me. I think I do this because I've always made myself a character in the books that I read. I want to be the heroine. I want to be the Hermione (of Harry Potter) or the Annabeth (of Percy Jackson and the Olympians) or the Viola (of Twelfth Night...or She's The Man). They're strong, smart, witty, sometimes confused, always awesome, and, above all else, the heroine of their story. They impact and save lives.

I write because I love stories. And I'm in one. As Shauna Niequist said in her book Cold Tangerines, "God is a storyteller. He's a mad-scientist and a father and a magician, and certainly, he's a storyteller", God loves a good story and He has complete jurisdiction over all "real life" stories. He wrote the book to your life. So maybe I am the heroine of my story and maybe of someone else's too. But it doesn't matter if I'm the star or the supporter: I'm in stories.

You can't have a writer without a story. You can't have a story without characters. You can't have characters without being inspired. And you can't be inspired if you don't step out and figure out your own story before you start writing a fictional one.

Go and have stories. Let me know how it works.

Monday, July 25, 2011

Embarrassing

I embarrass myself a lot. Not "Oh-my-gosh-toilet-paper-is-stuck-to-my-shoe" or "Shoot-the-guy-that-I-have-a-crush-on-knows-that-I-like-him" embarrassment. More like the "Oops-I-tripped-on-my-own-foot" or the "Sorry-for-not-being-able-to-coherently-make-words-when-I-get-excited" embarrassed. Little, insignificant things. Nothing catastrophic really ever happens in my life for me to get so embarrassed over that I need to go climb in a box in the corner for the next half century. Mostly, I just laugh at myself and other people think it's embarrassing that I tripped.

But I have come across some things that I have found fairly embarrassing that I'm going to share. Do not judge me when you read these.


1. I have found myself trying to impress the 14-year-old girl that I nanny/babysit/drive around. I'm trying to break this by not wearing any makeup around her. It's kind of working.

2. I've discovered that I'd really like to be fictional. I want people to read about me and think I'm interesting/cool/heroic/whatever.

3. I've also discovered how ridiculous the above two confessions are.

4. As shocking as it is, I'm becoming clumsier. Yeah. It's happening.

5. I'm scared out of my mind about getting my wisdom teeth taken out.

6. If I had all the money in the world, I would spend it on TOMS and a pair of glasses for every day of the week.

7. I know I've said this before, but I really want blue or green eyes.

8. My cousin and I are now reading the same books. He just turned 10 years old and is going into 4th grade. Yikes.

9. I look like a sleepy hobo in my student ID picture for A&M.


That is all.


I am...(not necessarily the same as during the 30 day challenge)

Listening to: "Miss Me" by Andy Grammer
Reading: "Lethal Warrior" by David Phillips
Procrastinating: Showering
Annoyed by: Being waitlisted for parking
Excited for: The Rangers game on Thursday that I'm going to

Sunday, July 24, 2011

I know what love is

So you know how in those soap operas or Disney Channel shows the main girl character "falls in love" with the boy of her dreams and wants to give up everything for this boy and the mom snaps at her and is all, "You don't even know what love is!"

In fact, some real people (as in, not actors) have that same mindset. Teenagers don't know what love is, they say. They think that the younger generation doesn't have enough life experience to know what true love is and, therefore, cannot use it as an excuse/explanation in life.

I disagree, but not for the reasons that you might think.

You see, I believe in this all consuming, unbiased, uninhibited, unconditional love. Such a thing only comes from Jesus Christ. This love is perfect because He is perfect and everything He does/is is perfect. And, due to the fact that I profess myself to be a believer and follower of Christ, I get this love. It conquers all in every circumstance. This love cannot be destroyed or overpowered. This love is absolutely flawless because it sees no flaws. Love, as John Mayer says, "turns the whole thing around."

Because I have a part of this love, I know what love is. Jesus Christ died for me because of His intense love for me. Nothing I do can make Him stop loving me. He willingly put aside Himself and His desires and fears to die for someone that He passionately loved. He felt that He could not live without me and, therefore, threw down His life for me.

I do not, in any way, shape, or form deserve this sacrifice. However, love does not base things off of debts or levels of entitlement or seniority. Love simply loves and ignores all else.

No, I have never been in love. I want to be (I seriously can't wait to fall in love), but I'm not yet. But I know what love is. And I'll know that I'm in love because I have such a powerful example through Christ.

So I don't need mistletoe or Cupid or a love calculator. I just need my heart in the right place and to keep running after the one who loves me most of all. Only then will I find someone who will run with me.

"Love is patient, love is kind. It does not envy, it does not boast, it is not proud. It does not dishonor others, it is not self-seeking, it is not easily angered, it keeps no record of wrongs. Love does not delight in evil but rejoices with the truth. It always protects, always trusts, always hopes, always perseveres. Love never fails." 1 Corinthians 13: 4-8

Sunday, July 17, 2011

Leaving my legacy

I have four more weeks left in the home town I've lived in for the past 15 years.

15 years is a long time. A girl goes from a preschooler to a graduate in 15 years. A family is made in 15 years. Friendships are built, broken, and reconciled in 15 years. Change happens in 15 years. People get to know you in 15 years. Legacies are built in 15 years.

So what's mine?

Mine is with teachers. Mine is with a church. Mine is with adults who's kids I've babysat and led at VBS. Mine is with the kids who I have babysat and taught at VBS. Mine is with the workers at certain restaurants that I go to a lot. Mine is with that one worker at Kroger who knows me because I buy really random things and that I'm 19 going on 14 years old. Mine is with my eighth grade English teacher who still has the terrible "novel" I wrote. Mine is with the church leader who still remembers the Linley with glasses and braces. Mine is that my teachers in my earlier years remember me as the quiet girl with her nose in a book...constantly.

But those don't matter in the great scheme of things. Who cares if my fourth grade teacher fondly remembers my obsessive reading of "The Boxcar Children" or that the Kroger employee will forever think it's strange that I buy onions and a box of brownie mix in the same purchase? Things like that are irrelevant to what I really want to leave home.

I want to leave with a legacy that forever honors my Savior. I want people to think of me as the girl who invests time in others with little regard to what she needs to be doing for herself. I want people to think of me as the one who cared too much for what others needed. I would rather care too much than too little. I want girls who are insecure to look at me and know that if the dorkiest girl on earth can make it through middle school and high school, they can too. If one girl keeps her head up in a rough time because of looking at me, I've succeeded in doing what I've been called (by name) to do. If anyone is a follower of Christ because of me, if anyone steps away from their insecurities and fears because of me, and if anyone is a leader because of me, then I have done what I was here to do.

My legacy is what people will think of whenever they hear my name. I know not all of it will be good; I'm far from perfect and know my faults. But negativity and the downward cast of an eye will not keep me from stumbling along the path that I've been set on to follow. And I will stumble. Not everything is a stroll in the park. I'm going to have backbreaking spaces that I'll need to grab ahold of God's hand for and adversity is one of those spaces. But there will also be times where I'm skipping along the road, freer than any bird you've ever seen.

I'm leaving soon. But think of me every once in a while and don't miss me too much. I've left behind a little bit of Linley here and there. And, hopefully, it won't be hard to find.

Saturday, July 16, 2011

Harry Potter.

I became a Harry Potter fan by accident. I was going to Washington DC on vacation and right before I left for the airport, I went to my then boyfriend's house to get something. While there, he traded the book I currently had in my backpack for Harry Potter without me noticing with a note that said "Enjoy!"

I am forever grateful for this act of trickery.

At that point, almost all the books were out and by the time I finished The Half-Blood Prince, the seventh book came out. There were no midnight Barnes and Noble stakeouts for me or waiting impatiently for JK Rowling to put out the next installment. But I devoured those books. I quickly fell in love with all the characters. And I quickly decided that I hated Bellatrix Lastrange a million times more than I hated Voldemort himself.

It was a fun and exciting to see this masterful story unfold and how all the pieces fit together in this intense, overarching plan that boiled down to unexpected secrets and major plot twists. Harry, Ron, and Hermione are, obviously, three of the best protagonists of all time. They were human in the sense that they had issues; they got jealous, they got mad, they made up, they got mad again, and they always, always, saved each other's butts when it counted. Harry, the moody chosen one. Ron, the funny been-in-the-business-since-birth one. And Hermione, the stunningly beautiful know-it-all.

But what about our supporting characters? My favorite has to be Neville Longbottom. In my opinion, his story is the most heartbreaking. His parents were tortured to insanity by a sickeningly cruel woman. Neville was not The chosen one in the sense that he would destroy Voldemort. But he was the one who held Hogwarts together. He was brave all through his 7 years at his school. He was smart and sweet and endearing. I don't want Harry or Ron; I want Neville. And then there's the ever-essentric Luna. Beautiful, strong, hilarious Luna. Strange by all counts, but the war would not have been won without her for so many reasons. Fred (tear) and George. They are right behind Neville in the "favorite characters" list. I definitely started crying in both the book and movie when Fred died. They were hilarious and, without a doubt, the comic relief that this dark story needed.

I could go on and on about how much I love the characters and how amazing the story was. It was unbelievable put on the big screen and, though my mental movies are pretty good, it made everything seem so much more real.

Harry Potter, you will be missed. But you are far from being over. I have a feeling that this is not the last we'll be seeing of you.

"The world isn't split into good people and Death Eaters. We've all got light and dark inside of us. What matters is the part we choose to act on. That's who we really are." --Sirius Black

Sunday, July 10, 2011

Girl points.

I've been in this battle on-and-off all year with one of my friends about how girly I am. He insists that the only girly thing about me is that I like boys and I dress like a girl. My interests, apparently, are way out in left field though.

So I'm going to let you decide, reader. How girly am I?


My argument:

I am an embarrassed Nicholas Sparks movie fan. The books aren't really my taste, but I enjoy the movies.

I like pink. Sue me.

Ice cream and M&Ms are my ultimate comforts after a rough day; not a good workout at the gym.

I hate running.

I drive a little red car that has a simple cross hanging from the mirror.

I like getting all dressed up.

I like shopping.

I can talk to a rock.

I shower daily and have my own little routine.

I like boys and announce my desire to marry frequently. However, this announcement is not normally made about the same boy.


His argument:

I wanted a truck. Like an old F150 or something classy.

One of the things I'm most excited about for college is football season.

I know a lot about the Texas Rangers. More than the average female.

Nike shorts and t-shirts are my favorite things to wear. Not dresses. Not skirts. Not even a nice blouse. Shorts and t-shirts.

I saw all the Star Wars, Indiana Jones, and James Bond movies before I saw The Notebook. Granted, The Notebook is recent, but the 3 aforementioned series were higher on my priority list.

Blood and guts do not bother me at all.

I don't mind sweating and getting dirty.

I have a bad habit of burping.

I am very protective of my sports teams.

I don't like strictly romance books. I want the book to have some romance, but I don't want it to be the focus.

The only romance movies I watch are romantic comedies. Otherwise, bring on the Transformers.

I'm not a real romantic. I don't know how to describe it other than I don't want my future husband to be constantly showering me with intense compliments and lavish gifts. I want to be real and I want to joke around. I'm not high-maintenence in that way. My idea for the perfect first date would be dinner and then a movie at home. None of this nice dinner business with the ritzy restaurants.


So you decide. How girly am I?

And I can't decide if this is rhetorical or not.

Saturday, July 9, 2011

Tragedy and triumph

Thursday night, the Texas Rangers had a make-up game against the Oakland Athletics ("A's"). The previous game had been rained out and this game would kick off another series of the Rangers vs the A's. Early in the game, a foul ball was smacked into left field. It bounced off the wall and Josh Hamilton scooped it up to toss it to the fans behind him. One man and his son had called for a ball earlier but Josh had thrown it the other way. This time, he tossed it to them. However, the toss wasn't long enough. The man, a firefighter, reached for the ball and fell over the railing onto the concrete below. He was awake as he was rushed to the hospital, but later passed away of serious brain injuries. He was with his 6 year old son. They had stopped on the way to the game to get a glove in hopes of catching a foul ball.

I have never been so sad and so heartbroken for strangers.

The man, Shannon Stone, and his son were going to the game and wanted to enjoy some father-son bonding. They didn't even get through half the game when this horrible incident happened. The family, expecting the father and son to come home maybe with a baseball, is now missing a member. It's just so dang sad.

Josh Hamilton, famed outfielder and someone who is probably going to make it to the Hall of Fame one day, was the one who threw him the ball. Though it isn't his fault that the man died, I have no doubt that he took the blame for it in his head and heart. I don't know if he slept that night and I don't know how he dealt with this, but I wish I did. I wish I knew exactly how to pray for him. I wish I knew how he was dealing with this.

Last night, at the first "official" game of the series, he hit a line drive right into the audience, hitting a man in the head and he had to get stitches.

I won't lie; I would've thrown down my bat and hung up my jersey--for good. I would have been done. Take me out of the lineup. Put someone else in left field. I'm moving back home.

But he didn't. And tonight, he won the game. It was your classic bottom of the ninth, two outs, down by a run, and your fastest runner on base. And Josh slams one to the upper deck where it is caught safely by someone sitting in what is called "Homerun Porch".

When Josh hit home plate, the whole team was waiting for him. The only time I have seen such a celebration was when the Rangers beat that gross team from the Bronx. This didn't have the ginger ale or the confetti, but it had the victory. It was like God was saying, "It's okay. I've got it. It's okay, Josh."

Cornball, I know.

When he was interviewed right after, he sounded emotional. He sounded like he really needed that smash out to centerfield. He sounded like he was digging his fingers back to the top of the hole so he could try to get out. Obviously, God was going to give him a boost (like a homer, for example), but this was just so...beautiful. In a weird, melodramatic, baseball-y sort of way.

My heart goes out to the Stone family. My prayers are with them. But my prayers are also with Josh Hamilton. Healing needs to go out to all parties involved. Death is...hard. But beauty and love comes in strange places and in surprising ways.

"I have said these things to you, that in me you may have peace. In the world you will have tribulation. But take heart; I have overcome the world." John 16:33

Tuesday, July 5, 2011

Texas.

So, I was born in Birmingham, Alabama in November. Alabama is still in the south, so it wasn't freezing but Birmingham is northern Alabama, so it was pretty dang cold given that it was about a week before Thanksgiving when I made my worldly debut.

Karen and Mike spent another year in Birmingham before they hauled me out to Texas for the next two years (San Antonio and Grapevine). And I think that was where I fell in love. Okay, so maybe I was 2 and 3 years old and maybe I didn't really realize anything was different other than new neighbors and a new house. I did know that I had an awesome zoo where I lived and that my second Texas house was cool because I had a new little brother to share it with. After two years of Texas, my dad's job moved him to Franklin, Tennessee for a year before we bounced back to the town I currently live in. In Texas.

It's funny to think that I'm not a natural born Texan, but I completely consider myself one. I didn't consider applying to Alabama or Auburn for school. I'm not a Tennessee Titans fan. I'm a Rangers fan to the core. A tu hater without question. An devoted member of the fightin' Aggie class of 2015. The Dallas Cowboys aren't horrendous (but I'm not a pro-football or Jerry Jones kind of girl). I'm pumped the Mavs beat out the Heat, though I'm not a wild basketball fan. I am, through and through, a sports girl. I'm just kind of picky on where I put my passion.

I love the heat. I love being able to drive for hours and see how huge my state is. I love that I can go through hills and pines and desert and over rivers and wind through small towns. I love the old Texas highways that are four lanes and just go straight for miles. I love the simplicity of it all. I love seeing the Baptist churches that have been there for years upon years. I love looking at the scars of the past and being proud of how far we've come. I love Mom-and-Pop bakeries and family owned stores that have outlasted Wal-Mart.  I love being in the Bible Belt and wouldn't trade it for anything.

I love that it can be 104 degrees and then a summer storm blow in and the temperature drops and lightening strikes and the rain pelts the thirsty ground. And I love how it can go back to 104 a few hours after the storm. I love going out to the lake on those hot days and just floating, waving to the boats passing by and laughing at the easiness of it all. I love that it can stay in the 70s through September and October. I love it being 60 on my birthday. I love the feeling of running into a warm room when it's cold outside, though I don't love the cold. I love the first warm day of the year where you can put on shorts and still get goosebumps. I love seeing how Spring explodes overnight and you wake up one day and there's buds on the trees.

I love the Alamo and the Capitol. I love that we were once a country. I love being in the biggest state in the continental US. They were right when they said "Everything is bigger in Texas". Whoever "they" are. I love knowing that, if we wanted to, we could secede. Not that I'd ever want to (yikes); I just think it's cool that we've been our own country once and can do it again. (But, Rick Perry, please don't get any ideas.)

Why do you think I'm staying in Texas for school? I love that my university was the first public one in Texas and that it is 135 years old. I love that I can walk on the same streets that my great-grandfather walked on. I love that it isn't exceptionally beautiful but that it has character and is so alive. I love that Texas A&M is the essence of Texas.

So maybe I have a lot of state pride. But maybe I don't care what you think. Maybe I like being prideful in this great big space of heat. Maybe I like being a conservative Baptist who loves sports and country dancing. And maybe I did just buy a new pair of cowboy boots.

Let the armadillos roll, the boots fly, and the horses kick. Let the cities bustle and let the heat stay. Let me be an Aggie and let me be loud about it. Let me be obsessed with the Rangers and don't bother me when it comes to them. Let me stick to my Bible Belt roots.

Because, for better or worse, I am a Texan.

The Suburban Theorem

I have come to the conclusion that authors place their stories in three places: big cities, small towns, or made up worlds. Naturally, there are exceptions, but this generalization holds true in most cases. You rarely see the main setting for a fictional story in a town like Lewisville, TX. It's not nearly as big as Dallas, but it holds around 50,000 people, so it definitely isn't little.

But why is this? Why is Suburbia forgotten or ignored?

My theory is no story is placed there because nothing really exciting happens there. Small towns have their scandals and divisions that make them interesting. Big cities are a writer's jackpot with all the potential to make fictional magic. And there is literally no limit when it comes to a made-up world. And the suburbs are just...there. People go about their business. There is a lot of networking and some scandal, but not everyone is in on everyone else's lives. It isn't picturesque and it isn't bustling.

It's normal. Average. Plain, even.

Yes, I can be talking about where I grew up. I could also be talking about where you grew up.

But think about it. Suburbia provides for a great place to grow up. Adventure is found in weird places and small acts of rebellion happen. In fact, small cities would be the perfect place for a story because it could show normalcy and then throw in something that isn't normal. You can make extraordinary things happen in an ordinary place with a little setting placement.

Unfortunately, I am not transcending the norm. My book is placed in New York (the city and Albany). But I can almost guarantee that my next setting will be in Suburbia. You can hold me to it.

So, fellow writers of the world, I challenge you to embrace Suburbia. And I'll lead the charge.