Tag Archives: Humor

Positively Powerful

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YOU! Yeah you! STOP right there. I see that status update you’re preparing. You’re about ready to tell the world you’re giving up Facebook for Lent. That’d be cool if it wasn’t the 5th straight year you’ve done it. I have a challenge for you. Come closer dear reader and let’s see if I can’t help you out.

Lent starts tomorrow. Try to keep your audible groaning to yourself. I like Lent. I know what you’re thinking, “What? Who in their right mind likes fasting, and no meat on Fridays and the overall somber-ness of Lent?!” I would argue two things: first, since when have I ever been in the “right mind” by most people’s standards? Two, Lent is what you make of it.

Lent is what you make of it. It really is that simple. You want it to be somber? Great, be somber, there’s a time for that in everyone’s life. I’m currently in a place where I like my Lent to be joy-filled. So I’ll tell you what, I let you in on one key way my Lent is happy (and even a little easy). Here’s what I won’t do, give you a lecture on the meaning of Lent. For that you have to attend my high school faith formation gatherings.

I’ve been a member of the Facebook community for a little over 10 years. What? Was Facebook even around ten years ago? Does the “You have memories from this day,” feature even go back that far? Yes, Facebook has been around that long, and no the memory feature did not go back that far, until about December of 2015. But those are worries and questions for another time, we are here to talk about Lent. In my time on Facebook I have discovered something so simple and yet mighty, the power of positive posting. You want people to “Like” and Comment on your posts? Try being positive, try saying something nice. Try moving the focus away from yourself. Stop the emotional word vomit that ends up on your status when you’re having a bad day. Be intentional, be thoughtful, be kind, add pictures and quotes and prayers. Trust me, it works. The pen of positivity can be mightier than the sword.

I have taken it upon myself, over the last couple of months, to dive back into my Facebook history. You’re welcome. It wasn’t super pleasant, bad jokes were made, pictures appeared, it’s like a middle school year book all over again. It was a rabbit hole I went down in search of an answer to the question, “what have I put into the world that was the most well received?” The answer, positivity. My most liked, shared, and commented on posts are the ones where I tell a story about the kid using the baptismal font to wash off his Ash Wednesday ashes, or when I post a picture of my parents on their anniversary wishing them another 36 years of marriage, when I post pictures and compliment my friends on the fantastic humans that they are for their birthdays, or better yet, just because I feel like it. And even when I post a picture of myself with 13 less inches of hair, and explain my choice to donate to those in need, positivity reigns supreme.

So here it is, my Lenten social media secret. Don’t fast from social media be intentional on social media, be positive on social media…

Here I made you a list of Lenten Challenges:

            • Limit your time on social media (1 hour a day)
            • Be intentional about your time, only read articles or posts that will lead you toward holiness.
            • Be a social media evangelist. Post one scripture verse, or spiritual reflection a day.
            • Don’t be a troll or engage in arguments. Positive comments only.
            • Post at least one compliment a day. Tag a friend.
            • Positive Posts Only!
            • Only post about other people (positive).
            • It’s okay to be funny, funny draws people in, but be kind and be genuine.
            • Ask for prayer intentions (and then pray with them). Seriously, you never know who will reach out because they need prayers, it’s beautiful and amazing.
            • DON’T GIVE UP! Sometimes we mess up. That’s cool. Shake it off. Keep going.

I hope this challenges and inspires you at least to be more aware of your own presence on social media. Even if you’re not religious and don’t acknowledge Lent, I hope you take some of these to heart, spread love, joy, and happiness, and watch your newsfeed become a more positive place. Happy Lent and good luck!

All The Single Ladies

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But really this is for all the people…

A couple of weeks ago I decided to go to a movie. I know this may come as a shock to some of you, because I never go to movies. Ever.

FYI it is really hard to make the written word come off as sarcastically as I need it to sometimes.

I had finished my work for the day, didn’t have anything planned for the evening, and I had a free ticket that was about to expire. So I looked up showtimes and movies that passes were usable at, and I headed out to see Cinderella. The theater was basically empty when I entered, which isn’t all that unusual for a 4pm showing on a Thursday afternoon, so I took my seat in the middle of the row about half way up (my preferred viewing zone), and settled in to be thoroughly entertained.

A couple of other people wandered in, a mom with her two small children, another mom/child duo, and then lastly, two teenage girls, who proceeded to sit directly behind me. Normally, this wouldn’t bother me, but as the lights went down and the previews started, these two young ladies, started to chat (again not bothersome, because I have been known to be that person from time to time), but just before the movie started I overheard this snippet of conversation,

“Is she here by herself?”

“Who?”

“The girl right in front of us?”

“I guess so.”

“Man that’s so sad, it always bums me out to see people out by themselves…”

In the moment following this exchange I thought about getting up and moving seats just to make it obvious enough that I had overheard them, I also thought about just turning around and making eye contact. I chose to not do either of those things, mainly because it wouldn’t have changed what I’d heard, and it wouldn’t have changed her perspective.

And to be totally honest the animated short Frozen Fever that preceded the movie had just started and I didn’t want to miss that!

The movie came and went with little more input from the girls behind me, save the comments about the Prince’s attractiveness and eye color. (Whereas I kept picturing Robb Stark’s horrific death scene). I left the theater content and thought little more about it, until the next day.

Since that afternoon I haven’t been able to get past that comment, “it always bums me out to see people out by themselves.” Well dear one have I got news for you…

To the young woman who sat behind me at Cinderella on April 9th,

I am sorry that my presence at the theater “bummed” you out. Heaven forbid you see people living their lives as they do, especially if it doesn’t fit into the way you currently see the world.

I am not really sorry, I don’t know if you picked up on that, but I am sorry that you couldn’t see me as I am, a young woman, who enjoys going to the movies. A person who got tired of never doing what they wanted to do, because they had nobody to do it with or people who didn’t want to do it with them. A person who had to build up the courage to actually do things on their own, because our world thinks it strange for people to eat out alone, go to concerts by themselves, or to the movies alone. A person who had to ignore the persistent negative feeling when they were out alone that everyone was talking about them and pitying them. A person that once they found the confidence to do these things also found freedom in being able to fly solo. Because I am that person.

I could regale you with stories about what I have seen and the interactions that I have had whilst doing things without the company of others. And trust me you would be more than entertained. But you don’t know me.

Please know that I am not mad at you, but I am a little bummed that you can’t see how awesome it is to see someone who is living their life without regret, because that’s what I was doing, even in the smallest of ways.

Someday I hope you do take notice of those things.

I hope that during the course of living your life, you take chances and discover new things.

I hope that someday you get to travel and see the world, I hope someday you also find the courage to do things alone, that you may normally only do with others. I hope someday you realize how nice it can be to go and see a movie by yourself. Seriously it’s great, especially dramas. And most of all I hope you someday see how normal it really is to do these things alone.

I am not unsocial, I have friends, good ones. I have friends that have driven what you may consider a great distance to see a movie with me, and I have returned the favor. Hell I’ve driven great distances to see a movie BY MYSELF. This doesn’t sadden me, because I am doing the things I want to do. I won’t regret not going to that concert because I didn’t have anyone to go with, I’ll have a great time, and surely have stories to tell.

I may have been alone for that 120 minute period, but I am far from lonely. 

Sincerely,

Me.

PS If anyone is truly upset about my Game of Thrones spoiler, please understand that happened two years ago, and you are reading this on the internet.

***Updated***
Apparently Slate and I had the same thought…this is good to and super brief!

http://www.slate.com/blogs/xx_factor/2015/04/27/having_fun_in_public_women_should_do_it_too.html

Stop the Madness!

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Warning: This post is strictly based on my opinion and I apologize for the brash generalizations that I will make hence forth.

What is wrong with you people?!

I have tried to be cool, I have tried to stay silent, but no more. I have hit my breaking point. This most likely comes too late for it to make any difference, but I can no longer stand idly by.

Why do people and businesses have this intense need to start prepping for Christmas so early? Hallmark starts putting out ornaments in July, Michael’s and JoAnn’s had their Christmas inventory out in mid-October, and the rest of the world seems to think that November 1st is the clear delineation for when Christmas music and movies can begin playing on repeat. Heck, even ABC Family is starting their “25 Days of Christmas” on November 23rd. Which makes me wonder who is doing the math for that station, because last time I checked that is way more than 25 days.

Have we completely disregarded the fact that not only do we have almost a full two months before Christmas at the beginning of November, but also that we have another holiday during that time? Or have we decided that Thanksgiving is only around so that people can shop for Christmas presents and get “unbelievable deals.” 

Please don’t even get me started on the whole Black Friday issue, or even those stores who have decided to start their Black Friday sales on the evening of Thanksgiving. Which I would like to point out is not Friday yet, so therefore they cannot claim Black Friday status. Also the fact that I am capitalizing the “b” in Black Friday, has just made me realize that I have been manipulated by the “system.”

Please don’t misunderstand me, I love Christmas.

Are you kidding its CHRISTMAS! The music, the decorations, the lights, the weather, hot chocolate, the MOVIES! There is so much I love about the Christmas season. I love that in general everyone seems to be kinder (seems is the operative word, again I point to Black Friday), and most people tend to give more at Christmas.

I like getting gifts, (really though, who doesn’t?), but I LOVE giving gifts, handmade or bought. I truly enjoy finding a personal gift for family and friends…seriously…I budget all year for Christmas, and I still almost always go over. (Then I eat a lot of oatmeal in January).

But more than all of those other things, I love being Catholic during the Advent and Christmas seasons, because it reminds me to SLOW down. To take time to reflect and prepare for the coming of Christ. I love everything about Advent and Christmas in the Church. The smells, the look, the readings, the prayers…it’s just all so…forgive the pun…Glorious.

It is because of this that I look forward to Christmas, it is because of Advent and the Church’s liturgical calendar that I refuse to listen to music, put up decorations, or watch movies of the Christmas variety until after Thanksgiving.

“But Kelly, why wouldn’t you want to celebrate Christmas for as long as you can, if you love it so much?”

Because all things in moderation, this way I won’t get sick of the music and God forbid the movies. Also the anticipation  and preparation is part of what makes it so gratifying. It’s why kids (and myself) have trouble sleeping on Christmas Eve.

Here’s what I’m tossing out there…if you waited to put out the trees, the wreaths, the lights, listening to the music, start quoting Elf incessantly, until the beginning of Advent (post-Thanksgiving), you’re still giving yourself a month to celebrate a wonderful time of the year. Not to mention you are sparing people all around the world who want to enjoy Christmas in DECEMBER the bombardment of Christmas related everything that starts to accumulate earlier and earlier every year.

If this doesn’t appeal to you, let me argue from the stance of Christmas related media, think of all the Grinches and Scrooges you may be creating by over advertising and promoting this season that comes around just once a year, when you insist on taking one DAY and stretching into a  six-month preparation. (I mean we could even say a year when you think about all the kids that wake up on December 26th and begin the count down of another 364 days until Christmas).  Has Dr. Seuss taught us nothing!

I understand most of you may no longer wish to be my friend, and for that I am sorry. But I’ve remained your friend even though you listen to Christmas music starting in September.

And one last plea of the 10 of you still out there that are still reading at this point. Maybe take a stance and join me in refusing to shop at retailers who are insisting on being open on Thanksgiving evening to start their holiday sales, because everyone deserves a break.

I’m looking at you Target.

Hulking Out

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Don’t Make Me Angry

I spent six weeks this summer in Boston starting my graduate studies at Boston College. It was a blast, school was interesting, sometimes challenging, sometimes not, but that’s not what I’m here to talk to you about.

Within an hour of landing back in Montana, I opened my garage door and said hello to my wonderful Subaru, I got in the car, put the key in the ignition, turned it on and proceeded to back out of the driveway. I was on my way…to the grocery store. Huh? I needed to stock up. Normally I’d walk as the store is conveniently close, (closer, in fact than any grocery store around BC) but I had been awake for a long time already and had also run through the Atlanta airport to make my connection, and quite honestly, I was planning on cooking myself a feast, and was conserving my energy for that.

But I digress.

Even though the store was only a block away, I was still nervous to drive. Can you forget how to drive in 6 weeks? Apparently not, but that didn’t stop me from being a bit apprehensive. I shouldn’t have been though, everything went off without a hitch.

I want to say it was like riding a bike, but I’ve ran into parked cars on my bike, more times than I’d like to admit. I also can’t compare it to walking, because I struggle with that as well. Let’s just say I’m deserving of the name Stumbledore. So I’m just going to stop before I embarrass myself…further.

All seemed right in the world, I was back in Montana, I got to experience long summer days again and sunsets that always take my breath away. But the simple of joy of driving quickly lost it’s shine. A couple of days upon my triumphant return to the Big Sky State, I found myself traveling to Helena one afternoon to meet up with my mom and spend the night with her. I hadn’t even gotten out of Bozeman by the time I was frustrated and yelling a people for driving like idiots. Either they were driving too slowly, not using their turn signals, cutting me off, tailgating, what have you. I breathed a sigh of relief upon hitting the interstate, knowing that I would be able to speed up and pass those as necessary. Soon enough however I was yelling at someone who insisted on using the left lane as their own personal road. Because they thought that they may being going fast enough to possibly, maybe pass that car that’s five miles ahead of them. Turning off the interstate for the last leg of the trip, I was counting down the miles until the passing lanes so I could pass the semi that had so rudely cut me off. Eventually we get to the first passing lane, which happens to be on a uphill stretch, I put on my blinker, moved into the left lane, and pressed the gas pedal, only to be cut off again by the same semi who had decided that it was necessary for them to pass another semi. I don’t know if you have ever had this happen to you, but usually semi trucks take a long time to pass car in general, now add in the uphill factor and the fact that this man was choosing to pass another truck that’s about 100 feet long (this is probably an exaggeration, I have no sense of stuff like this). Needless to say I was unable to pass either semi truck in that moment and would then have to wait until another clear passing opportunity. I was livid…

When I get to this point of anger, I have to put on my “Angry Car Mix.” Which has a fair amount of Foo Fighters and Kings of Leon…Rock music that I can sing at the top of my lungs. It always calms me down. I also make a point of not looking at the other drivers as I pass them…I reserve that for those moments when I’m so exasperated I just HAVE to look, to see who’s driving. I made it to Helena and was able to pass the semis after what seemed like hours, but was probably more like 15 minutes. All was well with the world again. My saving grace is that  once the car has been passed, I am no longer angry.

Now I never got upset or annoyed in Boston, a train ride into downtown was about 45 minutes (the train I took was also above ground for most of the trek so it would almost be the equivalent of taking a bus) plus, driving (I wasn’t driving, I was riding) from campus to down town took about 30 minutes or so…I should also mention that we were only traveling between 3-5 miles. Why wouldn’t someone so prone to getting road rage, not be angry with this? Because Boston has about 17 times more people living there! And that’s not counting the greater Boston area.

My name is Kelly, and I have Road Rage.

I understand that I need to work on my road rage, and I will. Just as soon as the drivers of Western Montana decide to not be dumb.

To put things in perspective.

“Hey Siri, what’s the population of Boston?”

-“646,000.”

“Follow up: What’s the population of Bozeman, MT?”

-“37,300.”

“What’s the population of Massachusetts?”

-“6,693,000.”

“And how many square miles is Massachusetts?’

-“The answer is about 10,600 sq. miles.”

“Okay, what’s the population of Montana?”

-“It looks like the population of Montana is about 1.02 million people.”

“How many square miles is Montana?”

-“About 147,000 sq. miles.

I Am A Robot

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An emotional void, cold-hearted, ice queen, hollow, unfeeling.

All of these terms have been used to describe me at some point or another, most more than once, and usually in a joking way. A lot of the time I make the comments about myself, mostly in an I’m-being-super-self-aware-and-self-deprecating kind of way.

But I’m not a sociopath. Promise. At least everything I read on Wikipedia and WebMD tells me I’m not.

In fact, I’m going to let you all in on a secret.

I feel a lot.

Just prepping you that things may get a little personal and a little real…also you should know that just typing that phrase made me all sorts of squirmy…I don’t like to share personal “stuff” especially with people.

To reiterate, I feel a lot. In fact I’m sure my brothers and parents could tell you that there was a stretch in my life where I cried a lot (usually only at home), those years were called adolescence which is also synonymous with puberty. Anything my brothers did could set me off, but after some self-evaluation over the years, I’ve learned that it wasn’t always something they were doing that made me upset, they just tipped the scale. From about 4th grade through 6th grade I was bullied. Which is so interesting to admit, because I had friends, a lot of friends, there were a couple of girls that had moved into my school that for some reason just didn’t like me. And they were cruel in a way only young girls seem to be, and to this day I don’t know what made them want to tear me down, but they did. Some days the tears came due from confusion and hurt, most days the tears came from frustration and anger that none of my friends seemed to care enough to stand up for me, and would spend their free time with the girls that made me miserable.

I got through it, I’m not entirely sure how, just a part of who I am fortunately. At some point down the road I became much more wary of how much I put myself out there emotionally. Open book Kelly became more cynical and more of a closed book with a 10 foot concrete wall around it.

There are cracks in the wall…for example this blog.

I’m not an emotional void…the emotions are just contained…in a vault…that very few people have the combination to.

I don’t bottle up my emotions. No really I don’t! I just try to take a step back and examine my feelings before putting them out into the world. I’m not always perfect, sometimes things get away from me, especially anger and frustration, but I’m much better than I used to be.

So, when I’m happy, I’m happy, when I’m angry, I’m angry. When I’m frustrated (a cousin of anger) I’m frustrated. I’m just guarded. Especially when it comes to the lovey-dovey emotions.

You’re never going to see me standing on a coffee cart proclaiming my love for a person (sorry Seth Cohen). It doesn’t mean I don’t love, I do, I love fiercely but quietly. I’m an incredibly empathetic person, when my friends and family are happy, I’m happy, when they’re hurting I hurt for them.

I’m not overt or public with my emotions, public proclamations of love and public displays of affection make me uncomfortable. (Which may be an understatement).

Which my friends think is hilarious and enjoy purposely making me uncomfortable. *cough* Tiffany and Jake Harrison *cough*

I don’t mind the jokes, I’ve got a tough skin, thanks partly to my 4th-6th grade years and in large part to my family and friends, whom I love more than I am able to aptly express, here or otherwise.

Alright, alright, alright, that enough, I have started to make myself nauseous.

All My Friends Are Getting Married

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A journey through the mind of the single friend.

Please note that there is no intention of making my friends feel bad, just some things that make me chuckle.

“You’re at that age.”

“It’s that time in your life.”

If I have to hear these phrases one more time when I mention the amount of weddings I have been invited to I am going to scream.

I am not kidding.

Since I started college back in 2005 I have been present at about 32 weddings (I say about because I had to write as many as I could remember down and there’s a pretty good chance I’ve missed some). I say present because I’ve been invited to at least 41 weddings but was unable to attend some.

Now on average that doesn’t seem that bad…it’s about 3 weddings a year, however the last 3 years have accounted for more than half of those weddings.

But for the rest of this post, let’s just focus on one year…this year, 2014.

This summer alone I was invited to 10 weddings, was available to attend 3 before I left for Boston, missed 3 while I was in Boston, never planned on going to two because they were the same day as one that I ended up missing while I was in Boston, and 2 I was invited to in August, 1 I’ve already attended and 1 this weekend.

You still with me.

I don’t know if you know this, but that’s a lot. Also, let me note that none of the weddings I was invited to were in Bozeman. The closest was Butte 75 miles away, the furthest Kalispell about 300 miles. 3 were in Helena (90 miles) 1 in Polson (about 270 miles) 1 Butte, and 5 in Kalispell.

Yes that’s a lot of driving, but more over, that’s a lot of money…just spent driving, I don’t even want to calculate how much it would be total or even factor in gifts.

My fridge looked like a wonderland of save the dates and wedding invites, I had to buy more magnets just to accommodate them all. I’ve never been more excited to get a save the date magnet, so I would have something to hold up all the other save the dates.

This is my reality.

The end is in sight, a wedding this weekend and one in November (which takes the tally up to 11 for the year).

I am holding my breath for with fingers crossed that I won’t have as many weddings next summer.

Seriously I already have one wedding that I’m aware of and my whole summer has been rearranged accordingly, even school in Boston. It’s kind of a big one, my brother is getting married I don’t even want to think about the insanity that accompanies a family wedding.

So I am starting a friendship application process, new friends are always welcome, but if they are currently in a committed relationship and looking to possibly get married within the next two years, they will be put on a waiting list, and friendship will begin post wedding.

All current friends, you have been grandfathered in, so no worries. Please understand that if you get a handmade pot holder as a wedding gift, it’s because I am tapped out and have no money to purchase a gift.

But hey at least it’s handmade.

Sympathy for the Devil

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Please allow me to introduce myself. I realize in terms of blogging that I have left out the necessary introductory post, where I tell all of you about myself and why I have decided to start blogging. Now that I have a somewhat captive audience I figured I would throw it out there.

Here’s the deal, if you’ve read my previous posts (all or some) you hopefully have been getting a pretty good idea of who I am. If you’ve been reading them and are still in the dark, well then read this, then go back and re-read all the other posts and maybe it will begin to make more sense to you. 

So I started this adventure called “my life” back in 1987 with a lot of help from my parents and some support, but more pokes and prods, from my older brother Mark. Almost three years into this new life, Chris came along and RUINED EVERYTHING! I am just kidding, but that was my reaction to basically anything he did post infancy until probably mid-high school. I love my family, seriously, they are the funniest people on earth. You should see our group iMessages. They are also the most supportive and loving people ever, despite the fisticuffs we’ve been known to engage in. Don’t worry it’s been at least a year since the last fisticuff. (I really like using the word fisticuff, I now need to use it on a regular basis.)

I am a fiercely loyal friend. I will engage in fisticuffs (see I told you I liked the word fisticuffs) and bar brawls for my friends. For real. I overuse the term “best friend” because I consider A LOT of people to be my best friends. Deal with it. My friends are just another branch on the Kelly family tree. Even if we don’t talk anymore, there’s still a branch for you, it’s why I have a hard time deleting people from Facebook.  

There are a few friends that I refer to as my brothers or sisters. These people have seen me cry, and I don’t mean just silent tears streaming down my face. I mean full on ugly cry, where I have sought them out to be my rock in the turbulent times of my life. These people are right up there with my brothers and parents, though most of the time they don’t mock me as much. 

It is because of a few of these sister/brother friends that I started writing down my stories and thoughts and put them on the inter webs. They encouraged/bullied me into pursuing my incessant need to share my thoughts and stories. It was 75% encouragement and 5% bullying, and the other 20% came from my bedroom walls and car who were tired of having to listen to me ramble on.

So here it is. I am now blogging. And more so I am now publicly posting the blog on social media. Baby steps. I am a rambler, and I get off on tangents super easily. You should be a fly on the wall when I am writing these things down, one time is all it takes. Also just be happy that the finished products are under a 1000 words, because before I re-read and edit them they only make sense to me…and trust me, no one wants to read my stream of consciousness, I don’t even want to read it. 

So thanks for joining me in this new venture I hope you enjoy the ride. 

If you’re my friend you now know that I would hit someone with a pool cue for you. And now my brothers, parents, and the rest of the world knows that I would straight up punch a person out for them. I am sure my parents would be so proud. 

Apologies to my brothers, Mark and Chris, for posting things about you to the internet without your consent or permission. And to my parents, for not always accurately portraying you. The perspective of a child is vastly different from that of semi-grown up Kelly.

To my friends who’ve seen me ugly cry…yeah…um…let’s just not talk about it.

For those of you who understand the title, congrats, I accept you.

If you haven’t figured out the significance to the title of this post and how it relates, Google it, then let me know what you find out. Enjoy the rabbit hole.

Sorry Not Sorry

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First, let me just start off apologizing for this title. I truly hate this phrase, it started out as just a working title, and then I legitimately couldn’t think of anything better. The only redeeming quality there is to this is that I didn’t hashtag it. Though just using the word hashtag, feels like I just cheapened the moment. My deepest apologies for being so modernly cliche.

I joined Twitter back in the dark ages of 2008…which by the way is a fairly big accomplishment considering Twitter was really just starting to take off at that time in larger metropolitan areas like NYC. Upon signing up I had to pick my Twitter name, a profile picture, and write something in the “about me” section. All of that was relatively easy, my picture is one of my all time favorites…me riding the wooden escalator in the NYC Macy’s in homage to Elf, my username, is basically a nickname from high school with my favorite number attached, and my bio was short to the point, and I thought represented my existential self perfectly. 

“Live, Laugh, Love.”

In other words, my bio, was stupid, cutesy, cliche, and safe.

When I was a kid in elementary school I had no problem liking what I liked and telling everyone in the whole world about it. Heck, I got “married” while on a family camping trip when I was four, and my groom and I skipped around holding hands telling the whole wide world that we were getting married.

Don’t worry, pretty sure it wasn’t legal, unless there is some weird loophole in Montana State Law that says marriages between 4 year old are only made legal if the wedding was witnessed by both families, was presided over by an elder sibling, and a Berenstein Bears book was used in place of a Bible…stranger things have happened.

I was labeled the “weird” girl in 4th grade (Weird by the way was the outcast label of the time…so much has changed) and I was proud of it! I liked listening to the Beatles, and watching old black and white movies with Jimmy Stewart and Cary Grant, I loved watching Star Trek Next Gen, and I lived for the Batman animated cartoon everyday after school and X-Men the animated series every Saturday morning. I also liked watching the Power Rangers…but that wasn’t cool so I blamed my watching it on my younger brother. 

It wasn’t until I was in college that I realized the proper terminology for what I was. NERD. I was and am a huge nerd. However, for some reason, one that I am still trying to figure out, I buried the nerd flag. I was still nerdy about a lot of things, but I wasn’t being truthful about myself and who I was. 

I now strive to be myself all the time, I love the things that I love, and I shouldn’t be ashamed of those things. I know some people will laugh when they find out that I am a proud Kickstarted backer of the Veronica Mars Movie,and others will just pretend they didn’t read that I have recently become addicted to the MTV show Teen Wolf because it’s freaky and amazing and certain character arcs are all the reason you need to watch a teen soap about supernatural beings living in a fictions town in California.

Are you beginning to get my point?

At the end of it all I don’t want to have any regrets, I don’t want to be ashamed of who I was created to be. Which as my new Twitter bio states:

“Pop Culture Nerd, Comic Book Lover, Baseball Fanatic, Middle Child, Youth Minister. ”

In my last post I talked about not being afraid, and this follows right in that same vein. At the end of the day I am not afraid to be me. 

I am unapologetically, 100%, authentically, genuinely, me. And I am not sorry for that. (I also think that somewhere in the space time vortex 10 year old Kelly is cheering and punching the air for me now)

Speaking of Nerdiness…

This is a thing if you like nerds, comics, movies, celebrities, pop culture, ect. that you should check out.

www.iwantmynerdhq.com

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Landshark

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Growing up I had an overwhelmingly vivid and overactive imagination, the only time that this became a problem was when I was going to bed…or to a lake…or to the ocean. 

We’ll get to the lakes and ocean later, but when it came to bed time, there were a few bedtime rituals that had to be adhered to. 

1.) Closet doors completely shut…no cracks allowed.

2.) Everything cleared out from under my bed and a 5 foot radius around my bed.

3.) Night prayers…I couldn’t go to sleep until my mom or dad had come in to hear my night prayers. 

The reason for all of these rules, was fairly simple. Monsters. I don’t really know what they were supposed to look like, but I knew that they were up to no good, and they all but relished the thought of my paralyzing fear. I’m not entirely sure where they were coming from, but I also knew that they could get in through the closet, but they couldn’t enter the sanctity of my room if the doors were shut, they just had to stay in the closet all night. (Which now that I think about it, isn’t such a bad deal…I had all sorts of awesome in my closet, those monsters probably had a blast spending every night playing with my Disney Farm, and be-headed Barbies).  

The bed thing was different…I just didn’t like the idea of having anything around my bed, that I could step on in the middle of the night…and when I did wake up in the middle of the night I would stand on the end of my bed and then jump as far away from the bed as possible, you know just in case one of those closet monsters was sneakier than I knew. Finally the prayers were just a comfort to know that my parents were there for me, and would be all night, and so would Jesus. 

Now when it comes to bodies of water I was afraid of all sorts of things, but especially sharks. I mean seriously have you seen some of the marine life that exists? Terrifying. It didn’t help that my brothers thought it was funny to pull me under the water when we were swimming, or to yell “Shark!” just as I was jumping in. Fear of sharks is fairly rational, they’re scary. What’s irrational about this was I was afraid of sharks in all bodies of water…yes even swimming pools. 

My brother use to tell me that when he would yell, “shark!” I would immediately try to get out of the water, and I hadn’t even touched it yet, apparently it was the most cartoonish I’ve ever looked. 

Thankfully I’ve outgrown the closet thing, and the bed thing (under the bed is important storage space, especially in a college dorm room). I still have a fear of large bodies of water, I still freak out when someone swims up underneath me and pulls me under, which some of my former summer camp co-workers can attest to first hand. (I am not sorry for the bruised faces and bloody noses).

Talking with my roommate about these childhood fears, I had a realization, how did I ever become afraid of monsters in the closet? It’s not like my parents put me to bed as a child and told me to not open the closet or the monsters would suck me back into their circle of hell. So how is it that seemingly all children have some innate fear of the dark, and the monsters that lurk in the shadows?  Is it human nature to fear darkness and the things that can hide there? Is this fear something that is ingrained into our DNA? Can we escape it?

We seem to spend a lot of time fearing things that are inevitable, such as change, we cannot stop change from happening. Sorry team. It’s not possible. But the things we fear as children, like monsters and the dark, we tend to outgrow. Or maybe a better way to say it, is that our fears evolve to suit our maturity. 

Fear is a natural part of life. We should have a healthy fear of certain things. One of the gifts of the Holy Spirit is Fear of the Lord, but not so much in a way that we may fear a spider, or for drastic measure, a serial killer, but more so to be in awe of God’s power. Because the things He can do, should illicit a reaction that is nothing short of jaw-dropping-loss-of-speech awe, and naturally that should also scare us a bit, simply because we cannot begin to wrap our heads around all of His power and mystery. And that is a beautiful thing.

Scripture is filled with different verses about darkness, and Christ being the light of the world (for example check our John 9:5), and most prominently the words “Do not be afraid” appear 365 times in the Bible (that’s basically one for every day of the year-I say basically because we all know that a year is technically 365.25 days) We’re not supposed to fear the monsters that lurk in our closets or in the shadows, because we know that Christ conquers all, but just because we’re not supposed to be afraid, doesn’t mean we aren’t and shouldn’t be wary of what is out there. We know the devil exists, we know he plays on our fears, we know that there is some force of evil in this world that seeks our destruction. AND we as Christians know that evil is fighting a battle that has already been lost. (Hello crucifixion and resurrection)

You might be reading this and thinking, we don’t KNOW any of those things you just stated about evil, but I would ask you to go to the nearest website that shows movie trailers and take a look at the most recent and popular trailers. I bet you see at least 5 trailers for horror movies that deal with the supernatural, and there are at least two of those that talk about some sort of demonic possession. We as a culture are fixated on evil, but that is a conversation for another time. But I do believe society as a whole embraces the idea of evil being present in our world in some way or other. 

As long as we face our fears, and do not let them control us, and we always remember the words of Christ. Our fears cannot conquer us, we will conquer them. 365 days a year, wake up and say it in the mirror and mean it, “Do not be afraid.”

But seriously this is a real thing…Who wouldn’t be afraid of this?

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This is not an April Fools joke…read about it here 

http://news.nationalgeographic.com/news/2007/01/070124-sharks-photo.html

Scar Tissue

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*Warning* This story may not be for the squeamish 

When I was about 4 years old, I had this toy, I refer to it as the rolling lion toy. Basically it was one of those toys that is supposed to help infants scoot around and then when they’re toddlers they can push it because it has a handle on the back. As a four year old I mainly used it like a shopping cart, but on one particular evening I was running around our house pushing the lion like it was a race car. Our house at the time was really a giant square with hardwood floors, so it was perfect for running laps at maximum speed. At some point my four year brain decided we had had enough of running in circles and would change it up, so as we rounded the corner from the kitchen to the living room I decided that instead of taking the next turn, I would instead go straight through the doorway into my bedroom. As I sped through the doorway, and onto a new race surface (carpet) I stayed the course and careened into the far wall. Upon impact I flipped over the handle bar landing seated on the lion and snapped my head forward, biting my tongue.

I don’t know if this was the same for everyone, but when I was little, the worst pain I could experience was biting my tongue. It was an awful sharp pain, and it was really only happening because I was eating or talking too fast and my tongue just got in the way of my teeth.

I remember immediately bursting into tears and running from the room to find what comfort I could from my mother. As I rushed into the kitchen, I got my mother’s attention by tugging on her shirt and my stifled closed mouth whimpers. I clearly remember my mother looking at me while I pointed frantically at my mouth, she cracked a smile and in a kind, yet mocking tone said to me, “Oh did little Kelly bite her tongue?” I nodded vigorously and then stuck my tongue out going “aaahhhh.” In an instant my mom’s face went from a smiling joke to abject horror! She quickly rushed me to the bathroom and told me to lean over the sink, keep my mouth shut, and not swallow. As I waited for her to return, curiosity got the best of me and opened my mouth while looking in the mirror. Immediately blood poured into the sink, I couldn’t really see much, but pain was telling me that the blood was coming from my tongue. As I was continuing to examine my mouth in the mirror my mom came back in with a glass of warm saltwater and told me to sit on the toilet and put my tongue in the cup. I did as I was told  and was then immediately rushed to the car, while my mother yelled at my brother Mark to be good and help dad finish dinner.

Upon arrival at the E.R. we hurried inside, being careful not to spill my now bloody glass of salt water – which, can I just say, tasted awful – The nurse at the front desk  immediately ushered us into a room and a doctor was not far behind. –Please note this was the fastest service I have received at the the ER to date – After a lot of cotton balls and gauze the doctor finally stemmed the bleeding enough to take a look and see what the damage was. The good news, my tongue was still intact and connected, the bad news I had bit all the way through. In reality there wasn’t any bad news, in fact I didn’t even need stitches, the doctor decided that he would bind my tongue and if, in a couple of days it wasn’t healing, then he would stitch it up. –I am eternally grateful not to have had stitches and that the tongue is the fastest healing organ in the body-  I was charged with no talking, and only eating of soft foods, which in my mind translated to pancakes! This was the best news I’d heard all day…I love pancakes.

My tongue eventually healed and yielded a fairly significant scar that covered most of my tongue when I was younger, over time the scar has gotten much smaller, which makes sense considering how your tongue grows from the time one is four years old to adulthood. Though smaller, the scar remains as a reminder of one of my many childhood ER visits and for all intents and purposes an entertaining story.

When I was a summer camp counselor, we used to use scar stories as a small group discussion ice breaker, and they yielded some of the most interesting stories, not to mention the kids became comfortable with the idea of small group sharing. We just asked the kids to tell the group an interesting story about something that happened to them that gave them a scar or even a broken bone (it is a scar in a way). It may seem bizarre that we were asking kids to tell us about a time when they hurt themselves, but there’s a reason we started things off that way. We all have scars, physical and emotional, it takes time, courage and strength to accept the scar and move past it. Scars can remind us of a time when we were vulnerable, and got hurt. And yet moving past those pains and scars are what make us stronger individuals. We were made to heal, a scar is just a reminder that we did heal. The kids loved telling their harrowing stories to a captive audience who “oohed” and “aahhhed” in all the right places, what they may not have realized at the time was that these kids were taking ownership in their life experiences, their pain, and most importantly, that they came back stronger.

I think scars can be a beautiful thing and I wouldn’t trade mine for the world. I hope you all can see the beauty and strength in your own scars.

Happy Wednesday!