Squirrel!

At one point when I was a teenager, we lived in a super nice house in Minneapolis. It was just gorgeous with TONS of space, which was perfect since there were so many of us...plus extras that came home with my brother on weekends. During the time of living there, we were trying to raise support so we could move to Kansas City, which meant that we visited a different church every weekend. Not my favorite thing, but I survived.

One Sunday night, we came home to find our living room had been absolutely trashed. It didn't look like anything had been taken, but vases had been knocked over, little glass figurines were smashed, piano music had been ruined by the water from vases, everything on the mantle was on the ground, and other random decorations were scattered across the floor. 

Immediately, we panicked big time and assumed youths had been behind it, but that didn't really make sense. That was when we noticed tiny footprints on the wall. Animal prints. Hmmm...

It all made sense quickly when we saw the squirrel frantically running across the fireplace. My dad sprang into action by shoving me and my two younger sisters into the office! Wait, what? My mom and older sister stayed out in the living room to help my dad. By standing on the couch, holding a box in front of them to protect themselves from the squirrel. Screaming.

Yes, I disobeyed a direct command by leaving the office to help my dad, but he couldn't trap a baby squirrel by himself! (Yes, it was a baby. So adorable, I know. I guess it would've been cuter in a different situation.) I grabbed the box out of my mom's hands and chased that dumb squirrel from one direction while my dad came at it from the other way with a broom. 

Success. We got it!

But in our excitement, we definitely didn't have a lid. The squirrel tasted freedom once again. Curses!

There was a large amount of time in between the last sentence and the next sentence. If it were a movie, it'd be a montage. It was a lot of shouting, screaming, jumping, grabbing, missing, swatting, throwing, and hoping, for a good half hour. Trust me, I'm sparing you by not writing down all the details.

Then, FINALLY, we got him again. I'm telling you, that was an insanely proud moment for me: SO much success! 

The squirrel was released out into the wild, never to be seen by us again. I think. I don't know, all squirrels look the exact same to me.

The next morning before school, my younger sister heard a weird noise by the tv stand. She walked over to check it out, leaned in way close to get a good look...and another squirrel we didn't know about (that was 2 shelves up) pushed a video tape out. 

It hit her on the head. 

She screamed. 

We then had the excitement of catching another squirrel to release into the wild.

Not a bad weekend.

Jelly Shoes

When I was a kid, jelly shoes were a BIG THING. You were respected and admired if you had them. Somehow, whether as a hand-me-down or because it had been my birthday, I ended up with a pair of my own. Let me tell you, as a 6 year old, that is the absolute best thing that could've possibly happened to me!

The town we lived in at that time, Woodville, WI, was fairly small. It was the perfect place to grow up though, because we totally owned it! There wasn't a rock or crevice that hadn't been explored by my brother, sister, and I. Life was good! Plus, I was the pastor's kid, so I led a super privileged life. (Hahaha, totally kidding. Don't get me wrong, life was, as I mentioned, good...but jelly shoes were the most exciting thing to happen to my wardrobe and my life at that time.)

Anyway, one day, the three of us decided to do some more exploring. I got super dressed up for the occasion in some extravagant black and purple dress and my purple jellies (slang for jelly shoes. Keep up.), because why wouldn't I?

We headed up the street to the middle school so we could explore the creek (crick) some more. The creek (crick) ran all the way through town. It was super huge, like the ocean. As we were walking up and down the length of the creek (crick), we saw a log that had fallen across the water.

Perfect! A bridge!

With my brother in front, me in the middle, and my sister holding everything together at the back, we headed across.

It.
Was.
Awesome.

Keep in mind, I lived in landlocked Wisconsin. This was, at the time, the biggest body of water I could remember ever seeing. And we were walking OVER it at the deep part! We were so daring!

Now, it might have rained recently, or maybe it's just that the tree wasn't wide enough. Whatever the reason, my sister started to slip...

And obviously, she shoved me in so she could save her own life. And of course I fell right in, because jellies have absolutely ZERO grip or support.

I went down and under, my life flashed across my eyes quickly (because I was six, so there wasn't much to see), and then I came up, screaming bloody murder. I must've blocked out parts of the story because it was so traumatizing, but somehow I ended up back on dry land.

Minus one shoe.

We made it home after many tears had been shed, and I'm sure there was much limping, stumbling, and forgetting how to walk because I'm dramatic. I changed out of my gross, soggy clothes, and immediately forced/guilted my brother and sister to go back and help me find my beautiful, wonderful, lonely jelly.

No luck. I went back every day for about a week after, but no. It was gone forever.

Gone, but not forgotten.

Dumb Frogs

I realize I haven't posted anything in a LONG time. My apologies! I've decided to make up for it by posting a couple of short stories from my past.

Dumb Frogs

When I was a little girl, maybe 5, I was BIG on taking purses to church. I'm not even joking about this. There was one specific Sunday that I couldn't choose which purse to take...so I filled up 3 of them with an uncomfortable amount of trinkets and toys, just in case there was a lull in the service and I was called on for entertainment. I guess.

One Sunday night before church, I was playing outside with some of my friends, which is when I really noticed the tiny little frogs that would jump up against the building.
Where did they think they were going?
Didn't they know they were literally going nowhere?
Dumb frogs.
I don't know if I was trying to help them out or punish them, but I started catching as many as I could.  I'm not trying to brag, but I caught probably more frogs than has ever been caught in the history of 5 year old girls dressed in church clothes catching frogs. They were all put in my purse, naturally.

Then it was time for the service to start.

I went in, sat down in the second row from the front (that's the designated row for the pastor's family. Did I mention my dad was the pastor? He totally was.),  spread my dress out gracefully like the lady that I was, and sang along with the rest of the church. At one point during the service, I noticed my brand new pets weren't seeming to enjoy their new home and were trying to escape.
Dumb frogs.
Being a 5 year old, I didn't quite understand the fragility that comes with being a tiny frog and may have been just a little (a lot) rough while I was trying to put them back in their home.

Somehow, miracle of miracles, my mom didn't notice all the commotion going on at my end of the pew, which is truly extraordinary, because I was frantically smashing, grabbing, and chasing all those frogs so I could put them back where they belonged. What started off as an awesome idea and what could've been some cool pets quickly turned into a massacre.
Dumb frogs.
They were more trouble than they were worth, that's for sure!

After the service ended, I walked out, dumped the carcasses onto the ground, and didn't tell my mom anything about it for several years.
She wasn't surprised.

New Everything

Growing up is hard to do. Making your own life decisions is tricky. Why can't I be as confident about things as my parents always are??

I'm about to embark on the biggest life decision/change/adventure I've EVER had. At least, that I've ever made for myself!

And while I'm equal parts crazy excited and terrified out of my mind, the hardest thing for me is realizing things will never, ever be the same. Yeah, I'll still be friends with people and Kansas City will hopefully always be here (Hey, weird things happen! Ever hear of a little city called Atlantis?), the dynamics will change drastically. Although, they would've changed anyways because everyone seems to be getting married and/or having kids…

I'll be honest, one of my biggest fears about moving to a different city is finding things. No, not finding my way around; I have an excellent sense of direction…and by that, I mean I have a gps. I don't want to have to find my new favorite grocery store, theater, gas station, route for running, book store, or place to go to relax. I don't want to have to find a new church. I don't want to make new friends…okay, I'm not so against that. I love meeting new people! But what I'm trying to say is: I already have all those things: I just want to bring them with me! COME ON!

But that's the thing about growing up. People change. Things change. No matter what, change is always creeping up on us. It's creepy like that. And really, it's only through change that we grow and mature and find out who we are. If it weren't for changing and growing up, I'd still be the pastor's kid who smuggles frogs into church in her purse!

So in the end, change is good…but it's such a pain, that I don't like it. Not at first, anyways.

Oh, and a couple fun facts about Lake Charles:
First the bad news - Ever see The Princess and the Frog? I have. Unfortunately, that's not what Louisiana is really like. People don't walk around singing while wearing their finest clothes, everyone doesn't live in a mansion (I realize they didn't in the movie, but I was still hoping they did), alligators don't talk, and frogs don't turn into princes. I see now how unrealistic my expectations were.
And now the good news - Alligators and crocodiles aren't just wandering around all over town. That really eases my mind!

I am very much looking forward to moving and I know I'll adjust. Eventually. :)

My Pain

We all have secrets. 

We all have scars.

We all have things in our past we don't like to share. 

We all cope with things differently. 

Some of us bottle it up. 

Some go to therapy. 

Some write about it in song and use it to reach out. 

Some hurt themselves. 

I'm part of the last group.

When I was a teenager, my family underwent a HUGE change that turned my life upside down. We became missionaries and started traveling everywhere, raising support, living in so many different houses and states. 

It was hard. I hated it. I was miserable, not having many long-term friends (it's just so hard to keep up, even though it was possible to do).

Desperate for control, I turned to the only thing I, in my naive teenage mind, knew how to control: I started hurting myself. It started off small, purposely running into things and getting bruises. Things I could write off as me being a klutz. I never did it for attention; I did it to rebel, though it was more a silent rebellion than anything else.

It escalated quickly, though...and I went down the dark, dangerous path of cutting. I had no idea what I was getting myself into, I just wanted to have a choice about something that happened in my life for once. 

When it was discovered at college (though I can't remember how anyone found out), I had to have weekly exams by the nurse to make sure I wasn't still involved in it, but I found ways around that. 

Then I ended up at the hospital because of very concerned professors (who were right to do what they did) and the doctors wanted to put me on anti-depressants. I refused. They wanted me to go in weekly for therapy. I refused that also. (Have I mentioned that I'm stubborn and was wildly rebellious way too often?)

Meanwhile, I would cut myself almost habitually and for the smallest of reasons. I would take anything that happened and turn it into something that was, in my eyes, worthy of physical pain.

Christmas break came and I did what I could to hide my scars from my parents, all while slowly sinking further into myself. I was, again, miserable and not sure what to do about it or how to change.

I started talking to a friend who asked me if I knew I was a Christian. I couldn't answer that question honestly, so he called me and helped me realize how important it was for me to surrender to Christ. I could absolutely feel a battle waging inside me while he was talking to me. I so wanted to open my heart to Jesus and let go of the hurt, lies, and sin I was wallowing in, but I was terrified. Change is scary! I'm so thankful that my eyes were opened and that night, Christ became the Savior of my heart. What a difference it made immediately!

But when I went back to school, it was so hard to not get sucked back into that lifestyle. I would stay up for hours at night, crying hysterically and unable to stop; I had headaches ALL THE TIME from crying, and I didn't have very many friends I could talk to about it.

God is good, though, and He brought some awesome people into my life who helped me through it all. 

It's been a long, hard road since then, and I had quite a few relapses. The temptation to cut will almost always be there but I've learned to distract myself from it (running, yoga, being honest to people when I'm struggling). 

If you're reading this and have, yourself, gone down that dark, dangerous path, please know this: there's hope! You don't have to be stuck living like that! I want to strongly encourage you to get help. Talk to someone you trust. Don't try to get through it alone!

My name is Emily. I'm not proud of my past and I have scars I can't hide, but I'm proof that change is possible.

Kansas City

Photo courtesy of an unknown stranger.

I LOVE MY CITY. I'm ridiculously proud to live here and, despite all the places I've lived, will claim this as my hometown no matter where else I move.

Kansas City is where I learned the most about myself, about what I stand for and that I need to respect other people's opinions - even when they're different from mine.

I learned that I'm a runner, that I love yoga, and that running with friends is the way to go!

I learned that spending time with friends is the best. We don't need to do anything spectacular or insane,  spend any money, or even go out. Just investing in those relationships in any way is important.

I learned (after I moved out) that living close to family is just about the biggest blessing there is. Treasure it.

I learned that you're absolutely never too old to learn something new. As long as you're alive, you can and should keep growing, trying, and learning.

I learned that carrying a notebook around and writing down everything is a fantastic way to learn and grow!

I learned that girl's night is awesome and should be recognized as an official holiday.

I learned that free community events (Free Friday Night Flicks and Celebration at the Station to be specific) are an awesome way to get to know new people and to appreciate this community!

I learned that writing letters is so much fun and rewarding and that Polaroid cameras are fun and wonderful. Perfect for instantly reminiscing.

I learned that "I'll Be Home For Christmas" will always make me tear up and will mean even more to me after I move to Louisiana. (And since I'm talking about Christmas music, "Silver Bells" and "Sleigh Ride," both by Relient K, are the best versions I've heard. Ever.)

I learned that Union Station and Crown Center are THE places to go for gorgeous Christmas decorations!

And most importantly, I learned to enjoy the little moments. The happy memories. The times with friends and family that make you smile. The things that, when you look back, can help you get through a tough time.

All that to say that...you're a great place, Kansas City! I miss it here already!

Forgiveness

I haven't posted anything for a little while. I've had a lot on my mind and in my life...a lot to take in, wrap my head around, contemplate, rethink. A lot that I wasn't wanting or planning to spend time thinking about. Basically, I've realized that if you want to survive life, you need to let things go. You need to have a forgiving heart.

Profound, right?

Even as I write this, I have to force myself to not cling to the hurts of the past.
But the fact is, people will hurt you. Deeply.

How will you let it change you?
Will you become bitter? Hateful?
Will you become a gossip?
Is that hurt the ONLY thing you talk about?
Will you let it steal your joy?

That's how I let it change me.

I quickly became the type of person I can't stand. The type who links everything that happens ever back to my hurt. And man, that is exhausting and stressful!
But you know what? I learned something over the past couple of weeks.
I learned that it's so much better to not hold on to the hurt...or the bitterness...or the habits of gossiping.
I learned I was hurting myself by being so awful.
And I was reminded of how humbling, freeing, and redemptive it is to ask another human for forgiveness.

What a feeling! How beautiful to experience such grace!
I want to encourage you gently: do away with those ways of being swallowed by bitterness, hatred, gossip, etc. If you've wronged someone, even without them knowing it, confess it to them and ask for their forgiveness. You'll realize that you're the one who's set free!

The Digital Age: Captured
(ps, check out this beautiful song. Be captured by His love.)