I'm out of POSITIVE.

I have exhausted all of my positivity for the month. With my smile and my optimistic outlook, I was able to look strong and feel strong. Without the strength to smile about the fact that I'm sitting here blogging by myself on Christmas Eve, I'm jus an eighteen year old kid who is too far away from her family. I've cried too many tears for December to handle and I want to yell and my skin or sweating because my mind cannot accept that it is 90 degrees on Christmas Eve. I want all the palm trees to turn into Christmas trees and I want to wake up on Christmad morning in my bed in Virginia. I miss the childish anticipation that Christmas puts into each one of us and I miss the complete and perfect happiness that comes from simply enjoying the company of those who have been put into your life. It's hard to enjoy fellowship when you're by yourself.

There are people around the school, of course, but Christmas here is a time to be busy. It's a time to travel ad to see as many friends as you can. Since I have no one to travel to or with, I am left watching faces (some familiar, others not so much) come to and fro as they enjoy their chaotic Christmas. For some reason I thought that Christmas here would be exactly like Christmas at home, except hotter. I thought families would stay close and that people would gather here and eat food and enjoy conversation and friends. Instead, parents are traveling to see their own parents while kids hang out with their friends. Some are enjoying beach trips or other day-long vacations that were planned in advance. I was unaware that all of this would be happening, so I neglected to make plans for myself. That's why I'm here, just blogging.

I know that Jesus is with me, and I know that there are people around and I know that I have friends. Don't worry, I'm not going to die of sadness (I don't think). I'll be fine. I just felt the need to tell you all that I'm exhausted and homesick and that, at last, there are no more positive spins for me to put on the situation that will make it anything other than: I'm feeling alone on Christmas and I miss my family.

I hope you appreciate your Christmas a little more than you would have before reading this.

much love ALWAYS, Christie

FAMILY defined

An immediate family is defined as “a group consisting of parents and children living together in a household.” Extended family is simply defined as “all the descendants of a common ancestor.” Those are dictionary definitions, just words on a page in a book that exists simply to define other words. A dictionary is a cold and heartless thing. It defines cancer as if people’s lives haven’t been destroyed by it. It describes a heart as simply an organ, not something that decides who we love and who we hate. A dictionary houses terms that mean the world to one person and mean nothing to the next. According to the dictionary, the people who mean the most to me in the entire world are just “a group” who happen to have descended from the same forefather. I would like to fill you in on what the dictionary left out.

An immediate family is the core of who you are. They make you or they break you. They are the ones who are either there to pick you up if you fall or the ones who leave you there to brush off the dirt. A family brings both joy and pain throughout your life and you wouldn’t exist if it was not for them, and they would not exist if it were not for those before them.

I know for some of you your family has been a source of hurt and the reason you cry yourself to sleep tonight. I know for others your family is difficult and crazy and but hard as you try, you can’t make yourself get away.

For me, instead of being a source of hurt my family has been a balm for any hurt I might be going through. Instead of being the reason I cry myself to sleep at night, my family is the reason I can go to sleep knowing that, as long as we’re together, everything will be okay. My family can be difficult and crazy, yes, but (despite the fact that I am in Africa as I write this) I’ve never tried to get away from them. My family is my core and they have instilled in me the values and qualities that I possess today.

This Christmas will be hard without them. I’m going to miss Kari being the only one who still gets excited enough to wake us all up to open presents. I’m going to miss waiting for Dad and Tyler to get up before we start celebrating. I’m going to miss waiting for Mom to make her coffee (it seriously takes her AGES) before we all gather in the living room by the glow of our Christmas tree and open gifts and laugh and talk. I’m really going to miss eating too many cinnamon rolls and thanking Mom for the socks and perfume and the gum that will inevitably end up in our stockings. However, I’ve never experienced Christmas in the middle of summer, so this should really be something.

All that to say, family is a beautiful thing. And not all of us get to experience this joyous “group consisting of parents and children living together in a household.” Is that really what family is, though? Biological ties are impossible to break, true, but sometimes there are others in your life who turn out to be more loyal and loving and honest than any family member you’ve ever known. In my humble opinion, that’s family too. My (uneducated but heartfelt nonetheless) definition of family is this:

Those who will be there for you when nobody else is. Those who will speak honest truths into your life when everyone else is offering empty affirmations. Those who find joy in just being together. Those in front of whom you have no problem eating as many cheeseburgers as you want. Those who will never criticize in order to tear you down, but instead in an effort to help you become a better person.

That’s family. And if you feel alone during this holiday season when families are all gathering together, don’t forget that every single one of us have the same Father. Therefore, according to the cold-hearted dictionary, which defines extended family as “all the descendants of a common ancestor”, we’re all a big, happy, crazy extended family, whether in Africa, Asia, Europe, the Americas…it doesn’t matter. We’re all bros up in here.

XOXO

love love LOVE,

Christie

[only 10 days until Christmas Eve!]

STOVE PROJECT : $500 needed

GOOD NEWS! Many of you, perhaps, have heard that I am raising money to buy two new stoves for Royal Kids School. An anonymous donor has just told me that if I can raise $500 by SUNDAY NIGHT, they will match that amount, equaling in $1000 – enough to buy one of the stoves! Below is information about the stoves and why they are a worthy cause to give to. I will also give you the link to donate money towards this project. Thank you for your support and thank you to the anonymous donor who has generously made this offer!

INFORMATION ABOUT THE SCHOOL/WHY STOVES WILL HELP :

Royal Kids School has two kitchens. One kitchen is a sort of shack right outside of the school building and the second kitchen is newly built and is located on the other side of the school. In the new kitchen there are two large stoves fueled by firewood that are used to cook for the majority of students. In the old kitchen there are multiple small, charcoal-fueled stoves used to cook meals for the staff and for the students with dietary issues. There are three problems that these separate kitchen present:

1.The charcoal is expensive. To use charcoal everyday costs more than the food itself and cuts deeply into the finances of the school.

2.Walking back and forth between kitchens to retrieve cooking necessities, while it may seem trivial, is exhausting when it’s added to the work of cooking for over 300 people every day

3.Sometimes, to try and conserve charcoal, the small meals cooked for the staff are prepared on the large stoves. Because the large stoves are extremely hot, there has to be more food than necessary cooked, resulting in wasted food.

So whichever way you look at it, savings are being drained by the use of charcoal (about 4400 schillings per month), and food is being wasted in the effort to conserve charcoal.

WITH $2000, two new, small stoves fueled by firewood could be purchased and moved into the new kitchen where the larger stoves are. The old kitchen and charcoal-fueled stoves would be no longer necessary, therefore eliminating the need to buy charcoal every week, and resulting in extra money that could be used towards paying salaries or towards food and other necessities for both the day-time students and the boarding students. Because the stoves would be smaller, there would be no need to cook large quantities for smaller staff meals, therefore eliminating food wasting. The food would then last longer, and money would be saved for the school in this way as well. This is a cause that will help the school in the LONG RUN and will help them save money for YEARS to come.

PLEASE CONSIDER and pray about helping out with this project. If you feel led to donate, go to THIS WEBSITE where you can give however much you desire to give:

https://gcr.cloverdonations.com/royal-stove-fund/

all we wanted was cake

All we wanted was cake. 

A birthday was coming up and the kitchen staff was baking cakes by the dozen. Actually they only made a few, but they smelled so good. The sweet scent wafted into the room and caused mouths to water as we realized we hadn't had anything sweet in months. So we decided that it was high time to bake a cake. We hopped online and went to my favorite website, allrecipes.com, and browsed the various recipes for various cakes. They all looked so good and so...fancy. We sadly closed the computer, very aware that our resources here in Africa would not bake us such beautiful cakes. 

But we just really wanted cake. 

So off to the kitchen we went, and asked, a little pathetically, how much it would cost if we asked for a cake. Mama Shiro laughed and told us she would figure out the ingredients and tell us the price. I looked at my meager 200 shillings and hoped with all my heart that I would have enough. 

A little piece of me died when I realized I didn't have enough money and that cake that day was not an option.

In conclusion, when I get home I am baking a beautiful welcome-home-Christie cake and eating the ENTIRE THING by myself. And that, my friends, is the most exciting thing that happened to me all week. 

xoxo christie

it's all just a PROCESS

DEAR FRIENDS ♥

Today was supposed to be a hot and sunny day. It was supposed to be the most miserable hot that it could possibly be because today was the day that we were supposed to go to the beach and swim and cool off. Unfortunately, the weather didn’t get the memo or God has another plan for the day because we woke up to pouring rain and got a cup of tea and sat down on the sitting room couches, prepared for another day of relaxing. And it is so easy to fall into a rut of complaining and feeling bored and useless now that things have slowed down. It’s a lot harder to be grateful for this time that I have to just sit back and enjoy the culture and spend time with Jesus. It’s interesting that the less I have to do, the more difficult time management becomes. It’s so easy to let this life of relaxation slowly transform into a life of pure laziness and in order for that not to happen, I need to make sure I’m using my time wisely instead of just letting it waste away. So I’m writing a blog post.

These past two months (yes, two months! I can’t believe so much time has already passed!) have given me a lot of time inside of my head. I've been by myself a lot. For those of you who know me, being alone turns me into a melancholy person who over thinks everything and I hate it. So it’s been a stretching experience, to say the least. And I have had so much time to think. When something happens that irritates me, I don’t just get irritated. I wonder why it irritates me and I spend time thinking about it until I've figured out why I’m irritated. I've read the Lord of the Rings series, the Hobbit, two volumes of Sherlock Holmes, and various other books since I have been here and I've grown accustomed to being alone. I’m not saying that I don’t spend time with the kids, because I do. When I say “alone”, I mean that I have nobody to relate to, to share my feelings with, so it’s just me and the Lord. During this time, I've had a lot of time to think about me and my relationship with the Lord. And I have discovered a few things. And I’m going to share them with you. My blog is a way for me to process my thoughts and feelings so that’s why I’m writing this. I might not even post it. But I probably will. Anyway, here it goes.  

1.     

                1. Christians baffle me. When a relationship between a boy and a girl is concerned, to say “I love you” is the biggest deal ever. It means engagement. It means marriage. It means together forever. And if you don’t plan on all of that, then you better not even be in a relationship, much less say “I love you.” And I’m not saying that all that’s a bad thing. To say that you love someone is a big deal. Because I grew up in a school of classical education, I’m aware of all the different forms of love there are. I’m talking about the romantic love, the Valentine’s-Day-chocolate-and-flowers kind of I Love You. Anyway, Christians tend to each have their own strong opinion about how relationships should be and when the appropriate time to declare love for one another is. But when it comes to a relationship with Jesus, they absentmindedly sing worship songs declaring their own love for Jesus and praying prayers full of love without even really thinking about what they’re saying. (I’m not saying that you don’t truly love Jesus, don’t worry, I’m just speaking out of observation). If I spend a year in a relationship with a boy and I say that I ‘m in love with him, there might be discussions, doubt, advice, and warnings given to me by many Christians. However, if I walked up to the front of the church after really focusing on my relationship with the Lord for only a few months and said I was in love with Him, I would be met with a round of applause and maybe a few tears of joy in the congregation. And that baffles me. The process of falling in love, whether with a significant other or with Jesus, is just that. A process. You don’t accept Jesus into your heart and suddenly fall in love with Him. At least I don’t. And that’s been a revelation that I have just had. I’ve always felt like I should love Jesus immediately before even getting to know Him and I’ve just now realized that it’s not like that. Right now, I hardly know Him. To say that I’m in love with Him would be a lie, because I need to really know Him first, just like any other relationship. I don’t know. It’s just been a surprising discovery that I’ve had. 

      

                2.  Another thing I’ve discovered that it doesn’t matter how far away I stray from Jesus, He’s always going to be a central part of who I am. I was raised in a Christian home and for some reason, when I try to run from Jesus, He’s still there. When I arrived in Africa, He was my lifeline. He still is. He’s been my “rebound” countless times. When a relationship ends, when I have no one else to turn to, when I’m experiencing a tragedy-He’s the one I turn to. I was just talking about how falling in love is the same with Jesus as with any other boy, but I just meant the process. Everything else is different. Because with a guy, being a rebound isn’t endured. Being the one that I fall back on when there’s no one else is the worst. But Jesus is just glad that I spend time with Him and He’s willing to wait it out. He’s forever, He’s never letting go. And that’s what makes all the difference. He’ll always be part of my core because He’ll always be there for me to come back to. I know that sounds like a mess. Like He’s content just to be the last one I turn to for the rest of my life, but that’s not what I’m saying. I’m saying that as many times as I run away, He’ll be there waiting until the day comes when I truly fall for Him and won’t have anyone else. I’m in the process, heading towards that day now…I’m just not there yet.

      And that’s all I really feel like writing about right now. Just two observations I’ve made about my own personal relationship with Jesus. I’m excited to see what lies ahead for me and Jesus and I know that in this next month of relaxation I will experience Him in a whole new way and I’m ready for it. God bless you all this holiday season. I missed Thanksgiving but PTL Christmas is a big deal here. I’ve never experienced an African Christmas and I don’t know that I ever will again so bring it on.

Xoxoxo much love love love!
-Christie

i rode a camel

I rode a camel. One of the American girls and I saw camel rides being offered and we just went for it. As I approached the camel it started snorting and grinding his teeth, so there was a bit of tension in my relationship with the camel. The tension only increased as I climbed onto the saddle-like contraption and he let out a soft bellow of annoyance. And then he started plodding glumly along the Indian Ocean with two Americans giggling and chattering and wondering how on earth  life could get any better. Then the camel obviously decided he’d had enough of our joyous attitudes and he stopped. The camel leader looked a little nervous and began speaking in Swahili. It was to no avail, however, because the camel began to lay down. When a camel lays down, you do NOT want to be on his back. First, his front goes down, so he’s in a kind of kneeling position. Those on his back are thrown forward and then lashed back as he lowers his back. And there we sat, laughing uncomfortably and wondering if we should just get off and run before our not-so-hospitable camel tried to throw us off or something. Before we could put our Jason-Bourne-rolling-off-the-camel-and-making-a-mad-dash-for-the-car-plan into action, however, the camel began to stand up. We went through the same dramatic process of being thrown to and fro until the camel decided he was content and began his slow journey back to the starting place. And then it was over and we dismounted and he left us there to wonder what exactly had just happened. Did we really just ride a camel down the Indian Ocean?

Xoxoxoox
Christie 

I wrote this too late at night...

It’s getting hotter and my days are getting longer and less and less busy. Things have almost slowed down to a stop and all there is to do is play with the kids every opportunity I get and sometimes help in the kitchen. Before I even came to Kenya, my goal was primarily to have a chance to spend TIME with Jesus and grow closer to him. Little did I know that two months into my journey my entire schedule would consist of spending time with Jesus and drinking tea.

I’m sitting here trying to think of a riveting tale to tell you of my adventures, but my life has been lacking of all adventure recently. I did go to the beach with several of the Americans who stopped in for a few days, so I suppose I’ll tell you about that.

First of all, I’d like to let you know how nice it was to see an American in real life. This is the longest time I’ve been away from my home, my family, and any kind of familiarity. When I found Nutella and Pringles in the supermarket I nearly cried with joy at the familiar sight. So to see an American up close was truly a gift from God. My usually boisterous self was quiet, basically silent, while they were here.  I’ve realized that I haven’t had the opportunity to joke around or have a true conversation in two months because the people here don’t understand me very well and I sure don’t understand them well enough to keep up with long conversations. So when I had the opportunity to talk in my American English as fast as I wanted to, I didn’t even know what to say. Anyway, one night we went to the beach.

As soon as we stepped onto the beautiful, almost silky, sand, we were bombarded by people trying to sell things. I had plastic bracelets shoved at me along with beautiful scarves and carvings. The thing about Kenya is that even a “no” is a “yes, keep talking” and no matter how many times I rejected their offers, they still trailed behind me giving me ridiculously bad deals for a bracelet that I didn’t want. At first, I didn’t mind it. When they asked me where I was from, I answered, excited to meet the natives. Then I realized that their seemingly friendly introductions were actually traps. They would ask me where I was from, talk for a little about Obama, then give me yet another deal on whatever they were trying to sell. I couldn’t get away from it, and soon I learned to haggle. A lady tried to sell me a wrap for 1000 shillings and I haggled it down to 600, and I was very proud. Then I saw another lady selling a different wrap and haggled it down to 200. I eventually began having a good old time trying to get away from the sellers and kept wandering down the beach. I noticed how beautiful and sad the women were, and how old the men were. The beach was full of “couples” like this, an old man with a prostitute. I took a step back and tried to look at the beach through the eyes of Jesus. All I could see were broken people. People selling as many bracelets as they could so that they could have food that night. Prostitutes trying not to look miserable as they looked out from underneath fake eyelashes. Old men pretending that they weren’t paying for company. Broken people. We always tend to look at people from the outside and we forget that everybody that we come into contact with is an actual person.

Look at yourself. Look into your heart. Think of all the thoughts that are swirling around in your head and all the feelings you go through on any given days. Then think of all the people we try not to think about. Prostitutes, the poor…they all have thoughts and feelings, too. Dreams and desires that go beyond their current situation. Think of all of the billions of the people on this earth and ponder for a moment the absolutely infinite number of thoughts that occur every single day. It’s a crazy thing. Everyone has a life and nobody truly, truly understands each other. It’s a sad but beautiful thing.

The beautiful thing is that God understands each and every one of us perfectly. 

love christie

Faith attracts the positive. Fear attracts the negative.

I was not afraid when I was dropped off at the Dublin airport and left to navigate my way to Kenya with no phone and no way to contact anyone. I was not afraid when I was running through the airport in Istanbul, sure that I was about to miss my flight. I was not afraid when I landed in Nairobi and found my way through the basically deserted airport by the help of a stranger who may or may not have been quite intoxicated. Even though I’ve forgotten to pray in times of trouble, and even though I’ve attempted more than once to depend on my own strength and wisdom, there’s not been a single time during this trip where I remember being vividly afraid. Somewhere, in my core, I knew that Jesus has been, is still, and always will be for me. And if He is for me, then who can stand against me? (This is your cue to shout “amen!” because yes, I do realize I sound overly and perhaps obnoxiously preachy).

All of that to say, it is not with fear that I make this announcement: instead of leaving in late March to go back to Ireland as was originally planned, I will be leaving a month earlier in order to avoid the elections here in Kenya. Nobody is quite sure how dangerous the elections will be here, but after praying lengthy prayers and thinking too hard and waiting for the Lord to answer, I feel that it would be wise to leave early, just in case. I feel peaceful and happy about this decision, and I am glad and grateful for the remaining three months that I have in Mombasa.

These next three months will be eventful ones! My teaching job is dwindling and my main priority now is playing with the kids and enjoying them before they all go home for Christmas break. Break starts on November 23 (a day after Thanksgiving, which I suppose I will not be participating in this year!) and goes on until the beginning of January. During this time, kids from surrounding high schools will be coming to the school to live here and enjoy each other’s fellowship in a setting of relaxation. I, along with two American guys who will be here until mid-December, will be spending time with them for a couple weeks before I go to Ray of Hope Orphanage in Shimba Hills. Shimba Hills is across town and in a much more rural setting than I am in now. I’ll be there for about three weeks loving the children and just helping out where I can. I believe there is a YWAM base right next to the orphanage so I’m looking forward to meeting some new people there, as well. I’ll be back in Mikindani just in time to celebrate Christmas and to greet my friend Christine who’s flying in from Virginia to stay for a couple weeks.

By the time Christine leaves, I have just over a month left here in Mombasa. I’m excited that my itinerary is picking up a little bit and that I’ll be introduced to some new adventures in the near future. Praise the Lord for mixing things up every now and then and I can’t wait to tell you about my upcoming escapades. I pray that you all are doing well as you prepare for this season of Thanksgiving and of LOVE.

XOXOX love, Christie

starting to love how god works

The day of the preschool graduation had finally arrived, and the school was buzzing with excitement. I was told that I would be walking with the students over to the neighboring school, which I was happy to do in order to get to know the kids better and get a bit of fresh air. i did my hair, trying to make it look alright despite it's awkward growing-out-stage, and i wore my favorite maxi dress and pretty white sweater. for the first time in a while, i felt pretty. it was only a few steps into our journey that I noticed the children were carrying water bottles and wearing galoshes or heavy-duty shoes. I shrugged it off, lifted my skirt a bit so it wouldn't drag, and continued. chatting with my new friends and laughing at the antics of the boys made time fly, and when I finally looked around, I realized we weren't in our neighborhood anymore. we were in a little village with dirt roads and mud houses and vacant eyes and serious faces. and there was a truck in the middle of the road, stuck in the mud. I hardly noticed any of that, because we were on a high hill, overlooking the hills of Mombasa. there were houses scattered on those lush green slopes and I felt like an elephant would walk by any minute (a cow actually did walk by, but it wasn't the same) and it truly sunk in that I was in AFRICA, and that Africa is wild and beautiful. I just gazed out across the land feeling the breeze on my face, when a river caught my eye. my first thought was of how lovely the river was, and then...wait-are those the students crossing the river? indeed it was. our journey was not a little walk through the neighborhood. it was a hike. a hike that involved walking through a river and, according to this slope we were standing on, a long downhill trek in the mud. 

the kids were removing their shoes and slipping and sliding down the hills and through the river, while I maneuvered my way down the hill as carefully as possible as not to soil my dress and praying for wings to fly over the river. alas, no wings were sprouted, and the river came more quickly than I would have liked. the kids looked on with great amusement, more than ready to see this "mzungu" do a little work. I took a deep breath, removed my shoes, pretended I was a hobbit on a long journey, and plunged on. it was slippery. walking against the current in slippery mud was difficult in and of itself, but walking against the current in slippery mud while holding my skirt up and clinging to my shoes and my little pouch containing my phone and a few shillings was nearly impossible. a student snatched my pouch and shoes, saying "TEACHER! please let me carry these for you!" and I was slipping and sliding too much to hardly notice. but while we're on the topic, I just want to say that every single one of these kids is a unique blessing from God. when we got to the school, a few girls washed my shoes for me because they wanted to. may the Lord bless these children. anyways, without my pouch or shoes, I was holding up my skirt and still slipping around. the boys laughed and laughed before taking my arms and helping me through. I squeaked and laughed and finally made it across, sipping wet and muddy. so muddy. I retrieved my shoes and my pouch, and continued. 

as we continued however, a very drunk man grabbed my arm and shouted. "COME WITH ME, GIRL! I WILL HELP YOU!" I was staring wide eyed at him when a 6th grader walked up and stared at him, talking firmly and loudly. and then he went away. once again, praise Jesus for these children! after more miles of hiking in mud, we made it. the teachers were there already, and they suppressed smiles at my crazy appearance and at my bare feet. I felt awkward and dirty and sweaty, but there was a bond formed between me and the kids that day. we braved the journey together, and I look back on it with fondness. 

lesson learned? vanity is bad. I'm a vain person. at home I spend hours on my appearance and I'm always wondering if I look okay. coming to Africa has been hard for lots of reasons, one of them being that I never feel pretty. the one day I did feel pretty, I started feeling confident and not as dependent on the Lord. it sounds ridiculous, yes, but it's who i am. as soon as I felt like I had a handle on everything, including my appearance, Jesus nipped it in the bud. thanks, Lord, for the water and mud and grass and sweat. it was a growing experience and thanks to Jesus, my attitude was shockingly POSITIVE. Praise the Lord for showing me that inner beauty is 273937x more important than outward beauty. 

A Few Low Points

this past week has been an adventure. adventure in the best sense and in the worst sense. adventure in the most exciting sense and in the most mundane sense. these past couple days have been a whirlwind of preparing for the kindergarten graduation of our sister school. dramas, songs, and dances could be heard and seen all throughout the school and everyone was excited. however, that left me at a loss of what to do. there was so much practicing that actual classes were not of upmost importance anymore, leaving me to "chill". so I took a nap. 

somewhere during my peaceful slumber, somebody wandered by and saw that my door was cracked open. not wanting it to swing open, she locked it from the outside. I eventually woke up, feeling refreshed, and realized that I needed to use the toilet. absolutely needed to. like...it was pretty crucial that I got to the toilet ASAP. after stretching and making my way to the door, i turned the handle and...the doorj didn't open. I groaned and tears sprung into my eyes. I knew the house was empty and even if I yelled I would not be heard. I pressed against the door, wondered if there was a cup I could pee into, prayed that someone would come, and envisioned me spending the rest of my life locked in this room. in a last ditch effort, I knocked feebly at the door and squeaked: "is anybody out there? hello?" in a moment, my door was unlocked, and the lovely Mama Shiro stood there. she fawned and apologized and wondered who would have forgotten to look into the room before locking it, and I forgave and forced laughter and smiles as I tried to subtly make a mad dash for the bathroom. god is good. 

the same day, having been left to chill, I was feeling lazy so I piled all my clothes in a bucket and headed to the washroom to hand wash some clothes. I put on my gloves and grabbed a sponge and set to work. it's actually quite backbreaking, and I was so tired when I had finished. I was left with dripping clothes that made the bucket much heavier than it was before. I sighed, looking into the future and seeing me climbing five flights of stairs to the roof where the clothes were to be hung. when I finally made it, the gate to the roof was locked. so down the stairs I went, fetched a key, and went back up. by then, I was wondering how I was ever going to survive anything if doing a load of laundry in Africa was enough to make me want to rest for the rest of my life. anyways, I hung the clothes. a few hours later, I went to get them to find that someone had already taken them off. I pinned up a few more clothes (mainly my delicates, just blowing in the breeze) and went on a search for my clothes, which I found in a huge pile of someone else's clothes, still damp. I dejectedly took them to my room, my legs basically on fire from those darn stairs. 

later that night, I absentmindedly wondered if it might rain that night. moments later, it started pouring. I smiled, enjoying the pitter-patter of the rain, then froze. my laundry! I made a mad dash up the stairs, ignoring the inquiring glances that followed me, the crazy American, as I went to rescue my underwear that was flying high hanging on the roof clothesline. when I got to the roof, people were swarming, gathering their laundry. a few girls were staring at my (suddenly very bright and noticeable) delicates, wondering who on earth owned them. I wandered up with my little bucket and started gathering my garments. "how embarrassing!" I blurted, at a loss of what to say "darn rain soaked my underwear!" met only by the serious stares of the girls, I muttered some sort of farewell, flashed a smile that was not returned, and slowly walked away with a face that would have been flaming red if not for that godforsaken rain. god is good. 

these two experiences may seem like a few paragraphs of me complaining. I would encourage you to enjoy the humor in the situations as I am able to now, and remember with me that an adventure would not be an adventure without the low points that make the high points worth it all. god is good, all the time, and he's always with me, whether locked in a room or panting as i barely survive my trip up the stairs. I think he use these experiences to teach me that I'm not really as capable as I think I am. when I start feeling high and mighty, he sends some rain to help me remember I'm not in control. praise the lord. 

Proud (and blessed!) to be an American

You may sometimes take for granted that you live in America. I hope this posts enlightens you at least a little bit, and perhaps causes you to think a little more carefully of the things you say or think about the country in which you live. 

Riots broke out during the elections in Kenya five years ago. One student, George, who I have had the opportunity to talk to, has told me of his family losing everything due to this unexpected outbreak. Houses were burned down, people were shot, and an unbelievable amount of damage was left behind even after the riots calmed. Since then, a new constitution has been written and fingers has been crossed as Kenyans approach their 2013 election with new hopes. Debates have been scheduled and campaigns are being launched in an effort to get through this election in a civilized manner. We won't know, however, how calmly (or how violently) this presidential election will be until March 4, 2013 and that makes people nervous. 

At home, Obama has just been re-elected as President of the United States of America. I know some of you are overjoyed at this news and some of you are disappointed and concerned. However you're feeling, I implore you to remember how blessed you are to live where you live. You can put Republican or Democratic signs up in your yard, bumper stickers on your car, and you don't have to worry about being attacked or shot. I know that America is in a tough place right now, and I know the future is uncertain. But what is certain is that America is mature and has a system and a constitution that has lasted for centuries. Remember that not all countries can say that, as much as they all want to. America is looked up to. All the kids here are enthralled by the idea of living in America and we need to realize that whoever is running our country, he is running a blessed one. 

Basically all I'm saying is be GRATEFUL. I've seen rants and complaints and confusion and anger and I encourage you to take a step back and thank the Lord that you have (more than) enough food to eat and (more than) enough reason to feel blessed rather than disappointed. Praise the Lord for what you have, for it is not out of His power to take it away. 

keep in mind:
"The Lord gave and the Lord took away. May the name of the Lord be BLESSED." [Job 1:21]

love christie

What About A Cake

sometimes, in the preschool class, we have story time during which a student is chosen to share an original story with the class. they walk to the front of the class, say "once upon a time" and launch into a long, drawn out story that nobody understands but everybody appreciates. during such a time, it was robert's turn to tell a story. it was his first time and he had heard so many stories, so he just guessed at what to say. he stood there for a moment, took a deep breath, and began. "what about a cake." there was an awkward silence as the preschoolers processed what he had just said, and soon the room was filled with uproarious laughter. poor robert went to go sit down, confused as to why they were laughing. his teacher attempted to conceal her smile as she explained to him that he was supposed to say "once upon a time". 

true story. all of his little life, robert has thought that stories begin with "what about a cake." 

hello from halfway across the world

Surprising. Overwhelming. 

Beautiful. Fresh. Exhausting. 

Confusing. Surreal. 

Seven words barely scratching the surface of how I feel about being here. I've settled in, I think, and I've got myself a schedule. I teach Bible class and English class for grades one, two, and three, and I've come to the conclusion that third grade is my grade. Or second. Probably not first, considering the way I'm completely incapable of getting them to quiet down long enough for me to teach anything. Thank goodness I'm not the only teacher in the room while teaching them, or else I would perhaps end each day in tears. 

Instead of crying, however, I usually end the day with a nice cup of tea and one of Tolkien's esteemed novels. I made it through the Lord of the Rings series in three weeks and am now working on the Hobbit, which I haven't read since my dad read it to me and my brother and sister when we were too young to understand the beauty of everything Tolkien. I watch the news and go to sleep early in order to be able to wake up nice and early every morning. 

Between my busy teaching schedule and my relaxed evening schedule, I've been taking Swahili lessons from the friendly principal, Teacher Moses. I've learned a bit and (I really wish I didn't have to say this) learning Latin for four years has actually helped me have the ability to learn Swahili quickly. Who would have known that my not-so-hot high school career would have helped me halfway across the world? 

I know this blog post has been brief and sporadic, but I'm trying to get it finished before my credit runs out. See, here in Africa there's no such thing as unlimited internet. For every moment of internet you have to pay. I put a certain amount of money on my computer and it's rapidly running out so, my friends, I must bid you adieu. I am grateful for your prayers and I promise to eat a coconut or two for you if you promise to eat some macaroni or pizza for me over there. 

Love, 
Christie
xoxo

Africa

most loyal blog readers: 

this experience. wow. so far this journey has not only been an adventure but a challenge that goes so far out of my comfort zone I can't even see the zone anymore. I guess that's what an adventure is, though, isn't it? learning and experiencing the very good things of life as well as the very bad. the challenge of this whole thing has been moving forward blindly with nobody to relate to when a lizard scurries out of my closet one morning or I take my first bucket shower or I first see those beautiful smiling faces beaming up at me when I walk into a classroom. it's new and beautiful and a huge, huge challenge to face alone. along the way though , I've met so many wonderful people who I know I will only grow closer to as I get further into my six months of being here. I'm terrified and excited and willing to do whatever it takes to stick this one out - how many people get the opportunity to enter into a brand new culture and learn such a large amount about the world in six months? not many. I am filled with anticipation as I wait to see what the Lord has planned for me and Him as we go down this road together. 

home is on my mind and in my prayers much of the time. may God bless you all, my friends! please keep me in your prayers and pray against any spirits of negativity or complaining...this is experience will be no good for anyone if I let the devil take my joy! I love you all so much 

xoxo Christie 

BLESSED

I AM BLESSED.

blessed to have a father who not only supports me but works hard to find all the best ticket deals, best iphone deals, best EVERYTHING for me

blessed to have a mother who works out the details and remembers the necessary things i would be bound to forget without her

blessed to have a brother who's not worried or stressed, but just excited for me

blessed to have a sister who reminds me that i will be missed through her tears but who supports me all the same

blessed to have the best extended family ever - grandparents, aunts, uncles, cousins - who are cheering me on as i go. and some (ABI!) who decide to join me in the spirit of adventure by going to china ;)

blessed to have the best friends ever who meet me at the airport at 4 30 in the morning

blessed to be able to even do this, blessed to have the opportunity to spread the love of jesus to the ends of the earth

may god BLESS YOU here in the states as i head on over to africa.
i love you all and i will keep you in my prayers

have an AWESOME year.

xoxo
love,
christie

Growing up? Eh, no thanks.

I guess it's scary to think about growing up. It's always been that exciting thing that never seems like its actually going to happen and all of the sudden your entire future is staring you straight in the face and you realize you've fantasized so much about how great growing up will be that it actually looks pretty disappointing. You watch your friends come and go and you have to settle with the fact that people are going to come and go for the rest of your life. You finally realize that your world does not have to revolve around boys although for some reason it still does. You've come to the point where your tears and your dad will no longer get you out of car accidents and the responsibility of everything has fallen one hundred percent on you and all you want to do is run away from it. But you can't. And that's exactly what growing up is. When you were little everyone was taller and stronger and smarter so it was okay to rely on them. Growing up is realizing that you're the same as everyone else now and you can't expect them to do the work that you are capable of. The scary part is not knowing if everything will be okay. And the worst is knowing that if it's not, the only person to blame is yourself. 

Just some possibly true, perhaps paranoid and maybe a little bit depressing, thoughts I've had about growing up. Sometimes it's just plain old sad that there won't be anymore running around barefoot till the porch light turns on, or eating macaroni and...who am I kidding? All I ever eat these days is mac 'n cheese! #childatheart

Love, Christie 

this is your time

I haven't written a post in a while, but this one comes from the heart.

Today I was trying to schedule out my last few weeks in America. My dad and I were trying to plan something, and my mom wanted to go shopping and out to lunch but all of our schedules were clashing like crazy. Finally, Dad and I worked something out but Mom and I were struggling. We poured over the calender on her handy-dandy iPhone and came up with nothing. She had lunch with a friend one day, I was getting in all the hanging out I possibly could before I left my friends for 6 months.

At first, it was frustrating. Why were neither of us willing to give up something in our schedules so we could spend time together? Then, it was sad. Since when was it more fun to spend a few hours with my friend before I leave than time with my mom? Mom and I always have so much fun together. We go shopping, out to lunch, take roadtrips to Chicago or North Carolina and always have a blast. Why wasn't I willing to make room for her in my busy-but-not-that-important schedule? I mentally shook myself and cleared my head. The people who matter the most to me are my family, and if I'm about to leave for 6 months, they are the people I want to spend the most time with.

Finally we scheduled a time that would work, and I'm much more excited to hangout with my mom than with my friends this week (not to say I don't LOVE my friends - I do!). I'm not sure why I made a post about this, but I think this little situation got me thinking. I realized that the life we live is so short. It doesn't seem like enough time. Time goes by and before we know it we've lost close friends and family and we didn't even get a chance to tell them how much we loved them.

This is your time. Live it to the fullest, and frequently carve out special time in your busy schedule to spend a while with someone close to your heart. The time we're given never seems like quite enough and the last thing I'm sure any of us want is to wake up one morning and realized we've wasted it. xoxo

Love,
Christie

MUMFORD & SONS

The scents of sweat, pot, body odor, deoderant attempting to cover up said body oder, tobacco, beer, and dry ice fill my nostrils and for some reason, it doesn't disgust me. At least it didn't when I was standing on the floor of the Ntelos center, shoulder to shoulder with strangers, awaiting the arrival of one of my favorite groups - Mumford & Sons. The boys next to me didn't have shirts on and it was gross. The group behind me had been talking about Nickelback for the past two hours and everyone was dripping (literally) in sweat. Finally, it was 7:00 and an adorable country artist came up with his harmonica and his guitar. He sang a few songs, called the crowd "angelic" and "beautiful" and left a lasting impression on my heart. His name is Aaron Embry. Look him up, love him. The second group was Dawes, and egotistical group with an attitude the size of the city they come from. Los Angelas born, they were average and repetitive. But hey, If Marcus Mumford loves them, so do I. I'm sure they're very talented, I was just so hot and clausterphobic that I couldn't wait for them to leave. Once they did leave, however, it was a long wait. The crowd was pressing in closer in anticipation for Mumford & Sons to step onto that stage. Girls who I'm pretty sure were already drunk pushed and shoved their way to the front and the shirtless boys who smelled of body odor and offered me tobacco conveniently moved right in front of us. And the group behind me was still talking about Nickelback. Finally, the lights went out and four shadowed figures stepped up to their instruments. A low bass note sounded and screams erupted from the crowd. Suddenly the smell of sweat and pot and tobacco and body odor melted away and the annoyance and frustration and clausterphobia disappeared and all that was left was a massive group of people joined together in the presence of Mumford & Sons. The shirtless boys and the girls who made their way to the front and the Nickelback fanatics were my comrades, my friends, and Marcus, Ted, Country, and Ben were singing and life had never been better. The lights flashed and people attempted to crowd surf and we jumped and swayed and sang and sweat and bathed in the magic of the moment.

Then the concert was over and the magic was gone. All I have to show for it is a Mumford & Sons tank top. People wonder why I love concerts or going to the movie theatre so much. It's because in the moment, when  Marcus Mumford is singing Awake My Soul or when Channing Tatum starts crying in the Vow - everyone is feeling the same thing and crying for the same reason. It's beautiful and crazy because the moment the show is over, everyone goes back to their lives and I'll never know who all I was with in that moment. Crazy.

Yes, well. That's all.

XOXO

love, christie

Fresh, Far, Fervent

America is a very comfortable place. I have three Starbucks' within fifteen minutes of my house, a dependable car in which to get to said Starbucks, and a debit card with which to buy a venti White Chocolate Mocha, extra hot, sometimes with an extra shot of expresso. I have three alarm clocks that wake me up every morning (God bless them) and if I sleep through them, my mother kindly wakes me up. My family is happy and whole and it is believed that the lowest of the low can make it big - it's almost expected. Flattery and affirmation are key in our culture, where would we be without them? Music, movies, shows, food...everything America is is everything I want to take a break from. What would life be like eating food to live instead of living to eat food? What if the smaller things in life brought as much joy as a plasma screen TV or an iPhone? I'm going to Mombasa, Kenya this coming year in order to serve and in order to learn. I want to learn to be content in Christ rather than in useless stuff and I hope that in that process, I will learn to love and to live in a new, fresh, and fervent way. 

Fresh
New perspective
Unexpected adventure
Somewhere I've never been

Far
From false affirmation
Useless information
Things that wear the heart thin

Fervent
Breathless anticipation
Restless conversation
Close my eyes and jump in 

Love, 
Christie 
xoxo

death has NO hold on me

GOD IS GOOD!   

This past week I laughed and cried and sang like a crazy person. I was a counselor at Camp Undignified (a.k.a. the most awesome camp around) and it changed my life! I'm giving my testimony on Sunday so I don't want to completely ruin the riveting tale of my complete spiritual turnaround (thank you Jesus!) and I'm only going to share a tiny story. My cousin and one of my closest friends, Katelyn, passed away on September 23 of this year. It broke my heart and I still miss her so much, but I thought that the worst was over after we got past Thanksgiving, Christmas, and graduation with her being gone. But then at camp, people started getting healed all over the place. Ankle, finger, back, stomach, and leg pain was healed. Color blindness was healed. Asthma was healed. I found myself getting progressively frustrated as more healings came up. I had no idea why, so I took it to the Lord. As soon as I started praying I burst into tears. For those of you who have seen me cry, it's not cute. And this was the all out, 100% ugly cry (complete with snot and tears and no tissues anywhere in sight) and it was a cry of sadness and of anger. If God could heal these kids in a time span of 5 minutes, where was He when Katelyn was sick for all those years? Didn't my prayers mean anything to him? I got angrier and angrier, my crying got uglier and uglier, and some people came over to pray for me. I told them what was going on and they prayed that the spirit of confusion and anger would be gone and...it was! As I started to feel more and more free, the worship team began repeating the phrase "Death has no hold on me, Sin has no hold on me, You have the victory..." and I really felt like Katelyn's death has no hold on her, and it shouldn't have a hold on me. She is happy now, healthy now, in a perfect place where there is no such thing as pain and no such thing as the ugly cry, so I needed to be experiencing joy rather than unending sadness. I really feel like that's what God wanted and what Katelyn would have wanted as well. So I stood up and decided I needed to let go of my anger and enter into worship. I was able to let go of all my sadness and replace it with joy and for that, I am eternally grateful to Jesus Christ. At the beginning of the week, I got a word that said "it's time to let go of unnecessary burdens" and I truly feel like I was able to do that with the help of God. 


I got home, feeling free, and opened my devotional book to do a quick devotion. Someone had randomly stuck my bookmark in it when it had fallen out, and they put it right on September 23 (the day Katelyn went up to heaven). I glanced through the devotional for that day and it literally was saying that it was time to be relieved of all burdens and be free in Jesus' name. I was so excited that I ran out and showed it to Dad who said: "I think God likes you a lot," with a fatherly smile on his face. I am so grateful to Jesus for showing up and for never giving up on me and giving me the freedom that I need to live out the rest of my life. 


Also, I KNOW WHERE I'M GOING NEXT YEAR! I shall announce it soon, for those of you who don't know. Have the best weekend, kids. Don't get too crazy. 

Love,
Christie xoxo

YOLO // don't waste it

Check out this story.

There was once an old man white white hair who was always on the side of Main St. in Sydney, Australia. He tried to get the attention of every passerby walking down the street and handed out brochures that outlined the Christian faith. "Have you surrendered your life to Jesus Christ?" He asked over and over again, all day long. One day a man (we'll call him Sam) was walking down Main St. in Sydney, Australia and he passed by the little old man. He had gotten countless numbers of Bible tracts in his life and this annoying brochure was no different. Sam sighed and took it while he let the man's words go in one ear and out the other: "Have you surrendered your life to Jesus Christ?" He went on his way, trying his best to forget the encounter. But the words of the old man were ringing in his ears, tugging at his heart, essentially driving him crazy. A few weeks later, Sam gave his life to the Lord. 

Fast forward three years and he was a leader in a church in Texas. He met new people everyday and he had heard multiple salvation stories. On this particular day, Sam was talking to a man about his salvation story. The man smiled and said, "Oh, it's a story like any other. I was walking down Main St. in Sydney, Australia, and this old man gave me some kind of Bible brochure. I didn't really care much for street ministry but that encounter kept nagging me, and I actually gave my life to the Lord later that week. I wish I could go back and thank him, you know?" Sam stood there, mouth agape, eyes wide. He couldn't believe it. 

Throughout the next several years, Sam encountered several different people with the same story. "I was walking down Main St..." "There was a little old man with white hair..." "A few weeks later I just gave in and went to church..." "Pretty stereotypical story, I guess..." "I wish I could thank him." It was at a conference at Sam's church that Sam finally decided to step up onto stage. "How many people here," He said into the microphone, "were walking down Main St. in Sydney, Australia, and encountered a little old man with white hair? How many people here were led to Christ because of this man?" Hands all over the room went up. Sam broke down and couldn't believe his eyes. 

He needed to get back to Australia. He found Main St, and broke into a jog, searching for that white haired old man. He got to the place where he had seen the man, and asked a woman nearby if she had seen the man, going on to describe. "Oh, he used to come here everyday. He's gotten old though, he lives alone and doesn't come out much anymore." She said carelessly, giving him the address. Sam finally made it to the man's home and was invited in by a much older looking man with the same wispy white hair and bright blue eyes. Sam had no idea how he remembered the color of his eyes, but he did. They sat down and starting to talk, and ended up talking for hours. The conversation eventually came to the man's street ministry. 

"I went out there, Sam, every single day for hours on end." The man took a deep breath and tears gathered in his eyes. "It was my life's work, all I wanted to do was lead people to Jesus, but nobody stopped. Not a single person stopped and talked to me. It was my life's work, and none of it even mattered." The tears were making their way down his weathered, wrinkled face by now. The disappointment and sadness that Sam guessed that the old man had been trying to hide for years was now obvious on his face. Sam took a deep breath and began to tell the old man about his own salvation story, and the hundreds of hands that went up in that room during the conference. By the time Sam was finished, both the men were crying and the old man had a look of shock and joy on his face. The old man died two weeks later, with the knowledge that his life's work had mattered after all. 

I heard this story one day and it resonated with me. Our lives are so full of doing the little things that nobody notices. Just because nobody notices never means that we should stop doing them. If you have a passion for doing something, then do it and do it with all of your heart. You never know who is being inspired by your music, words, writing, dancing, sports, or art. You might be changing lives. 

I'm just saying. 

Love, Christie

Caffeine Induced Ramblings: Read At Your Own Risk

Oh, hey. 

You know that new movie, Brave? I've seen it twice in the past week and I think I love it. Something about a movie portraying an independent girl who wants to have a good relationship with her family and does not want or need a man is refreshing. There was no lead male character, which I found very relieving. I always feel weird having a crush on a lead male character in an animated film because he's not a real person...although I've had a crush on Flynn Rider for the longest time (from Tangled) and I almost met him in Disney World last year. Unfortunately the actor who played Flynn was fired so my illusion was dashed and I was back to crushing on a non-existent animated character. Anyway, I'm listening to the Brave soundtrack and being inspired at this very moment. I would encourage you to go listen to it, because it's like a tiny bit of Scotland right here on my computer. 


It's 12:43 AM and I'm awake like it's 12:43 PM. Let me explain why. I had a long day at work. Usually I enjoy daytime shifts at my beloved Chick-fil-A, but unfortunately this shift was miserable. For starters, it was 103 degrees outside. People wandered in from going to the beach or coming back from the beach or just trying to get away from their homes that had lost power. Nobody responded enthusiastically to my "So how has your day been?" question (one man actually didn't answer at all) which made me feel less than appreciated and lessened the cheerfulness of the multiple times I said "my pleasure" throughout the day. So, feeling rather dejected, I got off of work and drove home. But not before getting too much food to devour at home. And a large Dr. Pepper. Phase 1 of my day full of caffeine. 


Then, at the fundraising concert my church hosted tonight, I decided to buy a Coke. Phase 2 of my day full of caffeine. 


Then, at the same fundraising concert my church hosted tonight, I decided to buy some iced coffee. Phase 3 of my day full of caffeine. 


Then, when I got home from the fundraising concert my church hosted tonight, I felt the need to drink a Diet Coke. Phase 4 of my day full of caffeine. 


So, besides the fact that my teeth are probably in the process of rotting and will more than likely fall out by the time morning comes (oh wait, morning's already here...) and the fact that I feel like I'll never sleep again, I would recommend this Four Phase process of drinking too much caffeine. 


Honestly, I'm not even sure what I'm writing about right now. I'm half asleep and my eyes are being forced open by the gallons of caffeine inside of me right now. If I wake up tomorrow morning (assuming I go to sleep) and re-read this and wonder what on earth I was thinking, I will delete it. If I read it and realize what a brilliant piece of literature I've created, I shall keep it. And that, my dear friends, is all I'm going to say. 


Except that today my co-worker at Chick-fil-A said something funny. We were both working in the window and a lady came through with a dog in the passenger seat. He was like, "Your dog looks very nice." and that was that. I laughed and made fun of him a little bit and so the next lady who drove up with a dog in her passenger seat got a few smiles from us as we enjoyed our inside joke. Then, out of the blue, my co-worker goes, "Well. That's a nice looking dog you've got there." And it was awkward and hilarious and 103 degrees and I died laughing. Probably because the dog was a pug. 

Love, Christie

There And Back Again: A Kari-and-Christie-Getting-Lost-In-The-City Tale

Dear Friends, 

I told you on Facebook that I would explain why it took Kari (she's my baby sister, for those of you who don't know. I love blogging because it gives me the freedom to call her my "baby sister" even though she's approximately 7 feet taller than me) and me two hours to make it home from the river yesterday. I told me coworker the story today and all she said was "Girl, it's just Richmond. How on earth do you get lost in this tiny little city?" And I would like to say right now that since this experience, I've asked myself the same question many times. I would also like to say that this adventure opened my eyes to the many different kinds of people who live in Richmond. The nice ones, the not-so-nice ones, etc, etc. So here we go. I hope you read it all, but if you don't...then just pretend you did. 


Kari texted me when I was out and said: "Hey, want to go to the river tomorrow?" Immediately I knew what my answer was ("YES!") because so far my summer had consisted of working, catching up on Pretty Little Liars, working, and watching the Bachelorette. And working. My tan was sadly lacking and I was going through water-and-sand-and-swimsuit-and-sunscreen-and-basically-everything-summer-should-be withdrawal. So off to the river we went. We made to the parking lot and, towels in hand, made our way down to the lovely little beach beneath the train tracks. We put our stuff down in the sun, went for a swim, and decided to lay out for a while, looking very too-cool-for-you in our shades. We spent about an hour and half there because I had plans that night, and as we ambled over to my car, we realized something very disturbing. A massive golden truck had parked directly behind us, leaving no room for me to back out. Okay, so maybe he wasn't directly behind us, but for someone with my driving skills and minimum amount of patience, he was pretty much directly behind us. I couldn't believe it. As we got into my car, I tried and tried to back out...to no avail. A kind Korean man came to rescue us, and directed me out. I had almost made it, when he shrugged and said: "This no good. You not make it. Sorry!" and wandered off. So, with "Call Me Maybe" playing mournfully in the background, Kari and I sat in my car, trying to hold back tears. We would be stuck in the parking lot under the train tracks forever. Then, as if sent from the Lord, a red truck pulled up behind us. "Hey!" a man covered in tattoos with a cigarette hanging out of his mouth yelled, giving a chin up. "I could drive it and get it out for you!" His girlfriend, also with a cigarette and too many piercings to count, nodded in agreement. I shot out of my car like a bullet and gave a heartfelt grin while saying, "You can give it a try, I think that it's impossible though!" He snorted and parked a little ways down the lot. One thing everyone should know about boys - if there's a challenge, they're up for it. With my (ah, pretty limited) experience with boyfriends and my (pretty vast) knowledge of my brother and my father, they will conquer the challenge and they will win. So of course, I handed my little set of keys to the guy and stepped back. He rolled down the window and started to back out, but not before shouting: "You got my back, baby?!" to his girlfriend, who was behind the car, making sure he wouldn't run into anything. "I got you, baby, we can do this!" is what she shouted back affirmatively. With his girlfriend directing in the back, and Kari directing in the front, and me watching in great admiration and awe, he backed out my car safely. "You know, I can't believe somebody would park so close," He said, throwing his cigarette onto the ground and squishing it with his heel. "Some people don't give a (insert profane word) about other people." Many profane words later, his rant ended, and I realized how kind he and his girlfriend were. I thanked them profusely and Kari and I were on our way. I'm kind of tired of writing now, actually, but know this. Kari and I drove up and down the same streets for another hour. We got gas at a sketchy 7-Eleven and I paid in cash and made conversation with a guy who's pants were essentially on the ground and his shirt down to his knees, as well as a girl who had purple hair and piercings covering her face. We finally made it home, after yelling at each other, laughing with each other, crying with each other, and eating loads of McDonald's with each other. To this day, we blame Dad for his direction giving skills, but that's just because it's always nice to shift blame. Also, here's a life lesson for you all: Don't judge someone by how they look. The unlikeliest looking people will be the ones to save the day if you give them the benefit of the doubt. Life would be a lot better if we'd look beneath the surface and give everybody an equal chance. Now that I've written too much and preached a little, I'm going to bid you all farewell. So, uh, farewell. 


Also, I'm still as white as ever, save a killer sunburn on the back of my legs. 

Me and Kari before our great adventure

Love, Christie

My More Somber, Sad, and Serious Ruminations [[written last night]]

Hey guys.

Our power has been out for a day and half now. I’ve been out of the house so much I’ve barely noticed but tonight when I got home, my phone was dead and no lights were on and I didn’t know what to do. For a minute, I felt like I was one of the most unfortunate people in all of Richmond – what on earth were my friends going to do without me to text them? How would I talk on the phone if it was dead? And I really wanted a pizza, too. How was I supposed to eat a pizza without an oven to cook it? For just a minute, I really thought nothing could be worse. On my way home to this terrible, powerless, catastrophe of a situation, I stopped at a stop light. I hate stop lights. Like, when I’m driving, I strongly believe that all the lights that I come across should suddenly turn to green. Anyways, I was at a stop light. There was a homeless man sitting there on the median, with a sign that said “PLEASE HELP AND GOD BLESS” and it was written on a little scrap of cardboard. He didn’t look much different that the homeless man I see on the way to work every day, or the one that sometimes sits on the corner when I go to church, but this time was different. I was awkwardly in my car with air conditioning and loud music blaring, thinking I was the coolest kid around in my sundress and braided hair. I told myself that lots of other people probably gave this man money and I only had four dollars and that could get me a milkshake at Chick-fil-A! But then I found myself counting out the quarters and dollar bills and rolling down my window and saying, “I only have four dollars” and “I’m so sorry” when a few of the quarters fell onto the street when they slipped from my hand to his. I got a close up look at him, and he was probably only five years older than me. He kept repeating “thank you” and the look on his face and in his eyes when I first rolled down my window broke my heart. It was so eager and hopeful and thankful and human. Behind the scraggly beard and knotted hair and old clothes is a young man who, in a different situation, could have been a friend to any one of us. I drive past homeless people every day and I divert my eyes to avoid feeling guilty. I get angry when I hit a red light and have to wait two minutes for my turn. My phone dies and I’m not sure how I’m going to make it without constantly talking to my friends. My car has a dent (or two, three…four?) in it, I actually have to work in order to get money, my house isn’t as big as some of my friends’ houses. But I have a car, I have a job, and I have a house. I know this sounds lame and cliché and not nearly as laugh-out-loud hilarious as my previous blog posts, but I’ve realized tonight that we’re fortunate in so many ways. Something about a young man with bright blue eyes on his hands and knees scooping up quarters from the side of the road breaks my heart. Why, if we’re healthy people living in a house with more than enough food to eat, are we not helping people who don’t have what we have? It’s made me kind of ashamed, but more hopeful. What if we all did decide to help? Not necessarily handing out money to homeless people, but looking around and seeing someone who needs a friend or food for the next day or a place to sleep for the night could change lives. And it’s crazy to think that we’re too wrapped up waiting for things to happen to change our already good lives that we don’t notice we can be that change for other people. I guess this abnormally dark house and quiet phone has got me thinking about some things – I hope you got something out of this!

Love, Christie

Lucky Charms & Summer & That's About It

Hey kids!

I'm not sure what to write. I have thousands of amusing Chick-fil-A stories that I could share, I have an inspirational paragraph I could write about how I feel like I'm actually going somewhere in life, I could comment on the various flaws of society...but I think I'm going to stick to one simple thing: I'm so glad I'm not in high school anymore. You know in those movies, when the main character has everything going right for him? Like in 500 Days of Summer, when Joseph Gordon-Levitt (a.k.a my fiance) finally gets the girl of his dreams and he smiles and the sun is shining and he dances? Don't tell anyone he's my fiance or they'll all get super sad, then jealous, then angry and end up unfriending me on Facebook, and is there anything more insulting than that? Anyway, they wake up in the morning and do a stereotypical good-morning-my-life-is-perfect stretch. I did one of those this morning. I woke up and there was sun shining through my window and for a fleeting moment, I thought I had to get up for school and a little piece of my soul kind of crashed and burned. Then I remembered - high school was over forever! That little piece of my soul was resurrected and I realized that all I wanted to do was eat a bowl of Lucky Charms and relish my freedom from my previous high school existence that gave me a constant headache. I had Lucky Charms for dinner tonight, too. And the night before. I think since the only cereal Mom got us in our childhood was Cheerios and Raisin Bran, I'm just going a little crazy. And let's face it - Lucky Charms will most definitely be in heaven because they are heavenly. Anyways, for those of you who feel like your lives are amounting to nothing and you wish things would work out, have some Lucky Charms and remember what you felt like when you graduated from high school. Possibilites were endless and you had your whole life ahead of you and you never, ever had to wear a school uniform again. Although in a weird way I was grateful for those uniforms because I didn't have to go through the agony of deciding what to wear every day. They did tend to make the super pretty people even prettier and other people less pretty, though. Rant over. As much fun as this has been, my super precious non-existent crowd, I'm going to go catch up on How I Met Your Mother now. Neil Patrick Harris is a freaking boss. I've also been watching How I Met Your Mother for a few hours so I currently feel like he's my best friend. Yes, my friends, post high school life is sweet. I'll blog later about all the great things I plan to do next year or how freakishly strange it is that I'm not tired of Chick-fil-A food yet, after working there for nearly two years. Isn't that strange? I'm leaving now.

Love, Christie

Dear Friends,
This being my very first full day as a blogger, I've decided to take it upon myself to post something substantial on my uber-intriguing blog. I racked my brain and attempted to think of something truly life-changing that I've done in the past few days, and I came up with nothing. Primarily because all I've done in the past few days is inhale food, watch Lord of the Rings, and sleep. So then I decided it was time to share with all of you non-existent readers that my favorite state is Kentucky and I am going to explain why (no, it's not because of Kentucky Fried Chicken. Okay fine, maybe that has something to do with it). One day my mother and I were driving through West Virginia. For those of you who have never been to West Virginia, I'm not sure you're aware of how lucky you are. Once you cross the state line, a kind of depression settles in the car and all you really want to do is turn around and go home. If you stay strong and don't turn around and go home, you're in danger of dying with absolute boredom because that state is never ending. The gray grass that looks as if it wishes it were green grows in little patches and the trees look as if they wish they were in any state but West Virginia. I didn't see any animals but squirrels, and that's probably because none live there. As far as people were concerned, well...I didn't see many. It is a truly miserable state. Anyways, we finally made it out of West Virginia. As soon as we crossed the state border, the brilliant state of Kentucky greeted us. Green grass that looked entirely too happy to be green and trees who looked genuinely happy to be there welcomed us with open arms and endless farmland and beauty made me never want to leave. We stopped at a gas station and it was the loveliest gas station I'd ever been to. I'm fairly certain that everything in Kentucky is perfect and one day I will live there.

Also, one time I had a date with a boy and it was a depressing one-the kind where he kisses you and then tells you that "really, we're just friends"-so, despondent, I drove home. Much like my experience with West Virginia and Kentucky, I was driving along Broad Street and BAM! There was a Kentucky Fried Chicken! So I went through the drive through and ordered fried chicken and brought it home and my sister and I devoured it while discussing the idiocy of high school boys. These are just two reasons why Kentucky is my favorite state.

Please tell me I did not just publish a blog post about Kentucky.

Love, Christie