I think about blogging almost everyday.
My kids at school do something almost every period that I think-- I've got to write this down.
Unfortunately, I get home in the afternoons with zero desire to look at a computer screen. And so, day after day, my stories and thoughts get put off until they don't feel relevant anymore.
So, although anyone who read this blog often has surely given up on me by now, here I am. Back again.
This year has been a year of phenomenal growth and change. It's unreal to look back at this time last year and realize just how different it all is.
This year, I've gotten a Master's degree, my first grown-up job, a new last name, and a bonus family. We added a dog to our little brood-- tallying our family up to four: Alex, Lindsey, Macy, and Gryff-- and just this week cut our first Christmas tree as a married couple. The verdict is still out on how Macy and Gryff will handle said tree. Two days later, it's still standing... so there's that at least.
We made it to one Auburn game, and we went to Tuscaloosa for the Iron Bowl, although we didn't bother going to the game. As a split couple, we've now made it through two Iron Bowls without going our separate ways... although, after a season like this for MY team, it wasn't like I had a lot invested in this year's Iron Bowl.
This year, I took my first trip to New Orleans... and quickly discovered that I'm not particularly fond of New Orleans. And I stayed in a hotel by myself for the first time at a conference in Montgomery. I've become a coffee drinker-- that's possibly happened in the last 24 hours-- and even developed a liking for white wine. Liking may be too strong a word, but I can drink it. People have always said it's a "developed" taste... I've never had to "develop" a taste for Coca-Cola or sweet tea, so drinking wine seems like a hassle... But the glasses are pretty, so there you have it.
My hair is longer than it's ever been because my husband has never seen it in the bob that I kept for nearly 24 years and, in his mind, associates short hair with mom's and old ladies... So the mere mention of a "trim" gets reprimanded. I periodically set a deadline-- "Fine, I'll let it grow until... But THEN I'm cutting it off, like it or not!"-- but I always chicken out. By now, I've put in a lot of time to get it this long... so I'm, quite literally, attached to it.
I've also grown quite attached to my students and my co-workers. When I started my school counseling journey, I was high school 100%, As I did my internships, I quickly decided that elementary school was the way to go. Although I would NEVER say I was disappointed to get my job this summer, I will say that I was hopeful that it would lead to an eventual transfer to an age-group more to my liking. However, three months in, I can't imagine myself anywhere else. Life in middle school is an absolute circus, but I love it. All of it. The hormones. The break-ups. Everything.
We've recently started attending a new church and, with it, a new Sunday school group. The Sunday school class is for "potential new members" but, let me tell you, it is not for the faint of heart. There's homework, and the 8-week class wraps up with an interview with the elders. While this was off-putting to me at first, I have quickly grown fond of the in-depth discussions and rigor of the teaching-- WHAT do we believe, WHY do we believe it, etc. And even for those of us that grew up in the church-- maybe ESPECIALLY for those of us that grew up in the church-- these are still questions that we don't necessarily search ourselves for. It's a small church, but the community is awesome and the teaching is God-breathed. We do our "homework" together when we do our quiet time at night, and we are greatly looking forward to how the Lord will use this in our lives, and, more so, how the Lord will use US in the life of the Church.
So there ya have it. A little life update.
Monday, December 10, 2012
Wednesday, October 10, 2012
Welcome Home.
This past weekend, my sweet husband and I made my yearly pilgrimage back to the Mothership.
Auburn. Glorious Auburn.
From the moment we drove into town, everything went wrong.
We sat in traffic for an hour on our way into town. We passed three wide open parking spots in downtown on our way in, but couldn't find a spot for blocks when we came back to town for supper after our hour-long wait. Our hotel was awful. Awful. The hallways smelled like smoke-- just not a typical cigarette smoke. Not a burning smoke either. Like a drug smoke. And the rooms were worse. It was like walking into an 8th grader's armpit-- I work with middle schoolers; trust me, I know. The floor in our bathroom was sticky, there were stains on the carpet, and the air was damp. After dinner Friday, we sat on the steps of Samford Hall for over an hour, just refusing to go back to our hotel room.
Saturday, there wasn't a cloud in the sky, which makes for a beautiful day but an unbearable four quarters in the upper deck at Jordan-Hare. We left sweaty and sunburned. Very sunburned. STILL sunburned. And the game... I don't even have to tell you about the game. It was ugly.
But did I stay until the bitter end? Absolutely. I sang the fight song as the defeated players piled back into the locker room. And I was thrilled to go downtown afterward, even if it meant hanging out with a bunch of Arkansas Hogs.
Because Auburn isn't just football to me. Auburn is home. Interestingly, the "theme" at Auburn this year is "Welcome Home." We're known throughout the country as the 'Auburn Family' because it's something we pride ourselves on, because it's something we insist on. And for four years, Auburn was my home. Probably the four most significant years of my life, from a developmental standpoint. Auburn is where I "found" myself, as some people like to say. The friends I have today are the ones I had at Auburn: the ones I met in the ADPi chapter room at Berta Dunn Hall, the ones I spent endless hours studying with at RBD, the ones I spent countless weekends with at Jordan-Hare. Where we rolled Toomer's when Daniel found out he was cancer-free, where we spent "Terrific Tuesdays" at the intramural fields, where BreakFeast first kicked off.
Someone said to me last year, "Lindsey, do you realize that you live in a red state?" My mind first jumped to politics, but I guess she read the confusion on my face and followed up with, "You know, Alabama has beat Auburn in every sport this year." I never went back to check the statistics. Maybe she was right; I'd like to think she skipped one somewhere where we pulled through, but the truth is: it doesn't matter. Because it wouldn't matter to me if Alabama beat Auburn in every sport we played for the next ten years. I'd still be an Auburn fan.
Win or lose, every trip to Auburn would still feel like a homecoming. Even with a terrible hotel room and horrible traffic and painful sunburns.
Auburn. Glorious Auburn.
From the moment we drove into town, everything went wrong.
We sat in traffic for an hour on our way into town. We passed three wide open parking spots in downtown on our way in, but couldn't find a spot for blocks when we came back to town for supper after our hour-long wait. Our hotel was awful. Awful. The hallways smelled like smoke-- just not a typical cigarette smoke. Not a burning smoke either. Like a drug smoke. And the rooms were worse. It was like walking into an 8th grader's armpit-- I work with middle schoolers; trust me, I know. The floor in our bathroom was sticky, there were stains on the carpet, and the air was damp. After dinner Friday, we sat on the steps of Samford Hall for over an hour, just refusing to go back to our hotel room.
Saturday, there wasn't a cloud in the sky, which makes for a beautiful day but an unbearable four quarters in the upper deck at Jordan-Hare. We left sweaty and sunburned. Very sunburned. STILL sunburned. And the game... I don't even have to tell you about the game. It was ugly.
But did I stay until the bitter end? Absolutely. I sang the fight song as the defeated players piled back into the locker room. And I was thrilled to go downtown afterward, even if it meant hanging out with a bunch of Arkansas Hogs.
Because Auburn isn't just football to me. Auburn is home. Interestingly, the "theme" at Auburn this year is "Welcome Home." We're known throughout the country as the 'Auburn Family' because it's something we pride ourselves on, because it's something we insist on. And for four years, Auburn was my home. Probably the four most significant years of my life, from a developmental standpoint. Auburn is where I "found" myself, as some people like to say. The friends I have today are the ones I had at Auburn: the ones I met in the ADPi chapter room at Berta Dunn Hall, the ones I spent endless hours studying with at RBD, the ones I spent countless weekends with at Jordan-Hare. Where we rolled Toomer's when Daniel found out he was cancer-free, where we spent "Terrific Tuesdays" at the intramural fields, where BreakFeast first kicked off.
Someone said to me last year, "Lindsey, do you realize that you live in a red state?" My mind first jumped to politics, but I guess she read the confusion on my face and followed up with, "You know, Alabama has beat Auburn in every sport this year." I never went back to check the statistics. Maybe she was right; I'd like to think she skipped one somewhere where we pulled through, but the truth is: it doesn't matter. Because it wouldn't matter to me if Alabama beat Auburn in every sport we played for the next ten years. I'd still be an Auburn fan.
Win or lose, every trip to Auburn would still feel like a homecoming. Even with a terrible hotel room and horrible traffic and painful sunburns.
Count your blessings.
Count your blessings, name them one by one;
Count your blessings, see what God hath done!
I knew what I was getting into when I took my job. For that matter, I knew what I was getting into when I started grad school. It's not like I stumbled into this profession on accident; I actively sought it out. Daily, someone says to me, "I don't know how you do what you do." And the underlying sentiment there is not some sort of awe, not that they think I'm some kind of hero. The message between the lines is, "What kind of freak wants to do this job?"
And to be honest, I frequently ask myself that question.
For all the fun I have with my coworkers and getting to know my students and --hopefully-- getting to help students learn and grow, there isn't a single day that goes by that I'm not completely overwhelmed. Not by the amount of work, though it is looming at times, or the running around, but simply by the stories with which I am entrusted. Every day, a student walks into my office and lays their broken, bleeding heart down on my desk.
Sometimes it's silly and frivolous and I have to fight unbelievably hard not to roll my eyes.
"So-and-so and I have been best friends for a week now, and last period she said she's not my best friend anymore."
Sometimes it's more serious.
"So-and-so is telling everyone that I'm pregnant. And I'm not. At least, I think I'm not."
And sometimes it's the kind of thing that makes me want to lock myself in a closet and break down walls all at once. It's the kind of thing that knocks the breath out of me and leaves me willing myself not to throw up right there in front of the student. The kind of thing that leaves me crying in the corner behind the filing cabinet when I finally get a moment to myself.
It's incest and neglect and abuse and vicious, vicious cruelty.
Lying in the floor in the fetal position isn't an option for me, but I find myself running to my mental fetal position anytime my office clears out. Going to my happy place, my memories of what a childhood SHOULD be. What each of those children DESERVE. And what I got for some reason.
Memories drenched in sunshine and to the tune of my dad's loud laugh and my mom's sweet lullaby. She would play, "Turn Your Eyes Upon Jesus," on the piano in the dining room and we'd sing along, each trying to drown the other out. Memories that stretch out down long interstates to Jamestown, Atlanta, Memphis, Destin, Orlando... and sibling rivalry was placated with travel games and gummy Lifesavers. The time Adam and I got his-and-her windsuits and cowboy boots for Christmas... and decided to wear them together. The way we took turns telling the Christmas story and acting it out with the pieces of the porcelain Nativity. The forts we built under the magnolia tree in my grandmother's yard. The times Dad let us stay up and watch the Tonight Show when Mom was away on business trips.
I relive these over and over again in my office as I sort out the details of who to call first: the parent, the principal, DHR, and so on. And I play them like a song on repeat in my mind as I try to go to sleep at night, here in my cozy bed with my perfect husband in my perfect house.
And it's astonishing, really, that I should ever complain when my complaints amount to whether or not I have the right black boots for this fall season.
So here I sit, after another exhausting day, counting how blessed I am. For whatever reason. And thanking God for being an all-powerful, all-knowing God who can use ALL things-- even the ugliest, most broken situation-- for His glory. And I just pray that in some way, I'm useful to these kids, even if the only thing I do is listen and share the burden of making those memories my own.
Friday, September 14, 2012
Routines.
All through college, I longed for a set routine. Just as soon as I got used to one set of classes and alarm clocks, the semester changed and with it my schedule and routine. Grad school was the same, and internship almost killed me between internship, an after-school job, planning a wedding, and sharing joint custody of weekends with Alex, who was living in Birmingham at the time.
Now that I'm a grown-up with a grown-up job and grown-up responsibilities, I have at last found a set routine. Sort of.
Most of my days go like this...
5:50-- Alarm #1.
5:59-- Snooze #1.
6:00-- Alarm #2.
Turn on Home Improvement-- the only thing other than local news and infomercials on before 7 am-- and begin the process of getting ready. I have whittled this process down to as little time as possible by showering, packing my bag and lunch, and picking out my clothes before I go to bed. At 6:34, I'm rounding through the kitchen to grab my lunchbox and my usual breakfast to-go: peanut butter crackers or granola bar and water.
I clock in at DMS at 7:00. The latest I've been is 7:03 which is a pretty serious accomplishment for me.
At school, there's no such thing as a routine in the counselor's office. When I get to my office by 7:05, I usually have a student or two waiting on me, in need of a schedule change (most requests: denied) or a listening ear for a bully report. Before long, I'm paged to the office for a withdrawal or enrollment. Before the end of first period, I have usually met with at least one teacher and two students. If I find a moment when my office is clear, I file paperwork. We're being monitored this semester, so I have to be sure that every-- all 480+-- permanent record has exactly what it needs, from up-to-date blue slip to home language survey to birth certificate. The cycle repeats itself from period to period with an occasional exception: parent conference or phone call, sitting in on disciplinary action, or contacting DHR. And sometimes if I'm really lucky, I get to go in a classroom for guidance lessons.
This week when I asked a group of students what my job was, they replied, "You're the one that makes the schedules."
Exactly. That's why I went to graduate school: to learn how to make your schedules. Unfortunately, that kind of thing sucks up a lot of my time.
I say none of that to say that I'm super productive and efficient; in fact, I often can't finish one thing before something else comes up. I'm only saying that my schedule at school is chaotic on a good day.
But I love it. I love getting there at 7 am and getting so invested in my work that before I realize it, it's 6th period, and when I sit down-- or sometimes stand at the counter in the teacher's lounge-- for a quick lunch, I look at my phone to see that it's 1:45. If there wasn't for lots of snacking along the way, I'd starve to death over my daily half-eaten lunch.
I leave school between 4 and 5. If I leave closer to 4 than 5, I get home in time to change and go to spin at 5. If I leave closer to 5, I just assume that I've put in enough work for the day and go home and crash in front of a Gossip Girl rerun.
Alex's schedule has been pretty much as crazy as mine lately, so we usually get home around the same time. We cook dinner two or three times a week, and on other nights we have what my mom always called "Whatever You Can Find" nights. These usually look something like breakfast for dinner, PB & J, leftovers (a staple at my house growing up but something Alex is still grappling with) or the occasional outing to Subway or Domino's.
Alex has been playing basketball with a group of guys once a week, and Mom comes over on Wednesdays for Girls' Night: I cook, and we watch So You Think You Can Dance or catch up on my cousin Danielle's latest and greatest adventures as a contestant on Big Brother (she's in the Top 3! woop woop!).
At the end of the night, we try to fit in our quiet time right before bed. I know that I'm outing myself just by my phrasing: "try to fit in" isn't exactly the way we want our spiritual lives to work out, but that's something we're actively working on. I'm reading "Breaking Free" by Beth Moore (surprise!) and Alex is working through "Radical" by David Platt. I've read it before, so I know exactly what he means when he looks at me and says, "Well, I guess we need to pack our bags and move to China."
By 9:30, the bags and lunch boxes are packed and clothes laid out, and Alex catches up on sports blogs while I read (currently reading: Cleopatra, a Biography). And soon after that, it's lights out in the Ruggles home. Macy, of course, spends her time between 10:00 pm and 6:00 am vacillating between guarding the house and chasing her shadow. Sometimes I even wake up around 2:00 am to find her standing on my chest, just to make sure I'm still breathing. She's thoughtful that way.
Meanwhile, we make a pretty good pair when it comes to chores. Sure, Alex's standard of clean is what most people would classify as "just short of disgusting," but he is most helpful when asked. We tag team a lot of things: I cook, he cleans the kitchen. I do the laundry, he folds the cloths. I sweep, he vacuums. And so on.
On weekends, our routine has been pretty standard: get out of town. Not usually by choice, but because of weddings or ballgames or some other social event. I guess that's "by choice," technically, but what I mean is that we don't have some burning need to leave town. In fact, we often find ourselves wishing we had a weekend when we could just sleep in, play in our yard, get things done around the house, and just hang out. If we could get through wedding and football season, we may find one of those weekends... of course, by the end of football season, it'll be engagement party season and then the cycle starts over again with wedding season. I guess we'll just embrace that we are very blessed to have wonderful people in our life that keep our social calendar full.
So that's that. Friday night's routine changes from week to week: we either go to Birmingham to start the weekend festivities early, have supper club with "the gang," double date with other old, married folk, or have Date Night. And tonight's my favorite: Date Night.
Here's hoping your weekend is serendipitous.
Now that I'm a grown-up with a grown-up job and grown-up responsibilities, I have at last found a set routine. Sort of.
Most of my days go like this...
5:50-- Alarm #1.
5:59-- Snooze #1.
6:00-- Alarm #2.
Turn on Home Improvement-- the only thing other than local news and infomercials on before 7 am-- and begin the process of getting ready. I have whittled this process down to as little time as possible by showering, packing my bag and lunch, and picking out my clothes before I go to bed. At 6:34, I'm rounding through the kitchen to grab my lunchbox and my usual breakfast to-go: peanut butter crackers or granola bar and water.
I clock in at DMS at 7:00. The latest I've been is 7:03 which is a pretty serious accomplishment for me.
At school, there's no such thing as a routine in the counselor's office. When I get to my office by 7:05, I usually have a student or two waiting on me, in need of a schedule change (most requests: denied) or a listening ear for a bully report. Before long, I'm paged to the office for a withdrawal or enrollment. Before the end of first period, I have usually met with at least one teacher and two students. If I find a moment when my office is clear, I file paperwork. We're being monitored this semester, so I have to be sure that every-- all 480+-- permanent record has exactly what it needs, from up-to-date blue slip to home language survey to birth certificate. The cycle repeats itself from period to period with an occasional exception: parent conference or phone call, sitting in on disciplinary action, or contacting DHR. And sometimes if I'm really lucky, I get to go in a classroom for guidance lessons.
This week when I asked a group of students what my job was, they replied, "You're the one that makes the schedules."
Exactly. That's why I went to graduate school: to learn how to make your schedules. Unfortunately, that kind of thing sucks up a lot of my time.
I say none of that to say that I'm super productive and efficient; in fact, I often can't finish one thing before something else comes up. I'm only saying that my schedule at school is chaotic on a good day.
But I love it. I love getting there at 7 am and getting so invested in my work that before I realize it, it's 6th period, and when I sit down-- or sometimes stand at the counter in the teacher's lounge-- for a quick lunch, I look at my phone to see that it's 1:45. If there wasn't for lots of snacking along the way, I'd starve to death over my daily half-eaten lunch.
I leave school between 4 and 5. If I leave closer to 4 than 5, I get home in time to change and go to spin at 5. If I leave closer to 5, I just assume that I've put in enough work for the day and go home and crash in front of a Gossip Girl rerun.
Alex's schedule has been pretty much as crazy as mine lately, so we usually get home around the same time. We cook dinner two or three times a week, and on other nights we have what my mom always called "Whatever You Can Find" nights. These usually look something like breakfast for dinner, PB & J, leftovers (a staple at my house growing up but something Alex is still grappling with) or the occasional outing to Subway or Domino's.
Alex has been playing basketball with a group of guys once a week, and Mom comes over on Wednesdays for Girls' Night: I cook, and we watch So You Think You Can Dance or catch up on my cousin Danielle's latest and greatest adventures as a contestant on Big Brother (she's in the Top 3! woop woop!).
At the end of the night, we try to fit in our quiet time right before bed. I know that I'm outing myself just by my phrasing: "try to fit in" isn't exactly the way we want our spiritual lives to work out, but that's something we're actively working on. I'm reading "Breaking Free" by Beth Moore (surprise!) and Alex is working through "Radical" by David Platt. I've read it before, so I know exactly what he means when he looks at me and says, "Well, I guess we need to pack our bags and move to China."
By 9:30, the bags and lunch boxes are packed and clothes laid out, and Alex catches up on sports blogs while I read (currently reading: Cleopatra, a Biography). And soon after that, it's lights out in the Ruggles home. Macy, of course, spends her time between 10:00 pm and 6:00 am vacillating between guarding the house and chasing her shadow. Sometimes I even wake up around 2:00 am to find her standing on my chest, just to make sure I'm still breathing. She's thoughtful that way.
Meanwhile, we make a pretty good pair when it comes to chores. Sure, Alex's standard of clean is what most people would classify as "just short of disgusting," but he is most helpful when asked. We tag team a lot of things: I cook, he cleans the kitchen. I do the laundry, he folds the cloths. I sweep, he vacuums. And so on.
On weekends, our routine has been pretty standard: get out of town. Not usually by choice, but because of weddings or ballgames or some other social event. I guess that's "by choice," technically, but what I mean is that we don't have some burning need to leave town. In fact, we often find ourselves wishing we had a weekend when we could just sleep in, play in our yard, get things done around the house, and just hang out. If we could get through wedding and football season, we may find one of those weekends... of course, by the end of football season, it'll be engagement party season and then the cycle starts over again with wedding season. I guess we'll just embrace that we are very blessed to have wonderful people in our life that keep our social calendar full.
So that's that. Friday night's routine changes from week to week: we either go to Birmingham to start the weekend festivities early, have supper club with "the gang," double date with other old, married folk, or have Date Night. And tonight's my favorite: Date Night.
Here's hoping your weekend is serendipitous.
Wednesday, August 22, 2012
Quarter Life Crisis
As I approach 25 at a neck-breaking pace (September 28-- you're gonna want to put that on your calendar), I'm getting somewhat reminiscent as I look back on my quarter-century lifetime. As many of you know, the soundtrack of my life for the past several years has been sung by America's sweetheart, Taylor Swift. From soul-mending break-up songs like "Dear John" and "Last Kiss" to the coming-of-age ballad "Never Grow Up" to the hopeful love song "Enchanted" (that one goes out to my boo thang, Al), Taylor has always sang as though she was literally ripping pages out of my diary. At her concert, Alex leaned over and said, "Is there seriously no song she sings that you CAN'T apply to your life??"
Answer: no.
That is, until now. It doesn't help that I'm painfully aware that in most senses of the word, I'm technically a grown-up: college graduate, gainfully employed, married. When Taylor announced last week that she would be releasing a new song, I only assumed it would be just like the others: about me. Something like, "Help: I'm an Educator," or "My Husband's Definition of Clean is Only Acceptable in a Frat House." Maybe that's a little far-fetched, but something along those lines.
Instead, I got "We Are Never Ever Getting Back Together."
Sure, the song is catchy. I sing along, and of course I support Taylor in all that she does. (although, admittedly, I'm a little concerned about her recent interest in a young Kennedy-- Taylor, google "curse.") But this is the first time in my T-Swift fandom that I've not been able to relate. And frankly, it's not doing much for my quarter-life crisis.
Allow me to use another obsession to relate the situation. For years after Wendy's first venture to Never Land, she returned annually with Peter to visit the mermaids, pirates, fairies, and more. But eventually, Peter comes back to find Wendy all grown up, unable to return. She has to explain to Peter that she can't return to Never Land because she is, at long last, a grown up.
Have I outgrown Taylor Swift? Is her next album my Never Land?
Answer: no.
That is, until now. It doesn't help that I'm painfully aware that in most senses of the word, I'm technically a grown-up: college graduate, gainfully employed, married. When Taylor announced last week that she would be releasing a new song, I only assumed it would be just like the others: about me. Something like, "Help: I'm an Educator," or "My Husband's Definition of Clean is Only Acceptable in a Frat House." Maybe that's a little far-fetched, but something along those lines.
Instead, I got "We Are Never Ever Getting Back Together."
Sure, the song is catchy. I sing along, and of course I support Taylor in all that she does. (although, admittedly, I'm a little concerned about her recent interest in a young Kennedy-- Taylor, google "curse.") But this is the first time in my T-Swift fandom that I've not been able to relate. And frankly, it's not doing much for my quarter-life crisis.
Allow me to use another obsession to relate the situation. For years after Wendy's first venture to Never Land, she returned annually with Peter to visit the mermaids, pirates, fairies, and more. But eventually, Peter comes back to find Wendy all grown up, unable to return. She has to explain to Peter that she can't return to Never Land because she is, at long last, a grown up.
Have I outgrown Taylor Swift? Is her next album my Never Land?
Thursday, June 28, 2012
Lost.
A few weeks ago, we decided to start Lost. Both Alex and I managed to completely miss the phenomenon when the show was actually in production, but luckily my dad's Amazon Prime account is hooking us up.
Each episode (so far) has started by spot lighting a particular character and flashing back to that character's life before he or she landed on the Island (via plane crash, for those of you who haven't emerged from under your rock in the last decade).
We're on episode 22, or something like that, of Season 1. The survivors have been on the island for a little over a month-- that's a little over a month with zero communication with the outside world. Just sand, jungle, and the occasional polar bear (you read that right-- the show is straight up nuts).
I just spent the last 30 minutes looking for my phone. I pulled up to my house, sent a quick text to Morgan, loaded my bags and grabbed the mail, and headed into my house. Threw the junk mail away and took the garbage out, watered the plants, and came back in to text my husband and complain that he had done none of those things.
But there was no phone.
I looked everywhere. I went from scanning the room to tearing cushions out of chairs. I checked rooms I haven't even been in today.
Friends, I went outside and went through the garbage. Not once. THREE times. Then, I brought it in and moved the garbage piece by piece into a different bag. Piece. By. Piece. We're talking old grapes, lunch meat boxes, and the bag I marinated my chicken in last night.
I checked my car three times-- moved everything from the front seat to the back seat and back again. Moved both seats all the way backward and forward.
Googled how to trace an iPhone.
On the fifth car check, I found it: wedged between the console and the seat, undetectable to the human eye.
At this point I'm sweaty, uncomfortable, and on the edge of a meltdown as I realize that I don't have a landline-- other than my cell phone and email, I have no way to contact the outside world. I'd already emailed my husband and Morgan, and after 30 minutes neither had checked their email.
I was LOST.
Sweaty and irritable, I might as well have been wrecked with Hurley, Kate, and the Others on Mystery Island. I felt like all civility was lost-- without my phone, I might as well have to hunt my own food and build a fire with flint and bamboo shoots.
Maybe I'm too dependent on my phone. BUT. In my defense, EVERYthing from my certification process emails to my work contacts is on that tiny machine.
My heart has just now slowed to a normal beat after that brush with disaster.
Each episode (so far) has started by spot lighting a particular character and flashing back to that character's life before he or she landed on the Island (via plane crash, for those of you who haven't emerged from under your rock in the last decade).
We're on episode 22, or something like that, of Season 1. The survivors have been on the island for a little over a month-- that's a little over a month with zero communication with the outside world. Just sand, jungle, and the occasional polar bear (you read that right-- the show is straight up nuts).
I just spent the last 30 minutes looking for my phone. I pulled up to my house, sent a quick text to Morgan, loaded my bags and grabbed the mail, and headed into my house. Threw the junk mail away and took the garbage out, watered the plants, and came back in to text my husband and complain that he had done none of those things.
But there was no phone.
I looked everywhere. I went from scanning the room to tearing cushions out of chairs. I checked rooms I haven't even been in today.
Friends, I went outside and went through the garbage. Not once. THREE times. Then, I brought it in and moved the garbage piece by piece into a different bag. Piece. By. Piece. We're talking old grapes, lunch meat boxes, and the bag I marinated my chicken in last night.
I checked my car three times-- moved everything from the front seat to the back seat and back again. Moved both seats all the way backward and forward.
Googled how to trace an iPhone.
On the fifth car check, I found it: wedged between the console and the seat, undetectable to the human eye.
At this point I'm sweaty, uncomfortable, and on the edge of a meltdown as I realize that I don't have a landline-- other than my cell phone and email, I have no way to contact the outside world. I'd already emailed my husband and Morgan, and after 30 minutes neither had checked their email.
I was LOST.
Sweaty and irritable, I might as well have been wrecked with Hurley, Kate, and the Others on Mystery Island. I felt like all civility was lost-- without my phone, I might as well have to hunt my own food and build a fire with flint and bamboo shoots.
Maybe I'm too dependent on my phone. BUT. In my defense, EVERYthing from my certification process emails to my work contacts is on that tiny machine.
My heart has just now slowed to a normal beat after that brush with disaster.
Thursday, June 14, 2012
never grow up.
When I was in Kindergarten and first grade, my dad taught at Cleveland High School. Kindergarten thru twelfth grade classes were all on the same campuses, separated by a breezeway and a shared cafeteria. So I never had to ride the bus-- until ninth grade, I rode to school with my dad. Kindergarten and first grade at Cleveland stick out to me though because I loved faculty meetings so much. Now, most teachers' kids dread these days because it means staying in that dreaded building for even longer.
Not me. Not with an arsenal of movies at my fingertips. See, like me, my dad is a lover of fine films, and he cultivated this love in me from a young age. On faculty meeting days, we'd walk down to the library, and I'd pick out a movie: Ricky Ticky Tavvy was common but it scared me unless my brother watched it with me, Cinderella was, of course, highly favored, and then there was Peter Pan.
Anyone that knows me can tell you that Peter Pan is my all-time favorite anything: the book, any adaptation of the movie, the play (my fabulous parents took me to see in Atlanta, and ohmygosh, I still remember when Peter took flight right in front of my very eyes), and even the ride at Disney World.
In fact, I found out today that someone had just returned from the Happiest Place on Earth. First question out of my mouth: Did you ride Peter Pan?!
Here's what you need to know about Cleveland Elementary's copy of Peter Pan: this is not the Disney classic that you're familiar with. No, it's possibly better. I can never decide. The 1960 version of Peter Pan starring a 47-year-old, but ever-delightful, Mary Martin. From "I Won't Grow Up" to "I've Gotta Crow" (favorite line: "Oh, the cleverness of me!") to "Ugg-a-Wugg" my five-year-old mind was captivated by J.M. Barrie's fantastical universe: Neverland.
Sidenote: this version of Peter Pan includes the California Raisins as part of the previews; consequently, I crave Raisinettes to this day whenever I watch Peter Pan.
Today on my way home from work, Mary Martin's 'Never Never Land' came on my iPod.
Y'all, I nearly cried. The lyrics are perfection. The story, unparalleled. It's not like I didn't pretend to live in a castle and daydream about Prince Charming, but when it comes to favorite fairy tales, Cinderella can keep her glass slippers. Ask me for my favorite story, and my mind goes zooming to the "first star to the left, then straight on til morning."
Tuesday, June 12, 2012
you're never too old for summer camp.
During the school year, on top of being a substitute teacher and graduate intern, I started working for the school's extended day program. Mostly, we helped kids with homework, had snack, watched the kids play on the playground, and facilitated the occasional dodgeball game. In the summertime, extended day turns into a full on summer day camp: 7 am - 5:30 pm. And that, my friends, is my summer job.
At first, I was bummed about a 7 am job in the summer. I am, after all, an educator, born and bred to take the summers off after 9 long months of being a prison warden. But let me tell you: best. job. ever. And don't let anyone tell you different-- because the teenage aides my try to, but they don't know how good they've got it.
First of all, there are field trips. Hello, Birmingham Zoo and McWayne Center. Second, free movies (saw Madagascar 3 today-- very cute) at the Rave Theater. Third, afternoons at the pool every other day. In the downtown, we put the gymnastics mats out and watch a movie in the gym floor. I won't even mention the Oreos and lemonade because I'm trying to ween myself off camp snacks.
Now, if that doesn't sound like two tons of fun, I don't know what does.
Sure, I have to keep up with 17 fifth graders at every second of the day. They can get a little froggy, try to escape the playground from time to time and whatnot. And sometimes the girls yah-yah and the boys tussle. And sometimes there are tummy aches and skinned knees. But it's nothing I can't handle, and mostly it's a lot of fun.
Camp Lot A Fun.
Even on rainy days, it's fun. There's lot of coloring, and I've spent roughly 24 years perfecting my bubble letters.
At first, I was bummed about a 7 am job in the summer. I am, after all, an educator, born and bred to take the summers off after 9 long months of being a prison warden. But let me tell you: best. job. ever. And don't let anyone tell you different-- because the teenage aides my try to, but they don't know how good they've got it.
First of all, there are field trips. Hello, Birmingham Zoo and McWayne Center. Second, free movies (saw Madagascar 3 today-- very cute) at the Rave Theater. Third, afternoons at the pool every other day. In the downtown, we put the gymnastics mats out and watch a movie in the gym floor. I won't even mention the Oreos and lemonade because I'm trying to ween myself off camp snacks.
Now, if that doesn't sound like two tons of fun, I don't know what does.
Sure, I have to keep up with 17 fifth graders at every second of the day. They can get a little froggy, try to escape the playground from time to time and whatnot. And sometimes the girls yah-yah and the boys tussle. And sometimes there are tummy aches and skinned knees. But it's nothing I can't handle, and mostly it's a lot of fun.
Camp Lot A Fun.
Even on rainy days, it's fun. There's lot of coloring, and I've spent roughly 24 years perfecting my bubble letters.
Sunday, June 3, 2012
In Sickness and In Health
You say that in your vows. You picture it years later, possibly decades.
But every now and then you're just lucky enough to have a husband who gets tonsillitis less than a week after the honeymoon.
Thursday morning, Alex got up at a most unattractive hour to get ready for work. Those of us that are working summer programs for the school were still in bed because programs don't start until next week. He fumbled and he mumbled and he woke his wife up. So I said my piece and went back to sleep, none too happy.
Later on Thursday, I get a text from my husband saying that he was sorry for his lack of consideration that morning but he was just feeling really groggy and kind of sickly.
This text was followed by several more expressing that he might have a cold and a fever. I had a job interview that afternoon, but when I got home I found a very sad sight on my couch. A grown man, huddled under a down comforter, decked from head to foot in sweats, and shivering to boot. I immediately went into nurse mode-- I've seen my mom do it many times as a result of my traumatic relationship with my sinuses.
I started with leftover wedding cake, which was received with pleasure. But the night just got darker.
By Friday morning, it was firmly decided (by the wife, not the husband): a doctor's visit was in order.
He screwed his face into more pout faces than I knew he had in him, and Friday morning I watched my 25-year-old husband regress into a grumpy 4-year-old. Women across the board say this is a common symptom among sick men. My high energy, quick witted man turned into a belligerent toddler overnight, refusing to eat or drink and throwing in a magnitude of grumbles and pout faces.
The first diagnosis was strep throat. When his fever still raged on Saturday morning, we headed up to an Urgent Care for a second opinion. This time around, the doctor thought that strep was a plausible diagnosis but the more likely culprit was tonsillitis. He offered a shot to quicken the antibiotic and for a brief moment my husband was back, manning up for a very painful couple of shots of antibiotic and steroids. And then, right back to four year old Alex.
By that evening he had briefly reached a fever break, so we thought we'd brave Erica and Dee's tool & gadget shower. We had already missed another friend's shower that afternoon, and Alex was bound and determined to make one of the two. So out we went. And within five minutes of being there, the chills and fever were back. The result: a multitude of people wondering what kind of monster would drag her sick husband out of the bed for a shower.
So... back to bed. There was some force feeding of soup and Gatorade: just picture a picky child refusing to open their mouth, shaking their head vehemently, accompanied by adamant "Uh-uh's."
But this morning, by some miracle, my husband is back. The magic of modern medicine! It's like the full moon is over and the werewolf has returned to his human form. We've even gone to Lowe's to pick out a mailbox and painted the post in our garage. Back to productivity and back to happy, healthy Alex!
Luckily for me, Alex only gets sick once a year. Unlucky for him, he'll have to deal with Sick Lindsey ten times over before I encounter Sick Alex again. And I give him full license to complain about it when he has to be Nurse Alex.
But every now and then you're just lucky enough to have a husband who gets tonsillitis less than a week after the honeymoon.
Thursday morning, Alex got up at a most unattractive hour to get ready for work. Those of us that are working summer programs for the school were still in bed because programs don't start until next week. He fumbled and he mumbled and he woke his wife up. So I said my piece and went back to sleep, none too happy.
Later on Thursday, I get a text from my husband saying that he was sorry for his lack of consideration that morning but he was just feeling really groggy and kind of sickly.
This text was followed by several more expressing that he might have a cold and a fever. I had a job interview that afternoon, but when I got home I found a very sad sight on my couch. A grown man, huddled under a down comforter, decked from head to foot in sweats, and shivering to boot. I immediately went into nurse mode-- I've seen my mom do it many times as a result of my traumatic relationship with my sinuses.
I started with leftover wedding cake, which was received with pleasure. But the night just got darker.
By Friday morning, it was firmly decided (by the wife, not the husband): a doctor's visit was in order.
He screwed his face into more pout faces than I knew he had in him, and Friday morning I watched my 25-year-old husband regress into a grumpy 4-year-old. Women across the board say this is a common symptom among sick men. My high energy, quick witted man turned into a belligerent toddler overnight, refusing to eat or drink and throwing in a magnitude of grumbles and pout faces.
The first diagnosis was strep throat. When his fever still raged on Saturday morning, we headed up to an Urgent Care for a second opinion. This time around, the doctor thought that strep was a plausible diagnosis but the more likely culprit was tonsillitis. He offered a shot to quicken the antibiotic and for a brief moment my husband was back, manning up for a very painful couple of shots of antibiotic and steroids. And then, right back to four year old Alex.
By that evening he had briefly reached a fever break, so we thought we'd brave Erica and Dee's tool & gadget shower. We had already missed another friend's shower that afternoon, and Alex was bound and determined to make one of the two. So out we went. And within five minutes of being there, the chills and fever were back. The result: a multitude of people wondering what kind of monster would drag her sick husband out of the bed for a shower.
So... back to bed. There was some force feeding of soup and Gatorade: just picture a picky child refusing to open their mouth, shaking their head vehemently, accompanied by adamant "Uh-uh's."
But this morning, by some miracle, my husband is back. The magic of modern medicine! It's like the full moon is over and the werewolf has returned to his human form. We've even gone to Lowe's to pick out a mailbox and painted the post in our garage. Back to productivity and back to happy, healthy Alex!
Luckily for me, Alex only gets sick once a year. Unlucky for him, he'll have to deal with Sick Lindsey ten times over before I encounter Sick Alex again. And I give him full license to complain about it when he has to be Nurse Alex.
Sunday, May 27, 2012
Holding It Together
I held it together all week. Even with a debilitating bout
with two kidney stones resulting in a huge delay in all the things that needed
to be done.
I held it together Friday night, when Lauren gave a speech
that made the whole house misty-eyed. I thought at that moment that I wouldn’t
make it through the weekend.
I held it together when Mom choked up while she prayed
before our bridesmaids brunch on Saturday morning, as all my best girlfriends
in the world piled into my house to get ready and help out with any last minute
wedding needs (and believe me, they were put to work).
I held it together when Brian secured my mother’s veil on my
head and showed Rachel how to take it off after the ceremony. That’s probably
the first time I really got the, “This is it” feeling, the first time I really
felt like a bride.
I held it together when I walked into our gorgeous
sanctuary, awash with candlelight and decorate with meticulously arranged
flowers, when I realized this is it—this is our wedding.
I held it together when Laura started getting weepy in the
bridal suite right before we walked down the aisle, as the bridesmaids and my
mother wrapped their bouquets with Kleenex. Then I knew this could get
emotional very soon.
I held it together as I listened to Dr. Thompson’s emotional
charge to Alex and the congregation, as Dad and I stood in the vestibule
waiting to walk down the aisle. He set the stage for a holy service of worship,
not a prelude to a reception party.
And even when the doors opened and I saw Alex waiting for me
at the alter, I managed to hold it together. In fact, tears were the last thing
on my mind as I couldn’t contain a grin that mirrored the one on Alex’s face.
Just joy. So much joy.
And when my dad gave me away and kissed me on the cheek, I held
it together.
During the first dance, the father-daughter dance, the
mother-son dance, the cake tasting, and the obligatory Shout!, I held it
together. Like a champ. But it’s not hard to hold back the tears when you’re
having the absolute best time of your life.
When the sparklers lit up and our friends and family saw us
off, I held it together. But barely. I was frantic to find my mom and thank
her, to say goodbye to so many of my favorite faces, and goodbye to a night
that will live on in our memories for the rest of our lives.
But when I got in the car with my husband. When we realized
what we’d just done—that we’d gotten married in the presence of friends and
family from all over the world, literally… we couldn’t hold it together
anymore. I cried as I called my mom to leave her a voicemail thanking her for
all of her hard work and endless hours budgeting, planning, and making all the
right phone calls. And all my dad’s tireless work setting up sound equipment
and the reception site and the get away car and anything else that falls under
Dad Work. I cried as I talked about my family that came all the way from Sweden
just for me. For us. To be with us and celebrate with us and just to love us. I
cried as I thought about how beautiful my grandparents and grandparents-in-law
looked—all of them such radiant pictures of love… people that absolutely glowed
with genuine happiness. For us. And I cried because I’ve just never felt so
completely overwhelmed by love. Love for my husband and from my husband. Love
from and for our families. Love for and from our bridal party, our best friends
in all the world. Just… so. much. LOVE. Now that’s the kind of thing that can
make a non-crier shed a tear or twenty.
And to start our lives this way… so covered and smothered in
love… I just can’t begin to say thank you. But in the next few posts, I’m going
to give it my best shot.
Monday, May 14, 2012
Here's the story.
Thursday I had a very, very trying day at school. I subbed for a second grade class that was VERY much aware that summer is around the corner and VERY over the whole school thing. You know what I mean.
After school, I worked at extended day. Extended day ends at 5:30, and our last parent rolled in at 6:00. This particular parent does not make a habit of this and was especially apologetic, so I couldn't be too angry... Except that I was already rocking back and forth with chattering teeth on a May afternoon. Clearly, something was not right.
I had been complaining all week that something just didn't feel right, as a matter of fact.
So when I got home Thursday evening, we pulled out the thermometer. 102. I went to bed around 7:30 and woke up miserable multiple times: 8:50, 10:20, wee hours, 5:40... That's when I knew I needed to call in to school so they could find a substitute sub. By 8:30 Friday morning, I was in the doctor's office with chills, body aches, and fever. All signs pointed to flu, but the flu test was negative. However, sometimes flu-like symptoms are indicative of early pneumonia. We did a few chest X-rays and thought we had our diagnosis. The nurse gave me a most unpleasant shot and sent me home with a round of antibiotics and hope that I would be at least "90% better by Monday."
Friday night was another miserable night of sleep. I woke up at paced the house around 6 on Saturday morning, popped a few Advil for my still triple digit fever, and went back to bed. Around 8, the fever broke up. For those of you not in the know, that means you wake up in a pool of sweat. It's really, really gross, and other than the relief from fever, just makes you feel that much worse just for being disgusting.
I showered, still had to change clothes a few times because of fever-breakage-sweat, but was still determined to make a quick trip to Huntsville with Mom for a few last minute wedding things. First I tried going to Target with her, but I soon realized my energy was too zapped so I ended up in the car with the windows rolled down. Next up: Bed, Bath, & Beyond. This trip went a little smoother, and I was able to eat a sandwich at Firehouse next. At this point, I'm beginning to think I'm on the up-and-up.
Next stop: Hobby Lobby. So far, so good, but the fatigue was beginning to set in. So when Mom made her last stop at Wal-Mart in Jones Valley, I stayed in the car again.
And that's where it all started... Out of nowhere, I got a shooting pain in my back. I thought it was just a muscle spasm, so I tried to stretch it out. By the time Mom made it back to the car, I had the seat laid back, writhing around. We made it about 20 minutes towards Guntersville before I had to have her pull the car over, sure I was going to vomit. That's when we decided to go to the ER.
At the ER, they IV'd me, pumped me full of fluid and meds, and did a CT, X-ray, and urinalysis. This time, all signs pointed toward kidney stone. However, the radiologist did not see a kidney stone in my CT, so we assumed I had passed it there in the ER. So more antibiotics and I was on my way home.
Sunday, I woke up with a fever again, but handled it with Advil and long, hot shower. I met Mom and Dad for lunch, did some organizing and unpacking at mine and Alex's house, and then came back home for bed. I didn't feel 100% better, but I was definitely on the mend.
This morning, I woke up at 8 with searing pain in my lower back again. I called Mom, and she decided to consult with the ER doctor on staff today. He pulled my charts from Saturday, checked my CT, and saw not one but two stones there. He called up the radiologist, and sure enough, he'd missed it on Saturday.
So today, I'm back in bed, working on a kidney stone and thinking about how this could really put a damper on our honeymoon if my kidneys don't get it together stat. Because our wedding is Saturday. Like, this Saturday. A couple of days from today. The same today that has me in bed with searing pain and daytime television.
So lift up a prayer or two. Or twenty.
After school, I worked at extended day. Extended day ends at 5:30, and our last parent rolled in at 6:00. This particular parent does not make a habit of this and was especially apologetic, so I couldn't be too angry... Except that I was already rocking back and forth with chattering teeth on a May afternoon. Clearly, something was not right.
I had been complaining all week that something just didn't feel right, as a matter of fact.
So when I got home Thursday evening, we pulled out the thermometer. 102. I went to bed around 7:30 and woke up miserable multiple times: 8:50, 10:20, wee hours, 5:40... That's when I knew I needed to call in to school so they could find a substitute sub. By 8:30 Friday morning, I was in the doctor's office with chills, body aches, and fever. All signs pointed to flu, but the flu test was negative. However, sometimes flu-like symptoms are indicative of early pneumonia. We did a few chest X-rays and thought we had our diagnosis. The nurse gave me a most unpleasant shot and sent me home with a round of antibiotics and hope that I would be at least "90% better by Monday."
Friday night was another miserable night of sleep. I woke up at paced the house around 6 on Saturday morning, popped a few Advil for my still triple digit fever, and went back to bed. Around 8, the fever broke up. For those of you not in the know, that means you wake up in a pool of sweat. It's really, really gross, and other than the relief from fever, just makes you feel that much worse just for being disgusting.
I showered, still had to change clothes a few times because of fever-breakage-sweat, but was still determined to make a quick trip to Huntsville with Mom for a few last minute wedding things. First I tried going to Target with her, but I soon realized my energy was too zapped so I ended up in the car with the windows rolled down. Next up: Bed, Bath, & Beyond. This trip went a little smoother, and I was able to eat a sandwich at Firehouse next. At this point, I'm beginning to think I'm on the up-and-up.
Next stop: Hobby Lobby. So far, so good, but the fatigue was beginning to set in. So when Mom made her last stop at Wal-Mart in Jones Valley, I stayed in the car again.
And that's where it all started... Out of nowhere, I got a shooting pain in my back. I thought it was just a muscle spasm, so I tried to stretch it out. By the time Mom made it back to the car, I had the seat laid back, writhing around. We made it about 20 minutes towards Guntersville before I had to have her pull the car over, sure I was going to vomit. That's when we decided to go to the ER.
At the ER, they IV'd me, pumped me full of fluid and meds, and did a CT, X-ray, and urinalysis. This time, all signs pointed toward kidney stone. However, the radiologist did not see a kidney stone in my CT, so we assumed I had passed it there in the ER. So more antibiotics and I was on my way home.
Sunday, I woke up with a fever again, but handled it with Advil and long, hot shower. I met Mom and Dad for lunch, did some organizing and unpacking at mine and Alex's house, and then came back home for bed. I didn't feel 100% better, but I was definitely on the mend.
This morning, I woke up at 8 with searing pain in my lower back again. I called Mom, and she decided to consult with the ER doctor on staff today. He pulled my charts from Saturday, checked my CT, and saw not one but two stones there. He called up the radiologist, and sure enough, he'd missed it on Saturday.
So today, I'm back in bed, working on a kidney stone and thinking about how this could really put a damper on our honeymoon if my kidneys don't get it together stat. Because our wedding is Saturday. Like, this Saturday. A couple of days from today. The same today that has me in bed with searing pain and daytime television.
So lift up a prayer or two. Or twenty.
Tuesday, April 24, 2012
Somber.
The halls of my high school have been eerily quiet over the past two days.
Friday night, as I studied frantically for my certification exam, I got a text message from a friend about a wreck involving several members of our track team-- students, a team helper, and a parent. The text indicated that there was a possible death and multiple injuries.
Of course, my first thought was that it was surely exaggerated. Maybe there was a wreck, but surely the rumors had already begun to spin and grow.
Soon after, though, I started getting a string of texts from students and friends confirming the rumor-- one student had been killed on impact, one student had broken an arm and sustained a serious neck injury, one student and the parent driving left unscathed, and the team helper/assistant coach broke an arm and a leg.
Immediately, my Twitter feed and Facebook news feed exploded with thoughts and prayers for all those involved. This is the first tragedy to hit our student body in years-- possibly since the loss the senior class had when I was a sophomore in high school.
Prom was Saturday night, and the junior class, along with the seniors, was able to come together and celebrate the life of their classmate. There was a candlelight vigil and a moment of silence during which students wrapped their arms around each other, shed silent tears, and lifted up their hearts and their candles to say goodbye to Kevin.
Over the last two days, the halls have been somber and quiet. A classmate's desk remains empty other than a bouquet of flowers placed by a teacher. A seat at lunch left untouched. An event at track meets painfully filled in by another. And other classmates still in the hospital awaiting surgery.
It's been a very tough time at my high school, but it's been equally touching. The students have pulled together like I've never seen before. Huddled in hallways, crying. Meeting in the auditorium to pray, Bibles in hand. Reaching out to ministers who have graciously stayed on campus in our time of need.
The road ahead is tough for this class, this faculty, and most especially, this family. Kevin leaves behind three brothers and a mother, all of whom will struggle in the months and even years to come to make sense of this loss in their lives.
At the end of the day, it leaves this school counselor humbled and glad to serve a God who is sovereign, who reigns even in tragedy, and who is glorified even in heartache. Please pray for the Yoder family and the students and faculty at GHS.
Friday night, as I studied frantically for my certification exam, I got a text message from a friend about a wreck involving several members of our track team-- students, a team helper, and a parent. The text indicated that there was a possible death and multiple injuries.
Of course, my first thought was that it was surely exaggerated. Maybe there was a wreck, but surely the rumors had already begun to spin and grow.
Soon after, though, I started getting a string of texts from students and friends confirming the rumor-- one student had been killed on impact, one student had broken an arm and sustained a serious neck injury, one student and the parent driving left unscathed, and the team helper/assistant coach broke an arm and a leg.
Immediately, my Twitter feed and Facebook news feed exploded with thoughts and prayers for all those involved. This is the first tragedy to hit our student body in years-- possibly since the loss the senior class had when I was a sophomore in high school.
Prom was Saturday night, and the junior class, along with the seniors, was able to come together and celebrate the life of their classmate. There was a candlelight vigil and a moment of silence during which students wrapped their arms around each other, shed silent tears, and lifted up their hearts and their candles to say goodbye to Kevin.
Over the last two days, the halls have been somber and quiet. A classmate's desk remains empty other than a bouquet of flowers placed by a teacher. A seat at lunch left untouched. An event at track meets painfully filled in by another. And other classmates still in the hospital awaiting surgery.
It's been a very tough time at my high school, but it's been equally touching. The students have pulled together like I've never seen before. Huddled in hallways, crying. Meeting in the auditorium to pray, Bibles in hand. Reaching out to ministers who have graciously stayed on campus in our time of need.
The road ahead is tough for this class, this faculty, and most especially, this family. Kevin leaves behind three brothers and a mother, all of whom will struggle in the months and even years to come to make sense of this loss in their lives.
At the end of the day, it leaves this school counselor humbled and glad to serve a God who is sovereign, who reigns even in tragedy, and who is glorified even in heartache. Please pray for the Yoder family and the students and faculty at GHS.
Monday, April 16, 2012
April showers.
For me and Alex, April is the month of showers. Mostly for me, but Alex benefits from the shower treasure.
We kicked off shower season with a couples' dinner at our sweet friends', The Reaves'. All of my best friends and their significant others were there, and it was truly a lot of fun, and I think I can say that for everyone. It wasn't just great for me to see all of my friends, but they all got to see each other as well. Kind of like a high school reunion with a few guest stars. The weather was perfect for a night out on the deck, and I looked around at one point and realized that over half of the people there... friends from high school and college and grad school and all walks of life... were either married or engaged. It's a fascinating feeling to realize that we're all entering this next chapter of life together.
This Friday night, I got to celebrate my dad's birthday with him over Mexican food, Hunger Games, and post-movie ice cream. Practically perfect in every way. And if you see my dad anytime soon, please remind him that he's one step closer to that senior discount. He'll be thrilled.
Okay, that wasn't a shower but it was kind of like a party.
Saturday, I took off to Nashville for my bachelorette party with some of the very best friends a girl could ask for. We had cake pops and champagne, sushi at Verago, dancing downtown, late night burgers, and brunch at Germantown Cafe. Can you tell that I judge a good weekend by the food that's consumed?
I've still got two to go to these last two weekends of April. And many a thank you note to write. But Alex and I feel so blessed. So beyond blessed. Not just because of the gifts, but because of the overwhelming shower of love that we've experienced and continue to experience during this time, whether its parties and showers or thank you note writing or premarital counseling or choosing what music to play during the prelude to the ceremony, we are beside ourselves with joy abundant.
We kicked off shower season with a couples' dinner at our sweet friends', The Reaves'. All of my best friends and their significant others were there, and it was truly a lot of fun, and I think I can say that for everyone. It wasn't just great for me to see all of my friends, but they all got to see each other as well. Kind of like a high school reunion with a few guest stars. The weather was perfect for a night out on the deck, and I looked around at one point and realized that over half of the people there... friends from high school and college and grad school and all walks of life... were either married or engaged. It's a fascinating feeling to realize that we're all entering this next chapter of life together.
This Friday night, I got to celebrate my dad's birthday with him over Mexican food, Hunger Games, and post-movie ice cream. Practically perfect in every way. And if you see my dad anytime soon, please remind him that he's one step closer to that senior discount. He'll be thrilled.
Okay, that wasn't a shower but it was kind of like a party.
Saturday, I took off to Nashville for my bachelorette party with some of the very best friends a girl could ask for. We had cake pops and champagne, sushi at Verago, dancing downtown, late night burgers, and brunch at Germantown Cafe. Can you tell that I judge a good weekend by the food that's consumed?
I've still got two to go to these last two weekends of April. And many a thank you note to write. But Alex and I feel so blessed. So beyond blessed. Not just because of the gifts, but because of the overwhelming shower of love that we've experienced and continue to experience during this time, whether its parties and showers or thank you note writing or premarital counseling or choosing what music to play during the prelude to the ceremony, we are beside ourselves with joy abundant.
Thursday, April 5, 2012
Lindsey lately.
I cannot believe it's April. I repeat: I cannot believe it's April.
April is my last month as a grad student.
April is my last month as an intern.
April is my last month as a bachelorette.
My last full month of living with my parents. My last full month of not being a bonafide grown-up.
To me, there's a difference in an adult and a grown-up. I'm a working 24-year-old with at least one degree, so I'm an adult. But I live in my parents' basement on their tab, so I'm not really a grown-up.
So yeah, April's kind of a big deal. And I really don't have a free moment in the entire month.
In order to complete my 600 hours of internship and 100 hours of supervision, I have to work every minute of 7:00-5:30 every day this month. I have to attend class for two hours a week and throw in a couple of assignments after hours.
This weekend: Secret Church on Friday night (SO excited!), family Easter on Saturday morning, and our first party Saturday night. And of course Sunday is Easter-- my favorite holiday of the year. He is Risen!
My wedding dress is supposed to be coming in next week. My daddy's birthday is next Friday.
And the second weekend of April is my bachelorette party in Nashville. I am so ready for a night out on the town with my absolute favorite girls.
The third week of April, I'll be working overtime studying for my certification exam. That's right: on April 21, I will take the final and most important exam of my grad school career. If I don't pass the NCE, it's pretty much all for nothing... at least for a year, when I could take it again. But no certification means no job, so let's keep our fingers crossed for the first go-round.
The next day, I have a shower with the wonderful women of Alex's home church in Tuscumbia. So that's definitely the bright spot of that weekend.
And the last weekend of April concludes my party calendar with a ladies' brunch at a dear friend's.
So there are a lot of emotions tied up in the month of April: excitement, stress, exhaustion, joy, anticipation, and so on. Hopefully I'll make it through with a Master's and a Mrs. by the end of May.
April is my last month as a grad student.
April is my last month as an intern.
April is my last month as a bachelorette.
My last full month of living with my parents. My last full month of not being a bonafide grown-up.
To me, there's a difference in an adult and a grown-up. I'm a working 24-year-old with at least one degree, so I'm an adult. But I live in my parents' basement on their tab, so I'm not really a grown-up.
So yeah, April's kind of a big deal. And I really don't have a free moment in the entire month.
In order to complete my 600 hours of internship and 100 hours of supervision, I have to work every minute of 7:00-5:30 every day this month. I have to attend class for two hours a week and throw in a couple of assignments after hours.
This weekend: Secret Church on Friday night (SO excited!), family Easter on Saturday morning, and our first party Saturday night. And of course Sunday is Easter-- my favorite holiday of the year. He is Risen!
My wedding dress is supposed to be coming in next week. My daddy's birthday is next Friday.
And the second weekend of April is my bachelorette party in Nashville. I am so ready for a night out on the town with my absolute favorite girls.
The third week of April, I'll be working overtime studying for my certification exam. That's right: on April 21, I will take the final and most important exam of my grad school career. If I don't pass the NCE, it's pretty much all for nothing... at least for a year, when I could take it again. But no certification means no job, so let's keep our fingers crossed for the first go-round.
The next day, I have a shower with the wonderful women of Alex's home church in Tuscumbia. So that's definitely the bright spot of that weekend.
And the last weekend of April concludes my party calendar with a ladies' brunch at a dear friend's.
So there are a lot of emotions tied up in the month of April: excitement, stress, exhaustion, joy, anticipation, and so on. Hopefully I'll make it through with a Master's and a Mrs. by the end of May.
Monday, March 26, 2012
Listing Lindsey
I love a good list. So I just sat down and made my list for spring break. I can't even begin to tell you how excited I am to have a full week off to catch up on life.
Tomorrow... I'm picking up a few extra invitations from the printers.
... going to do a little pre-beach shopping at Wal-Mart (I seriously have to mentally prepare for Wal-Mart)
... dropping stuff off at the consignment shop (because today my winter-to-spring wardrobe transition was on my list... and I came up with several consignment worthy goods)
... mailing my wedding invitations!
... getting my nails done with my matron of honor and one of my lovely bridesmaids, Rachel and Erica
... having lunch and shopping with Rachel to prepare for Thursday*
... going to the bank for a little deposit-- I had no idea how inconvenient the bank was until I started working 7:30 am to 5:30 pm. So this is big and much-needed.
... going to class. Unfortunately, it's MY spring break, but UA's spring break has come and gone. So class goes on.
*Thursday, we're going to the beach, and I am SO ready. My mom, aunt, Rachel, and I try to make a yearly pilgrimage to the shore, and it seems we usually go on the brink of a major life event, like when Rachel had just about 6 weeks to go in her first pregnancy. We were on baby watch the WHOLE time, but we had a great time. This time, my wedding is just a few weeks away. So it's only right that we make our yearly trip, and this time Miss Mallory is making her Beach Girls debut! There will be blogs and pictures to come, don't you worry.
Tomorrow... I'm picking up a few extra invitations from the printers.
... going to do a little pre-beach shopping at Wal-Mart (I seriously have to mentally prepare for Wal-Mart)
... dropping stuff off at the consignment shop (because today my winter-to-spring wardrobe transition was on my list... and I came up with several consignment worthy goods)
... mailing my wedding invitations!
... getting my nails done with my matron of honor and one of my lovely bridesmaids, Rachel and Erica
... having lunch and shopping with Rachel to prepare for Thursday*
... going to the bank for a little deposit-- I had no idea how inconvenient the bank was until I started working 7:30 am to 5:30 pm. So this is big and much-needed.
... going to class. Unfortunately, it's MY spring break, but UA's spring break has come and gone. So class goes on.
*Thursday, we're going to the beach, and I am SO ready. My mom, aunt, Rachel, and I try to make a yearly pilgrimage to the shore, and it seems we usually go on the brink of a major life event, like when Rachel had just about 6 weeks to go in her first pregnancy. We were on baby watch the WHOLE time, but we had a great time. This time, my wedding is just a few weeks away. So it's only right that we make our yearly trip, and this time Miss Mallory is making her Beach Girls debut! There will be blogs and pictures to come, don't you worry.
Sunday, March 18, 2012
story time.
As I finish up the last months of my internship, I'm aware that my career will start in full-force any day now. People often ask me, as a counselor, would I rather be in a high school, middle school, or elementary school. Truth be told, there's something to love about each level. When I started the program, my heart was for high schoolers: career planning, scholarship advising, break-up therapy, etc. Small children scared me: they're sticky and they say really strange things, like interrupting your lesson on bullying for breaking news: "I lost my front tooth last night." I was unsure of that I had the patience to work with the wee ones and segue their stories of lost teeth and t-ball victories into meaningful guidance lessons. The further I get into it, though, the more I adore working with children. There is never, ever a dull moment with any child from Kindergarten to fifth grade, and the best part: they are always, ALWAYS delighted to see you. Unlike at the high school where a visit from the counselor is often greeted with a collective moan and looks that scream, "What now??"
The younger the child, the more they love school and learning. Any day of the week, I can walk into a first grade classroom and the kids are tripping over themselves trying to tell me how good they did on their AR test or how fast they can add a worksheet of figures. Not only do they love reading at this age, they especially love being read to. So my forte as a counselor has quickly become reading books. This is a slow, tedious process: read a page, show the illustration in an arc that ensures that all children can see the action. The basic formula for a guidance level at this age is book, short discussion, art activity. The summation of this formula is that I love, love, love what I do.
As I think about my potential career as an elementary school counselor, I can't help but wonder what the students think my role is. At the K-2 level, they rarely grasp the idea of individual therapy, response to intervention, test coordinating, classroom guidance, etc.
I'm reminded of a story about my dad that our preacher has related to me on more than one occasion.
As a teacher, Dad had to put in 25 years before he could retire. Many teachers will long surpass the 25-year minimum; Dad seemed to always see his 25 years more like a jail sentence. Maybe he had more spring in his step on Day 1, but at least by year 20 the days ticked by like years at a time. So for the last three years of his career, Dad rewarded himself for good behavior and took on a role as PE aide for our 3rd-5th grade school. Basically, for three years, he played kickball for a living. But it wasn't all fun and games; there was, of course, some real work involved, like monitoring the hallways and lunch room and doing other duties assigned to the three men on faculty.
Here's another thing about my dad: somewhere along the way, he's become enormously handy. Not just in a change-the-lightbulbs kind of way, but in a Tim the Tool Man kind of way. So just after his glorious retirement, he started doing odd jobs for people around our town, including our preacher.
One day Brother Joel got off the phone with my dad after discussing a project, and told his wife that Dad would be over Monday morning. His son, Carson, who had played kickball alongside my dad at the elementary school, found it odd that Dad would take a day off from the little league to work on a project for Joel. When he asked his Dad why Mr. Tim wouldn't be at school on Monday, Joel explained to Carson that Dad had retired after his 25 years of working.
In all seriousness, Carson chewed on this for a moment and then asked, "So Mr. Tim has been a hall monitor for TWENTY-FIVE YEARS?!"
I think about that story sometimes, as I walk through the halls and high-five second graders or as I color with Kindergarteners or read to first graders. What do they think I'm doing here? And I can just hear them, one day, saying, "You mean to tell me that Miss Lindsey has been coloring for TWENTY FIVE YEARS?!"
And you know... that's not really a bad gig.
The younger the child, the more they love school and learning. Any day of the week, I can walk into a first grade classroom and the kids are tripping over themselves trying to tell me how good they did on their AR test or how fast they can add a worksheet of figures. Not only do they love reading at this age, they especially love being read to. So my forte as a counselor has quickly become reading books. This is a slow, tedious process: read a page, show the illustration in an arc that ensures that all children can see the action. The basic formula for a guidance level at this age is book, short discussion, art activity. The summation of this formula is that I love, love, love what I do.
As I think about my potential career as an elementary school counselor, I can't help but wonder what the students think my role is. At the K-2 level, they rarely grasp the idea of individual therapy, response to intervention, test coordinating, classroom guidance, etc.
I'm reminded of a story about my dad that our preacher has related to me on more than one occasion.
As a teacher, Dad had to put in 25 years before he could retire. Many teachers will long surpass the 25-year minimum; Dad seemed to always see his 25 years more like a jail sentence. Maybe he had more spring in his step on Day 1, but at least by year 20 the days ticked by like years at a time. So for the last three years of his career, Dad rewarded himself for good behavior and took on a role as PE aide for our 3rd-5th grade school. Basically, for three years, he played kickball for a living. But it wasn't all fun and games; there was, of course, some real work involved, like monitoring the hallways and lunch room and doing other duties assigned to the three men on faculty.
Here's another thing about my dad: somewhere along the way, he's become enormously handy. Not just in a change-the-lightbulbs kind of way, but in a Tim the Tool Man kind of way. So just after his glorious retirement, he started doing odd jobs for people around our town, including our preacher.
One day Brother Joel got off the phone with my dad after discussing a project, and told his wife that Dad would be over Monday morning. His son, Carson, who had played kickball alongside my dad at the elementary school, found it odd that Dad would take a day off from the little league to work on a project for Joel. When he asked his Dad why Mr. Tim wouldn't be at school on Monday, Joel explained to Carson that Dad had retired after his 25 years of working.
In all seriousness, Carson chewed on this for a moment and then asked, "So Mr. Tim has been a hall monitor for TWENTY-FIVE YEARS?!"
I think about that story sometimes, as I walk through the halls and high-five second graders or as I color with Kindergarteners or read to first graders. What do they think I'm doing here? And I can just hear them, one day, saying, "You mean to tell me that Miss Lindsey has been coloring for TWENTY FIVE YEARS?!"
And you know... that's not really a bad gig.
the best is yet to come.
This morning, because I'm my mother's daughter, the first thing I did when I woke up was turn on The Bible Network. Now, that sounds crazy because, if you're like me, you associate TBN with that purple-haired woman. You may not know that on Sunday mornings at 8:30 Jeremiah David's sermon is televised; he's not only Scripturally-sound, but his hair is also a very natural shade of grey.
As many preachers do, Dr. Jeremiah likes to provide a laughable anecdote at some point during his sermon, and today the side story hit especially close to home.
One day and older woman came to her preacher to discuss her funeral. Being close to death, she knew there were certain details to plan out. One thing especially: at her funeral, she wanted a fork placed in her hand within her coffin for all to see. The preacher, of course, had to know why.
"As you know, the potluck dinners at church are some of my favorite fellowship times at church. And I always love when the ladies come out of the kitchen towards the end and say, 'Hold onto your forks; the best is yet to come.' At that point, of course, the dessert comes out. And at my funeral, I want all to know that I've held onto my fork because the best is certainly yet to come."
Now y'all know how I love dessert. Oftentimes, I pick what I want for dinner based on what I want for dessert, not IF I want dessert. I've been known to have cookies for breakfast, and I follow nearly every meal with something sweet-- including my cookie breakfast. I got that much from my daddy. And that is why I couldn't help but smile as I put my make-up on listening to Dr. Jeremiah's story of a woman preparing for an eternity of her just desserts, because, like this woman, I have to believe that surely the best is yet to come... and as ready as I am to hurry through my Sunday lunch and get to my Sunday dessert, I'm ever ready for my heavenly home: truly, the best is yet to come.
As many preachers do, Dr. Jeremiah likes to provide a laughable anecdote at some point during his sermon, and today the side story hit especially close to home.
One day and older woman came to her preacher to discuss her funeral. Being close to death, she knew there were certain details to plan out. One thing especially: at her funeral, she wanted a fork placed in her hand within her coffin for all to see. The preacher, of course, had to know why.
"As you know, the potluck dinners at church are some of my favorite fellowship times at church. And I always love when the ladies come out of the kitchen towards the end and say, 'Hold onto your forks; the best is yet to come.' At that point, of course, the dessert comes out. And at my funeral, I want all to know that I've held onto my fork because the best is certainly yet to come."
Now y'all know how I love dessert. Oftentimes, I pick what I want for dinner based on what I want for dessert, not IF I want dessert. I've been known to have cookies for breakfast, and I follow nearly every meal with something sweet-- including my cookie breakfast. I got that much from my daddy. And that is why I couldn't help but smile as I put my make-up on listening to Dr. Jeremiah's story of a woman preparing for an eternity of her just desserts, because, like this woman, I have to believe that surely the best is yet to come... and as ready as I am to hurry through my Sunday lunch and get to my Sunday dessert, I'm ever ready for my heavenly home: truly, the best is yet to come.
Thursday, March 1, 2012
everyone was doing it...
1. What is your favorite time of year? Fall: Auburn football. Scarves. My birthday. Windows down, John Mayer loud. Sweatpants. Changing leaves on country roads.
2. What makes you laugh? My family. My fiance. My kids at school. And crazy people.
3. What was the last movie you saw at the cinema? It's sad that I'm having to think so hard about this... I know that it was an afternoon show because it's cheaper that way... And I was worried that I might miss the previews... Oh my gosh. I really can't remember.
4. What's the one thing you couldn't live without? iPhone. I hate to admit it, but anyone in my life would call me out if I said anything else. But I could stop anytime I wanted to...
5. If you had extra time to do one thing, what would you do? Sleep. All I want in this world is to sleep. No wedding planing, no grad school, no internship, no studying for life-changing tests... just unadulterated, stress-free sleep.
7. If you could go on holiday anywhere tomorrow where would you go? Right now, the only place I want to be is on a beach listening to the crashing waves drown out the world... But in the interest of being more exciting, I would love to visit Lauren's parents in Australia.
8. What inspires you? The kids I work with. Corny, I know. But counseling is a calling, and it's something I grow more passionate about daily... I can promise you it's not the paycheck that's calling my name.
9. What's your guilty pleasure? Reality television. It's trash, and I love it. I'm not even going to try to defend myself. Sookie Stackhouse novels... any book with a magical world, really: Percy Jackson series, Harry Potter, etc. And cream cheese. Good gracious, I could eat an entire block.
10. What's the best advice or wisdom that has been passed down to you? Maybe it's just the field that I'm in, but I've had lots of conversations with lots of very wise people about the importance of making someone feel like their story is important to you, like you're hanging on their every word. Maybe I just saw that in the life of my friend Daniel Helton, but it's something I think about a lot. You should see the way a child lights up when they feel like you care about their story, whether it's about learning to ride a bicycle or what they had for breakfast. Everyone wants to feel important. Taken seriously. Loved.
11. What's your current obsession? Draw Something. The most trivial, mindless Pictionary app on iPhone. I just discovered it this week, and I'm, like, mad if people don't play me back immediately.
12. What is your favorite place you have visited? Stockholm. I love it.
13. If you could name only one favorite band who would it be? Oh, please don't make me do this. Music takes me places. In one mood, I can be a bad's biggest fan. The next day, not care at all. Nickel Creek. Taylor Swift. John Mayer. Avett Brothers. Beach Boys. Elvis. The Beatles. And oh my gosh, show tunes.
14. What's sitting on your nightstand right now? A coffee table book about Audrey Hepburn, a picture of my daddy and me, a picture of Chasley and me, a lamp, nail polish, a couple of candles from the power outage this weekend, a pen, and a ponytail holder.
15. Name one tv show you love and one you can't stand. LOVE Once Upon a Time. CAN'T STAND Jersey Shore. I know I love reality television, but I've seriously never been able to watch a full episode of Jersey Shore. When the Snooki jokes get started, this girl can't even relate.
16. What's the most adventuresome thing you've done on your own? I spent a semester in Italy. I didn't exactly go alone, but I didn't know anyone on the trip either. And in a foreign country, that can feel a lot like alone.
17. If you had the chance to rename yourself what name would you choose and why? Reagan. It was my almost-name, and anyone I've told that to immediately responds with, "Oh my gosh, you look like a Reagan!" You can believe there's a Reagan Ruggles in my future somewhere.
18. What is your dream job? To play Galinda the Good Witch. To own a gift shoppe. To be a florist. Lots of things that don't require a billion years of schooling. In all seriousness, I'd like to be a principal someday... and play Galinda in Wicked and maybe have a gift shoppe too... :)
19. What's your favorite workout? I love a good 5-mile run on the elliptical. When it comes to weights, I stick with Tony and p90x or Jillian and the 30-Day Shred.
20. If you could live anywhere in the world, where would you live? This really has a lot to do with if I could speak any language in the world. If language wasn't a barrier, I really fell in love with the sea-village feel of Chile. And we've already talked about my love for Stockholm, Sweden. Really, I want to be where my family is... or at least close enough for a weekend visit. Charleston, Savannah, Nashville. Somewhere round-about here.
21. What do you picture yourself doing 20 years from now? In 20 years, I'll be 44, which seems close and forever away all at the same time. By then, Reagan Ruggles will have entered the world in one gender or another, and maybe a couple more will follow. Maybe I'll be a principal or a counselor, or maybe I'll be doing the mom-thing. I could really get into being a wife and mommy, I think... and that's a far cry from who I was last year... so who knows what I'll say in 20 years. Maybe I'll be Galinda the Middle-Aged Good Witch in some community theater version of Wicked. 20 years is about the amount of time it'll take for me to work up the courage to walk out on stage. So that sounds about right.
2. What makes you laugh? My family. My fiance. My kids at school. And crazy people.
3. What was the last movie you saw at the cinema? It's sad that I'm having to think so hard about this... I know that it was an afternoon show because it's cheaper that way... And I was worried that I might miss the previews... Oh my gosh. I really can't remember.
4. What's the one thing you couldn't live without? iPhone. I hate to admit it, but anyone in my life would call me out if I said anything else. But I could stop anytime I wanted to...
5. If you had extra time to do one thing, what would you do? Sleep. All I want in this world is to sleep. No wedding planing, no grad school, no internship, no studying for life-changing tests... just unadulterated, stress-free sleep.
7. If you could go on holiday anywhere tomorrow where would you go? Right now, the only place I want to be is on a beach listening to the crashing waves drown out the world... But in the interest of being more exciting, I would love to visit Lauren's parents in Australia.
8. What inspires you? The kids I work with. Corny, I know. But counseling is a calling, and it's something I grow more passionate about daily... I can promise you it's not the paycheck that's calling my name.
9. What's your guilty pleasure? Reality television. It's trash, and I love it. I'm not even going to try to defend myself. Sookie Stackhouse novels... any book with a magical world, really: Percy Jackson series, Harry Potter, etc. And cream cheese. Good gracious, I could eat an entire block.
10. What's the best advice or wisdom that has been passed down to you? Maybe it's just the field that I'm in, but I've had lots of conversations with lots of very wise people about the importance of making someone feel like their story is important to you, like you're hanging on their every word. Maybe I just saw that in the life of my friend Daniel Helton, but it's something I think about a lot. You should see the way a child lights up when they feel like you care about their story, whether it's about learning to ride a bicycle or what they had for breakfast. Everyone wants to feel important. Taken seriously. Loved.
11. What's your current obsession? Draw Something. The most trivial, mindless Pictionary app on iPhone. I just discovered it this week, and I'm, like, mad if people don't play me back immediately.
12. What is your favorite place you have visited? Stockholm. I love it.
13. If you could name only one favorite band who would it be? Oh, please don't make me do this. Music takes me places. In one mood, I can be a bad's biggest fan. The next day, not care at all. Nickel Creek. Taylor Swift. John Mayer. Avett Brothers. Beach Boys. Elvis. The Beatles. And oh my gosh, show tunes.
14. What's sitting on your nightstand right now? A coffee table book about Audrey Hepburn, a picture of my daddy and me, a picture of Chasley and me, a lamp, nail polish, a couple of candles from the power outage this weekend, a pen, and a ponytail holder.
15. Name one tv show you love and one you can't stand. LOVE Once Upon a Time. CAN'T STAND Jersey Shore. I know I love reality television, but I've seriously never been able to watch a full episode of Jersey Shore. When the Snooki jokes get started, this girl can't even relate.
16. What's the most adventuresome thing you've done on your own? I spent a semester in Italy. I didn't exactly go alone, but I didn't know anyone on the trip either. And in a foreign country, that can feel a lot like alone.
17. If you had the chance to rename yourself what name would you choose and why? Reagan. It was my almost-name, and anyone I've told that to immediately responds with, "Oh my gosh, you look like a Reagan!" You can believe there's a Reagan Ruggles in my future somewhere.
18. What is your dream job? To play Galinda the Good Witch. To own a gift shoppe. To be a florist. Lots of things that don't require a billion years of schooling. In all seriousness, I'd like to be a principal someday... and play Galinda in Wicked and maybe have a gift shoppe too... :)
19. What's your favorite workout? I love a good 5-mile run on the elliptical. When it comes to weights, I stick with Tony and p90x or Jillian and the 30-Day Shred.
20. If you could live anywhere in the world, where would you live? This really has a lot to do with if I could speak any language in the world. If language wasn't a barrier, I really fell in love with the sea-village feel of Chile. And we've already talked about my love for Stockholm, Sweden. Really, I want to be where my family is... or at least close enough for a weekend visit. Charleston, Savannah, Nashville. Somewhere round-about here.
21. What do you picture yourself doing 20 years from now? In 20 years, I'll be 44, which seems close and forever away all at the same time. By then, Reagan Ruggles will have entered the world in one gender or another, and maybe a couple more will follow. Maybe I'll be a principal or a counselor, or maybe I'll be doing the mom-thing. I could really get into being a wife and mommy, I think... and that's a far cry from who I was last year... so who knows what I'll say in 20 years. Maybe I'll be Galinda the Middle-Aged Good Witch in some community theater version of Wicked. 20 years is about the amount of time it'll take for me to work up the courage to walk out on stage. So that sounds about right.
Monday, February 27, 2012
television.
Between an graduate internship and planning a wedding, I hardly ever have free time. But when I do, all I really want to do is sit in front of a television and veg out. No thoughts, no planning, no problems.
(Admittedly, my usual go-to stress relief is a good book, but I'm desperately trying to finish a book I cannot for the life of me get into right now... I'm weird about not finishing a book, so I just read about a chapter a week... My plan, though, is to finish by spring break and have a whole slew of GOOD books lined up for that glorious week.)
But I digress...
Dad has built a handy-dandy platform onto our elliptical machine in the basement, so I use my workout time to catch up on a few TV shows. Some are old favorites, but I've added a few to my list this season.
The Biggest Loser-- this is my old standby. And trust me, when I watch it on the elliptical, I'll run for twice as long. If a 400-lb woman can run and take the heat from Bob Harper, I can surely to goodness knock an hour out.
The Voice-- this is playing in the background as I watch it. Now, I'm new to The Voice so I can't vouch for its longevity... however, the Blind Auditions are so exciting that I run faster without even noticing. The format is so much more involved than other American Idol-esque shows. Like I said, though, I'm not sure what really happens after the auditions, so I can't say that I'll continue to love it, but right now, just knowing that it comes on at 7 has me lacing up my running shoes.
Once Upon a Time-- Favorite show of the year. There. I said it. This is probably the one show that I look forward to week-to-week. I'm disappointed when it's not on for something like the Super Bowl or a primary debate. I love anything clever, and this show is so well thought out that it keeps you guessing from beginning to end. I have had a lot of fun guessing what characters are being revealed, from Little Red Riding Hood ("Ruby") to Dr. Hopper (Jimminy Cricket). In fact, I save this special treat for the couch with my daddy instead of the gym.
Grimm-- Similar to "Once Upon a Time," this show takes classic fairy tales and gives them a modern, murderous twist. Grimms are a dying race of people, able to spot the more dangerous of the "make believe" world, and constantly preyed on by-- you guessed it-- Grimm reapers. Action-packed, a little scary, and unexpectedly funny, this show keeps me on my toes and breathless-- well, either the show or the elliptical.
Glee and Grey's Anatomy-- okay, these are no-brainers. I've been a Gleek since the first episode. These days, I don't clear my calendar for a live viewing, but I always catch up on Hulu. Grey's Anatomy has had its ups and downs over the past few seasons, but I'm proud to report that it seems to be back on track for now. Both shows make the hour on the elliptical go by a little more smoothly.
There are lots of shows that I would love to catch up on-- Up All Night, New Girl, etc-- but they're 30 minute shows. This means that on Hulu, they run about 24 minutes. I'm going to be honest: when the show's over, I'm off the machine. So I try not to give myself that option: I stick with the hour-long episodes.
It's a nice motivation to hit the gym; I did a similar thing before where I wouldn't let myself read Harry Potter (for the second time) unless I was in the gym. Works like a charm. It may not be vegging out exactly, but nothing beats the accomplished feeling of getting it done in the gym.
And... here I go! I've got a wedding dress to fit into, folks!
(Admittedly, my usual go-to stress relief is a good book, but I'm desperately trying to finish a book I cannot for the life of me get into right now... I'm weird about not finishing a book, so I just read about a chapter a week... My plan, though, is to finish by spring break and have a whole slew of GOOD books lined up for that glorious week.)
But I digress...
Dad has built a handy-dandy platform onto our elliptical machine in the basement, so I use my workout time to catch up on a few TV shows. Some are old favorites, but I've added a few to my list this season.
The Biggest Loser-- this is my old standby. And trust me, when I watch it on the elliptical, I'll run for twice as long. If a 400-lb woman can run and take the heat from Bob Harper, I can surely to goodness knock an hour out.
The Voice-- this is playing in the background as I watch it. Now, I'm new to The Voice so I can't vouch for its longevity... however, the Blind Auditions are so exciting that I run faster without even noticing. The format is so much more involved than other American Idol-esque shows. Like I said, though, I'm not sure what really happens after the auditions, so I can't say that I'll continue to love it, but right now, just knowing that it comes on at 7 has me lacing up my running shoes.
Once Upon a Time-- Favorite show of the year. There. I said it. This is probably the one show that I look forward to week-to-week. I'm disappointed when it's not on for something like the Super Bowl or a primary debate. I love anything clever, and this show is so well thought out that it keeps you guessing from beginning to end. I have had a lot of fun guessing what characters are being revealed, from Little Red Riding Hood ("Ruby") to Dr. Hopper (Jimminy Cricket). In fact, I save this special treat for the couch with my daddy instead of the gym.
Grimm-- Similar to "Once Upon a Time," this show takes classic fairy tales and gives them a modern, murderous twist. Grimms are a dying race of people, able to spot the more dangerous of the "make believe" world, and constantly preyed on by-- you guessed it-- Grimm reapers. Action-packed, a little scary, and unexpectedly funny, this show keeps me on my toes and breathless-- well, either the show or the elliptical.
Glee and Grey's Anatomy-- okay, these are no-brainers. I've been a Gleek since the first episode. These days, I don't clear my calendar for a live viewing, but I always catch up on Hulu. Grey's Anatomy has had its ups and downs over the past few seasons, but I'm proud to report that it seems to be back on track for now. Both shows make the hour on the elliptical go by a little more smoothly.
There are lots of shows that I would love to catch up on-- Up All Night, New Girl, etc-- but they're 30 minute shows. This means that on Hulu, they run about 24 minutes. I'm going to be honest: when the show's over, I'm off the machine. So I try not to give myself that option: I stick with the hour-long episodes.
It's a nice motivation to hit the gym; I did a similar thing before where I wouldn't let myself read Harry Potter (for the second time) unless I was in the gym. Works like a charm. It may not be vegging out exactly, but nothing beats the accomplished feeling of getting it done in the gym.
And... here I go! I've got a wedding dress to fit into, folks!
Tuesday, February 21, 2012
Weekend Update.
After work on Friday, I drove to Birmingham to see my betrothed. We had a delightful dinner at Roly Poly, and I was in bed and asleep by 10. Nothing exciting (or unusual) to report there.
Saturday morning, though, was kind of one of those milestone days. After breakfast, Alex and I went and looked at wedding bands. Now, the first obstacle was dealing with a salesperson who, though charming enough, was clearly battling a hangover. Obstacle number two: why is every ring out there so stinkin' shiny and beautiful?
"Do you like this one?" they would ask me.
"Am I breathing?" I would respond.
With some prodding and lots of trying on, we finally narrowed it down to one breathtaking band that suits my engagement ring just perfectly, took Hungover's card, and headed on our merry way.
Then the studying began. My comps were yesterday afternoon, so by Saturday I was in a near tizzy. I had done some studying over the week, but as the event grew closer, my inadequacy grew more apparent. I don't know how long I studied, except that it was for the duration of the Alabama basketball game.
(I don't care to study in silence, and as it turns out, Bama basketball is the perfect background noise. It is not distracting in the least, as it is a team and sport I care so little about, and it's just enough chatter to keep my head from imploding into a mess of theories, stages of therapeutic change, central tendencies, and everything else I've learned since January 2009.)
After a few hours of frustration and cramming, our friends Joseph and Abby came over to cook dinner with us-- homemade fajitas, guacamole, and a peanut butter trifle-- followed by a few rounds of Mario Party and a movie called 30 Seconds or Less... or maybe it was 30 Minutes or Less.
Either way, I felt sure I would be falling asleep in 30 Minutes or Less once the lights when out and the movie came on, but instead my phone was overwhelmed by a bajillion (that's a rough estimate) text messages. My own little Guntersville crew was out and about in downtown Birmingham, and my presence was requested. Nay, demanded.
So out we went, and I got to see some of my very favorite faces.
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| Like my bestie/bridesmaid, Alice. |
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| And my very dear, good friend, Morgan |
Sunday, I studied. I wish there was more to that story, but unfortunately that's about it... from lunch until 4, I studied. And studied. And studied.
But then... there is more!
I had the enormous pleasure of introducing my dad to what is possibly the greatest Broadway show to hit the stage in decades. It was my third time, and even still, WICKED just gets better and better. I'll have to have him write a review for you.
We went to Jim and Nick's for dinner first, then settled in for a theatrical experience unparalleled by any show currently in production-- in my humble opinion.
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| You'll have to pardon the blur; I was frenzied with excitement. |
Monday morning, Laura and I headed to Tuscaloosa. I wish I had had a funeral march to play on my iPod as we drove onto campus; that's certainly what was playing in our minds. The exam started at 1:00 and ended at 4:30. My usual test-taking strategy is, "You either know it, or you don't." I don't linger over questions, I just go with my gut. But for the first time in my test-taking career-- a rather lengthy one-- I sat. Stared. Meditated. Prayed. Considered. Erased. Reconsidered. Changed. Tried not to throw up.
But by the end of the day, the results were in...
PASSED.
Hallelujah, hallelujah.
The implication of this is that I'll have a Master's degree regardless. My certification test is in April, and that will determine whether or not I can legally be a school counselor. Either way, I will require that I be called "Master Hays."
I'm kidding! Sort of...
I'll cross the certification bridge, hopefully, when I get to it, but for now... I'm celebrating this.
I tried to celebrate last night with dinner with my future in-laws and future hubby, but I was really still too wound up to enjoy my food-- although the company was lovely. In fact, I was too wound up to even sleep last night, so I'm running on Coke Zero for now. But the celebration continues with a sushi date with Chas in just a few minutes...
Celebrate we must, for life is short but sweet for certain.
Monday, February 13, 2012
Blessings Abound
Sometimes I just can't help but be overwhelmed by how inconceivably, immeasurably blessed I am. In fact, I have a sneaking suspicion that I may have written this blog before.
For one, I love my job-- even though it's not a "job." Sure, I'm just an intern, but I am absolutely, 100% positive this is what I want to do. High school, elementary school, middle school-- you name it, I want to be there. I'm obsessed with the fellowship that grows within the walls of the guidance office. It's not always sunshine and rainbows, but it is always, always noteworthy.
And then my family. Holy smokes, my family. Let me be the first to tell you that not one but TWO of my uncles were ordained as deacons last night. I don't even know where to start, but I could not be more proud of these men-- humble, quiet leaders, fiercely loyal, and, most of all, God-fearing. At every family gathering, my precious granddaddy leads the family in prayer-- not a quick, God-is-good-lets-eat prayer, but sincere, reverent prayer to a Father God. I'm thrilled to death to see my uncles and dad pick up that legacy, and I pray that it will continue from the oldest grandson all the way to tiny, three-week-old Ben. Praises to Him!
With all that said, I have to admit that I was unable to attend my uncles' ordination. But that leads me to my next blessing. Every Sunday night, I have the distinct honor of leading a handful of middle school girls in Bible study. When I started this study, I will confess that I was Lindsey-focused. Boy was I going to go in there and show them how good Lindsey is at being a Christian, how awesome being a woman of God is. Typical Lindsey-style, look at me! look at me! Very quickly, the Lord used this opportunity to pour into me. Week after week, I am blessed abundantly by the fellowship with these girls. True women of God, seeking Him with a determination that I had never felt as an 8th grader. They discuss, they participate, they challenge... and they teach. Me. These girls are such sunshine in my life: always there with a hug, a smile, and an encouragement I didn't know I needed.
I don't know where to start with my friends. As our wedding comes together, Alex and I are both overwhelmed by the love we've felt from our friends. Every member of our wedding party is a cherished part of our life, and I am SO excited about having all my best girls with me as I get ready for the biggest day of my life. My darling niece, my sister-cousin, my bestest, my Mini, my hetero life partner, my soul twin, and so many others... And at the end of the day, the love of my life. Too excited. Too. Stinking. Excited.
And speaking of that whole love-of-my-life business, a most excellent perk of getting married is getting married to a family. In all the desperate prayers of a single twenty-something, I could not have dreamed up a more perfect family to join. As Alex says, they're a "family that actually genuinely likes each other." You might be surprised how uncommon that is these days. When your own family is so fabulous, you kind of expect some kind of glitch in the system-- after all, movies and television train us to dread the in-laws. Those people didn't have a family blindly support them when they decided to get married after just six months, I guess. And you know what... I think they might even like me.
So today, I've had a good day. Coming off a fantastic weekend, I had a great day in the classroom with ninth graders then a good workout to the tune of my new favorite show The Voice... and now I'm winding down and feeling a little bit sappy... But mostly just blessed.
For one, I love my job-- even though it's not a "job." Sure, I'm just an intern, but I am absolutely, 100% positive this is what I want to do. High school, elementary school, middle school-- you name it, I want to be there. I'm obsessed with the fellowship that grows within the walls of the guidance office. It's not always sunshine and rainbows, but it is always, always noteworthy.
And then my family. Holy smokes, my family. Let me be the first to tell you that not one but TWO of my uncles were ordained as deacons last night. I don't even know where to start, but I could not be more proud of these men-- humble, quiet leaders, fiercely loyal, and, most of all, God-fearing. At every family gathering, my precious granddaddy leads the family in prayer-- not a quick, God-is-good-lets-eat prayer, but sincere, reverent prayer to a Father God. I'm thrilled to death to see my uncles and dad pick up that legacy, and I pray that it will continue from the oldest grandson all the way to tiny, three-week-old Ben. Praises to Him!
With all that said, I have to admit that I was unable to attend my uncles' ordination. But that leads me to my next blessing. Every Sunday night, I have the distinct honor of leading a handful of middle school girls in Bible study. When I started this study, I will confess that I was Lindsey-focused. Boy was I going to go in there and show them how good Lindsey is at being a Christian, how awesome being a woman of God is. Typical Lindsey-style, look at me! look at me! Very quickly, the Lord used this opportunity to pour into me. Week after week, I am blessed abundantly by the fellowship with these girls. True women of God, seeking Him with a determination that I had never felt as an 8th grader. They discuss, they participate, they challenge... and they teach. Me. These girls are such sunshine in my life: always there with a hug, a smile, and an encouragement I didn't know I needed.
I don't know where to start with my friends. As our wedding comes together, Alex and I are both overwhelmed by the love we've felt from our friends. Every member of our wedding party is a cherished part of our life, and I am SO excited about having all my best girls with me as I get ready for the biggest day of my life. My darling niece, my sister-cousin, my bestest, my Mini, my hetero life partner, my soul twin, and so many others... And at the end of the day, the love of my life. Too excited. Too. Stinking. Excited.
And speaking of that whole love-of-my-life business, a most excellent perk of getting married is getting married to a family. In all the desperate prayers of a single twenty-something, I could not have dreamed up a more perfect family to join. As Alex says, they're a "family that actually genuinely likes each other." You might be surprised how uncommon that is these days. When your own family is so fabulous, you kind of expect some kind of glitch in the system-- after all, movies and television train us to dread the in-laws. Those people didn't have a family blindly support them when they decided to get married after just six months, I guess. And you know what... I think they might even like me.
So today, I've had a good day. Coming off a fantastic weekend, I had a great day in the classroom with ninth graders then a good workout to the tune of my new favorite show The Voice... and now I'm winding down and feeling a little bit sappy... But mostly just blessed.
Thursday, February 9, 2012
you have to start somewhere.
You have to start somewhere... and today, I started at the bottom. The bottom of the stairs, that is.
As I polished off my getting-ready routine this morning, I loaded down both arms with jacket, purse, and tote, and rushed up the stairs for a quick breakfast before heading to school. Only when I got to the top of the stairs, the door knob didn't budge. I turned and shook and pulled and shoved to no avail.
My dad locked me in the basement.
Kind of like the scene in Cinderella when the stepmother locks her in the attic, except below ground.
Now his intentions were not evil like the stepmother, obviously. In fact, I don't know what his intentions were. I can only assume he had no intentions, just mindless morning bumbling.
My heart started pounding and I broke out into a sweat as I realized my keys were upstairs in the kitchen, meaning that even if I escaped my prison via the basement doors, I wouldn't be able to get back into the upstairs to get my keys, breakfast, lunchbox, etc.
If you've ever tried to wrestle me or playfully pin me down, you know how I panic when I feel trapped. At this point I was fit to be tied. I called Mom, was infuriated by the humor she found in the situation. Called Dad, was infuriated by his, "Ohhh yeah, I might have done that..." response to my irate, "DID YOU LOCK ME IN THE BASEMENT?!"
When at last I got to school, I was convinced that my day was on a downward spiral. But I was pleasantly surprised.
First thing, I got to go to the First Grade Program. This year there theme was Love Songs, a la the "all-your-favorite-love-song-collections" infomercials.
The collection includes...
The program also included "L-O-V-E," "Stop in the Name of Love," and several other classics... and lots and lots of cuteness.
As I polished off my getting-ready routine this morning, I loaded down both arms with jacket, purse, and tote, and rushed up the stairs for a quick breakfast before heading to school. Only when I got to the top of the stairs, the door knob didn't budge. I turned and shook and pulled and shoved to no avail.
My dad locked me in the basement.
Kind of like the scene in Cinderella when the stepmother locks her in the attic, except below ground.
Now his intentions were not evil like the stepmother, obviously. In fact, I don't know what his intentions were. I can only assume he had no intentions, just mindless morning bumbling.
My heart started pounding and I broke out into a sweat as I realized my keys were upstairs in the kitchen, meaning that even if I escaped my prison via the basement doors, I wouldn't be able to get back into the upstairs to get my keys, breakfast, lunchbox, etc.
If you've ever tried to wrestle me or playfully pin me down, you know how I panic when I feel trapped. At this point I was fit to be tied. I called Mom, was infuriated by the humor she found in the situation. Called Dad, was infuriated by his, "Ohhh yeah, I might have done that..." response to my irate, "DID YOU LOCK ME IN THE BASEMENT?!"
When at last I got to school, I was convinced that my day was on a downward spiral. But I was pleasantly surprised.
First thing, I got to go to the First Grade Program. This year there theme was Love Songs, a la the "all-your-favorite-love-song-collections" infomercials.
The collection includes...
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| The Beatles' hit "Can't Buy Me Love" |
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| Teen sensation Justin Bieber's "Baby" |
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| And a special guest appearance by none other than Ludacris |
With this and a very special delivery... GIRL SCOUT COOKIES... my day got increasingly better. I guess that's bound to happen when you start your day off locked in the basement... you can only go up from there.
Monday, February 6, 2012
whip lash.
My internship schedule is simple, in theory: Monday and Tuesday, I work with ninth and tenth graders at the high school. Wednesday, I start off with high school and go to the elementary school at lunch. For the remainder of the week, I'm the elementary school counselor's intern.
It's a nice, routine way of doing things. Same thing every week. Pretty much exactly what I've wanted for years now.
Except.
(and isn't there always an 'except' when we get what we want?)
Except that the difference between high school and elementary school is astronomical. My head spins for the entire afternoon on Wednesdays as I acclimate to my new surroundings, looking down at students and not up.
The height difference is the least of my concerns, though.
This past week my high school made the news at gun threats ran rampant (and mainly rumor-fueled) on social media forums. We had several fights on Monday, most driven by racial tension, and it all peaked with a few threats on Facebook and Twitter that were then blown way, way out of proportion. Even so, proper safety precautions were taken. So on Wednesday, I left a school swarming with police-- teenagers checking out every minute, supposedly because they were scared but more likely because their friend checked out-- and arrived at a school where I played Candy Land for an hour and a half and taught a lesson on playing fair and being a good sport.
Now it's not always this dramatic. Most weeks it's just a leap from scholarships and career counseling to stranger danger and not breaking in line. It's using a completely different vocabulary for the first half of the week than the last. It's remembering things like, "First graders won't understand this reference to Katie Couric." (She penned a children's book I read to the second grade last month, and my first comment was, "How many of you know who Katie Couric is?" Cricket... cricket...)
But then again, high schoolers didn't get my reference to Gossip Girl. I can only be so hip, I guess.
At the elementary school, I only have to tell the first graders that "I want to see all my good leaders," and they immediately close their mouths, face the front, and give me their undivided attention... desperate for my approval and the coveted label of "Super Leader" (that even comes with a cape). These tactics don't work with high schoolers. For that matter, nothing really works on high schoolers.
So I'm living in parallel universes and considering seeing a chiropractor for the whip lash.
Sunday, January 29, 2012
On Daniel Helton.
When you've got a ticket to Paradise, you don't dig your heels in and fight to stay put. You just say, "Just tell me when." And that's the way Daniel Helton lived his life: as though his ticket was bought and paid for, purchased by the blood of Christ.
Carefree and one of the kindest men I've ever known, the only thing Daniel worried about was whether or not everyone else was having a great time. He was always the first one to wander up to the new person in the crowd and make sure they felt welcome; at least, that's how I met Daniel Helton.
Freshman year of college is tumultuous in a lot of ways, not the least of which is finding your new niche of people. I met Daniel when mutual friends brought me to his birthday party just before Christmas break Freshman year. From that night on, Daniel's presence colored my college career. Back home over Christmas break, we took turns gathering in my parents' basement or his parents' living room. There was always a guitar involved, and there was always, always lots of laughter.
He was the kind of person that would rather talk about you than himself. He'd reference things from your last conversation that you wouldn't even remember telling him. He'd call you just because. He'd get so lost in a song on his guitar that he wouldn't hear the room around him. He'd make fun of himself, or high five you if you got to it first. He downplayed his own illness so much that we were all shocked when he went Home this weekend-- he'd rather we not worry about him, so he didn't really mention it.
As I looked through pictures of Daniel yesterday, the word that came to mind over and over again was 'alive.' Every photo captured Daniel in a moment of joy: always ready with a laugh and a pose.
And so, as hundreds of people from Nashville to Auburn, and beyond, mourn Daniel, I try to focus on Daniel's smile, his quick wit, and his warm nature. He was always ready for an adventure, and I picture him on his greatest adventure of all: exploring Heaven with the other saints, finding answers to life's mysteries (subject of many a late night talk in the basement). And most of all, worshipping. Worshipping at the feet of the Creator he so loved to serve.
Cheers to Daniel, for the life that taught us all so much, that helped each of us along the way somewhere, that spread joy no matter what.
Game nights. Panini Thursdays. Lunch on the quad. Auburn game days. Any instrument with strings. Hats. Ginger jokes. Deep conversation. Adventures. Rolling tumors when he finished chemo the first time. No such thing as a bad mood. Athlete, scholar, friend, musician. Midas touch. Hanging on your every word. Asking the hard questions, just for the sake of conversation. Always up for a challenge. Fiercely loyal. Kind.
We'll all remember different things about Daniel in the coming days and weeks; we'll all relive our favorite memories with our favorite ginger. These are the things I'll remember.
Carefree and one of the kindest men I've ever known, the only thing Daniel worried about was whether or not everyone else was having a great time. He was always the first one to wander up to the new person in the crowd and make sure they felt welcome; at least, that's how I met Daniel Helton.
Freshman year of college is tumultuous in a lot of ways, not the least of which is finding your new niche of people. I met Daniel when mutual friends brought me to his birthday party just before Christmas break Freshman year. From that night on, Daniel's presence colored my college career. Back home over Christmas break, we took turns gathering in my parents' basement or his parents' living room. There was always a guitar involved, and there was always, always lots of laughter.
He was the kind of person that would rather talk about you than himself. He'd reference things from your last conversation that you wouldn't even remember telling him. He'd call you just because. He'd get so lost in a song on his guitar that he wouldn't hear the room around him. He'd make fun of himself, or high five you if you got to it first. He downplayed his own illness so much that we were all shocked when he went Home this weekend-- he'd rather we not worry about him, so he didn't really mention it.
As I looked through pictures of Daniel yesterday, the word that came to mind over and over again was 'alive.' Every photo captured Daniel in a moment of joy: always ready with a laugh and a pose.
And so, as hundreds of people from Nashville to Auburn, and beyond, mourn Daniel, I try to focus on Daniel's smile, his quick wit, and his warm nature. He was always ready for an adventure, and I picture him on his greatest adventure of all: exploring Heaven with the other saints, finding answers to life's mysteries (subject of many a late night talk in the basement). And most of all, worshipping. Worshipping at the feet of the Creator he so loved to serve.
Cheers to Daniel, for the life that taught us all so much, that helped each of us along the way somewhere, that spread joy no matter what.
Game nights. Panini Thursdays. Lunch on the quad. Auburn game days. Any instrument with strings. Hats. Ginger jokes. Deep conversation. Adventures. Rolling tumors when he finished chemo the first time. No such thing as a bad mood. Athlete, scholar, friend, musician. Midas touch. Hanging on your every word. Asking the hard questions, just for the sake of conversation. Always up for a challenge. Fiercely loyal. Kind.
We'll all remember different things about Daniel in the coming days and weeks; we'll all relive our favorite memories with our favorite ginger. These are the things I'll remember.
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| Stealing my camera. |
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| Another night in the basement. |
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| Dinner at Loco's |
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| Considering a brown wig during chemo. |
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| Road trip to ATL |
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| Rain soaked and still War Eagling. |
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| Game night and Breakfeast. |
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| Rolling Toomer's Corner after finishing the last round of chemo. |
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| Posh and Beckham at the annual Halloween party. |
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| Summer nights at the lake house. |
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| Dancing machine. |
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| Always ready for a photo shoot. |
I'm so glad you've found healing and peace, Daniel. Really, I'm jealous that you're walking streets of gold while we trod through this barren land. Can't wait to see you again.
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