Maybe she's born with it...

I've never worn makeup. It's something I really like about myself, but sometimes is confusing and surprising to others. Let me explain. Ages 0-13, I was too young. Ages 14-16, I had no interest. Ages 17-present, I developed actual reasons to go bare-faced.

You've heard Proverbs 31:30,  Song of Solomon 4:7, and Isaiah 43:4. Each of these declares the immeasurable beauty and value in each of us. I've spent enough time (as a camp counselor & math tutor) with insecure 6th grade girls to know that many of us find these verses hard to believe. It's hard to believe because our culture has bombarded us with only one image of beauty. And literally not a single person on this planet is naturally fully qualified to fulfill the checklist of "American femininity."

I wholeheartedly believe that God sculpted me the way I am. He placed every pigment on my face, planted each hair on my brow, and painted every color on my irises. He is proud of this creation. He made no mistakes. This is not a remark on how special I am, but instead a remark on how powerfully detailed our God is. It is my job to respect this temple He's given me. It's my job to keep my lips unchapped and my hair clean. It is not my job to cover up what He's created. To be in awe of His work is to worship Him. 

Who am I to tell God that instead of looking like His creation, I'd rather look like the photoshopped pictures in magazines?

Because I fear God, I'm called to be counter-cultural. "Don't copy the behavior and customs of this world, but let God transform you into a new person by changing the way you think. Then you will learn to know God's will for you, which is good and pleasing and perfect." Romans 12:2. I will not copy what is "supposed" to be more attractive. Instead, I strive to value the way God created me to look. Covering up my face would be disguising what the Lord created as beauty. God's will for me is to look the way I look. I will be content and I will be confident.

Since I so fervently oppose makeup, I banned it amongst my campers. (It's only a six-day camp, so they can survive my one strict rule.) To the ones who opposed, I recited over and over: "Do not let your adorning be external—the braiding of hair and the putting on of gold jewelry, or the clothing you wear— but let your adorning be the hidden person of the heart with the imperishable beauty of a gentle and quiet spirit, which in God's sight is very precious." 1 Peter 3:3-4. For each girl who threw a tantrum, there were three others who were relieved by the rule. My girls didn't have to compare themselves, didn't try to impress the boys with their eyeliner, and by the end of the week they didn't worry about not wearing makeup.  For at least six days, they were forced to see themselves in the mirror- what they were born to look like- and by day six, they were usually pretty happy with it.

The moment a woman puts on makeup, plucks her eyebrows, dyes her hair, etc., her appearance is then her own doing. If she receives praise, it adds to her own vanity. But a woman who goes "au naturale" knows that her appearance is not her own to toy with. Her natural appearance is a gift to be respected.

Semester's End

I'm not going to start off this post like, "Sorry guys, I haven't updated in a while!" Because I'm going to assume you are not anxiously waiting my your computer hoping to read a new post.

Anyway, here are cool things that have happened recently:

The Civil Wars came to Agnes Scott! I know- I find it hard to believe, too. Seriously, The Civil Wars, nominated for two Grammys, playing on the same stage I've suffered through midnight rehearsal and earned my place in the Black Ring Mafia.  

Joy Williams and John Paul White in real life.

The opener, Milo Greene, was pretty alright. I mean pretty good.

When Joy played piano, the entire auditorium went crazy.

They're just the best.

These are the friends I went with. We had to fight to get five consecutive seats. Fans were getting fierce, at least by Agnes standards.

Yeah, cool. So in the next two day I finished three finals and moved out of my dorm room. I repeat: the next two days I finished three finals and moved out of my dorm room.

It looks so sad and lonely.

I went back home where I've had nothing to do. Feels like I'm in middle school again. Until Thursday, I headed down to Buckhead for Drew Holcomb and the Neighbor's Christmas show! They're so fantastic. And Andrew Ripp played as well. So. Fantastic.

Andrew Ripp, the finest voice in all the land.

Drew Holcomb & the Neighbors, perfect as can be.

Special guest, native Atlantan Micah Dalton.

All together, loving life.

That's a Wrap

It's the end of the semester. I'm almost done with schoolwork. (Only 15 more pages of sociology to write and 6 more geometry proofs!)

Perhaps this explains my lack of recent posts. Perhaps not. Here are photos of the most recent fun thing.

Bible study friendies!

Getting ready for White Elephant gift swap.

Smiles all around.

Hello, Kitty.

Gingerbread house contest!

Team "Christmas Cottage."

Still in the process of building "Kirb Appeal."

Three beautiful gingerbread houses.

Team "Kirb Appeal." First place winners!

December around Agnes Scott is the most stressful and the most fun.

Awkward

This photo is an awkward gem.

Norton Juster, author of The Phantom Tollbooth.

Awkward Photo Saturday

These are my best friends:

We don't get to see each other too often because we all go to different colleges and live in different cities. But when we all come together, it's a party. Thanksgiving break shenanigans:

Giving Thanks

Give thanks to the LORD, for he is good! His faithful love endures forever. Psalm 107:1

What does it mean to really give thanks? I've been questioning my own thankfulness for quite some time, and today seems like the most appropriate day to share my thoughts.

Sure, before I eat or drink anything, I'll thank the Lord for it. But is a four-second pause really giving genuine thanks? And sure, I say "thank you" to anyone and everyone who so much as holds the door for me. But is a polite habit really sufficient? I'll be the first to admit at times it's hardly heartfelt.

How many times throughout the day do we say "thanks" aloud? For me, probably about thirty times. How many times throughout the day do we truly feel grateful? For me, probably once or twice. Maybe. My dad pours me a glass of water, my roommate brings me my forgotten key, my friend helps me with homework, my professor blesses me after a sneeze, the smiley lady scans my meal card in the dining hall.  All these actions are thoughtful, but I've but little thought into my thanks.

As for the "big things," like a healthy family, some promising opportunities, a mathematical intuition, plentiful sanitary water, salvation... I have God to thank. My quick prayers never seem enough. Even when I make an extra effort to not be half-hearted, I realize I'm probably still actually half-hearted. It feels like when you suddenly become aware of your own breathing.  He is the great Provider, the I AM, and all I can do is habitually let the words "Thanks Jesus, you're a pal," pass through my head. How can anyone really be sure that their words and their heart are really connected? How can I know if I'm really thankful, or if it's all a self-preserving act, all in my head?

Actions.

Giving thanks, I'm sure, is really giving of yourself. Giving time, giving resources, giving pride. I don't need all that I have. Saying "Thank you, Jesus," can only really be heartfelt if the connected thought is, "I am so glad I've been blessed with this. I'll go share it with my neighbor."

So go. Be thankful for your family and invite someone into your home. Be thankful for your education and donate some school supplies.  Be thankful for clean water and help build a foundation in Africa. Be thankful for the cafeteria lady and ask her about her day.

Happy Thanksgiving.

Naturally Awkward

Happy Awkward Photo Saturday.

Do you smile for pictures without showing your teeth? Well, I've got some news for you:
You're not actually smiling. You're contorting your face into an unnatural position, and it's awkward. 

Got no teeth.

Beverly Saves the Day

Exactly one year ago, I bought a guitar. At first I named her Phoebe. Way too trendy. Next, her name was Anita, but that was taken advantage of by too many terrible puns. I thought I settled on Beverly, but after spending some quality time together, it was clear that her epic personality could not be contained in merely one word. She deserves a full sentence. Her name is Beverly Saves the Day.

For short, you can still just call her Beverly.

November 13, 2010. Storytime:

I felt like such a grown up. Having saved up a few paychecks and done some research, I dragged my friend Steven into Guitar Center with me. Well, he drove, so it couldn't have been entirely against his will. I'd never been in a music store larger than the local Ken Stanton or Music Matters shops in Roswell. Guitar Center was entirely too overwhelming. Elementary school children banging on drum sets, middle aged men plugging into enormous amps, and ponytailed employees ignoring me. It was seriously out of a movie.
We went into the back room with walls lined with acoustic guitars. I mean, it was awesome. At least 200 different guitars are out. We spent over an hour searching and comparing, but we finally found Beverly. One of the ponytail men put new strings on her, stuck her in a case, and swiped my credit card. We were on out merry way.
I entirely expected to have that gross feeling in my stomach of "there's no way I just did that," (the same feeling I got after committing to my college, after accidentally insulting someone, after buying my camera, or after eating an entire box of Oreos), but I did not feel like I had a troll inside my stomach. No doubt or regret at all.

Spring Semester 2011. Storytime:

I could play about six chords. With a capo, that means I could play along with nearly any song I so desired. I thought I was an expert. Didn't really need to learn anything else. (I was wrong.)

Beverly and I played together every day, usually at least 45 minutes. The kind souls in the neighboring dorm rooms had headaches nearly every day, usually at least 45 minutes. I have detested practicing all other instruments I've attempted to learn (except marimba was pretty okay), but I really couldn't get enough of guitar. Maybe it's just a way to procrastinate studying while still feeling productive.

Summer 2011. Storytime:

Nobody at camp realized I could play guitar. Maybe I just did a pretty good job of hiding it for the first few weeks. Beverly was stored under my bed, and she rarely left the cabin. My friend Joe wanted to play a song on the porch, but his guitar was across campus, so I let him borrow Beverly.
Two weeks later, I told him I wanted to lead chapel one night.
He was like, "Okay, so what are you speaking about? What songs should I play?"
And I was like, "Well I thought I could lead worship."
And he was like, "Wait, you play guitar?"
And I was like, "You borrowed my guitar two weeks ago."
And he was like, "I thought that was just for decoration."

Fall Semester 2011. Storytime:

I'm currently taking Classical Guitar I as an elective class. Classical Guitar is awesome. Ever since I began, I thought that reading tabs seemed like a cop-out to actually learning music. So now that I can read music off a staff, my knowledge of guitar is growing exponentially. It's seriously the best.

Typical Awkward

Awkward Photo Saturday at its finest:

Left to our own devices.

I am almost 100% serious.

Halloween is the Anti-Christmas. That statement can be interpreted two ways:  

1. Christmas is the celebration of the coming of Christ while Halloween is the celebration of all things devilish, even the antichrist.
2. Christmas is the best day ever, and on a scale of one-to-Christmas, (Christmas being infinity) Halloween consistently scores a negative-Christmas. (And you know, negative infinity is really not a lot.)

This blog post will solely address the second statement. I mean, I can see where the first statement is coming from, but whatever. Like, whatever.

***

Halloween is one night every year that children are encouraged to go door to door begging for candy. Gluttony is literally forced upon kids.  Children who are afraid to wear costumes (that was me) are forced to dress up as butterflies (me, again). Children who love to dress up are forced into an unspoken competition which is generally won by the kid whose parents spend the most money on his costume. For an entire month, all the kiddie TV shows and classroom activities are themed with ghosts and skeletons and zombies. None of these things are worth celebrating. None of these things are worth fixing your mind upon.

When I was in 3rd, 4th, and 5th grades, my mother decided she didn't care for Halloween. My brother and sister and I were forbidden to go trick-or-treating. (You read it, the f-word: forbidden!) We stayed home and passed out candy to the other kids. We kept tally marks of the most common costumes and we became increasingly jealous with every Batman at our door.

I am certain at this point in my life I slung around some terrible words, like "You're the worst mom ever!" and "People who hate Halloween shouldn't be allowed to have children!" 

I would like to retract both of those statements. 

***

In middle grades and high school, Halloween became more about trying to swindle as much free candy as possible, pretending to believe ghost stories, and venturing off to haunted houses. I am not a fan of getting sick to my stomach, wetting my pants, or wetting my pants.  No one is. Not one ounce of anything good comes out of Halloween night for teenagers. I suppose this is also the age when people can begin to be categorized as "hooligans," who smash pumpkins and play ding-dong-ditch, etc. Pumpkins should not be smashed and door bells should not be ditched. 

In tenth grade, I was friends with two German exchange students. We obviously had to go trick-or-treating together so they could see what the big fuss is about. Most of us in the group dressed up like silly things: a piñata, hippie, prom queen, disco ball... but the two German exchange students dressed up like terrifyingly spooky witches. We went door-to-door in the most affluent neighborhood because they would give the best candy. (Seriously? Who was I?) Every time a family answered their door, the two witches would yell with thick accents, "Trick or treat from Germany!" 

No one believed that they were actually from Germany.

***

Now as a college student, I find Halloween is pretty different. It's avoidable (yesss) but all the same disheartening. In stores, almost every single adult-sized costume for women is suggestive and revealing. Women who would otherwise wear more clothing are allowing the objectification of their bodies for just one night. 

Why? What is so special about Halloween that we're "allowed" to do this? Nothing. Nothing is special about Halloween. It's just an excuse. I suppose if you're really looking for an excuse, you don't need much of one. I am not saying that girls who wear little clothing on Halloween are trash. I am not saying that at all. I am merely wishing they would reevaluate their wardrobe choice and hold to the standards that they set for themselves 364 other nights of the year.  

I really don't mean to be so grouchy about it all. This year I tried to acknowledge the presence of Halloween. Paige and I placed two little pumpkins above our doorway.   But they rotted an entire week before Halloween.

Awkward Harnesses

Today, Emily and I spent consecutive five hours with helmets on our heads. Maybe they were a little too tight.

After correcting about 200 harnesses and helmets, we needed an outlet.

Also, Emily taught me how to whistle using an acorn. 

Ain't no party like a cookie baking party!

...because a cookie baking party has mountains of cookie dough! 

 My small group is the best. A once or twice each semester we have traditional cookie baking marathon. This time, we baked ONE MILLION(x10^-4) cookies! Dark chocolate chip, oatmeal butterscotch, and chocolate with vanilla chips. Are you drooling yet?

Hard at work, or something like that.

Making a mess and getting judged for it.

Friendz 4evur.

This junk is ridiculous. Thank you Pinterest and thank you Whitni.

Maybe this photoset isn't actually funny. But I can't stop laughing at it.

The night included many SNL references to we finally sat down and watched some old sketches together while the cookies cooled.

The whole gang— not quite ready for the picture, but looking good anyway.

You are correct; these do look outrageously delicious.

We looked at the hundred-or-so cookies we baked and realized we could not and should not eat them all. So we brought them as an encouraging treat to the night shift nurses at a nearby hospital, where our Bible study leader is an interning chaplain. The nurses were confused and excited to see us delivering cookies at midnight!

Happy, happy Ana with the cookies all packaged up and ready for delivery.

We've all got another year and a half of dorm life before we live with real kitchens. And once we do, it may not be such an exciting endeavor to bake cookies. So until then, I'll keep marveling at the opportunity to mix things in a bowl, stick it in an oven, and come out with a delectable treat.

Dogkward

Awkward Photo Saturday. Celebrate with a bandana.

You know me and Linus: no nonsense, all football.

Better Late than... Whatever

Last weekend was Fall Break! Thursday, Friday, and Saturday, my brother and sister and I romped around Orlando, Florida. More specifically: Universal Studios. Most specifically: Harry Potter World. Here are the best pictures.

Kyla demanded that we ride the Dr. Suess carousel. I didn't complain.

This playground reminded us of one at Sesame Place we used to play on when we were little.

#thatawkwardmomentwhen Thing1 and Thing 2 push your sister out of a photo because they like your brother's shirt.

#thatmagicalmomentwhen Olivander fits you for your own wand.

A Day Late

Awkward Photo Saturday (Accidentally postponed to Sunday): Vacation Edition!

Thing 2: Hold my hand! Matlock: I'm uncomfortable, but okay. Little Girl: What's going on? Green Shirt + Aviators: Stand back, this could be dangerous.

Eddie's Attic

Proposition: Eddie's Attic is the best music venue in the Atlanta area.

Granted, I've only been to about eight different venues, which is surely a small fraction of all. But I've been to Eddie's several times so I think I'm experienced enough to say how great it is.

Five-minute walk from campus, located in the cutesy part of Decatur's square.

Shockingly fantastic food and desserts, at reasonable prices.

Good music, of course! This was the opener Friday night, Seryn.

The artists rave about how welcome they feel. The Vespers love Eddie's and I love The Vespers, therefore I love Eddie's.

It's teensy. And everyone listens attentively. You can feel that everyone is happy to be there.

And P.S. we met all The Vespers, but got a picture with just one. She looks like a Scottie, anyhow ;)