a note on love.

How does it feel to have a heart that's beyond breaking?
Can you feel anything at all anymore?
You're looking for love so desperately
but trust me. You'll never find it.
You already have love, true love,
the greatest love ever known to anyone,
and you don't even see it.
The Creator of the Universe is madly in love with you,
but you don't even notice. You don't even care.
You pretend it doesn't matter, but I can see your pain.
If you have Love like that, you don't need anything else.
If you have God's love, no one else's love really matters.
Irrevocable. Unconditional. Eternal.
Isn't that enough?

[for a friend]


I got a tumblr. follow me!

I gave in to the temptation.
I got a tumblr.
I'm hoping it will be more inspiring and visual,
rather than the Jesus-flavored fake narcissism that resides on this blog
(not that the words Jesus, fake, and narcissism should exist in the same sentence).
Don't freak out -- this wonderfully snarktastic blog isn't going anywhere.
So now follow me on tumblr: maybe molly



So I just discoverd tumblr.
If it was a guy, I'd marry it.
But it's not. So.....yeah.


Bowling, Rapping, & Crazy Dancing

In 2nd period today, we hopped in the bus and went to the slightly creepy bowling alley that smells like fried pickles. There's an arcade in the back, which makes it even scarier, since I have a fear of arcades.

I was working with the special ed kids and scoring a steady stream of 0's (until today, I had never bowled without bumpers). And let me tell you, I looked oh-so-hot in my neon purple socks and red+puke green bowling shoes.

Then the speakers explode with the pounding beats of Eminem, and suddenly I'm [trying to] rap and I'm dancing crazily in front of my friend. Then everyone notices and they make fun of me, but I know they're secretly just jealous of my mad skills.

It's times like that I'll always remember; times when I wasn't afraid to step out of the norm and just be myself, as weird as I am. I'll remember this day because I danced and rapped without caring who saw me, just for the fun of it, just because I could.

What's the point of life if you're not going to have fun with it?



WHAT I'M LISTENING TO: Disco Curtis. Look it up. Listen. Enjoy. :)

WHAT I'M RAPPING: Handlebars - Flobots . You wish you were this cool.

WHAT I'M READING: Twilight by Stephanie Meyer (for the sixth time)

WHAT I'M WATCHING: The Rangers play the World Series. Actually, that's a lie. My mom's watching that. I'm just mentally rooting for them.

WHAT I'M WANTING: South Korean dresses (like this one)

WHAT I'M PONDERING: "We learn from history that we learn nothing from history." - George Bernard Shaw


8 Questions

1) If you could go ANYWHERE in the world, where would it be and why?
Some tiny uninhabited island with dolphins and birds.

2) If you were a tree, would kind would you be?
A cherry blossom tree.

3) Would you rather skydive or explore a deep, dark cave? (why)
Skydiving. I am deathly afraid of the dark and sleep with a nightlight which I pretend is for my little siblings. And I am also afraid of the Loch-Ness-Monster-wannabes that live in water inside caves.

4) If you could wear clothing from any time period (without being seen as odd), what would it be?
Who cares about being odd. Seriously, I am odd and I'll own up to it. That being said, I love the 80's. Or the 1700s. Either one will do. Maybe a fusion of both...?

5) Would you be willing to sing an opera song at the top of your lungs in the middle of a mall for a hundred dollars?
I'd do it for $20, sweetie.

6) Would you rather have an amazing castle beside a lake or a cottage by the sea? (why?)
Castle. Because then I'd invite Maddy, Morgan, Becca, and Katie, and we'd all go over to my place and make that castle-y movie like we always wanted. And I would so love to rub it in Morgan's face that I, her little punk almost-sister, was the one who ended up with the castle in Scotland. Bazinga, Morgan. Bazinga.

7) If you could change your hair color to any color, what would it be?
RED! It is my dream to wake up one day with pale skin and flaming red hair.

8) Would you rather live in a tree house or fly away with a balloon?
Tree house. Fly away with a balloon? Eventually it would pop, and that would end all the fun.



Yes, it's true...yesterday was everyone's favorite day of the year.

My birthday.

I am fifteen. Gosh I am so little.

*bursts into Taylor Swift song*

I had to stay at school until 8:15pm to rehearse an Irish play we're doing on Thursday and Friday. Everyone brought candy and stuffed animals and stuff to school and my theatre friends made 3 cakes for me (with "Happy Birthday" written in Gaelic -- yeah, be jealous). I ate until my head hurt and I thought I was going to puke. I probably doubled my body weight but it was totally worth it.

PLUS, I got to spend some time with my Mom and Rachel  at my two favorite places in the world, Ulta and Olive Garden, and my parents gave me a promise ring. :)



Every morning at six-thirty, I wake up and gradually get out of bed, walk to the mirror, and smile.

My hair is a mess, last night's mascara is smudged, and I look like I've just been hit by a truck, but I smile anyway.

It changes your whole day.


The Cutest Little Freshman You'll Ever See

School is good. Except the learning part. That's gotta go.

The theatre people are so awesome. I think it's funny how you can always tell who those people are. They have a reputation for being crazy, but I like them. They've sort of "adopted" me, I guess. Every time I speak, they say, "Awww...she's so cute...!"

I don't have a single group of friends yet. I like the theatre kids a lot but since they're older I don't get to see them outside of drama class. I move around, but I usually sit with the popular girls and some guys for lunch and sit with the gay kids and the goth kids in the morning. I really don't know how that worked out. I found a girl who likes to share her cookies, chips, and gum with me because she says I'm too skinny, so that's cool. When it comes down to it, I usually just sit and pretend to be very interested in my nails or a scratch on the table.



Tomorrow, I become a high schooler.

I have been really upset about it, but then out of the blue Rachel called me today and it's nice to know that someone else is nervous. Then my nana called, and people at church have encouraged me, so I'm feeling a little better. Talking to sweet Gillian also helped. :)

My biggest worry, besides not having friends despite the fact that I am a very social gal, is that I will be in over my head in homework and theatre and everything. I'm doing all advanced classes and so I'm just waiting to see if I can handle it.

Another big reason for my worries? Here we go.....I'm really dependent and I don't have much common sense. I'm smart, but I haven't been in school since I was in first grade, and that was private school. I don't like to feel alone and I don't like things resting solely on my shoulders. Plus, as you know, I am a huge procrastinator.

So tomorrow I will become a fishy. I will straighten my hair (again), put on some vanilla-scented perfume, gloss my lips and arrive at high school with just a notebook and a pencil.

Oh yeah, I think God will be there, too.


Old and Uncool

The other day I was at the pool with my family. We'd been there a while and I was bored, so I swam up to my 8-year-old brother Elijah, who was playing with his "friends" that he had just met.
I asked, "What are you playing?" in the hopes that I could join in.
Au contraire.
Elijah pulled me aside and said quietly, "Melissa..." He couldn't look at my face.
"What?" I asked.
He bites his lip. "I'm playing with my friends."

Suddenly I got it.
My little brother was too cool to have his lame older sister around while he played with his friends.
I couldn't even swim in the general vincinity without embarassing the poor dear.
I was an oldie, too irrelevant and old-fashioned and not in with the times.
I use terms like "flipping" and "bazinga" and he was probably horribly afraid that I would unleash my slightly-too-loud laugh and his little buddies would hear it. Oh PLEASE, not the laugh! Anything but the laugh!

It's great to know the confidence my family has in me.



Is it possible to be deep and shallow at the same time?

Is it possible to be the opposite of yourself?

Can you contradict who you are?

I feel like a Starburst.

Im a pack of contradictions.


20 Things You (Probably) Don't Know About Me

1. I love emo hair and black nail polish. I really don't know why. That's not even my "look" or anything.

2. I get really mad when people are prejudice against people who are "different". If you have trouble being nice to an emo, someone with tattoos, or anyone you judge because of how they look, I have trouble being nice to you.

3. I love things that most people don't love, like outrageous red snakeskin heels and other items of clothing that people think of as "ugly". Nobody knows this, though. Like, nobody.

4. I have this obnoxious big smile and I don't really like it, especially when everyone around me gives these tiny little semi-smiles.

5. I love rain. I love cold weather. Like in Forks, Washington. Mostly because vampires live there. So why exactly do I live in Texas? Hmm....

6. When I'm concentrating really hard, I stick out my tongue a little.

7. I like indie pop music.

8. I have my entire wedding planned out, as well as the names and genders of my future children. My problem is that I only want 2-3 kids, but I have so many awesome names. (Haven and Oliver...so cute!)

9. I'm not as close to God as I'd like to think.

10. Even though I hang out with people who are older than me sometimes, I always feel like I'm the oldest person in the room. I told one of my older friends this and she said I was stuck up, but then she laughed and said "just kidding". Yeah. Thanks. It's not like I think I'm better than them or anything, I just have a strong personality and most people follow me instead of me following them. I think that's why.

11. I sometimes hate myself. Mainly because I'm a procrastinator and can't keep my room clean. But also because I skipped ahead in Breaking Dawn and ruined the whole book for myself.

12. I sing in the shower. I belt it out. Turns out that people can still hear me in there. Great.

13. My glass is half-empty. Almost half-full, but not quite.

14. I wish I was pale. But no, I am tan. Gah.

15. I am a "what-if" person. Being sure of the fact that I'm going to die any second now is part of my everyday life. I'm constantly thinking, "There's a car. I'm in the front seat. If we crash, which we probably will, the airbags will snap my spine. It'll be fast. I'm ready to die. OK." I watch the car drive by, and I'm still alive, so I wait for the next one. Etc.

16. Shy people annoy me. I don't get them. Some of my best friends are shy. My awesomeness freaks them out sometimes. I find immense pleasure in embarassing them by talking too loud or doing something silly in public. So yeah. Nick Jonas and I would probably kill each other.

17. I am terrified of old age. Like Bella from Twilight. Like, it seriously scares me, creeps me out like nothing else in the world. I'm not afraid of old people. I like them. I'm afraid of me as an old person. Scary.

18. I am a people watcher. I get wierd stares all the time.

19. I was married once. To a girl. It didn't work out. (To those of you who are about to call me gay, I'm not. It was an inside joke thing.)

20. I admire people who are real and don't change who they are just because they'd be less different if they did.


How to Blog like Melissa

When I’m in a blogging mood (which is almost always) there are certain things I do – blogging rituals, if you will – that get my creative juices flowing. There are also certain things that always seem to come up in my writing due to how my brain works. So here it is, the long-awaited, epic guide on how to blog like me.

Listen to Justin Bieber. If you want to truly reflect my writing style, you MUST listen to Justin Bieber while you write future posts. This is very important.
Think like a girl. Or, if you’re less gracious, think like you have ADHD. While I’m blogging, I’m also thinking about the lifeguard at the pool, the outfit I want to wear the next day, what my makeup will look like, the party I’m going to that week, all while I’m singing the super-fast rap part of “Baby”. Oh yeah. You wish you were that cool.
Make a lot of really lame jokes that only you get. Your readers won’t get the reference to the fifth chapter of Eclipse that you slipped in there. Trust me. They’ll just think you came up with that on your own. (UNLESS you’re referencing the “tent scene”.) Like when I said “you can Google it” in my post about CPR. That was a reference to Twilight when Edward says, “You can Google it.” Yeah. I told you it was lame.
Casually mention Nick Jonas, Taylor Lautner, or Justin Bieber in at least 20% of your posts. OK, if you’re a guy, skip this step. Please.
Tag the Gospel message at the end of each post. You must almost ALWAYS have some reference to Jesus if you want to blog like me. EXAMPLE: “Then Taylor Lautner and I jumped on a horse and galloped off into the sunset. Speaking of Jesus, He died for you. What? We weren’t talking about Jesus? Oh. Well, now that you mention Him….” OR: “Rachel and I went to see Eclipse. It was awesome! You know, that reminds me a lot of God’s love….” Once I even wrote a post about burgers and tied it into being God’s disciple. Seriously.


The Manwich

Burn this image into your mind: 10 pound Chili’s “Southern Smokehouse Burger” with cheese, barbeque sauce, and BACON. 3 yummilicious strips of honey-glazed goodness 3x as thick as normal bacon. Not to mention the forest of thick French fries, which I do not believe are French at all.
Can you taste it yet? Can I get an “OH YEAH, BABY”?
(Of course, if you’re a vegetarian, you might find this post offensive, so please stop here and send me no hate-mail, since I’m a semi-veggie myself and think you are “the bomb”.)
All you meat-lovers, read on. Now, you might call the above sandwich a “manwich” because eating something so epic would require a real man who is incredibly macho and masculine and who meets the below requirements:

• Has a tattoo on his heavily muscled arm
• Has motorcycle and gay motorcycle jacket with authentic leather fringe
• Has a beard that blows in his face when he rides in the above stated motorcycle
• Has a girlfriend who has a motorcycle and who handmade him that jacket
• Wears his red flannel shirt unbuttoned at the top to expose a jungle of chest hair
• Wears boots made of crocodile skin – from a croc he killed with his bare hands
• Has a belt with a big silver buckle with an engraved bull’s head
• Hangs the heads of various animals he killed all around his house
• Carries a gun to church and openly does duels in the street with the guy next door
• Wears a cologne that smells like a mixture of gasoline, burned rubber, and sweat and is probably called something like “BEAST” or even better “SOFT KISSES”
• Wears tight leather pants when he doesn’t wear jeans as a proclamation of his manliness
• May grunt or make other guttural noises instead of saying “yes”, “please”, or “thanks”

But lo-and-behold, that is not the person who ate this untouchably manly burger. Instead, we’ll do a guessing game to see if you can figure out who-dun-it. Here’s your clues:

• This person is not yet old enough to drive
• This person has just confessed a love for Justin Bieber songs on the Internet (like, right now)
• This person’s favorite colors are emo purple and hot pink
• This person ate the above burger with glossed lips and painted nails
• This person sometimes has a really girly voice
• This person converted to Team Jacob after seeing Eclipse
• This person is very afraid of motorcycles, tattoos, and guys who wear too much cologne

Have you guessed it? Me!! Yes, I just downed what could very well be the most unhealthy burger in the world. I think I get some manly points for that.


Toy Story 3, Algebra, and Coffee

Wow, this week has been so fun. I went to grab a coffee with Rachel...not that I particularly like coffee...and ordered "something with peppermint and whip cream with a little bit of coffee but more sweet than bitter...like a lot of sweetness, OK?" I know what the barista was thinking: This girl is not a "regular".

On a more awesome note, I saw the premiere of Toy Story 3! Oh my blog, you xHAVE to see that movie. It's EPIC. And Rachel cried, which I thought was super funny. The sad thing is that I really identified with Barbie.

I have never seen a premiere of anything until now. Today I'm going back home, and then I'm going back to Rachel's to see the midnight premiere of...ECLIPSE. We're going to make a documentary. Be prepared.


Facial Hair

My first-ever friend Rachel and I have spent the last few days filming a video. A video of what, you may ask? It's sort of embarassing to admit, but it was meant to be a spoof on Miley Cyrus's 7 Things...but then it kind of evolved into something else due to my creative whimsy and her aptness to push me even farther off the edge. OK, so it's pretty far from the original idea of the video.
In this video, we feature more of the guy that Miley is dissing (poor Nick) than her, but we didn't want it to look like Nick. So both of us whipped out my mascara and drew mustaches and beards on our faces. Mine looked pretty good.
While I am cross-dressing in a guy shirt and tight girl jeans, with my hair pulled back in a short ponytail and my dad's heart tie around my neck, my mom comes up to us and says, "Go open the door for the pizza man."
So I start squealing and saying, "Oh my gosh!" because my mom has obviously walked off with no intention of coming back. I probably looked really gay. I give Rachel a shove toward the door and the pizza man greets her with: "Nice moustache."
All my siblings are gathered around the door, saying "Oh my gosh" and "You guys are crazy" and "Melissa get out here now". I grab the camera and stretch my arm out across the door (safely out of sight) to capture the moment.
Now I feel sorry for that poor pizza man -- probably some college kid who just wanted to go home and eat anything but pizza. Today he can go back to work and say that he met two teenage girls with major facial hair, was bombarded by noisy kids, and videotaped without his consent. I bet he's thinking he needs a better job.


skateboard lessons. sort of.

My little brother Dalton was trying to teach me how to stateboard today. Of course, he knows absolutely nothing about skateboards, but this didn't bother either of us.
He demonstrates "proper form" and all this for me while my ADD brain is looking at a coke tab on the ground and wondering who put it there. Then he feels I am ready to get on, even though the feeling is not mutual.
Dalton pulls it back up the slope in our driveway. We have to ride downhill because we don't have a clue how to accelerate once you've slowed without falling off.
I suck up my wimpiness and have him stand still for me so I can hold onto him for dear life while I put my feet on. It's wobbily and shaky, but that could be because it's a little kid skateboard and a hundred-pound girl like me has no business being on it.
Dalton gives me my first instruction: "Let go of me now."
My fingers don't budge as I wait for him to explain in exact detail what I'm supposed to do. He didn't really know what I was supposed to do, but I had to have some direction if I was going to do this. He launches into this mini-speech about turning and slowing down, but all I can think is: I hope I don't die. Yes, I've always been a bit dramatic (but you already knew that).
Somehow I'm able to unpeel my fingers from his shoulders. As soon as I do, the skateboard lurches out from under me. It's the same experience you get when you ride the Titan at Six Flags for the first time. Next thing you know, I'm on the ground.
"Don't worry about it," Dalton tells me, as if falling down and looking like an idiot is perfectly normal (which I don't believe is true). He lugs the skateboard (and me) back up the driveway. "Next time don't hit the fence. Or dad's car. Or Abigail. When you want to turn, lean your body to the side...." His voice fades off as my fears once again seize me: I hope I don't hit the cat.
We repeat this for about five more times, Dalton patient as ever, me screaming the whole time, and the cat hiding safely out of sight.
Well, I don't need to go into more detail about the rest of my "lesson", but I can tell you with confidence that I will never, ever be a skater girl. This is a bummer, since I was really hoping on becoming as cool as Jillian.


The Bucket List

I started a new blog.

I know, I know, I've really lost it. 3 blogs is too much for anybody. (I have 4, if you count the private test blog.) It's too much to handle.

But an idea started forming in my mind -- or floating, or dancing, or whatever you'd like to call it. I just couldn't ignore it! That'd be cruel...like ignoring kittens or something.

That being said, I'd like you to meet my newest baby, The Bucket List. No, it has nothing to do with the movie, and it is not as cool as Morgan Freeman. It's a list of all the things I want to do before I get old and become restricted to feeding pigeons on a park bench in a little granny dress.

So please check it out, follow, comment, and tell your friends. Because if you don't, I'll cry. And we wouldn't want that.


In Which Our Church Praise Goes Crazy and I Inevitably Lose My Wits

Our first day in our new church building went well. Sort of. I was on stage with the band, banging on my jimbae like I'm trying to pulverize its very soul, mouthing along with the words and never missing a beat (OK, that's a total lie). Then, fdsjifjrieo! The sound system (which was very expensive and, in my opinion, not worth it) decides to be cute and go beserk. It sounded like those times when you're sitting at a red light and the car next to you is listening to rap music with the volume all the way up...only this was much louder. My mom, playing the pianon, wrinkles her brow; the bass player, who's amplifier is now going crazy, doesn't know what to do...even the worship leader looks confused. And what do I do?

I laugh.

It seems to me that the only proper thing to do at those such times is to shut up and go with it, which is exactly the opposite of what I did. True, you can't hear me laughing over the booming praise-gone-phsyco music, but I'm sure a few audience members were wondering why my face was spazzing out in a huge grin at the most inappropriate time.


Today is a Good Day.

Today is a day much like ones before it. I'm babysitting my pastor's kids with my dad (we're watching lame British cartoons). There's swing music playing in the kitchen; I was dancing to it earlier, before I noticed my dad glancing at me like I had really lost it.

I've been doing so much lately -- everything but read my Bible. I know that's really sad, and I do read it during the week for school, but I don't pay much attenion to it. I have been reading Breaking Dawn though. Why do vampires have to be more interesting for me than my Savior? It's so frustrating.

I'm really excited for tomorrow. For the past year or so, my church has been working on getting us into our new building. It's behind a Chinese restaraunt in the back of an old Wal-Mart. It's really big and really, really cool. It was totally empty when we decided to use it (except for the bathrooms, but they were really gross). We started from scratch, pulling up the tacky astroturf floors and putting up walls. It's been my job to mop, sweep, clean the bathrooms (their were homeless people living in the bathroom before we used it), and lay down the carpet (which is surprisingly fun). It's not complete, but tomorrow is going to be our first day of church in our new building! We've been waiting for this for a long time. God is sooooo good!

Lastly, my friend Travis started a blog, The Process Project. I absolutely love it when my friends have blogs. So please check it out and drop him a comment. :)


Did I Mention that I'll Miss You?

I was in a play last week, and you've heard me rave about how fun it is to be on stage, but the best part is the people. The cast is my extended (and crazy) family. When I first started working with them in Pride & Prejudice, I considered myself on the outside looking in, but now, after two more years, I feel like we're close in a way that regular friends aren't, because we've worked for something and created something together.

This makes me sad. I'm sad because I'm really going to miss them when I go to public high school next year. This fact will end my existence as far as I'm concerned. It was my parents' decision, and I fought it but eventually I wonder, what's the point? I'm not going to change anything anyway. And sometimes, when I cry myself to sleep at night, I wonder if maybe I really am a theatre person because I am so dramatic.


I'm an Achiever!

Do you ever laugh at how dumb you were as a little kid? When I was about seven, my friend's dad gave me a purple pencil box with pencils in it that said "I'm an Achiever!" And for some bizarre reason, that touched me. Touched me. Cheesy, I know. What actually ran through my tiny seven-year-old brain was: Wow, he thinks I'm an achiever! He thinks I'm smart! Elated, I showed my mom and dad the pencils. "Mr. Andy thinks I'm an achiever," I told them proudly. "Isn't that nice of him?" Mom just said, "Mmmmm..." and Dad was silent.



I have this friend. OK, this best friend. This girl I met in kindergarton so long ago when I was Miss Popular.
Well, this friend disappeared. I really don't know why. We just got separated. She moved away. I moved even farther. We haven't seen each other for a few years.
We used to play games together, even when we were getting older and supposed to be over that stuff. We played with my toy horses and had an entire world fixated around the pony characters. (And yes, we were eleven or twelve.) She always had to play the boy horse, and I always had Princess, the beautiful mare who fell in love with him. Other times we pretended we were in high school and had super powers and won the hearts of our handsome and lightning-fast crushes that didn't really exist.
I missed that. But I really miss her.
And then...POOF.
She appears. Magically. This long lost friend of mine shows up on my blog. Just like that. All because of a post card I sent her when I was in Europe. I feel like I'm a pirate who's rediscovered treasure that I buried long ago. OK, that's a really bad analogy, but you get the picture. This girl and I are tight.
So here's to you, Kaila.


Oh. My. Blog.

So I installed this new thingie at the bottom of each post which tells you what "related" posts you should totally check out...and one was "Edward Cullen's Hair". Intrigued and unable to remember writing that, I clicked on it. And I started laughing.
So much has changed since then. It's hilarious in an inside-joke-that-only-I-get sort of way. I was actually asking people if they thought Twilight was anti-Christian? Seriously? Because now I really don't care about anyone else's opinion. I was so innocent and open-minded. Funny stuff. Two of my friends have tried to convert me back to my I-guess-I-don't-care-about-Twilight days, but every time they are shunned. And every time I think of my sweet Rachel, I remember exactly why I love Twilight. And Edward Cullen's hair.


Why Not Me?

Why Alice? Why should she get to befriend talking bunnies and slay the Jabberwocky? Why should she have gotten to visit Wonderland at all? Why not me?

Why shouldn’t I have a best friend who’s obsessed with hats (and who is, I might add, Johnny Depp)? Why shouldn’t I have a tangle of long cascading blonde curls? Why shouldn’t I have beautiful and eccentric dresses? Why shouldn’t I melt the heart of a snow leopard who previously wanted to rip my head off?

And most of all…. Why can’t I be absolutely bonkers? All the good people are.

Life is unfair sometimes.


And All I Have to Give is Adoration

Thesauruses are fun. Dictionaries are boring, but there are so many amazing things to discover in a thesaurus. Did you know instead of saying someone was bad, you could call them a “corrupt, unscrupulous, depraved, substandard, wayward, ruinous, austere, putrid little imp”? Instead of saying you hated someone, you could say that your detestation, odium, and abhorrence with their very existence was due to their grating, discordant, vexing character (or lack thereof). Are you excited about thesauruses yet? I sure hope you are!

So, just because I have a brilliant little mind, I typed one simple word into the box (what, you didn’t think I actually used a book, did you?): worship.
There was nothing about religion, chanting monotonous prayers, skimming over Bible verses, or being good. There were seven words on the screen, standing simple and alone, yet all pointing up to the first, worship.


What if we started talking like that? Instead of calling your brother a brat, you would say he was unscrupulous, and he would be totally lost because of his lack of awesomeness.
What if we started living like that? What if, instead of hoping we were being righteous enough, we poured out our hearts to God, showering Him with our simple adoration, with our reckless love, our quiet reverence, our well-deserved respect, our complete devotion, our glorifying adulation, and our highest veneration? What if, instead of seeing God as the uncaring, far away God He isn’t, we started seeing him for the loving, adoring God He is?
Worship is not singing, bowing our heads, or trying to act holy. Worship is simply offering everything you have to God because you adore Him and love Him and are devoted to Him.
Remember Mary Magdelene? (Read her story in Luke 7:37-47.) She was a prostitute, as her painted, downcast eyes told the crowd that had gathered outside the Pharisee’s door. In her hand she held a vial of expensive perfume. When she entered the house, she poured the perfume on Jesus’ feet, cleansing them with her tears, and then drying His feet with her hair. That was the most beautiful act of worship I can think of. She had never met Jesus, but she loved Him and adored Him and wasn’t afraid to let anyone know.
A verse from Ephesians 5 says, “Sing songs from your heart to God.” Isn’t that true love, something that just bursts from somewhere deep within you so that you can’t help but shout?
Isn’t it a strange feeling, to be so sure of something’s meaning, and then be blown away by how wrong you were? At the same time, it’s a good feeling, like I finally got it right.
This is what worship is about. Love. Adoration. Devotion. An adoring cry to an adoring God.



Blood, Cockroaches, Edward Cullen, and Spaghetti

Last night I celebrated my parents' birthdays at my grandparents house. My cousins and I were skipping between Pride & Predjudice and the Winter Olympics in Vancouver. We were cheering for the USA (because it's the greatest), Italy (because they like spaghetti), Finland (because it's my favorite place in the world), Ireland (because they drink beer, have red hair, and like leprachauns, or so I've heard), Poland (I really don't know why), and France. Actually, I was the only one cheering for France. For some reason, everyone I know dislikes the French, while I think they are simply amazing, like Edward Cullen or something equally as dreamy and mystifying.
During the speed-skating event, my cousin started screaming over a dead cockroach behind her chair, so we all turned to look and comment on how demonic-looking his squished little head was.
When I turned back to the TV, I saw a large, dark pool of blood against the ice, and in it sat a man in a blue suit. My own dear country's man had gone down. His skate blade cut the artery in his thigh and he was being lifted onto a cot.
There, right in front of me.
It didn't seem real.
Life is like that, I think. Things seem to be going so slowly sometimes. All you do is look away and forget about what's happening right in front of you. You focus on a diversion and ignore what's really important. There was a guy being ripped open and I was staring at a dead cockroach. When the diversion is gone and you look back to what's important, you always miss something. Something big happened but you let it pass by because you were too caught up with other, minor things.
Anyway, I hope someone gives that team USA athlete a box of chocolate.
Happy Valentines Day.

Your Sister in Christ,


Snow is God being Awesome

White, powdery flakes of heaven falling from the sky, the dreams and smiles of angels. History is made as snow falls heavy in 49 states, a feat never before accomplished. I think God is happy.

It's snowing in Texas. Two contradictions is too much for one person. There is never actual, full-bragging right worthy, perfect snow in Texas. Never. We're breaking records, baby. One freaking foot of snow. It's awesome. - Melissa


Another day wasted...

I spent all of yesterday sitting on my sister's dresser in front of the radio while [trying, and failing] to do school, all in the hopes of being that glorious caller #9 and winning the contest and going to dinner with the one and only tobyMAC, of whom I have his entire discography and dream about meeting him (and Taylor Lautner -- either one would do, for different reasons of course). But alas, my efforts were in vain and I have absolutely nothing of interest to report to you. There was a chance for a question and answer session with Toby, which of course would have been posted on my blog right away so the whole world would see what great friends we are.
But no.
Apparently we are not good friends at all.
So if you are one of the lucky caller #9s who stole my rightful position as dinner guest of tobyMAC, I have nothing further to say to you. (Except that if you get his number, could you give it to me? It's only fair.)
And tobyMAC, if you're reading this (which you're probably not, why should I even hope?), all I can say is that I tried.

God Bless,


Oh Haiti

I feel so powerless. At the same time I feel awe. I'm in awe of the beauty of our earth, of humanity. We sometimes act like we don't care about each other, then something heartbreaking unites people and nations and brings us together as we do our part to help out our fellow people. People are no longer French, or American, but are a helping hand, a caring soul, a strong arm to grab onto, someone who removes the debris and reaches in to lift you out of suffering. And it's beautiful -- the tears, the dirt, the pain, the hope after the storm.
What can I do to help? There is one thing I am sure of, the most powerful thing I know how to do, the thing that breaks walls and gives hope and heals wounds and rescues souls. I can pray.
It may seem like a small thing, but prayer is the best way we can help Haiti. I believe that God has a plan for these people. Buildings will be rebuilt. Lives will be rebuilt. Right now, it's hard, but what about tomorrow?


I Wish I Could Be Better

Last week, I went on a cruise. On that cruise, I met some people. Of those people, there were Jamaicans.

On my balcony, looking out at the glassy open sea, I closed my eyes.
I made a wish.
Most of my wishes have something to do with a million dollars, perfect skin, or Nick Jonas.
This one was different.
I wished for the Jamaicans. I wished for the basket-weaver who was screaming at my mom. I wished for the security guard with his two daughters. I wished for the manager of Margarita Ville who I figured could use some Jesus. I wished for the bus driver who told us he was trying to be a good person. I wished for the women who begged me to buy their jewelry so they could have money for food.
I wished things were different for them. I wished they weren’t so impoverished. I wished they could have a safe home, good food, and nice clothes.
Most of all, I wished I could hug them. I wished I could tell them I cared. I wished I could tell them that Jesus loves them. I wished I could help them somehow.
But I didn’t.
I smiled. I bought tanzanite rings. I complained of the heat. I refused water offered to me.  I did nothing. I am a tourist. A shopper. I am part of a crowd -- a herd -- of cheap people with money. That is all. Am I just money to them? Am I just a ticket to get through the day? Is that all I am?
Then I realized I wasn’t wishing just for the Jamaicans.
I was wishing for myself.
I wish I could be different. Stronger. Better. I wish I had lent a hand in some way, no matter how small. I wish I had loved them enough, cared for them enough, to tell them that Jesus loved them.
But I didn’t.