Focus on Your Toes

Focus on Your Toes

I’m an extremist.  It’s in my blood.   If you call it a “disease” and I will say, “hold still, let me cough on you, BECAUSE IT IS SO FUN LIVING THIS WAY”.  Now, if mentally stable is more your style, that’s good, too.  We need both people in life.  Being an extremist let me tell you about the best Valentine’s Day ever. 

12:30 am

Text:

My friend showed up ready to feed my adrenaline.  I know I could have easily gone to bed, but when I get an idea—I have to do it. It’s a symptom of Extreme Personality. And this idea happened to come to me at 12 in the morning. With my red one-piece swimsuit on, earrings out, and heart pumping, I got in his truck ready to make a memory. Now, I’m not a fan of illegal substances (despite the nose ring and thrift shop clothing) or intense partying (with the exception of birthdays, bar mitzvahs, weddings, funerals, and Wednesdays) wait, what was I talking about? Oh, yeah. So I try to be responsible with my body, but I’m an adrenaline junky, and I have to satisfy my cravings. So, we went to the lake.  We jumped in, and whale-flopped out.   We couldn’t feel our bodies, and we didn’t care.  Looking back, this was a good thing.  We took off running.  Not like, a little stride here and there, I’m talking full out- open field nothing in the way, run faster and fart harder- running.

Straight. Into. A. Metal. Pole.

1:00 am

“Chloe, get up! Let’s go!” “Ugh… help. Hahaha” “Wait, are you okay?” “I think my nose is bleeding”

1:03 am

*In the car*

“Holy crap. Chloe, don’t look. You’re not allowed to look at your face”

“What? Hahahaha why!!! Let me see, I’m sure it’s fine”

 “I’m taking you to the E.R.”

“Hahahaha I’m sure I’m fine! We’ll just put some butterfly Band-Aids on it.”

“How do you feel right now?”

With blood coming down my head, I said, “my toes hurt”

“Haha okay Chloe, just focus on your toes”

1:10 am

 I called my mom and got some advice.  I think the best advice was, “Chloe, I know your personality, but the nurses don’t.  You will have to clarify you have not been drinking and that you are always laughing.  They will be concerned of blood thinning.”  So we went to the E.R.  And it was a blast! They asked me how much I was hurting, I laughed, “My toe really hurts!”  The P.A said, “Okay, just focus on those toes”.  The nurse, P.A, and doctor were amazing! The nurse with three kids and glitter all over her face from wearing a wreath on her head, was like an older sister encouraging and laughing with me along the way! Epically when I told them to pluck my eyebrows while they were up there.  They didn’t.  I forgave them. The P.A was O.C.D and gave me 14 stiches on the 14^th day of the month (he never denied the accusation that he did it on purpose).  The doctor was the most socially awkward guy I have ever met.  Asking me, “What have you been drinking?”  “Nothing, Sr.”  “Why are you laughing so much? Is this normal, or caused by the injury” Thank goodness my friend was there to back me up. “No, sir. I’m high on Jesus Christ! I guess it’s funny how things like this work out.  Great memories, right!?”  Tired from seeing what he referred to as, “stupid freshmen getting hurt”, he didn’t laugh.  But I did.  The P.A said, “I misjudged you two a lot.  One-piece swimsuit and no alcohol. I guess I supposed drinking and naked at 12 am on the weekend.” And that was the best compliment ever. 

God’s shown me so much with these stiches. 

1.     After getting over a cold sore, a bad acne breakout, and a minor cut on my face, I was feeling pretty good about myself. Then this happened.  And again, I have been reminded that beauty is the heart, and I am His.

2.     Serving the homeless in Oklahoma City, I was overwhelmed with how selfish I am. They were more concerned with my head than their living condition.  How the culture tells us we are “allowed” to be self-consumed when something interferes with our normal appearance.  When in reality, we are called to be more than our image. 

3.     You don’t have to be drunk and naked to do something really stupid.

4.     You need really good friends that will take you to the E.R., laugh at you, encourage you, poke your stitches, look at your eyes when you talk, eat too much with you, pull pranks with, and argue until you’re laughing.

5.     With fourteen stitches on your forehead, you can’t go up to kids in Subway and say “Hi, little girl! I love your dress”

I was able to laugh the entire morning of and days after.  I told my friend (as I am holding my towel drenched in blood) on our way to the E.R., “If I could do it again, I would”.

I believe God has been showing me life isn’t about living perfectly; it’s about living honestly.   

Viewer Discretion is Advised

I have zits, the occasional cold sore, smelly feet, and I sweat a lot.  That's gross, huh?

I have thoughts about my weight comparing thighs and arms to other women. That's gross, huh?

I think about my personality being too much for people, and wishing I could be the cute mysterious art major girl in the back of the class room, who has a dark clothes to match my personality.  And I wear cool retro band t-shirts, and I "forget" to wash all my eye makeup off, because that's so grunge. All because I want people to see me with more depth.  That's gross, huh? (and slightly too specific)


Today,  I woke up with a cold sore.  It's not a big deal, but on top of only three hours of sleep, and a very full day ahead of me, I wasn't looking forward to the stares.  (which is funny, because people don't really care.  They think, "glad it's not me", and move on with their life).  Anyway, as pathetic as it was, I tried everything.  I wore lipstick that looked like Barbie's Fairytopia dress.  That lasted about two minutes, before my friend (who I am very grateful for), said ever so sweetly, "nah".  I started smiling an obscene amount, because if I stretched my lips it was harder to noticed. I was overwhelmed with this. This minor imperfection.  So small and temporary.  It's not me.  None of this was-- the energy put into my appearance or even the imperfection itself.


Anyway, this blog isn't about my cold sore, though, it wouldn't be the weirdest thing I wrote about.  Really it's the message behind it.  I spent a whole day feeling gross, and even referring to myself as a "piece of peperoni pizza" to my sister.

I thought about how deeply concerned we are with making sure every small imperfection is hidden.  Just the gross subtle and small things.  The big messes in our life?  Those are fine to talk about, because they are stages in our lives, a mere event. A broken arm?  Put a cast on it and have people sign it.  Stitches?  Pull the Spider-Man band-aide off and brag about the story. But the small stuff?  The daily things?  The flaws in our personalities and the demons on our shoulders.  Our subtle insecurities.  Zits? Cover them up, that's embarrassing. Balding? Plugs and toupees.  Cold sores, look like a over zealous Barbie clown.  (okay, that one might just be me).

But do you get it? How people try to hide their small imperfections.

Any way, I was thinking about how comparison is the thief of joy.  And that's been my statement this school year.  I dwell on it.  Oh,  I could could personify "comparison" in very colorful language, but I'll refrain.  However, it really is a thief of joy.  It's so cowardly.  It's so manipulative.  It takes so much from you.  And the worst part-- it does so, but only with your permission.  Comparison only has the power you allow it.

After a good cry with my best friend about how I felt tired and ugly, she encouraged me, and we watched "New Girl" and said goodnight.

I looked in the mirror and I saw this.  (I'm going to regret this later). Well, there you go.  No makeup, no Barbie lipstick, no cute clothes to distract, or fancy jewelry, or filter.  (#nofilter).  Just me.  Basking in all that I am.  A freshman in college with a  night dress on and goofy socks who hasn't brushed her hair.  And zits.  And a cold sore.

 After I had said goodnight to my friend, I walked over to the mirror and started crying.  I felt Jesus hold me and I leaned back into Him.  He said, "look again".  I did, and instead of my blistering lip or couple of minor imperfections, I saw my eyes.  I didn't see me, but I saw art.  His art.  A person. Not me. But a person that God created.  I saw His time and love and purpose and I thought, "Chloe, you're a moron.  I mean, c'mon! You are so beautiful.  I MEAN SO HOT!! AMIRITE?? LIKE, I WOULD SO DATE ME." Okay, not really. But I felt like I saw myself the way He sees me.

I want to be vulnerable, and not in an "teenage angsty" way, but in a "I am human, too" kind of way.  Sometimes, the best way to share God's love is to be real.  And this blog is what I have.  So, I'll use it. Anyway, I don't have a great way to end this, being so last minute.  So I'll end with this:  comparison in the thief of joy.

Entries of a Traveler.

November 30, 2014 

Entries of a Traveler 

11:00 am 

I’m currently on my way home.  We’ve all heard, “home is where the heart is”.  I used to think I didn’t have one place to call “home”, and in a traditional sense, I guess that’s true.  But flying and traveling this thanksgiving season, I have come to the beautiful conclusion that I am perfectly okay with that.  I think I have a big enough heart and enough passion to share it with many states.  Maybe, even a few of which I have no relational ties with. 

Oregon, California, Oklahoma, Colorado, and some times (on a good day) I’ll give my heart to Michigan, too.  They can all be home to me, because they all have my heart.  Would it be a piece of my heart, or is it possible to have and share at the same time?  I will allow each home to have all of it.  Just like F. Scott Fitzgerald said, “There are all kinds of love in this world but never the same love twice.”  I love all of my homes, each of which are different, but no one less than the other.  (Except Michigan.  I could love Michigan less and probably make it share with some other state.  Nobody really loves Michigan.)  

12:00 pm

“You’re not from here, are you?”  Asked by pretty much every stranger I encounter while traveling.  What gives me away? Is it the collecting of leafs on the sidewalk?  Is it the photographing of what seems like an average building?  Is it the speaking too quickly and accidentally letting a light southern accent peak through with random words?  Is it the buying of postcards and stickers?  Is it the lacking of personal space?  (Though typical behavior for me anywhere.)  Whatever it may be, I could answer rather quickly and relatively accurately with a quick, “No, I live in Oklahoma”.  But after some thought, I have decided to answer with a question, “Where do you think I’m from?”.  To what ever their guess is, as crazy as it may be, I will answer with a big fat grin on my face, “YES!”  Though impossible to magically change the history of my homes, I will say, “YES! I am from there.”  And for a few seconds I will have lived in a state or city I haven’t had the privileged to live in, yet.  Because if I could fit there, I’d love to be there.  (It makes sense if you don’t think about it.)

4:00 pm

On a plane and up in the air.  (Unfortunately, not with George Clooney.) Window seat of course.  It amazes me how many people get the window seat and close the window cover.  It’s not that the window closers are wrong, it’s just they are difficult to understand.  I understand you are tired, but I don’t understand the sleep.  Not on a plane.  Okay, well, I’ve fallen asleep on a plane.  It’s just why? When it’s day time!  When you can see!?  “I’ve seen it all before.”  “I fly all the time.”  That’s what the window closers say. But they haven’t.  There's no way they have seen this cloud on this day in this sky before.  I get it, “Chloe, you’re being a bit romantic aren't you?”  And I suppose I am.  But I can’t help it!  I’M IN THE SKY! I can see how a cotton blanket of clouds can get a bit redundant, but (and this may be my coffee speaking) I can’t shut my eyes.  If not out the window, it will be the two lovers next to me.  The blond hair and blue eyed girl, who I hate to admit, might be more outgoing than I.  And her brown hair scruff’d compliment to my left.  Or a mom’s bundle of joy behind me.  Who, she swears, is “a genius! The doctors told me themselves.  He’s just the most observant baby alive.  AND he plays the drums!”  And at eight months old, I’m sure he’s better than me, no doubt. 

6:00pm 

Almost home.  I met Iza and Mark.  “Iza like Liza but without the L.”

Iza:

Green eyes

Bolivian 

Thick Portuguese accent 

Small face 

Big heart 

Dolphin Lover

Cares more about the people she loves than matching her fanny pack with her windbreaker 

Mark:

Tall 

American 

Quiet 

Speaks three languages 

Intelligent 

Cultured 

Observant 

Loves his wife so much he couldn’t keep his hands off her for the entire flight

They met online “DreamCatch”.  “I saw his picture and thought he was very handsome.  I said, ‘Okay’. ha ha ha.  Minutes later, I sent, ‘hello’. And that’s how it started.” They talked for two months before meeting.  “We dated for six months.  Engaged for two weeks.”  She looked at her finger with a simple silver band.  Sparkles in her eyes she said, “before I knew it, I look down at my hand and ring on my finger!”  Though her accent thick, her expression said it all. I asked how the wedding was.  Was it big or small?  Where did you have it?  She said, “at a park on a Monday at five pm.  Who go to a wedding on a Monday!? Ha! Nobody! Nobody, but we make it work!” Smiles at her husband.  “Yes, we make it work.  My brother made…. What did he make?”  She waits impatiently for her husband to answer quickly so she can continue her wedding tale.  “Barbecue, Darling.  Barbecue”.  “Yes! My brother make barbecue for my wedding.  And! And everybody looooooved it.  They really did.”  She smiled contently.  Too curious and enthralled, I asked about her dress.  She said, “I found it in two hours!  My mother in town and I had two hours before work, and I said, ‘Ma! I have two hours before work.  I get the dress now.  You come now or don’t come.’  I tried on two dresses and hated them.  Both.  Then the third dress.  That was it.  The one.”  I asked her to describe it to me.  Although she showed me with great gestures-swinging and poking the air with both hands- and vibrant facial expressions, I’m afraid I could not understand exactly what she was saying.  But I do know, no matter what she was wearing, be rags or diamonds, she looked stunning. She said, “I never get married. That’s what I told myself.  I was thirty-three and no boys around.  First dates, sure. But not the serious kind. How old are you?”  “About to be nineteen, m’am.”  “Well, you wait.  Wait like me.  Find a man who treats you like this,” she points to mark holding her bags.  “You’ll make a great teacher. But love.  It will come.  You wait.  Wait for special.  You have personality.  You will be great at teacher.  You are special.  Do not settle.  Wait for a man who carries your bags.”  I laughed and said I wasn’t in a hurry.  Now married for thirteen years, you can find Iza jabbering in Mark’s ear as they hike and observe waterfalls (“I love the waterfalls”) in Rapid City, South Dakota.  She said, “My advice to you:  travel, study, and have fun.”

And that is why I like to travel.

The Five Senses of Autumn

OSU Stillwater, OK
Feat. a stranger called Cole

The n is silent

When the leaves are singin’

People are quieter

In whisper season

Pianos are being played

        But they don’t mind

Heat on the tongue

Spices demand attention

Coffee wears sleeves

Because cold’s pretension

Popular Cucurbita pepo

      Because it is prettier

Smoke fills lungs

Bonfires perfume clothes

Cider’s fragrance crawls

In secrets fall enclose

The essence of nostalgia

            And it is sweet

Cozy is familiar again

Leather pages read

Fluffy warm pillows

Thrown on trundle beds

Cuddle is acceptable

            Yet over due

           

Dust acknowledged

The vibrate leaves glow

Fabrics, textures, colors

Dress human chateaus

The vision of chills

            For the polaroids

God, Lobster, and Anne Hathaway

Who do you know?  Do you know your mom? How about your beta fish, Melvin? (That’s not relevant to you, I just wanted to share with you guys- I do have a fish. His name is Melvin. He is purple. He loves to dance).  Do you know your significant other?  Before you answer these questions, I’ll share a little context. What does know actually mean?

The dictionary defines Know (verb) with nine different definitions.  There are a few I would like to highlight:

to perceive or understand as fact or truth; to apprehend clearly and with certainty

to have established or fixed in the mind or memory

to be cognizant or aware of

*Break* The word “cognizant” is so fun to say. Try it.  You feel cool.

be acquainted with (a thing, place, person, etc.), as by sight, experience, or report

Pick somebody you know- really know. 

1. The first definition is to know by an understatement as a fact or truth.  So with this person in mind, ask yourself: “what is their favorite holiday”?

Can you answer it with certainty?

2. The second definition is to have it branded in your mind or memory

So with this person in mind, ask yourself, “what is their middle name?”

Did you get it right?

3. The third definition is to be aware of something.  So with this person in mind, ask yourself: “what makes this person laugh?” Does it actually work?

4. The fourth definition is to know by a relationship.  So with this person in mind, ask yourself: “when did you first meet?”

Could you remember? 

In 1 Corinthians, Paul writes to the church at Corinth.  He addresses some issues they are facing but in the most optimistic way.  In chapter eight, he is talking about questionable practices involving sacrificing foods.  He starts the chapter with a bunch of confusing repetitive beautiful words about knowing God.  He talks about the old practices of sacrificing food. 

He makes one statement, though simple and quiet compared to the loudness of the issue, that influences my life every single day.  “But whoever loves God is known by God”, 1 Corinthians 8:3. Wow. 

I mean, wow. So whoever loves God, is known by Him. Well, I do believe that God knows every one of His children, because he made us (Isaiah 43:1).  But there is something significant about the “love” aspect.  When you love somebody, you have/had a relationship with them.  You invest time, energy, and emotions in that person.  You invite them into your life.  Paul is saying, whoever loves God- invest time, energy, and emotions- is known by Him.   He knows you.  He knows you in every worldly definition and incomprehensible supernatural ways, too.  He knows you with (1) certainty, (2) without hesitation, (3) all the time, (4) and intentionally.  He knows you. 

He knew that on the day of a cross country meet- one that I had ran years prior- I would be devastated to not be participating in it for the first time.  He knew that my flesh had rooted some of its confidence in running. He knew I would be sad and my self esteem would be shot watching others participate.  That’s why he sent a friend, one whom I hadn’t seen all year, to be at the exact location when I was about to cry.  He knew I needed to be encouraged, and she did just that.  He knew that after a few minutes (An hour.  In Chloe’s time: a “few” minutes) of talking, I would feel His worth of my life.  He knew I needed to feel pretty and girly and that’s why he blessed my best friend with money to have a “girls night” and wear skinny jeans and make up and eat lobster.  He knew that on a day of defeat and low energy, I needed the most random call from my daddy saying, “I love you”, and a friend that likes to bless me, with not only, rocky road, but a love for cheesy Anne Hathaway movies.  He knew I needed a hug and chocolate when my money was stollen and I felt alone, and that moment sparked a new friendship.  (I promise I don’t eat a lot of chocolate. And by “don’t”, I mean I do. I really eat a lot).  

He knew me then, and He knows me now.  He knows me, and though I cannot always fathom why- He loves me.  

And I feel spoiled.

Fresh Faces

Fresh Faces

It all starts with cardboard boxes, a couple granola bars, and awkward goodbyes.  

I don’t remember being particularly nervous about college.  It was never this dreadful- oh crap!- experience I didn’t feel prepared for.  Honestly,  less than a month in the first semester, I’ve noticed elongated smiles, deeper laughs, and intensified chaco tan lines.  This isn’t a “feel-good” blog about my feelings and struggles I’ve had for the last weeks.  And unfortunately, this isn’t about my most embarrassing moments thus far, either.  Instead, I want to highlight new personalities I have been exposed to.  I want to introduce you to the NeverNormal (one word) people who make up my days.  More specifically- freshman, who like me, have a naive excitement walking to their classes every OTHER day (love that) dreaming about their futures and still getting used to the concept: we’re learning our careers. 

She’s a laugh. Particularly, the kind that makes you feel less crazy for loving life as much as you do. We punch heavy black bags together, and then eat weird granola bars that are outrageously expensive. But “it’s worth it because it doesn’t have any of this ____ “ (insert unpronounceable ingredients that I didn’t even know existed, and between me the rest of the world, I don’t mind eating). She can fix a toilet, but not a TV.  She is the best nutritionist, but she’s the worst monopoly partner.  Her roommate was her dad, too.  She has a faith that is infectious.  She loves like she wants to be loved (even when she wasn’t always loved). Her car is a reflection of her fun: clean.  Her favorites smell of candy and sweet potatoes. Her hair is blue at one time, but her eyes are blue all the time. She’s the grandpa.  I love that we knew each other before, but here at this time in our lives, we get to experience each other.  She’s a light. 

He tucked me in.  He face just looks kind.  In a battle or fight between sarcasm and him, sarcasm would win.  He is political.  Maybe I don’t really know if what he is saying is correct, but he could fool me.  He is the soup kitchen.  He feeds everybody. He is open.  He is a listener.  He is encouraging and fatherly.  He is a hopeless romantic and a dedicated boyfriend.  He shares his subs with the world, but not his beef jerky.  He has different voices with different emotions.  He is intentional with everything he does- including getting to know you.  He has way too much pop tarts.  And his ramen is good. Really good.  “No, I really don’t mind. Chloe, seriously, that’s what friends are for”.  He is the shadow behind me as I longboard  home at two am just to make sure I made it safely.  He is my caffeine partner. He is a giver. He’s a heart.  

He was a stranger who asked me to Walmart. I was the stranger that got in his car.  He made me laugh. Laugh hard. Painful laughs.  He talks during movies. He can sing well. He makes fun of everything, including himself.  He loves the Lord. He looks like a pothead. He is the joke that was taken too far.  We like to contemplate together. He is an awful artist- when his eyes are closed.  He won’t step on the cracks.  He is relatable and understanding. He hears you when you talk. He is a math genius.  He is mediocre at Scattergories. He just wins it. He let me take him hiking.  His love for his family is beautiful and admirable.  He showed me my first tarantula.  He talks a lot- a lot.  You just have to listen. “Yeah, sometimes I try to do impressive things”. He likes Arrested Development and sushi.  He sees the stars like I do.   He is a smirk. He is thoughtful.  He smells of maple and has a soft blue blanket. He’s my ice-cream buddy. He’s a best friend.

She sat next to me in government.  She welcomed me with a few laughs at my pathetic jokes- attempts to lighten the depressing ora. She has Pocahontas hair.  She texts me more than once in a row.  I reply with seven.  She understands it. Her notes look like pieces of art. She swings in hammocks with me.  She is observant.  She wears cool like it’s t-shirt.  She is the girl that you want to be friends with.  She can capture a duck in one swift movement.  She stares Awkward in the face, and Awkward backs down (most of the time). She takes chances if you invite her.  She feels like your best friend in hours.  “It smells like french fries”.  She is the coffee break in your day. You don’t have to talk when you’re with her, but you want to hear what she has to say.  She is gentle.  Her words are kind and up-lifting. She's the confidence hidden. She is honest.  She is eager to grow.  Being with her motivates you to grow, too.  She is my nature accomplice.  She is the best bird napper in the area. She is the smart that looks effortless.  She’s a sister.

He’s the unity.  He invites and meets everybody.  He loves people and people love him.  He graces everyone with his smile and open arms.  He is pure talent. He has the perfect beard.  He participates in pillow fights.  He shares his green tea.  He likes documentaries and good music.  He shares my excitement.  His story is unique.  “Isn’t that freaking beautiful?”.  His dog is named after chocolate, and that makes me happy.  He compliments regularly.  He is genuine.  He is a goofball.  He shares my indecisiveness.  He unites.  He likes to snuggle. He loves spinach.  He sees beauty in everyone.  He looks older but acts like a kid.  We feed off each other’s energy.  He is real.  He is passion.  He appreciates the little things.  He spoils me with his friendship.  He loves company.  He is pro at hosting.  He’s a welcome.

These are my friends.  As I sit on my balcony and look down, I see so many new faces, and each face has a story.  This handful of characters happen to enroll at the same university as me.  Either known before, friends of friends, or complete strangers, this group of ordinary, rather extraordinary, people have have blessed me with- simply- themselves.  There will be new faces and stories I will be privileged to experience, and I’m excited for when that will happen.  I want to encourage you to go and evaluate the people in your lives.  What makes them special  in your eyes?