Me, Me, Me

10 Random things about me:
1. My passion is traveling.
2. I am slightly obsessed with Cher.
3. I smell every book I pick up.
4. I like wine.
5. I have milked goats.
6. I am overly obsessed with NYC.
7. I have the greatest family.
8. My hometown has one stoplight.
9. Rent is my favorite Broadway musical.
10.Airports are some of my favorite places on earth.

9 Memorable moments
1. Leaving my mom behind at the airport to begin my life in NYC. (Most intense moment in my life, thus far.)
2. Skinnydipping in high school.
3. Being serenaded my first night at Baylor as a freshman, and a random guy asking me to dance in front of everyone.
4. Seeing Manhattan through a plane window at night.
5. Parasailing with my family in Destin.
6. Losing a good high school friend.
7. Winning 1st in State for our school's One Act Play, "Peer Gynt."
8. Having to be incredibly promiscuous in the above play.
9. Saying goodbye to NYC that last night at 4am.

8 Things I want to do before I die:
1. Travel the world.
2. Be published.
3. Really help out a charity.
4. Spread as much compassion as I can.
5. Live in a penthouse and build a ranch. Both.
6. Give to my parents for their generosity.
7. Get married/have a baby.
8. Truly appreciate God and who He is.

7 Ways to win my heart:
1. Make me laugh.
2. Respect me.
3. Love my imperfections.
4. Write a song for me.
5. See something beautiful in all people.
6. Love to travel and see new things.
7. Do whatever it takes to fulfill your dreams.

6 Things I believe in:
1. God
2. Compassion
3. I believe there is something beautiful about everyone.
4. I believe it's important to have a child's heart.
6. True love
7. I believe dreams can come true.

5 Things I'm afraid of:
1. Not making my family proud.
2. Not making God proud.
3. Not being the best big sister.
4. Scorpions.
5. Hamsters.

4 Of my favorite items in my apartment:
1. She's not a thing, but my roommate, Sarah.
2. My bird.
3. My bed.
4. My fan.

3 Things I do every day:
1. Pray
2. Brush my teeth
3. Eat chocolate. Well, I try to at least.

2 Things I'm trying not to do right now:
1. Spanish homework.
2. Sleep.

1 Person I want to hug:
God...
and Victoria. That's two.

So...a little taste of Mandy

Hmm, first post. Always exciting.

Thanksgiving week = more excitement. Hanging out with the family, seeing some old friends, it's all lovely.

I guess for Post #1, I will paste in part of an american lit project I turned in today. It's supposed to be an action paper, explaining how a work we studied this past semester changed our way of thinking in some way, but really it turned into a personal essay. I'm at a loss of words, so copy/pasting is a good alternative. It's full of typos and crap, but you'll get the gist.

A. Smith
American Lit
Dr. Garrett

Action Paper
(Great title, I know!)

I am a seeker. A seeker of spirtuality, truth, hope, compassion. I have known this about myself for as long as I can remember. Recently, however, my moments have become more defined, more slow-motion, and I feel as though I can sense every single movement I’m making into adulthood.

I fell in love with Anne Lamott’s “Traveling Mercies” because of its raw nature. Lamott has this amazing way of telling a simple story that truly affected me. Though my life hasn’t consisted of nearly the same amount of hardships as hers, I feel connected to her spiritual journey and have realized an increased awareness in myself to be OK with who I am.

I’m your typical small-town girl. Diana, Texas has one stoplight, a tiny school, and we all applauded and cheered when the Family Dollar appeared on the main corner. I give it a year before the sad “Clearance! Everything Must Go!” sign appears.

My grandmother owned a restaurant called “Rita’s Kountry Kitchen” for six or so years while I was growing up. That cedar building has since been home to three pizzaries, another “country kitchen” (that wasn’t nearly as big a hit as my grandma’s version), and an Italian place.

My earliest memories stem from the grandpas and grandmas I used to eat with in that little diner. I would sit on their laps, smile big, and wait for them to give me a dime so I could get another treasure out of the dime machine my grandmother had placed by the front door.

We celebrated holidays in that diner, Christmases, Easters, and community-wide events, especially after high school football games.

It was precious to me. I was “Rita’s little granddaughter,” the cutest, sweetest and luckiest little girl in town.

Why all the blab about my grandma’s diner? Because it was my childhood. My solace. My refuge. My place. It wasn’t until God came into my life that I found a void that filled that empty spot, that huge hole.

I’m a good girl. Being bad is just not encrypted into my genetic code. I was made to be sweet, innocent, happy, bubbly. And it annoys the hell out of me sometimes. I’ve even had conversations with my mom that consisted along the lines of:

“Mom, I want to do something bad. Just one thing. Something really bad.”

Mom immediately burst my bubble. “Mandy, you’re not perfect.”

Yes, I know I’m not perfect. And yes, I probably sound like the biggest stuck-up snob at the current moment, but hear me out. I’m not a snob. In fact, if there is one thing that makes me want to leap out of my good-girl image, it’s the temptation I have to say something incredible unpredictable and possibly (gasp) rude to a stuck-up girl.

I’m getting off track.

Honestly, I have accepted myself as a good girl. This has been my safe home since I exited the womb. And, being compassionate has become my ultimate goal.

I easily get attached to people. I love to hold onto people, not literally, but figuratively. I want to hold them close to me, their personalities, their distinct smells (weird, yes), their shadows, their whole essence and being. When I enter a person’s life, I have a hard time showing myself to their “exit my life” door. I tend to overstay my welcome.

And all of this to say: I have always yearned to feel something bigger than myself. To be someone bigger than I can be. To live and breathe and act upon every moment of every day.

And that is not a tagline for a Hallmark card.

Growing up, I remember hurting for people. Being involved in my first youth group, I remember raising my hand to “accept Jesus” after having my eyes opened to make sure someone else raised their hand with me. I was way too scared to go at it alone. And this Jesus thing, well, I’m still working on it.

Jesus. This is a topic, or rather He is a subject in many of Lamont’s short stories. I loved her honesty. How she hit her knees when she knew she couldn’t take not having Him anymore and said, “Fuck it.”

And that was her salvation.

Beautiful.

I have prided myself on loving people, being there for others, carrying the burdens, trying to outdo the intimidation factor everyone says hovers over me. I have contemplated, asked questions, sought and searched until I realized that, ding ding ding: I am who I am.

Profound, I know.

But reading Anne Lamott’s testimony was so honest and unique to me. It was her own, but she was telling it to the world. The world. The w-word. This word, world, has a huge affect on me. I am one of those people who watch the news, cries, prays and asks why. How many times have I then wiped my tears, walked to class and on the way talked to myself, trying to come to terms with the fact that the world is bad and evil and for some reason, I got lucky.

I just don’t understand the world. I don’t understand religion. I don’t understand Christianity.

Ah, but I do. I think I know too much. Which scares the hell out of me. Like, I went to college, got all educated on religion, and now I’m having a spiritual breakdown? What is that?

So I’ll admit, I constantly go back to my grandma’s diner. I transport myself back to the laps of big teddy-bear grandpas, pockets full of dimes, with my grandma in the kitchen making my very own patty melt.

Bliss.

So many times I just want to crawl back to that place, to feel protected and certain. Too many questions seep in and out of my mind now, I lose track. I get caught off guard. And I sometimes scare people with my insights.

Take a conversation I had with a friend recently.

Me: “I just have a problem with Christanity. And even bigger than the problem, is the problem that I am a Christian. So my problem has become a bigger problem because of it.”

Nameless Guy: “Well, what’s your problem?”

Me: “I don’t think non-Christians go to Hell.” (I’m sort of mumbling this. I haven’t yet mastered the firm, yes-this-is-what-I-believe-and-I-don’t-care-if-you-disagree tone).

Nameless Guy: (Looking as if I just fell out of my chair in a convulsion): “Huh? Mandy, what?”

Me: “I know. It makes me a bad Christian. But I’ve felt it for years. I just can’t condemn people.”

And I can’t. And I won’t. I have studied other religions, read some of their texts, and I’m just intrigued by this human need we all,(including the Hindus in India and the Shiite Muslims in Iraq along with our Christianized culture in America) are seeking the same exact thing: redemption.

So I have an issue with being all big and bad with my religion. I feel like that creates an image of:

“Ha ha, I found the right God. You’re going straight to Hell. Enjoy the ride, you freaks of nature.”

Umm, no.

And that is my problem. Or, now, my accepted “bad Christian” in me.

And Anne Lamott made me feel better about it. I may be wrong, and I may not be the gold-star Christian, but I’m unique and quirky and weird. And for the sake of everything green on earth, is that such a bad thing?

No, damnit!

I said the d-word. I can hear my sister now, taunting me about it. And three, no, two, years ago, the word “crap” wouldn’t have been in my vocabulary. That was way bad. Too un-Christian.

Maybe living in New York City corrupted me. But for some reason, crap doesn’t seem that crappy of a thing to say anymore.

I realize that was not funny.

Basically, I have come to terms, if that is possible, with just being okay with not being completely okay with myself, with the world, with my religion. I realize that I am a bit off on a lot of things, that I tend to feel too much, but that is how I was made. And that’s how God wanted me.

I will always hurt for people. I will always want to hear them tell their sob stories, and I will always want to fix them. I will always yearn to be back in my grandma’s diner, away from the pain of what lies outside the door. I will always search for what is true and pure and right. And I don’t feel guilty about it anymore. I don’t feel guilty about questioning.

Anne Lamott’s writings didn’t change my life, they just let me realize that yes, people go through real big problems and changes, and yes, they get through them. Our testimonies are different, and yes, can even include the “F-Word.”

Ultimately, God knows our hearts. He knows we get ticked off at the world, and even at Him sometimes. And I can only hope that He laughs at me from wherever and sees some beauty in the person I have become. Because truly, it really is all about the unknown: God, love, compassion, truth.

So yes, I will continue to seek. I refuse to remain stagnant in any area of my life. I like the feel of change, and I love how I contradict myself by wanting to keep the same people in my life forever.

And I won’t just prance around declaring I’m lucky. Because seriously, what is that going to prove? I’m going to use it, as I feel we all should, to help people. I’m a sucker for the whole “you’re given particular gifts so you can help others” philosophy.

So I will also continue to watch the news, see something depressing, taste a tiny inkling of that pain, cry about it, pray about it, and think about it.

And maybe, if we all just share our joys and pains and love with one another, the world might possibly, even just a tiny bit, be able to shine with hope.

Above all, I will be real with God. Because if I can’t be real with the Big Guy, then I can’t be real with anything. I’m not going to try and hide my feelings from Him anymore. Who am I kidding? Not the Big Guy. I may be a bad Christian, but I’m a good girl. He knew that I was going to write that sentence. I don’t know if He liked it. Maybe He laughed at it. I don’t know. He knows how this will end. He orchestrated it all. And I love Him for it.

And most of all, I love Him for becoming my grandmother’s diner. For becoming my refuge, my big teddy bear grandpa, handing me dimes.