Climbing the Cool Ladder

I especially like being the center of attention. I thrive on it. I thrive on it so much that sometimes I hate being in a large group of people. This may sound ironic, but let me explain myself.

When I am in a large group of people I realize I am not the center of attention and that really bothers me. So do I stop trying to be the center of attention? Of course not. I start overcompensating. I start talking louder. I repeat myself numerous times. I say something I just know will grab somebody’s attention.  99% of the time this still doesn’t work. My comment or story just floats off into the abyss never to be heard, and in the rare circumstance that it is heard, it just sounds really stupid.  Anytime you start yelling about the time you rolled your ankle in the mountains of Costa Rica and repeat it about 23 times in the midst of 10 other yelling people, your story is automatically going to sound lame. It just doesn’t sound right in the midst of 10 other yelling people.

But do I stop yelling and repeating my story? No, because my story is the most entertaining and important story in the group of the 10 other people. I just know it is. I know if people were to actually listen, like really listen to the story about how I rolled my ankle in the mountains of Costa Rica my cool credibility would go up a few notches. And if my cool scale went up a few notches then people would be more apt to listen to what I have to say because I would be “that” girl. That cool girl with the awesome stories. That girl everybody wants to be around and know.

However, the more I try to be “that” girl, the farther away I get from her. I lose creditability on the rare occasion my story is heard because let’s face it, the more important you try to make your story sound by yelling and repeating it, the less cool it sounds. Let me just try to give you an example in writing:

HEY! HEY GUYS! I HAVE A GOOD STORY, LIKE REALLY, LISTEN, LISTEN: SO THERE WAS THIS ONE TIME I WAS IN COSTA RICA, IN COSTA RICA I WAS IN, IN THE MOUNTAINS OF COSTA RICA, IN THE MOUNTAIN OF COSTA RICA, I FELL INTO A HOLE, AND ROLLED MY ANKLE. SO THERE I WAS, WITH A TWISTED ANKLE. IN COSTA RICA.

Let me just point out the main, obnoxious points:

1.     All caps are equivalent to yelling. Who likes all caps? No one. Who likes people to yell their stories? No one.

2.     Notice how many times I repeated myself? Not really necessary. It’s actually pretty annoying.

3.     Notice how many times I used Costa Rica? That was my go-to point because I thought people would automatically want to listen because I was in the mountains of Costa Rica. I thought people would be impressed. No, people aren’t actually impressed, just even more annoyed because you just sound pretentious.

And here I am writing about this because I know. I know how annoying I sound, but do I stop? No. I want to make my way up The Cool Ladder! I want people to hear my awesome stories. I promise you they are good stories. Really. But, alas, I am in a vicious cycle. I know what I am doing, but I can’t stop! The harder I try to climb that ladder, the more I slip.  I just want to be cool.

But I have been deceived.  I am climbing up the wrong ladder. I am climbing up the Self-Importance ladder. That ladder has no end. You can never reach the top of that ladder. The more important I try to make myself, the more I slip. The ladder right behind that ladder is “The Cool Ladder.” Many are invited to climb this ladder but few are actually chosen. Few are chosen to be the “cool” people because there is one little rule that is too hard for people to make sense of.

The rule is this:

Philippians 2:3-4

Do nothing out of selfish ambition or vain conceit. Rather, in humility value others above yourselves, not looking to your own interests but each of you to the interests of the others.

When you understand this rule, you have chosen to climb “The Cool Ladder.” That ladder is much easier to climb, and there is a destination at the top. When you reach the top, you have reached the “it” factor. You are cool. However, you must put the interests of others before your own interests to climb that ladder.  The more you are willing to listen to other people’s stories and help others out, the more likable you become. The more people want to be around you.

Maybe that is why Jesus was so cool.

Feeling that Jon Acuff has Taken All the Good Material

When I first saw the “Stuff Christians Like” blog I was so excited. This Jon Acuff guy was putting to rest those stereotypes about Christians being one-dimensional. He was proving that Christians can and do have a sense of humor. Every time I found myself reading a post by him, I was nodding vehemently. Yes, yes, and yes.

But the more I read, the more those yeses started turning into no, no and more nos. He was taking all the good material! What could this potentially do to other aspiring comedic Christian bloggers? (because trust me, there are more of us) He was monopolizing the business. There is no share the wealth card in this generation of bloggers. So what did I do? Boycott “Stuff Christians Like.” Well no, not really because everything he said was so relevant and true. I just didn’t feel the need to write because he did it for me.

I really think this is why it took me so long to start a blog. Because Jon Acuff took all the good material. There was no way I could compete. I mean he has everything going for him. Except maybe the unibrow, but now I even think he has that going for him! I mean he makes such a big deal out of it, how can you know “Stuff Christian’s Like” without knowing Unibrowed Jon Acuff? People love it! What’s a college girl to do? So I just sat and read and enjoyed, only slightly bitter.

However, those days of reading are over because I have decided to do what I love and write, even if Jon Acuff has taken almost every possible thing I could think of to write about. I am going to try to find new material. And if you are reading this Jon, here I am to challenge you because you can’t monopolize Christian humor much longer. I am a force to be reckoned with. There is no more sitting back and reading for me. Are you intimidated? Because you should be.

**Just as a disclaimer, I want everyone to know I have the utmost respect for Jon Acuff. I think he is a phenomenal writer, and like I touched on already, I am just bitter because he has taken all the good ideas. His blog really has encouraged me to pursue my writing. It has shown me that there is a place for sarcastic Christians. Thanks Jon!

Thighs the Size of Jupiter

 (I wrote this a couple of months ago, I thought I would share)

My thunderous thighs were always a tough reality to cope with. Never quite fitting into a pair of jeans. Always have to buy a size bigger in jeans in order to make room for them. Having to deal with jeans, tight in my thigh region, but slipping off my flat butt and narrower waist.  Having to answer that annoying question.

“What size jeans do you wear?”

“Well, you see, it’s complicated.”

“Its just one number”

“Well, that’s the complicated part. My thighs are a size 8, but my waist is a size 6.”

And I would curse those defenseless jeans. Poor things. It was undeserved and unwelcome. I know that looking back, but at the time it made so much sense to me.

“I hate jeans!”

What I really should have been cursing were the thighs themselves. This would have been more deserved and made much more sense, but they couldn’t help it, being the way they were. In that sense, they were just as defenseless as the jeans.

Nobody out there could possibly understand my trials and tribulations, my denim woes.

“They look fine!”

“It is not about how they look! It is about how they feel.”

And they were never comfortable. It was the most painful form of rejection. Not even a pair of jeans felt comfortable on me. Possibly the most handy, sturdy article of clothing, definitely the most worn, and it rejected my body.  

Oh the breakdowns I would have over this problem. I would go into stores and explain my problem.  They would tell me to try this and that, but it was hopeless. I would leave the store disheartened, and the sales’ ladies would apologize sympathetically.  They didn’t understand.

No one understood because their bodies were beautifully proportional. How I longed for those proportional bodies. (Oh, how I still long for them). The jeans hug the legs just the right way. One size fits the thighs and the waist. The jeans fit comfortably. They could bend over and not have to worry about their crack sticking out. They could walk 3 feet without having to pull up and adjust.

“So wear a belt.”

How I wished it were that simple. Oh, how unflattering and clunky they could be. And they didn’t particularly amp up the comfort level. Digging into my stomach leaving their vile imprints. Telling me that they didn’t want to be there as much as I didn’t want them to be there. Reflecting their disgust of me on my body.  Belts were not worth that trouble.

My legs were the solar system. My butt could only be the moon. A moon that was often crescent as I bent over. It was the worst. My waist was Pluto, so insignificant, it might as well not have been mentioned. And my thighs could only be Jupiter, the biggest, roundest planet in the solar system.  Noticeable by all. Visible to the naked eye.

My thighs, the size of Jupiter, how did I learn to love you?

My Best is not "The" Best

Okay, let me get real with all of you for a moment. Let me just tell you something. Something big. Something I catch myself daydreaming about. Something that is wild. Let me tell you about my ultimate career.
So I am a columnist. I write editorials if you will. Opinions for those of you who don't understand the upper class Journalist lingo. Opinions on whatever I want. But that's not all. I travel the world. Writing about my experiences in other countries. Just travel. Oh hello Monday, let's fly to a village in Africa for a few weeks. Oh Cheerio London, let's do lunch. But that's not all. In these different countries I volunteer around the local communities. I get to hang out and help out. Just getting to be a part of the real place and being able to give back. And writing about all my experiences. And if I am lucky, maybe getting my own TV show doing all this because you guys know you would love to watch my TV show. But that is getting a little overboard. Even in my dream career.


I probably shouldn't have told you that because now since I have voiced the ultimate it is probably not going to happen. You know why? Because this is my plan. And let me tell you something about my plans. They don't work out. I start having these dreams, knowing exactly what is going to happen in my life, and they never work out that way. Seriously, just ask me what I dreamed my freshman year of college was going to be like and let me compare it to what it is actually like. Seriously, let's get coffee. I will tell you about my "ultimate" best freshman year I imagined for myself, and let me tell you about how this year was nothing what I imagined it would be. It was so much better.

You want to hear something bigger? Something I don't catch myself daydreaming about. Something that is as wild as it could be? Let me tell you that God has a plan for me. For you. A plan so amazing, that I can't even imagine how amazing it is going to be.
Habakkuk 1:5 says "Look at the nations and watch- and be utterly amazed. For I am going to do something in your days that you would not believe, even if you were told."

So, He is telling me that what he has planned for me is better than anything I could imagine myself? That I wouldn't believe even if He told me? He has something cooler than my ultimate career I planned out for myself planned out for me?

I'm excited.

TOMS One Day Without Shoes

Alright, I will try this out. One day without shoes. No big deal. It's what all the trendy, hipster kids do right? I really don't think I had any other reasoning for doing TOMS Day Without Shoes other than that it was trendy and the want to be different like all the hipster kids. Oh, and to maybe raise some awareness on the side because raising awareness is trendy too. 

And with that, I had already started out the day on the wrong foot. (ha, see what I did there?)

I woke up 25 minutes before my alarm went off this morning. I was anxious. TOMS Day Without Shoes was officially about to begin. All these thoughts rushed inside my head: I was nervous about it being uncomfortable and gross, right? Umm, not so much. I was more concerned that people would stare at me. What would everyone think of me?
And in those brief moments that morning, I realized that I am not a trendy, hipster. I could never be a trendy hipster because I do not have that compulsive need to be different. I want to blend in and not draw any attention to myself. It was a harsh reality to admit to myself.
But those harsh realities only got harsher throughout the day.

For some reason I stuck it out. I am not sure how I did it. Possibly the hardest moment that day was going down the elevator that morning. You think elevator small talk is awkward? Try elevator silent judgment. Because that was happening. I knew it was. Everyone was staring at my feet and everyone thought I was weird. Okay, that probably wasn't happening but that is what I thought because I like to convince myself that the world revolves around me. I thought all eyes were on me all morning. Especially when I didn't see anyone else barefoot for awhile. Why was I doing this in the first place? Oh, that's right, to fulfill my dreams of being a trendy, hipster kid, that's right.

But somewhere in the middle of the day, maybe when I saw other people barefoot and accepted the fact I was neither trendy nor a hipster, my eyes really started to open. Yes, they were physically opening because I was noticing more people barefoot, but they were metaphorically opening to the root of TOMS Day Without Shoes: Awareness. Oh, that's what I was supposed to be focusing on. Okay, that makes more sense.

And if anything, I think the whole experience raised more awareness for myself. How egotistical am I if I wake up in the morning concerned what people are going to think if I don't wear shoes. The point was for people to notice, the point was for people to ask. Here I was more concerned what people would think about me than what people would think about people all over the world who have injuries and diseases that could easily be prevented by shoes and feet hygiene. How selfish am I? I cared more what people thought of me than kids dying everyday from preventable diseases. As I saw more and more people barefoot and as I stepped on more and more rocks and experienced more and more discomfort, I became smaller and the cause became bigger. Because the cause is so much bigger than I am. How humbled I was today!


Today's successes: 2 Sore feet and 1 humbled Kathleen
http://www.toms.com/our-movement
Because that is why I should have walked barefoot today.

I am made smaller and God is made bigger. Oh, how he humbles me everyday.

Just Dance: The Ultimate Humility Project

I am thinking about writing a screenplay about my life. It won't be a big deal or anything. Yes, obviously there is a lot of depth to my life. I mean one could learn so much from my short 19 years thus far. Unfortunately, I will have to exclude some parts because I don't want to overwhelm anyone or anything. I am thinking about making it a trilogy. People like those, right?
Anyway, the first movie will all come down to one of the most defining moments of my life. The movie will be building up the anticipation all for this one moment, this very simple, but very important moment that possibly has changed my life forever.

The first day I played Just Dance.

Now let me give some background information, which will obviously be included in the movie:
God did not bless me with graceful feet and poise. God did not bless me with rhythm. And I know that. I don't try to make excuses or anything because I know in my heart of hearts I have no hope of being the best dancer. You want to see a show, go to a Zumba class and watch me try to keep up. You want to see an even better show, go to a Hip Hop dance class and watch me try to get down. I always throw out disclaimers in those classes. "Watch out white girl with size 11 feet trying to dance!" And I feel like I would always say that jokingly. I knew I was by no means the best dancer, but I didn't think I was the worst dancer in the world.

That changed the night I played Just Dance.

I was ready, I was pumped. Even people who can't dance can Just Dance. I was ready to make myself feel like an adequate dancer. I wanted that confirmation from Just Dance. Big mistake.
As I danced I saw the OKs flash across the screen.Ok. Ok. Ok. Ok. Ok. Ok.
I mean that already told me what I already knew. I am not the best dancer, but I am not the worst dancer, right? Wrong. Turns out Ok on just dance is like the outfielder in little league baseball. Let me explain myself. Your coach is not going to tell you, that you are bad. They are going to talk up outfield. Tell you that you are the only one fit to catch those fly balls. Nobody can catch those fly balls like you. Translation: Nobody can do that like you because little kids do not hit fly balls in little league. Everyone knows they put the worst kids on the team in outfield (For reference, I was played left field in softball. I was "that" girl) Just Dance didn't really want me to feel bad about myself. Instead of telling me that I was just plain bad, they softened the load with an ok. They put me in the outfield. Well let me tell you something Just Dance, I am 19 years old, a form left fielder, and I am not deceived by your tricks.

Well I was determined to improve. I am a high-achiever. I was not going to be ok. A simple good would do, an excellent, even better. Well I only got worse. As my peers around me completed scores of excellents, I only got worse and came in dead last each time. What a fool I was. I tried to blame the controller one round. You see, it didn't have a back. Well the next round the person with that controller one, so I had no excuse. I was crushed each round. Dead last. And that is when it hit me. The humble pie was sitting right in front of me. Calling to me. I did not want that humble pie. I wanted it to be for someone else, but it wasn't, it was just for me. And I love pie, so I had to give in. And there was a message in that pie. Definitely from God. He said to me "Daughter, you are not just a bad dancer, you are the worst dancer in the world, and there is nothing wrong with that. I love you just as you are. No rhythm and all."
And if God can love the worst dancer in the universe, I know he is all good.