Written Wednesdays

So, as I have hit a gargantuan writing block barricade, I have been stalking other blogs profusely and have found a neat idea behind a few blogs. Letters. We all love letters right? I am all for the convenience of our technologically-advanced world of text messages, e-mails, phone calls, etc., but there is something mysteriously romantic, unifying,delicate, and downright genuine about the conglomeration of pen and paper and an envelope in a mailbox. Although not the first time on this blog (I wrote a letter to myself once before), I thought I would implement the "letter theme" again (even though these are not real letters seeing that they are being typed behind my computer screen and not written on my stationery that needs to be put to use more often).  I can't think of two better people to write to than my parents. So without further ado, Let's give this a go, shall we?

Dear Frito and Pasty (as my childhood friends so lovingly branded you years ago),

            Words could never adequately describe how thankful I am for the two of you and all that you have so selflessly done for me the past twenty-one years.  You are, without a doubt, the two strongest people I know. As I have journeyed through life and my spiritual walk, I have always heard about possessing a Servant's heart and lifestyle, tried to discover what this truly looked like, and have been blind to the fact that the definition of this attitude was right before my eyes and guided me on a daily basis. Your compassion for people and the daily sacrifices you make to help others never ceases to amaze me. Thank you for dealing with my dramatic monologues and daily phone calls of my "crazy ideas." Thank you for supporting me with my second major change at the end of my Junior year of college. Thank you for encouraging me to be the "bigger person" in life while also teaching me how to notice and appreciate the "little things" we miss/take for granted on a daily basis. Thank you for understanding that silence is not one of my virtues and lending me your ears for two decades now. Thank you for setting the bar so high that I will never, ever reach it but will strive throughout life to get to the halfway mark. Mom, thank you for being the kindest, yet toughest, person I know. You really are not human. You are Wonder Woman in so many dimensions and never let the weight of the world keep you down. Thank you for being the resounding voice of reason in my life (even if I sometimes idiotically tune it out) and for giving me such an example of a God-fearing, beautiful woman. Dad, thank you for being the encourager in my life, sending me off to run the bases in search of my dreams, but always pointing me in the direction that leads home. Thank you for embedding the power of prayer into my life and for showing me true dedication to family and faith. Yet, thank you is an inadequate understatement to the two of you. You are one of the greatest blessings in my life, and I look forward to the lessons and years in the future. I love you.

-Shelby

"Glad you Came, Sweet Girl."

Two people have not received their way beyond over-due spotlight on my blog. Yet, they are in every word I type because I believe that I inherited the "dreamer" mindset solely from them. You would think they were just an ordinary couple in their seventies watching the news, attending every church function possible, or working on the latest quilt project. Yet, once upon a time, my sweet grandparents were a modern-day Romeo and Juliet. Despite the fact that they were sixteen and nineteen and that their parents might disapprove, my grandparents' love was all that mattered. Although it may be classified as "crazy," they eloped and got married as teenagers. They have been married over fifty years since. So the next time you say I am a hopeless romantic/crazy dreamer, I got it honestly. It's in my genes, and their story makes that crazy-dreamer heart pitter patter every time I think about it. 

Back to present time. Over the Christmas break, my grandfather had to have a procedure done for bladder cancer that they found. The day before the operation, my mom and I drove to Hattiesburg to be with him the morning of, and in all my morning-person glory, I was at the hospital at around 6:15am. If you know me even the slightest bit, you know that I am DEATHLY afraid of needles. My love for leopard print is the equivalent of my hatred for needles- if that says anything. Well, as soon as we walked into the holding room where my grandfather was, I saw the IV. You would have thought I had seen a King Cobra morphed with a tarantula. So, there I am, slumping into a chair, trying to smile, and feeling nauseated as my complexion descended to Casper. I was in no form or fashion equipped to be in a hospital room looking straight at my ultimate fear, but I faced my giant, so-to-speak, for my grandfather. As they wheeled him out of the holding room to take him to his operation, he looked up at me and said "Glad you came, sweet girl." My. heart. melted. That was the only strength I needed to be there. That was all that mattered.

I feel like this is true for our spiritual walk as well.  I heard once that "God does not call the equipped. He equips the called." There are going to be times in our lives when we are called to face our own unique giants. We may be scared. We may feel ill-prepared. We may feel like we aren't good or worthy enough. (We may be about to faint in a Hattiesburg hospital.) Yet, if we take that step and face our fears, God "equips the called." He gives us the strength to be in that moment. He gives us the resources we need to complete our task. He gives us a sling-shot with a rock of faith. He smiles and whispers,

  "Glad you came, sweet girl."

(And, that's all that matters.)

Red-Onesie Moment



Is this not absolutely hilarious yet so unfortunately true?

So, if you have been around me long enough, you know that I have a slight tendency to worry/put on a dramatic performance about absolutely nothing. Unfortunately, this is a weakness of mine, but fortunately, I have wonderful friends and family who love me anyways and help bring "Anxiety Girl" back from her conclusion jumps. One recent "jump" has resided in the back of my mind for the past few weeks, and I feel like there's a lesson to be taken from it.

It all started Christmas Eve. Megan gave me a new WHITE (if you have a person in your life who is the slightest bit accident-prone, DON'T buy them anything white) Coach watch that I absolutely LOVE. I was so excited and naturally wore it the next day on Christmas. Well, Santa has a sense of humor, at least at the McKenzie house, and he brought Megan and I red monkey onesies (Yes, if you are trying to remember- Megan and I are almost 25 and 21). Like I said, sense of humor.

This is the EXACT onesie I have. (monkey feet and all)

So Christmas night, I wore the RED onesie with the WHITE watch and wasn't the yellow in the crayon box to say the least. When I went to take off the watch before I went to sleep, my perfectly white watch now had a pink stain (major monkey business on the onesie's part). Of course, this sent me into a full Oscar-nominated performance as I mourned for my watch and acted like Kim Kardashian when she lost her $75,000 earring after jumping off a pier in Bora Bora. Clearly, someone should have given Kimmy and I a brain for Christmas because you don't wear a new red outfit with a white watch, and you definitely don't prod your monster-sized husband to chunk you off a pier into an ocean wearing $75,000 earrings. Back to the story..

Naturally, the next day I am still trying to get my Oscar and began researching ways to remove dye stains from patent leather (friends, the findings for this research isn't that bright). So I tried a few cleaners, and if you can imagine domestically-challenged me trying to clean a watch, you have an Elmer Fudd imitation. Being Elmer, I was oblivious to the fact that I was driving everyone else crazy (clearly not getting the People's Choice Award) until my sweet boyfriend kindly yanked me from my dramatic, high-horse stage back to reality (the kid has a real talent for this) and reminded me that it was just a watch with one tiny stain on a band that could probably be replaced and nothing to fret about for half an afternoon. Switching roles, Elmer laid down his gun, and Bugs picked up a carrot and began to contemplate the situation.

As embarrassed as I am about my antics, I believe I received a good reminder that day. Life is not going to be a perfectly white piece of patent leather. It's full of stains and blunders that leave marks that can't be erased right away. Yet, it doesn't change who you are nor does it take away from your value. Although the dye left a stain on my watch, it didn't change the fact that it was still a functional watch and didn't take away its signifance as a gift. Also, as my family told me, the stain would eventually fade, but in the mean time, it was up to me how I would view it. Likewise, in life, we can't control the stains or their timing. However, we can change our perspective of the stains and know that they aren't permanent. They may affect us temporarily, but they will eventually fade into the past. We can choose to laugh at the stain and our dumb "red onesie moments," or we can let the meager stain permeate into our lives and rob us of much more than a piece of our band. For me, I'll write this off as a red-onesie moment.

A Time to Dance

"And a time to dance." Ecclesiastes 3:4

It has been four months since I have blogged. FOUR. I owe an apology to any who might have read my blog in the past. Looking back, I blogged the most when I was experiencing a valley, and writing served in 2010 as an outlet for me. Yet, I fell off the blogging radar in 2011. To simply and selfishly put it, it was my time to dance and rarely found/sought out the time to blog. Therefore, I apologize to those of you who had to read all of my valley posts and never got the description of the view from the mountain. That is my new M.O.- give you my tales from the mountain. However, before I get to that- I also feel convicted because I have not been as grateful for my time to dance as I should have been. I heard a verse from Job once that said "Should we accept good from God and not trouble?" I used to think this was showing our impatience for hardships. However, it applies to my life in other ways. In my times of hardship, I grew even closer to God. As I wrote once, it was a season of my life where I became less and He became more. Yet, when my time to dance arrived, I went tearing across the dance floor without thanking the One who turned on the music. I was the naive child who was enthralled by the song and was oblivious to the loving parent watching from the side of the room. Therefore, thank you God for the "time to dance" and for being the gracious, forgiving Father who smiles from the corner.

Back to 2011- I literally could probably write about the past year all day long. It truly was such a wonderful year where I was blessed with so many amazing people, experiences, opportunities, and life lessons. Yet, in light of the fact that I missed a Thanksgiving post and in celebration of the new year, here are twelve aspects of 2011 I am thankful for.

1. My parents. Throughout the past year, they have taken the role of a Servant Heart to an all-new level and have never ceased to inspire me on a daily basis. They are two of the most selfless and God-trusting people I know. I did not deserve them, but I am so glad I have their guiding footsteps in my life.

2. My sister who I have literally watched venture out into the "real world" the past year. From getting her Doctorate after six years of school in May to her "big-girl" job and her new apartment, I am so proud of her and the fact that she keeps raising the totem pole a little higher every day for me to climb ;)

3. My Aunt- Laura Story said it best in her song Blessings when she said "What if your blessings come from raindrops?" Although it was not under the most ideal circumstances, I am so grateful that my aunt now lives with us which has given me more time to spend with her and soak in her unique pieces of wisdom:)

4. An emergency-room free year! Can I get an amen? Besides a small passing out spell in the middle of the DG hallway, Kate finding me in my towel, and Maidee setting off the fire alarm as she ran up the fire escape to get to my room, the year ran smoothly and no roller skates to be found.

5. Speaking of DG, 2011 started my junior year which also meant living in the DG house. I have absolutely loved it so far and am dreading the sad day in May when I have to move out.
6. My childhood friends- although I have written about them in my blog several times, I could never run out of words to say. They have and always will hold a special place in my heart.
7. My college friends- From people I met my first day at Ole Miss to ones I met this semester, I have been blessed with such wonderful friends in Oxford who make this season of my life all the more beautiful and worthwhile.

8. A new friend in March- From a rather comical meeting, I gained a new best friend last spring and every day since has been quite entertaining. :) Simply put, I am so thankful for meeting someone who can put me in my place and make me laugh simultaneously. (This is not an easy task folks)

9. Trips- From Spring Break in March to four beach get-aways this summer to New Orleans in July to three trips to Houston in the fall and day-trips to Memphis, I have had my fair share of wheel-time so to speak and am so grateful for these adventures because they hold some of my greatest memories from the past year.

10. Mr. Doler- He will have his own post soon, but I am thankful for my last year with my sweet friend. I love you and miss your smile already.

11. The fact that everything happens for a reason. This has been my mantra for over a year now as I have blogged about it before, and this allowed for my time to dance.

12. A God who never ceases to amaze me, who loves me despite all of my flaws, who always listens to my never-ending rambles, and who blessed me with the past 11 wonderful blessings and my time to dance in 2011.

A Shoulder-Dusting, Pizza-Cutting Love

Last Sunday night, I sat in a booth at Newks, tired, stressed, confused, and not looking forward to the chaotic week ahead. I figured I would eat my sandwich, have a good conversation with my friends, and then be submersed back into the chaos when I got back to my dorm. Yet, God finds you in the most ironic of places, even from across a cafe. I was minding my own business most likely rambling about how I was going to consume by body weight in candy the next day (Valentine's Day) when an older lady caught the corner of my eye. She feebly stood up, got out of her side of the booth, and stood over a person's plate and began to cut their pizza. I was drawn to the woman instantly as she seemed so weak yet continued to serve this person whom I assumed was a small child. When she was finished, she sat back down, and then I saw that this was not a small child but an old man- her husband. My heart instantly melted (if you know anything about me, you know I have an infatuation with old people especially old couples), and I smiled to myself as I returned to my sandwich and friend's conversation. Yet, a few minutes later, one of my friends randomly stood to get up, so naturally I looked up to see what she was looking at. It was the old woman again. She was pulling the man up to his feet, and she began to zip his jacket and brush off his shoulders. By this time, my heart was completely a pile of goo in my chest as I tried not to tear up which I succeeded in then but completely SOBBED later when I retold the story to a friend. God had sent me a beautiful reminder of a true and powerful love and at a perfect timing.

For in the end, that's what we all want in life- a true love. A love that serves. A love that "cuts your pizza" when you can't find the strength. A love that pulls you to your feet and helps you stand. A love that dusts your shoulders off. A love that conquers time. A love of a best friend who zips up your jacket and protects you from the icy winds of the world. As I watched this precious couple interact, I couldn't help but hope that one day I had a best friend that I could cut pizza for when I was sixty-seven years old or a best friend who would help me get out of a booth because God and I both know that I am most likely going to be as clumsy then as I am now. Although I am most certainly not in that part of my life, I couldn't help but smile as I realized I had my own unique Valentine and "shoulder-duster" in my current life.

When God prepared to send me into the world, I fully believe that He knew that I was going to be one of the clumsiest, most common-sense deprived, most stubborn, and most outspoken of His children, so He had to make sure that I had the closest thing to a saint for a mother. He did just that. I was blessed with the most amazing mother in the world (I am sorry to all of the mothers reading this- I am sure you are wonderful as well but you obviously haven't met my mother), and if you have had the honor of meeting my mom at some point in your life, you know that she is unlike any other person you have ever met and that your life is better with her in it. Therefore, this post is dedicated to the woman (whom I swear is an angel in disguise) that has been the pizza-cutting, shoulder-dusting love in my life for almost twenty years now.

First of all, my mother has been the pizza-cutting love in my life more than any other person I have ever encountered. Frieda McKenzie means selfless and service in the truest form. Even in times of weakness (which are rare), my mother is still "cutting pizza" for someone else. She always has a smile on her face and an outstretched, open hand. On another aspect, my mother has an indescribable gift to take a huge pizza and cut it down into smaller pieces. She takes the huge obstacles in your life and breaks them down until you can conquer them. When my mom gets the phone calls from the drama queen on the brink of anxiety attacks and mental melt-downs over a test or meager assignment, she brings me back down to reality and shows me my huge pizza-problem is just a small piece that I can handle. When she gets calls from the arsonist who just wants to blowtorch someone's car, she reminds me that there's a whole pizza beyond the bad, little piece I am dealing with right now. When she gets calls from the dreamer who has her 343434588th crazy idea, she laughs at each one yet reminds me that it's your pizza to design and to chase after the toppings I want.

Besides her servant-heart, the other arena that my mother completely dominates is forgiveness. If there's one phrase that will always resonate with my mother, it is "Kill them with Kindness" to which one of my friends once replied, "I'm trying Mrs. Frieda but they don't ever die." My mother has an incomparable capacity for forgiveness, and when I find myself in a mistake, she is always there to "dust off my shoulders." When I have trouble forgiving others, she is there to show me (and a lot of the time prod me) how to extend grace and dust their shoulders off as well. For you see, my mother doesn't see the dust on the shoulders, she sees the heart. She sees the joy. She sees the rainbow in every storm. She sees the diamond in the rough. She wipes away the dust and helps you shine. She dusts off your shoulders and sends you out into the world as a better person.

I accepted a long time ago that I will never be like my mother. This is the mom who found a way for me to not only meet my childhood idol multiple times but to ride in a car with him. This is the mom who still holds my hand even as an almost twenty-year-old everytime I encounter a needle. This is the mother who drove 180 miles in right under two hours just to watch me while I slept after my concussions. This is the mother who still let me get my drivers license after I turned into incoming traffic at the busiest intersection in Brandon:). I could strive my whole life to be half the woman, the servant, the giver, the heart, the friend, the encourager, the provider, and most importantly the example of Christ that she is, and I would never even get close. Yet, I can smile knowing that I received a blessing that I never ever deserved. I can smile knowing that I am the child of the most amazing woman. I can smile knowing that my life has been molded and guided by such a wonderful and beautiful individual. I can smile knowing that I have impossibly large footprints to fill but that I will chase after full-heartedly for the rest of my life. I can smile knowing that I am related to a woman who "kills with kindness" and has impacted hundreds of lives and continues to do so on a daily basis.

I can smile because I have the unconditional love of someone in my life who cuts every pizza and dusts off every shoulder.

ALOHA

ALOHA. I have been absent from the blogging world for a few weeks now, so I am starting off my new post with a terribly cheesy pun. Just go with me. Aloha- hasn't it been stated before that it is the Hawaiian lingo for hello AND goodbye? Well, if this is true, then ALOHA would be the perfect one-word description for New Years as we say farewell to one year and warmly welcome the clean slate and fresh pavement of a new one. So ALOHA 2010 and ALOHA 2011. Extremely cheesy, but you know you smiled, or you at least had a sympathetic shake of your head for me. So thank you. (SPOILER ALERT: THIS IS LONG.)

As everyone routinely reflects on the previous year when New Years rolls around, I have looked back on the past year and have struggled to find a way to sum it all up. Hence, this is why the post is January 8th not January 1st. Yet, I finally have found the most accurate nutshell for my 2010, and this is what my nutshell would be:

"And now these three remain: faith, hope, and love. But the greatest of these is love." 1 Cor. 13:13.

I say this because when I look back at the past year of my life, my year was full of change and full of growth, but the one factor that never diminished or changed was love and love on so many aspects and levels. 2010 was permeated with love, and this love came in the form of an eye of a storm, a flashlight, and a maid. (I would love to see half of your faces right now because I am sure some of you are completely in bewilderment, but I do have a train of thought here- so at least get on the caboose.)

Love as a an eye of a storm- This love is the description that has encompassed my friends for the past year. Whether it was new friends in May made through the chaos of changing my major and having to take summer classes or the friend since Kindergarten that spent five hours in a hospital with me when I was scared with two concussions in October, my friends' love the past year has been the eye of a storm. No matter what chaos or bad time I was experiencing, they were the peace and the calm wedged in the middle of it. From being a shoulder to cry on to a card that had Nick Lachey and Jessica Simpson's picture pasted in it (weird obsession that no one but a few people would understand) to being locked in a bathroom with a hair straightner as a weapon when I was convinced someone was inside of Tara's condo, my friends have truly made every storm the past year seem like a rain shower and have danced with me in the rain.

Love as a flashlight- This is the love of my family. The past year has been full of changes for me, but they have always been there to shed their guiding light on every situation and have been a source of light in my daily life. My parents supported me in May when I decided to change my major on a whim- even when I had absolutely no idea where that was going to take me. My mom answered the 3934545 phone calls in the spring when I was about to have anxiety meltdowns over chemistry tests. In the fall, when I had a completely broken heart, my mother was there with a listening ear, a shoulder to lean on, and of course boot shopping :). When I had two concussions in a span of two days, my mom drove like a maniac and brightened my day even when I was scared. In November, when I was holding Mr. Miller's hand while he was in the hospital, my sister was on the other side of the bed holding his other hand. No matter what, my family has always and will always be the light in my life.

Love as a maid- Last and certainly not least, the love from a Heavenly Father has been the maid in my life the past year. I have truly learned this past year that no matter how messy you make a situation, He will always clean it up. When the "spaghetti comes rolling down," He'll clean up every lost noodle. When your heart breaks, he reassembles every piece. He takes your trash out so to speak. He makes the ugly beautiful and makes the dirty clean. He washes out every stain. He is the example of a servant heart.

So that is what I have grasped from 2010. Love and its abundance. Heartbreak hurts. Death brings grief. Uncertainty reaps fear. Yet, love conquers all. It is the eye of the storm. It is the light to a darkened path. It is the maid who takes away your mess. IT is the GREATEST of these. I wish you all a happy new year and a 2011 that is full of love.

Tis the Season to LIVE

So, I am finally back, and considering I abandoned my poor blog for a while, I felt as if she needed a slight make-over. I am finally starting to understand how to find backgrounds after six months. This is where you clap for me, or let's take it Legally Blonde style and SNAP for me. Thank you. Yet, this new style makes my posts more skinny which also causes them to look as long as the Nile, so if you read these all the way through- you are a champ. I appreciate you.

Back to the point, I have finished my THIRD semester of college, survived finals, started Christmas Break, came home for a whopping two days, and then headed off to the most "magical place on Earth" for a week with the family. It was an absolute blast, and I will definitely add pictures and fun stories from our trip on the next blog. Although this post will deal with Disney World as well, I am going to steer away from Tower of Terror and Splash Mountain in the middle of December (oh yeah, you read that correctly) and share part of the "magic" I learned in the midst of my time with Mickey.

The second night we were in Disney, we were sitting at dinner, when I heard the all too familiar "Happy Birthday to You." Naturally, I looked up from my food to find the celebrated individual and to observe the smiles, laughter, and excitement of the special occasion. My eyes fell upon a baby, and I overheard it was her "first birthday." I was in awe of this precious baby who was at the start of her journey, and I got to experience one of the landmarks. Now, let's fast-forward to the end of my trip. I was boarding the last plane of the night, and as I was searching for my seat, a man dressed from head to toe in his Marine attire was sitting in the row behind me. I smiled at him as I took my seat, and our brief interaction ended. Yet, seconds after I sat down, the pilot announced that we had the honor of carrying the remains of a passing soldier and his escort was riding with us as well. The man behind me was the passing soldier's escort. My heart froze as I grasped the significance of this event. We were carrying an unknown soldier's body to his family. I couldn't help but wonder what his story was, what was his name, where did he live, and could he simply be my age? At the beginning of the week, I had encountered the beginning of a life, and at the end of my week, I encountered the conclusion of a short life.

So where's the magic? The magic is the knowledge that life is short. As I sat on the airplane, I wanted to go find that baby girl and hold her little hand and tell her that life is short, so appreciate every moment. Don't let one minute pass you by. Yet, the even bigger piece of magic, is the GIFT of life. This was the magic I received during my trip to Disney World. For one week, I lived the life. What does this mean? I spent an entire week with the three closest people in my life and the people I love. I made a new friend out of a stranger and shared part of my life with them. I ate two desserts a day without worrying if the jeans would fit the next morning. I acted like a five-year-old and laughed and laughed as I spun around in a tea-cup with my mother. I rode a carousel. I saw fireworks over water. I prayed with my family. I saw soldiers traveling home to their families after they served our country. I did a 195-free-fall ride with my dad. I rode Splash Mountain in the middle of December. I reminisced on the past and wondered about the future. I embraced the gift of life.

Therefore, it is not "tis the season to be jolly," but it is "tis the season to LIVE." Give yourself a Christmas present, and give yourself the gift of life. Live life, and live it abundantly. When I walked into church on Sunday morning, I found it ironic that the sermon was on the "abundant life" after my encounters the previous week. The preacher shared this verse.

"I have come that they may have life and that they may have it more abundantly." John 10:10.

Now, I had a blast with my family in Disney World, and I lived with enthusiasm. Yet, I can live with enthusiam because I have been blessed with the "abundant life." I have been loved and touched by a God who offers this abundance. Therefore, this Christmas season, I hope it is your season to live. If you have the gift of the abundant life, I hope you cherish that this holiday season and share it with others. If you have not opened the gift of the abundant life yet, I hope that it's the first present you tear open this Christmas. It's waiting on you.

-S

When You Wish Upon a Star, Your Dreams Come True

Tell me, TELL ME you are picturing JIMINY CRICKET in your head right now! Ahh. You probably sang the song in your mind too and then smiled because Walt Disney and his marvelous creations just have that effect on humans. I wrote this as the title because I WILL BE in the Magical World of Disney where "dreams come true" in exactly ONE WEEK. Eeek. I cannot wait. Finals will be completed. Stress will cease, and I will get to spend a week during "the most wonderful time of the year" with the three most special people in my life in a magical place that holds so many special memories from my childhood. Does it really get much better than that? I really do not think it does.

However, let me come back down from Cloud Nine and share with you why I also chose this as my title. So, this is finals week. Most students are harbored in an extremely quiet, hidden corner of a library with a pile of books, notes, study guides, and a world's supply of coffee. What is Shelby doing on the Saturday night before finals? Well, I finally did buckle down to type up my psychology notes, but I was jamming out to NSYNC in the process. It literally put me in the best mood, and I couldn't help but smile thinking about how these five boys completely dominated my ten-year-old heart and everyday life. Their poster was on my bedroom door. Their songs were constantly played in my room, belted out in the shower, and pretty much etched into my heart. Not to mention all of the NSYNC paraphenalia I had and still posess. No lie, I have an NSYNC lunchbox, ALL FIVE dolls, an NSYNC video about their tours, a signed picture, every CD they created (even the Bye, Bye, Bye single), and a picture of Lance Bass from when he was little. Yes, as I was sittng in Crosby tonight trying to study for the future, I found myself amazed by the past. I discovered how ridiculously blessed I was, and I discovered that dreams really had come true in my life.

Yes, as you can tell from the previous paragraph, I was slightly obsessed with NSYNC as a child. Well, thank my lucky stars, my mother got a new boss in the MIDST of my obsession. Would you like to know who her boss was? Lance Bass's dad- it would probably help my case to mention that Lance was my absolute favorite. So, I was instantly obsessed with my mother's boss and would spend hours upon hours in his office when I would have to go to my mom's work and ask about Lance, dance for him, just sit and admire the fact this was Lance Bass's father, and probably sang every single NSYNC song for him (like he hadn't heard them before). Well one day, this man made my ten-year-old dreams come true. Thinking about it now, I honestly wish I could go back and watch the look on my ten-year-old face when my mother told me one morning that I got to ride with Lance's parents to the airport to pick him up. I was in shock, I'm sure. I felt like the luckiest girl in the world. I still remember sitting in shock when the car door opened and my childhood love climbed into the seat beside me. I don't remember much, but I do remember the ONLY thing I could muster to say to him was "I saw in a magazine that you and Shania Twain were dating." Smooth, Shelby- real smooth. I look back now and shake my head and laugh in embarrassment, but at the time, it probably was a huge ordeal in my ten-year-old world. Also, as I look back and smile, I can't help but think a dream came true that day- even if it was just a boy-band obsession.

Yet, dreams are not just for ten-year-olds. Let's fast-forward seven years in Shelby's life. But before we do that, let's take a pit-stop at junior high. I can still picture sitting in a friend's room one night at a slumber party saying that I wanted a boy to throw rocks at my window one day. I am sure this conversation came after we watched A Cinderella Story/Legally Blonde/Sweet Home Alabama where the perfect man does all the right things and completely sweeps the girl helplessly off her feet. I am sure everyone else laughed at my idea- I mean it was so 1950s- but I didn't care. I was determined. It was my 13-year-old dream, and this one remained until high school.

It was Christmas Eve of my Senior year of high school. I had just started dating a boy three weeks before, but for some reason, he had been short in conversation the whole night and told me at 10:30 that he was going to sleep. I remember being so upset that he had been so short with me and was so confused that he was going to sleep so early on Christmas, so I just decided to go to sleep too. I was almost sound asleep when I heard a noise at my window. I figured it was just a branch hitting the window or my imagination, so I closed my eyes and tried to go back to sleep. Yet, just a few seconds later, I heard it again. Then, there was a third. By this time, I was out of my bed walking slowly to the window wondering what it could be. When I reached the window, I lifted up one of the blinds, and I could not believe what was staring back at me. A boy in sweatpants and a sweatshirt and an ear-to-ear familiar smile were outside of my window. I literally froze (all for about half a second). The next thing I knew, I was flinging my bedroom door open, sprinting through the living room and kitchen where my mom was "assisting Santa," trying to make sentences to explain to her why I was awake, why I was sprinting out of the house at close to midnight, and why for once in my life I was incapable of making sentences. I finally gave up, continued to sprint outside of the door, around the side of my house until I reached the side of the house where my window is. I can still see myself in my pajamas, standing in complete and utter shock, being 100% speechless for the first and only time in my life (if you know me, you should know this never, ever happens), and just staring at the boy who had just thrown rocks at my window. I seriously could not even speak. Yet, after he said Merry Christmas and handed me my Christmas present, I finally remembered the words "Thank you" and "Merry Christmas to you too." We talked for a few more minutes, but I honestly could not tell you what the conversation was about. I was the little girl sitting beside Lance Bass all over again with no idea what to say, and yet again, one of my cheesy teenage-dreams had come true. You might currently want to throw a block of cheese at me or say that it's a silly dream, but sit beside your childhood idol or let someone throw rocks at your window on Christmas Eve and then we'll talk.

So what is the point of my post and cheesy stories? I believe Jiminy Cricket's song about "when you wish upon a star, your dreams come true," but I don't believe he's referring to literal stars. No, I think Jiminy meant the "stars" in your own life. The people who care about you unconditionally. The people who shine for you and pour light into your life. The people who want you to cast your wishes upon them and make those wishes come true. You see, dreams of mine (although small) came true due to the "stars" in my life. I had people who cared about me tremendously and wanted to see me experience my "dreams." I had people who poured light into my life. I had "stars" for my wishes. Although I can only picture how excited I was about meeting Lance Bass, I am sure my mother, the biggest "star" in my life, enjoyed my reaction and providing that opportunity just as much if not more. Therefore, my hope and prayer is that you have "stars" in your own lives and that you constantly surround yourself with even more "stars." Surround yourself with the people who care about you the most and want to shine for you and to see you shine as well. Have a "star that you can wish upon" in your life. Furthermore, be a "star" in someone else's life. You never know when you might get the opportunity to make someone else's dream come true. So, always toss your wishes out to your "stars" and even more, be ready to catch the wish of someone else. Because when you wish upon a star, your dreams come true.

-S

"Big Mac is Coming to Town"

If you read the title, you probably think that it's a terrible slogan or jingle for McDonald's, but it is actually a phrase that I heard and said repeatedly as a child. I can see myself as an eight-year-old little girl laughing on the phone with my grandfather (or as we lovingly called him Mac Mac) when he would tell me to tell my dad that "Big Mac was coming to town." I can still see the twinkle in his eyes that also resides in my own father's brown eyes. I can still see the sticks of Juicy Fruit coming out of the top of his pocket that I would always reach for or that he would constantly disperse. I can still picture riding beside him and him telling you to "put on the air brakes " as he would multi-task and include the associated sound effects. I can still picture myself in his living room in Evergreen, Alabama, holding his hand as my dad prayed for him and hugging him good-bye for the last time. Yesterday marked the third year since my grandfather's passing, but there's not a day that goes by that my life is not affected by "Big Mac" somehow.

If I could reflect on one aspect of my grandfather's time on Earth, it would have to be his vivacity and zest for life. When "Big Mac came to town," everyone knew. He did not live life quietly. He was either instructing you on "air brakes," or he was "stealing your nose." He was extremely opinionated (I probably got this from him) and would easily tell you what he was thinking. Personally, I feel as if he owned stock in Waffle House, for this was a daily ritual in his life. No matter what arena or "town" my grandfather was in, his voice was heard.
One thing that stands out in my mind the most about my grandfather's funeral was a certain flower arrangement that he received. It was not a distant relative, a co-worker, a family friend, or someone who had been closely connected to my grandfather's or my family's lives. No, this flower arrangement was from the workers of my grandfather's beloved Waffle House. They had been touched by my grandfather's life on a daily basis over the years, and he had meant something to them. This was not a signifcant place for my grandfather where he spent the majority of his time. This was just a meager Waffle House where he got his coffee. It was a pit-stop in his day-to-day life. Yet, even at the pit-stops in my grandfather's life, he made a difference. Like I said, when "Big Mac Came to Town," everyone knew. Even the people at the pit-stops.

I will always cherish the memories that I had with my grandfather and the impact that he had on my life. They are irreplaceable and eternally sweet. Yet, it is almost sweeter to see the impact that my grandfather had on others- especially the people at the "pit-stops." I can only hope that when I leave this Earth and return home one day, that I have touched and impacted my own "Waffle House" and the people who simply provided me with my "cup of coffee" (whatever situation that may be). I hope that I live a life where even coffee breaks provide a place to leave a legacy. Mac Mac, I love you and thank you for living a life where when you came to town, it mattered, and when you came to town, you impacted everybody.

Therefore, I think that we should all live with the motto that "Big Mac is Coming to Town" (fill in your own name). We all need to live a life where when we come to town, everyone knows. We do not need to quietly go throughout life. We need to be heard. We need to make the pit-stops count. We all need to have our own "Waffle Houses." We all need to leave an impact on those we love and hold dear, but we also need to love and impact those who "pour our coffee," those who sit beside us in class, those who we work beside, those who we encounter but do not acknowledge, those who seem so simple yet need so much, those who go unnoticed, those who need to know that WE ARE IN TOWN.

"Therefore, GO and make disciples of all nations."- Matthew 28:19.

To me, this means: GO and let people KNOW YOU ARE IN TOWN. Do not stop until your voice is heard. Reach every part of "town." Even the "pit-stops." Let them know about me and that "I am coming BACK to town."

Do people know when you are "in town?"

Do you impact the pit-stops?

And most importantly, is your voice and life declaring who is ultimately coming back to town?

So, as you travel down the road of life, "put on your air brakes," don't miss the "Waffle Houses," and let people know who's in town.

Some Things Never Change

You know how people say there should be a theme song for their lives? Well, if there was a concept of a "theme picture" for my life, this would COMPLETELY encompass at least four days of my week. Actually, this picture is my future goal because this man fell correctly (if that's possible, maybe he's a professional goob too and knows how to minimize the pain) and did not nail his head like I have done THREE times now. Yep, you heard me. I just drew one more point on the scoreboard of Shelby's head-games with the floor. If you're keeping score at home it's Shelby's head- 0. Tile floors, brick floors, and bathroom sinks and possible towel rack- 3.
Before we get to the THIRD attack on Shelby's skull, let's get to the serious part. I should at least postpone you laughing at me as long as possible, right? Good, I thought so too. So last Tuesday, I was sitting in class when I got a text from my mom. It told me to call her as soon as I got out of class. Automatically, my stomach went into turmoil mode because my mother never has to tell me to call. I call her at least a THOUSAND times a day to discuss pathetically simple things that I should be beyond capable of handlling at twenty. The ladies at her work laugh at the amount of times that I call- it really is absurd. Back to the point, I was a nervous wreck. When I got out of class and called and asked my mother what was going on, she just casually says that her and my dad were at the hospital since three that morning. I know she said it this way to comfort me, but my goodness mother you weren't taking a stroll through the park to "One Fine Day!" (I am much more dramatic than my mother). She proceeded to tell me that they were at the hospital because my dad had woken up in the middle of the night with chest pains. They were running tests to make sure it wasn't his heart. She kept going, but I was already in another world of whirlwind.
I was in disbellief, and to be flat-out honest,I was a little angry. I thought to myself, "God, have you not seen my past month? Did you forget that I have already had my fair share of rain lately? Sure, I made it through the two concussions, the end of a two-year relationship, and then losing Mr. Miller, but THIS IS MY DAD. I can't handle this one. I made it through the others, don't let this happew now too. It is not fair." I was being selfish, and I was Peter who was hesitant and scared of sinking through the waters instead of listening to the One who was and is trying to teach me how to walk.
Thankfully, my dad's problem was not his heart, and my selfish desires were answered. Yet, God still had a lesson for me the next day. Wednesday, I was so excited because Allison, one of my best friends from high school, and Lindsey were staying with me. This sent me on a mission to find an air mattress that I could sleep on, so I took it upon myself to skip/run down the halls as I was searching. Well, unfortunately for me, my sweet neighbors didn't alert clumsy me that they had sprayed Raid in their doorway. Raid on a floor+Shelby running= a reaction that I am sure you can easily predict. Yes, as I ran into their room, I slipped on the Raid, and I successfully hit my head on the tile floors of Crosby.As I laid in the middle of my friends' door, I quickly pictured the male nurse with his female-function questions, and I quickly stood up and told everyone I was fine. No hospitals for me. But where was my sweet best friend?
I could hear her snorting and laughing from my room. If you know Allison, you appreciate this situation tenfolds more because when Allison laughs she has, well she has some issues. Yep, as my newer friends asked if I was ok, my old friend was sprawled out on my dorm-room floor( hadn't even moved to see if I was alive) rolling in laughter. Maidee Parker, my other friend, was standing in the hall between the two of us, shaking her head, not able to choose which one of us was more idiotic as she always had in high school with every other embarrassing situation we put her through. Although I had just humiliated myself for the 394985985 time in my life, I couldn't help but smile because some things never change. No matter how old we got, no matter how many miles we were apart, no matter what university we went to, no matter WHAT, I was still the clumsy girl that fell while Allison was the one who laughed hysterically and had her issues while Maidee Parker would run and hide or stand in the middle of us and do nothing but shake her head. In the midst of our crazy lives, we were still the same. Nothing had changed.
I believe that if I had listened a little closer to my other Friend the day before, He would have told me the same thing. He would have said, "Hey, I know it's been crazy the past month. I know you think I haven't been listening or haven't noticed. I know you're scared. I know you're tired, but why are you questioning me? I haven't gone anywhere. You're still the one who has to learn, and I am still the one who has to teach. You're still the one who doubts and fears the waves, and I am still the one reaching out my hand. You're still the clay, and I am still molding. You're still the one who sometimes gets off track, and I am still the one who will be here waiting every time. I will never forsake you or leave you. I love you."
Basically, He was saying, "Some Things Never Change."
Although it is comforting to know that my friends and I are still the same retarded people and nothing has changed, at the end of the day, it's a thousand times better to know that there is a God who loves you beyond reason, will never leave you, and will never quit reaching out His hand to you in the midst of storms. So as you go throughout your week and approach Thanksgiving, be thankful that "some things never change."

"The Spitting Image of my Father"

"Rosemary's granddaughter, the spitting image of my father.... it's all a part of me, that's who I am."

From a very early age, I could easily tell that I did not resemble my mother, and my older sister was an exact replica. My compassionate, compassionate sister realized this as well and mercilessly tried to convince me that I was adopted from Africa (this is really a post for a completely different day). So that left dear old dad for me to resemble, and although we were both the same skin tone and had the deep brown eyes down pat, I vowed that I was nothing like my dad. I mean, he was just a goober. I was much cooler than that. Oh, how time tells you differently.

Yes, throughout the past few years, I have come to realize that I am 100% Jamie McKenzie's daughter and "the spitting image of my father." Yet, I am not referring to an external spitting image but an internal spitting image. There's three aspects of my father that I encompass to the bone. His extreme goofiness, his tough facade but huge heart, and his passion for prayer.

First of all, I am Jamie McKenzie made-over in the sense of goofiness. For crying out loud, my blog is named after Lucille Ball, and I write about "Lucy Moments." Obviously, I am extremely goofy. I can still see my dad dancing around with his obnoxious Auburn Tiger whenever Auburn would score a touchdown when I was little. I see him picking me up, spinning me around, shaking me upside down, and making me growl at him before a soccer game when I am eight years old. I see him, the man with no millimeter of vocal abilities, singing "Layla" and "Don't Stop Believing" when he would drive around and his obnoxious need to control the radio at all times (which I also inherited). People can often poke fun at him, but he has learned to handle it like a champ. Likewise, I am the girl who dropped a shoe in the school toilet my first day of eighth grade, ran into a locker door staring at the boy who I thought was responsible for hanging the moon when I was thirteen, and face planted outside of a Casting Crowns concert in Jackson my sophomore year of high school. Yes, I am just as goofy as my sweet dad.

Secondly, my dad tries to come across as tough, but he has one of the biggest hearts in the world. He might have a temper at times, but he would give you not only the shirt off his back, but his pants, his shoes, and probably even his socks. I smiled last Christmas when we were playing with a family friend's baby, and just when I get to hold her, my dad comes up behind me, practically takes her from me, slowly twirls around with her, and starts talking to her. My other personal favorite is how he rants and raves about our sweet dog, but when he thinks no one else is watching, he will share his peanut-butter crackers with Ellie and talk to her in the mornings. I try to say I didn't get this from him, but I know that I also can put up a tough front and have a temper at times. I try to be a fighter, yet at core, I am the one who in secret is sharing crackers with a dog. Yet, my dad's tough front has also taught me to fight for the important things in life and to never compromise who I am, so even toughness has its perks.

Yet, I cannot even think of my dad without thinking of prayer. The most fond memory of my

dad, so far, is rather simple but has meant the world to me over the years. Every single morning when my dad would drive me to elementary school, he would make me pray. Now, the toughness I just mentioned would come out as I yelled at him and asked "Why aren't you closing your eyes? I have to close mine." Oh, how smart I was to think my dad could drive with his eyes shut. Yet, every morning, we prayed, and this has been a constant theme with my dad. No meal is started until a prayer has happened. I can never leave to go back to Oxford until he has prayed. Two of these times fondly stand out in my mind and are making me tear up as I write this. The last memory and time that I ever saw my grandfather (my dad's dad) alive, we were about to leave Alabama to come back home. I was halfway out the door, and my dad called me back in to pray with my grandfather. The three of us held hands as my dad and I prayed, and less than a month later, my grandfather was gone. I would not have this beautiful memory if it had not been for my dad's faith. The second was one night last year when my dad came to eat with me. We had already said goodbye, and I was about to drive off when I saw my dad come running and knocking on my window. If you know my dad, you know he does NOT run, so I knew this must be important. I rolled down my window, and he said, "I forgot to pray for you." My heart broke instantly. As soon as I rolled my window up, I burst into tears. From a very early age, my dad taught me the power and passion of prayer, and for that, I will be eternally grateful (literally).

Now that I have recognized I am a spitting image of my earthly father, I should also strive to be a spitting image of my Heavenly father. I mean is that not our goal in life and purpose in life- to be the spitting image of Christ. Now obtaining this completely is impossible, and we fail on a daily basis. Yet, I think my three characterizations of my dad could apply to this as well. We should show the world the "goofy side" of our Heavenly father. So many people have a misperception of Christ as restrictions and rules and boundaries. Yet, God is the one who created laughter. He created smiles. He even has a sense of humor. Trust me. Also, although God is tough and disciplines like a father, he is the heart of humanity. He is love. He gave more than the shirt off his back. He gave his SON. Finally, God wants to teach you the power and passion of prayer. He wants to hear you pray every single day. He wants to talk to you. I love my dad more than anything in the world, and God knew exactly what he was doing when he planned for Jamie McKenzie to be my father. However, I hope that one day when I get to those big gates, I hear my other Father say, "Well done, thank you for being faithful and striving to be a spitting image."

Who will you be a spitting image of?

Milestone Home

It has almost been a MONTH since I have blogged last. Where has the time gone? My summer is now over, and I am back in Oxford for the August intersession. Yes, that's right, three and a half hours of MATH Monday-Friday. Lovely right? Ok, there is my pessimistic spill. No more.

So, during my long absence, I have gone from Texas, back to Brandon, and now to Oxford. I am currently sitting in High Point Coffee because Tara's internet is down right now, and I must say, sitting in a coffee shop with your computer in your lap and the perfect mocha to your right adds a whole new feeling of intelligence to your daily routine. Spoiler alert (my new term that I have received from all of the magazine articles and websites I visited trying to find out who Ali picked- I am a dork I know) this will be a longer blog since I have been gone so long.

So, I guess the most interesting thing to write about would be my trip to Texas. For those of you who don't know me that well, I guess I should say my place of birth was Houston, Texas, but Brandon will always be my hometown. So in July, my parents and I voyaged to Texas for a few days of catching up with old friends and oh yes, SHOPPING. The Galleria was so amazing- and I successfully entered a Coach store without going into cardiac arrest, drooling, and without buying anything. For those of you who know me well, you realize the magnitude behind this past sentence. HUGE deal. So on the last day of the trip as we were leaving Houston, my mom thought I should see my "first house." I sighed and began my whining tangent about how that was so cheesy, didn't understand the significance seeing that I did not remember a thing about the house, we had a seven hour drive and didn't need any other detour (throw in 23832 other complaints and you have my futile argument). Then my mother said something that I later would ponder over. She said, "But it is important. That is where you learned to walk. That is where you learned to talk. That was the house you were brought back to- it's where the milestones happened."


Where the milestones happened.


Now, when you're in a car for seven hours, you have a LOT of thinking time, and I began to think about what my mom said. Where the milestones happened. How many times in life are WE others' "first homes." We, ourselves, are where others' milestones happened. It could be as simple as one word of encouragement, one smile, or one conversation that transformed someone else's life completely. A milestone happened. Or it could be a lifelong influence and example that someone else observes and chases after. Yet again, another milestone. We might not remember the small-talk conversations, brief interactions, and the thousand hellos that we distribute throughout our daily lives, but one day, we might just be the "first home" for someone else. They might not remember it then, but one day they'll look back and say, "That's where the milestones happened." Therefore, I think in life, that is one of our purposes. We were designed to be the "first homes" for others. We were designed to make milestones happen.


I wish I had a beautiful picture to show you of my "first home," but unfortunately, I do not. However, here are 1,000 words of my trip in Houston.

Nautical Farewell

Yesterday, I became Gilligan. With a sad smile, I watched as my sweet, old boat pulled out of my driveway for its last time. Yet, it would not be going to the reservoir for a day on the water, and it would not be responsible for pulling a "Big Bertha" inner tube or an inexperienced skier. No, yesterday its destination was a new driveway, a new family, a new home, and a new future of memories and experiences. I have never been fond of the boat's color, and to be quite honest, it is not the most handsome boat on the waters. Yet, as I watched it slip away from view yesterday afternoon, it had never looked so beautiful. However, the boat did not experience a Cinderella story where a nautical-fairy godmother came along and transformed it into a beautiful and royal voyager of the seas- it was the people and the memories that were linked to the boat that made it so beautiful.

As the boat drove away, I saw myself learning to ski and finally standing up successfully for the first time (which took thousands of times- so BIG DEAL). I heard Allison singing every single song that came to her mind while we were tubing- if you know Allison, you understand why this is humorous). I saw Allison rolling and flopping on top of Maidee and me as we tried to tube and Maidee always being in the center so she could hold down and keep Tweedle Dum and Tweedle Dee from flying off the inner tube. I saw the day Allison got the bright idea to try to catch the fish with her mouth while we were tubing. I saw us running off the back of the boat trying to escape the angry bee. I remembered sitting on the dock for thirty minutes as my dad searched the entire boat for the key to finally remember he left it at home. I saw the friends who once filled the now empty seats and heard the laughter and priceless conversations that once permeated the now silent boat. I saw a part of my childhood. That is what I saw as the boat was riding away.

Yet, I won't be sad for long, for there will be other boats. There will be new memories- new experiences. That is the beauty in life- there will always be another "boat." There will always be a new season- a new joyful time in life- a new opportunity for peace and escape- a chance to be pulled out of the water and to stand on your feet- people who will not let you fall when the "boat" speeds up- people who make you laugh with their "songs"- and new days of sunshine.

Therefore, I suppose that in fact, this is not a nautical farewell after all. It is only a see you later. Until then, I will be like Gilligan, and anxiously await my new "boat."