Humility in Houston

So the past month has been CRAZY. From tests kicking in to Spring Break to Houston and now back to Oxford, I have been pretty busy the past few weeks. Not to mention a few big decisions we'll get to in a few posts from now. I have so many funny/awkward stories to share, but as the title says, I found humility in Houston that struck a chord in my heart and is going to resonate until I address it.

This past weekend, I went to Houston to visit the boyfriend, and the last night I was there we went to an absolutely fabulous dinner here:

REPEAT AFTER ME: SHRIMP CHIPPEWA. (I promise you will thank me later.) Back to the story. So  here I am in this extremely nice restaurant (thank you, Andrew) just soaking it all in (along with my entire plate of food and of course I ate more bread than the boyfriend). So as I am waiting on my food, I can't help but observe the family seated closest to us. They appeared to be an overall happy family. They smiled. They laughed at all the right times. They were celebrating a birthday and snapping pictures. They all had their own plate of dessert (my kind of family). Yet, after a few minutes had passed, the conversation turned to religion. I was most likely inhaling an entire loaf of bread when I heard one say,

"I am just who knows/who cares when it comes to religion."

Now, it could have been the excessive amount of butter I had just consumed that caused it, but when I heard this statement, my heart froze. I looked up at the family who had just made my heart smile to now rest my eyes on a moment of pure heartbreak. For someone who seemed so composed from the outside, I couldn't imagine what was roaming in the depths of his heart. I could not imagine someone who, without hesitation, could write religion off as "who knows, who cares." I hurt for the life who hadn't been touched by the power of a prayer. For the soul who hadn't felt the grace of a new day. For the feet that helplessly tried to tread on waters that would soon rise above their head. For the heart who hadn't accepted the most pure and unconditional love. In that moment, I found humility in Houston.

There are two things I think we can take from this story. Just as there are no giants too big to be conquered, there is also no action to small to make a difference in a life and God's will. It does not take traveling to the other side of the world to find a hurting heart. It does not take leaving your town. It merely takes opening your eyes and ears to the people around you. The people you encounter on a daily basis. The people who daily whisper the troubles of their hearts but that we so selfishly tune out because of our own agendas or worries. As much as my heart broke for the man at the table beside me, my heart broke even more because I have not been as aware of the "who knows, who cares" around me. The second thing I think we can take from this is to live by the man's statement. Who Knows, Who Cares. Our goal in our lives should be to live a life where people know who and what we live for, and through our actions, they should know Who cares about them.

Happy Monday!!

"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.)

Awkward and Awesome

So, I have seen this on a few blogs, and I couldn't help but think it was absolutely perfect to implent on mine. Because let's be honest, I define awkward, and yet, I am continuously blessed with so many awesome things in my life. So without further ado, let's debut Awkward and Awesome. (I promise, if you give me a week or two, it's going to get real awkward.)

Awkward:

• Tuesday night, I became a big girl and attended my first Accounting social (that sounds awkward enough by itself), and was trying to act as professional as possible. I smiled. I mingled. I tried to ask accounting questions. I felt my stud earring fall out of my ear and hit the floor. Mind you, the actual stud fell out- the rest of the earring remained in my ear...(Thank the Lord I hadn't grabbed a plate of food yet, or it would have probably fallen in the artichoke dip.) So, in the middle of accounting recruiters, auditors, and eager students hoping to make an impression, I am searching the floor for my earring....yep.
• Over the break I bought a BOSU Balance Trainer ball. Me buying a piece of balance equipment is already awkward? Did I mention that after my first attempt at "Calorie Combustion" the ball decided to pop out of its platform. I killed the BOSU. After a week.
• In my new English Fiction class, we got back our grades to our reading responses. If you know me even the slightest bit, you might have picked up that I'm a little OCD about school and grades. This is especially true for my writing. So, professor decides to give me two 9-out-of-10s for two of my responses. I was livid. Mind you, I realize this is a 90, but he said "undeveloped paragraph." I think it's more than clear I can write more than 5-7 sentences. So, after class, I approached professor about my grades. He said, "you do realize it's still an A?" Yes, Professor, I do. I hope this is a developed paragraph!

Awesome:

• I finally got a red pair of jeans. Do yourself a favor and buy a pair too! Colored denim is in this spring ladies!
• No-class Fridays complete with BBB Breakfast of chocolate chip pancakes. TO DIE FOR.
• Last Sunday, I went to a new church, North Oxford Baptist, with Maggie and Tori, and I absolutely loved it. I also discovered Kim Walker's "I Need You More." Do yourself another favor and lisen to it!
• Tara brought me a Gigi's cupcake home from her internship on Wednesday. Sometimes, all it takes is some icing to make a girl smile.
• On the optimistic side of school, I just got good news for my writing project and am more than excited. More to come on that later!

Happy weekend!!

Fairytales and Stupidity



"If you feel stupid, you're probably doing it right."

I am thirteen-years-old standing in a gym, wearing an outfit that radiates Elle Woods and her endless enthusiasm, running through a routine for the ten thousandth time, trying to smile like the Cheshire cat and nod my high pony-tail like the most faithful bobble head, and all the while wishing I could disappear into the pile of pom poms to the left and never utter"ready, ok!" again. Just as my morale  sinks to the same level of hope as Snooki's credibility as an author, my cheerleading coach's words of wisdom ring out to her lost sheep in hopes of herding them back to the land of Perky Pastures,

"If you feel stupid, you're probably doing it right."

I remember back then, I would grimace when I heard these words. I did not want to whip out the spirit fingers and whip my hair back and forth like Willow Smith. Yet, at the end of the day, we knew she was right. The more we stepped out of our comfort zone and the more energy/ridiculous facial expressions that we would show, the better our routine would look.

Let's fast forward seven years. Today, I was sitting in my new English Fiction class. We had a simple assignment where we were to write a fiction prose, and today, volunteers could read their pieces to the class. That was the last thing I wanted to do. I know this sounds ironic considering I have a blog that can be accessed on the World-Wide Web, but writing has always served as an outlet for the words I couldn't say. When you write it, you don't see the faces of reaction and reception when you speak those words. You don't see the rejection or the turning of noses. Therefore, I was embarrassed and wanted to keep my words safely on the page in front of me. An internal voice whispered,

"If you feel stupid, you're probably doing it right."

After battling the internal voice that only grew louder, I wearily raised my hand and the next thing I know, I am reading my story to an entire class. I felt more than stupid- I felt moronic/delusional (which is even more moronic that I got so worked up over a simple story- but that's beside the point). Yet, when I was through reading, I smiled. I had stepped out of my comfort zone. I had poured out my energy and thoughts. I had taken a chance despite the possibilities of rejection or criticism. I was doing it right.

I think this applies to life as well. People who are close to me have often told me that I constantly "live in a fairytale" mindset. As we all know, life is not a picture-perfect fairy-tale, and it never will be. However, I think one of the reasons our lives can't be like the fairy-tales is because we don't allow ourselves to feel stupid. If you look at the fairy-tales, they don't make the "smartest" choices. When would entering a castle with dragon security or climbing a sky-scraping (literally) bean stalk ever be the logical decision? Or look at  the movies. We aren't going to quit our job,leap onto a moving boat, crash a perfectly tasteful wedding reception, stand before an entire crowd of strangers, and pour out our hearts to someone over a loud speaker and in the spotlight (mad props to K. Heigl in 27 Dresses). We don't do those things because we would be allowing ourselves to feel stupid.

Yet, are we truly living if we never step out of our comfort zones? If we aren't chasing our dreams even if there's a dragon around the corner or a giant waiting in the clouds? If we don't fight for the people we love even if we have to stand outside in the pouring rain with a Boom box over our head and tell them they can have the last piece of cheesecake (Go Meredith Grey!)? If we don't ride Splash Mountain in the middle of December, and if we don't stand up at a concert and belt every word of Taylor Swift's twangy teeny-bopper songs as an eighteen-year-old even if people are alarmed and watching? Are we truly living if we don't ever feel stupid?

Because from what I've been told, if you feel stupid, you're probably doing it right.

So here's to chasing after a life 

of moments where I feel completely, absolutely, 100%, stupid.

The moments where I feel like

I'm truly living,

and

 I'm doing it right.

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.

Doler Days

"The only woman I ever loved, I married."- Mr. Doler

Looking at the picture sweeps a bittersweet smile across my face. I miss that smile already. Being back in Oxford and not going to the Veteran's Home is odd. For the past two and half years, I have moseyed down the hallways searching for Mr. Miller and Mr. Doler and their vibrant smiles, and when I would finally lock eyes with them as they were wheeling towards me, I would instantly know that I was learning a lot more than how to play a game of dominoes. I was learning about life. I was learning about love. The roots and depths of companionship. The power of one simple smile. Ultimately, I was learning about myself as Mr. Doler and Mr. Miller helped knock down the domino walls of my heart on a weekly basis and poured their lives into mine. If you have read my blogs from last year, you know that I lost Mr. Miller last November. Last month, Mr. Doler returned home as well. So today, this post is dedicated to my sweet Mr. Doler and the past year I got to spend with you. I love you.

I remember one day that I was visiting Mr. Doler, he told me about journalism students from Ole Miss that were interviewing some of the veterans. He was being interviewed, and as we played dominoes, we talked about some of the questions that he was asked and the story of his life that he gave. When the article was published, Mr. Doler gave me a copy, and there was one line that sent my hopeless-romantic, head-in-more-than-the-clouds-more-like-fairytale, female heart reeling. In the article, he had answered a question, and he stated, "The only woman I ever loved, I married." I am pretty sure I jumped out of my chair and hugged him as soon as I read that line. This also had deeper sentiment to me because I cannot tell you how many times in conversation Mr. Doler would randomly interject "My wife and I would have been married almost 55 years if she hadn't passed away." Each time I would smile like I had not heard this tidbit for the 500th time, and each time it would always touch my heart like it was the first time he said it. Although there are many conversations and memories with Mr. Doler that I remember and cherish, I believe this is the piece of advice that I will hold the most dear from my domino friend.

The only woman I ever loved, I married. I know what you're thinking. Come on, Shelby, you've said that three times now. We get it- your mind is frolicking on the set of Sleepless in Seattle or rowing in a boat with Noah in The Notebook- what's the real point?

The real point and lesson to take from my friend is that in our lives, we do not fight and pursue the things we love sometimes. We let all sorts of obstacles hinder our paths- resistance, fear, pride, judgment, others' opinions, doubt, selfishness, (fill in the blank with your excuse), and we watch things and people we love slip through our lifeless fingers like grains of sand. Instead of almost making a 50th year marker, we sometimes look back on our lives with regret and hear bells of what-ifs echoing through our minds. Mr. Doler did not let the world get in his way- when he found the ONLY girl he loved, he married her. When the country he loved was in need, he stepped up to the plate and served. He lived a life fighting for his loves. I remember one day shortly before he died, he told me he hoped that he made it to 90 (he would have been 90 next month). Mr. Doler, I wish you had made it to 90 because I know you would have lived this month with more love than most people have in a lifetime.

So there's the challenge to me and you from that ridiculously adorable face pictured above. Find the things, the people, the beliefs, the places, the relationships, the dreams, the goals, the passions in your life that you LOVE and "marry" them. Fight for them "for better, for worse." Carry them throughout your life "till death do you part." Because when you're 89 and you look back on the years of life, isn't that what you want it to be filled with- love and all of its indescribable experiences?

I love you Mr. Doler. I know that you'll be waiting there one day, and I can't wait to see you again and only hope I can tell you that I lived a life that was full of fighting for love.

This is where I am this week. Hoping that a few cookies crumble the way I want them to- so if you don't mind, help her out and cross your fingers too! Happy Tuesday!