EPIC                                                   

we were planning for an epic ski trip. the kids were 

stoked and so were the leaders. our first day on the

slope was pretty sweet. lots of falling, laughing,

belly-crawling, hopping - i learned a lot of ways

to get cruising. 

i broke my wrist. 

for those of you who think wearing a cast is glorious,

it is.
quite, quite glorious. but besides getting to choose the
color of your cast, wearing one isn't really fun. it itches,
kinda smells, your roommates put your hair in ponytails
for you (nice ones of course) and you can only give one
handed high-fives.

but,
this tragic, tragic experience gave me the opportunity
to experience the church's love in a vibrant way.

i saw it; was overwhelmed by it.

that's pretty epic.

feed my

CLOSET

 This dress enchants me. 

Just Read

Apparently I went through a phase in my life when I announced to everyone that I wanted to be a Fashion Designer.

And although I do like somewhat cute clothes, it seems an appropriate time to clarify:

No. I am not going to school to study Fashion Design.

After four years as an Advertising major, I have decided to major in Advertising.

Surpriiiiiiiiiise. What a shocker.

Yay, now everyone can stop checking in on my Fashion Design academia and continue stereotyping me as a person going to school to learn how to become morally corrupt and devious.

 Awesome, because advertising is all about lies. And let’s be honest-the only thing I enjoy more than cute clothes is a really good lie.

*(If you took seriously that last statement-don’t)

Audience of One

Every couple of weeks I get a card in the mail.

I recognize the swirly-twirly handwriting. Yes, I do.

It’s mom’s handwriting.

Pealing back the envelope flap, I wonder which picture she cut out of Anthropology’s latest catalog this time. Then I find, pasted on a piece of cardstock,

a picture of a shoe, or a purse and on the other side, more of that loopy writing.

For the past couple of weeks, I’ve been reminding myself what mom reminded me in her latest cardstock treat.

That,

I live for an audience of one.

I don’t need to perform.

The level of performance the world demands of me does not equal the life I’ve been invited to by a kind Master. Under Him, I experience joy in giving my best.

But only because of what He already gave me.

It’s cool to have a mom who, after hard phone conversations, sends me reminders of things like that.

candidlyconnected

vistit my webpage to view my portfolio

http://www.candidlyconnected.yolasite.com/

Smarter Than That

I sat behind my computer, the lights turned down to dim. Exposed beams overhead and dark draperies oddly split the room in half. The basement lab was a place where a lot would go down and I was sure I would learn a lot.

 I leaned forward at my desk, attempting occasional eye contact with him. My body language clearly said, Yes, I am here. Notice me. Know I am intently listening to your words.

But his words felt brutal.

“Don’t try to make friends with each other because in this business, everything is a competition.”

 I don’t usually like making friends anyway.

“You all may do good work, but in the real world,

                          there’s one winner.

                Only 4 students will receive an A in this class.”

Oh, ok because that’s what I was hoping you would say.

We are taught in advertising that people form an opinion in one tenth of a second and that the average person only scans a message for an eighth of a second.

 In that case, I get less than a second to gain a person’s trust and to evoke pleasant feelings in them-

After my first hour in class, my opinion of him was most definitely formed-intelligent, dogged and completely un-relational.  

Even the way he carried himself-silent and expressionless, no eye contact, focused and cold with a long indifferent stride-told me he could care less about my existence.

Passing him in the hallway was like passing a cement wall and greeting him was like high-fiving a cement wall-after you’ve done so, you ask yourself why you did it. Yes, he was intimidating and his responses were terse and unpredictable. I was lucky if he spoke five words to me and  I began to wonder if my first impression of him would change.

It did, it has. Completely.

 I sit behind my computer, the lights turned down to dim. It’s just me. Him and me this time and rows of empty chairs-sitting in silence. And then,

“Mercy, right?” he asks, still staring at the screen before him, “What do you want to do with your life?”

Is he really talking to me? Yes, he must be because I am the only one in the room!

I share, he advices, and later as I hover over my quiz, lingering over each question, my name is murmured from behind. I glance over my shoulder and he quietly waives me to the back.

 He tells me it looks as though I am struggling. I say I am.

 He tells me not to over think the questions. I’m going to have lots of tests where I’ll have very little time and will need to be able to get something down on the page. I say ok.

 He hands me a blank copy of the quiz, tells me to bring it back next class and looks me firmly in the eyes.

“You are smarter than that.” He whispers.

In advertising I have less than a second to create a connection with an audience. With people though, I am reminded that sometimes making a connection requires more time. Be patient, i tell myself and,

give it at least 3.

A glass cake stand on our front porch

Meghan walked across our hard wood floors to answer the knocking at the front door.

                “They might be moldy.”  They said.

Laura and Justin stood on our front steps, a cupcake-filled glass cake stand in hand, and Laura explained.

While we were gone for Christmas vacation, a glass cake stand filled with a dozen cupcakes appeared on our porch. Laura recounted how she retrieved the stand and took it home across the street where the treats were safely placed on top of her refrigerator.

                Weeks went by. The glass cake stand was forgotten, the cupcakes untouched-waiting on top of her refrigerator.

Until now.

                Laura and Justin sweetly handed Meghan the awkward sized gift, along with a rumpled white paper. Confused glances and smiles were exchanged.

                “Want to babysit sometime?” Justin chimed in with a grin.

 I came home to find the chocolate cupcakes in a glass cake stand on our kitchen counter. I took one, decided they were too dry and crumbly to be a product of Meghan’s baking expertise.

 What was that white spot on the chocolate icing? I threw the rest away.

Noticing a rumpled white paper on the counter, I paused and read,

                “Thank you so much for the Oreo balls. They were delicious!

                Have a very merry Christmas!

                P.S. we’re going out of town tonight. We’ll get our dish on the 29^th

                -from  your neighbors, Amber and Sam.”

I smiled to myself as I remembered back to just a few weeks before.

A few weeks before, Katie and I searched through cookbook after cookbook, wanting to find a holiday recipe.  We finally found right one and two large batches of Meghan’s oreo balls made their way from our kitchen counter into three little white boxes.

“Merry Christmas!” we wrote, “from your neighbors, Meghan, Katie, and Mercy.”

The three little white boxes were placed on three different porches, waiting to be found.

One box on Laura and Justin’s porch,

One box on Sam and Amber’s porch,

One box for Shelly and Paul-filled with enough oreo balls for their red headed children.

For days I watched as Shelly and Paul’s holiday treats did not budge from their door-side spot and we soon realized Shelly and Paul were out of town.  We would bring the box back to our house, of course. But, the next day their front porch was empty. No box.  Perhaps our mailman thought they were for him, we laughed, wondering what really happened to them.

Today, Shelly called out to me from across the street.

                “Hi Mercy!...Thanks for the oreo balls. They were delicious!”

                “O good” I said, “I wasn’t sure if you got them.”

They were delicious,

they were delicious,

 they were delicious?

Going inside I began to think. I wondered if our oreo balls had also been left on top of someone’s refrigerator for three weeks.  Did Shelly get a moldy, dry version of our oreo balls? Were they as delicious as that cupcake I ate yesterday?

But it doesn’t really matter.

Mostly I’m glad Shelly remembered my name,

that Laura and Justin were watching out for our house while we were away,

 and that the Christmas oreo balls meant so much to Amber that she wanted to leave us a dozen cupcakes in her glass cake stand on our front porch.

I won’t tell Amber her cupcakes were moldy. I won’t even tell her we got them just a few days ago. I’ll probably say something like, “Thank you so much for the cupcakes. They were delicious. We did have a very merry Christmas. How’s life?”