Brace Face

I sink gingerly into the cold orthodontist’s chair, my body tense with anticipation. Staring at my folded arms and trying to keep my knees from bouncing, I shiver at the sound of drills and drains in the other room. My room is silent except for the wind shaking the trees outside the window. Different thoughts circulate in my mind, “I hope this doesn’t hurt. This should have been my choice! I’d rather have crooked teeth than these ridiculous metal brackets. I wonder if this will hurt…”

The clicking of the orthodontist’s shoes in the hallway near my room and he enters smiling, his perfect, straight teeth glinting in the fluorescent light. We engage in small talk as he moves around the room, gathering his supplies. Drawers slam shut and the clatter of the orthodontic tools on the tray startles me. My chair is slowly reclined and I am handed glasses as a light shines on my face. I taste plastic, chalky substances, and metal. The stainless steel grinds on my teeth as Dr. Raj glues each bracket in its place. Flinching and clutching the handles of the chair, I labor to keep still. The suction of my spit through the hose in my mouth whirs and whistles as I nearly gag. 

After what feels like hours, my chair is returned to its original position and I am staring at the dancing trees again. I can’t feel my teeth and my cheeks and jaw are sore, but a run over with my tongue tells me I am now a brace face. Mom comes back and pitifully grins at me, asking if I’d like a milkshake to ease the pain when we get home. I nod, resisting the urge to glare. That did hurt.

“You will thank us one day,” my mother reminds me, but the likelihood of that is small in the moment. 

For years I would wear those braces, resenting my parents' decision, but the moment the braces were taken off, I thanked my parents over and over again for my beautiful smile. This experience reminds me of the trials that come our way in life. James 1:2-4 says, “Consider it pure joy my brothers whenever you face trials of many kinds, because you know that the testing of your faith produces perseverance. Let perseverance finish its work so that you may be mature and complete, not lacking anything.” Like the painful experience of braces, which shape teeth and make smiles beautiful and straight, trials are hard experiences that shape us and make us whole Christians, not lacking in anything. In the end, we will thank God for the chance to grow and change as well. 

Locked Down

This is another essay from my class. It is a narrative about the beginning of a turning point in my life; it's part of my testimony. 

       “Is he your boyfriend?” my dad asked. My heart sunk to my toes and I got a squeamish feeling in the pit of my stomach. I looked at my feet, embarrassed and annoyed that I had made the mistake of not deleting a message from my secret boyfriend.

“Yes,” I mumbled, my face expressionless. Lying would only make it worse. I knew the rule of no dating and had blatantly disobeyed. The bigger issue would be that while all this was going on, I had pretended to be honoring the rules that I was breaking all along.

“How long?”

“Since November.”

“So, two months? Have you kissed him?”

I nodded, blushing at hearing those words from my dad. 

“Wow, and you acted like he was just a friend all along. You talked like it was just a crush. You played your mom and me, huh?”

I cringed at his words and could not answer. My mind raced as I tried to figure out the right thing to say while also trying to figure out just how angry my parents were.

“You don’t even seem to feel bad about it.”

“I don’t,” I replied matter-of-factly. I knew it was false. I felt guilty and I felt terrible for lying and sneaking around behind my parent’s back, but I did not want them to know that.

“Wow,” my dad said again.

Mom was crying at this point and dad was angry. After having me quit my job, drop out of the play I was in, my dad said, “You are now on lock down, which basically means you are on an intense grounding. Your mother and I cannot trust you, therefore you will stay in our sight at all times and are on our schedule now.”

I could feel new tears pooling in my eyes. This what not how I wanted things.

He continued, “If you want to run away-” 

“I’m so sorry I lied!” I cried, breaking down. “I don’t want to run away. I don’t want to leave you!”

“How long did you think you could hide this?” Asked my dad, quizzically.

“Longer than this,” I sobbed.

“Nothing stays in the dark forever, Andrea.” His hand was on my back now as the three of us sat on the sofa. “Everything comes out eventually. Everything is eventually brought to the light and then you have to face the consequences.”

I did not realize the truth of my dad’s statement that January night until later on in my “lock down.” It lasted for almost eight months. I spent the first few days in my room with only a bible, a journal, and a pen. Initially I was mad at my parents and bitter about my current situation, but soon I realized that the feeling of having my secrets revealed and out in the open was beautiful and freeing. I had begun the process of healing and rebuilding of my relationship with Christ and with my family. In the future I would point to my lock down as the one of the best things that ever happened to me.  

Christmas Day - A Descriptive Essay

I wrote this as a descriptive essay for my English Composition class. I hope you enjoy it!

I was awake before the sun and there was no trace of heaviness on my eyelids. Christmas morning had always come early for us kids. Anticipation having roused me from my slumber, I woke my cousin Kylie who lay beside me. We slipped on our socks and tiptoed across the cool concrete that was our Grandparent’s basement floor. Little cousins, brothers and sisters dozed at our feet, but after a few missteps were soon following us up the stairs.

The adults were still in bed, so we fidgeted on the thick carpet in the glow of the ornamented tree. Gifts glistened under its light and we craned our necks to see which ones had our names on them. The fireplace warmed us as we chatted aimlessly, awaiting the sound of parents, aunts, uncles, and grandparents making their way down to the living room. 

 After what felt like hours, parents finally sat with hot coffee in their hands and sleep still in their eyes. The kids sat on the floor at Grandpa’s feet, and in an accent developed from a life in Southern Missouri and many a John Wayne movie, Grandpa read the Christmas story from Luke, as was tradition. The airy sound of Kenny G’s saxophone played “Silent Night” in the background as my dad prayed in a groggy voice and thanked God for the gift of Jesus Christ. I could feel the excited tension from Kylie beside me as the prayer came to a close.

“Amen” was the trigger word. For the next hour all that was heard was the high pitched voices of little kids as they groped for parcels with their names on them. Squeals bounced off the walls and green, red, and white paper littered the floor. Bows were placed affectionately on babies heads and ribbons were worn as necklaces. After every gift was opened and the last cry of delight rang in our ears, we waited patiently for our parents to open the boxes of dolls, toy cars, action figures, and tea party sets that would absorb the rest of our time.

The sun had finally risen when we sat down to breakfast casserole and chocolate milk. Scarfing down our meal, we fled the scene to avoid dish duty and played endlessly with our new toys.  Our uncles and parents enjoyed Christmas dinner the best. Honey ham and mashed potatoes with veggies and rolls accompanied the lively conversations and left us all feeling full to the brim and exhausted. Christmas afternoon was a time for snuggling on Grandpa’s lap with my stuffed animal of choice under my arm as we watched Christmas movies.

The feeling of dread was overwhelming as the magical day drew to an end. Leftovers were our dinner, and soon it was bedtime for us all. The toys would be packed into our suitcases and the alarms set for early morning so that we could get a head start on the way back home. Though the day was over, we all hugged each other knowing we would see each other again next year. 
The smells that wafted from the kitchen throughout the day, the light from the tree, sitting at Grandpa and Grandma’s feet, and the Christmas music playing in the background all make up the memory that is Christmas at Grandpa and Grandma’s house. Because after all, it was the place to be on Christmas Day!

 -Andrea

I Did Not Hear the Winds

I was not living in Joplin when the EF-5 tornado hit it on May 22nd, 2011. I moved there almost exactly a year later, and I had no special connection to anyone who was affected by the storm that year. Since then, though, I have made some amazing friends, many of whom were in the tornado. Because of the stories I've heard and the things I have seen, the anniversary of the tornado has a different relevance for me this year than it did last year. After everything I have heard about that day, I'm left remembering today.

Today, I thank God for his protection and provision during and since the storm for the people of Joplin. I thank Him for the healing that he continues to bring, and for the strength He instilled in these people. Joplin is an awesome city that got right back on its feet and began the process of recovery. I'm so proud to call it home now. The words to this poem have been on my heart as this two year anniversary approached.

I did not hear the winds.
I did not feel your fear.
I did not cry with all my friends.
I did not lose someone dear.

I can't relate to this town,
Like one who lived or lost.
I have no idea of the sound.
I was not left or tossed.

I was miles away at home.
My mother broke the news.
So I listened to the T.V drone,
And watched the rescue crews.

I've moved to this city now.
I've heard stories of that day.
Though I did not see the storm endowed,
I see where it made its way.

Two years since have come and gone,
And this town's now made of friends.
Today I'll remember and carry on,
Though I did not hear the winds.

-Andrea

Between God and His Children

When my friend first told me she hated her own appearance, I immediately replied, "You are just being silly. God loves you and He thinks you're beautiful. He made you beautiful! You should think that!" She did not tell me about how she hated herself anymore. Problem solved, right?

A couple of weeks ago, my dad and I were discussing some of the mistakes of my past. "They keep coming back as if to haunt me," I told him one night.

"It makes me wonder if you truly understand the role of God's love and forgiveness in your life. Still, nothing I can say can convince you to let go of your guilt, that is between you and God."

Whoa. That was not a response I had ever heard before. "Nothing I can say can convince you..." 

How often do we think that telling someone they are being ridiculous is helpful or encouraging? Why do we think we can provide some sort of comfort by making someone feel bad about personal struggles? What can be gained from saying to a friend, "You are being stupid," when they are hurting and truly believe the lies that Satan is feeding them? It is not like they want to feel this way. Nobody wants to be depressed about their self-image or about whether or not they are truly forgiven.  

I mentioned earlier about telling my friend she was being silly and how she did not tell me things like that anymore. Problem solved, right? She must have heard my words, believed them, and miraculously realized she was beautiful, right? Wrong.

In a recent conversation, now two years later, that same friend mentioned to me her struggle with self-image again. Before she went on, though, she said, "Please don't tell me I shouldn't feel this way. I know God thinks I'm beautiful and stuff, but the problem is, I have trouble believing it. Everyone keeps telling me that, and it doesn't help!"

This time I knew how to respond. "I wasn't going to say that," I told my friend. "Nothing I can say will convince you of your own beauty and self-worth. That is between you and God. That is a personal conversation and struggle that you will need to work through with Him. I will be here to support you when you need it, but I'm not going to tell you are stupid for feeling that way. I will pray for you, I will pray with you and I will be here to talk with you when you need me. I promise."

Guys, all I'm trying to say is that we need to quit trying to make people feel bad for their lack of self-value in attempts to convince them otherwise. Pray for them. Encourage them. Be there for them. But let God work in their hearts as only He can. Leave it between God and His children.

-Andrea

Heartstrings

Play my heartstrings, you of love.
Show my heart how to adore.
Play my heartstrings, you of grace.
Let the healing burst forth.
Play my heartstrings, you of mercy.
Don't contain what is made new.
Play my heartstrings, you of wisdom.
Ask me questions I don't know.
Play my heartstrings, you of power.
Move the weakness to your use.
Play my heartstrings, you of art.
Bring your colors to my mind.
Play my heartstrings, you of words.
Give me courage to speak in truth.
Play my heartstrings, you of security.
Hold your child in your arms.
Play my heartstrings, you of music.
Hear the melody in my voice.
Play my heartstrings, you of strength.
You are so worthy of what I cannot give.
Play my heartstrings, you of understanding.
And let not my praise be lacking.

-Andrea

"You are so . . . Pure!"

"It's you, Katniss. Can't you see?" he says.
"What's me?" I say.
"Why they're all acting like this. Finnick with his sugar cubes and Chaff kissing you and that whole thing with Johanna stripping down. They're playing with you because you're so . . . you know."
"No, I don't," I say. And I really have no idea what he's talking about.
"It's like when you wouldn't look at me naked in the arena even though I was half dead. You're so . . . pure," he says finally.
"I am not!" I say.
"They're just teasing you."
"No, they're laughing at me, and so are you!"

This exchange between the famous characters Peeta Mellark and Katniss Everdeen is from Catching Fire, the second installment of the Hunger Games Trilogy by Suzanne Collins. Our dad read this book aloud to us each night before bed. On the night when he came to this conversation, he stopped, put the book aside for a moment and looked at each of us four kids.

"Guys," he said, "there is absolutely nothing wrong with being pure. Even if people are laughing at you."

Only recently, since I started working as a waitress, have I begun to understand exactly what my dad was saying. Yesterday at work, two of my coworkers were having a rather bawdy conversation about their love lives. Upon my entering the area where they were talking, they began talking quieter and when they'd finished, one of them said, "I certainly hope you didn't hear any of that! Since I have gotten to know you, I just want to put earmuffs on you! You're just so pure!"
At first, I was irritated by her words. As her coworker, I did not want her or anyone else treating me differently! Then, I was reminded of my dad's words: It's ok to be pure. So I thanked her and told her I appreciated it, and then I walked away.

As Christians, I think to be known as pure is one of the biggest compliments that we can receive. Matthew 5:8 says, "Blessed are the pure in heart, for they will see God." While we are still sinful creatures, deserving of death, we have a calling to purify ourselves. We are to be set apart and noticeably so. If people are mocking us for being pure, or seeming naive (even if you aren't as naive as they think), it means they have noticed something. They see us as different, and we should consider ourselves blessed if they choose to treat us as so!
One of the best ways we can be a testimony to Christ and bring people to Christ is by example. Striving to live purely, speak purely, and think purely will stand out. It may be a planted seed, the beginning of a person's own salvation.  

One final note: there is a difference between being "pure" and being "naive." Naiveté is the lack of experience, wisdom, or judgement. It is the idea of being blind to "worldly" things around us. Purity is freedom from contamination. It is being aware of the unclean things in this world, but not allowing them to change us, affect us, or define us.

Guys, it is ok to be pure.

-Andrea

I See Colors

I was talking with a younger friend of mine the other day, trying to describe someone in the room and she had no idea who I was talking about until I said, "Do you see that black guy over there? The girl next to him, that's who I am talking about!"
The look of mock horror on my friends face made it very difficult for me to not roll my eyes. "We don't allow racists here!"She joked.
"Oh, they don't know they're black? My bad," I responded.

 I was probably more sarcastic than I should have been. Still, why is it so many people get shocked when I describe a black person as... black? It bothers me that some people try to act like there is no such thing as different skin tones! Yes, I agree there is only one race --being the human race, but that does not mean that there is only one color skin!
God created a beautiful tapestry of personality, character, originality, and color in his people. Pretending that these differences do not exist does not glorify God and his amazing creativity! There is beauty in diversity and pretending like we do not notice that black people are black and white people are white defiles that beauty.
Now, I understand the concerns some people might have about what I am saying. So let me clarify, I do not want anyone to identify a person only as black, white, asian, or hispanic. We have to remember that we are all human beings. All of us have personalities, thoughts, cares, things that annoy us, and things that make us laugh, cry, and get angry. No one person is the same and no one person deserves to be grouped together with anyone else simply because of his social status, age, or skin color.
I am only suggesting we stop pretending that we are color blind. Stop trying to see the world through a gray lens and instead praise God for what he has created, because guys, it is an amazing creation if you didn't already know!

I grew up with this song while growing up in a multi-ethnic church in the Washington D.C area. I think the lyrics are fitting:

"Pardon me, your epidermis is showing, mister
I couldn't help but note your shade of melanin
I tip my hat to the colorful arrangement
Cause I see the beauty in the tones of our skin 
We've gotta come together
And thank the Maker of us all 
We're colored people, and we live in a tainted place
We're colored people, and they call us the human race
We've got a history so full of mistakes
And we are colored people who depend on a Holy Grace." -"Colored People," D.C Talk 

-Andrea

Why a Blog? Why now?

"Why on earth would you ever want to be a blogger?"

I asked myself this question a few weeks ago when the prospect of creating what I thought of as an online diary first became somewhat desirable. I have had blogs in the past. They were littered with trivial things and were viewed only by my closest friend, my little brother, and on occasion my parents. I started blogs with the sole desire to be heard. I felt the opinion of a home schooled junior higher was one that should be read by the world and that it was worthy of an appearance on the internet.
Soon enough, these blogs became personal diaries. They were venues for me to boast in my accomplishments and creativity. Let me be clear, I was not even in high school when I created these blogs, so my accomplishments were limited. As I got older, I began to feel sickened at the thought of writing another blog post that would serve only me and would never even be read. 

Finally, months before I began my Freshman year of high school, I deleted every blog site I had ever created (and there were far too many to count). I was free of them and took up journaling where there was a cover and binding. 

My history with blogging is why I asked myself this question before I created this page. Why a blog? Why now?

Well...

1. I love to write Poetry, stories, papers, speeches, you name it. I want to use this blog as a place to put my thoughts and writings that are appropriate for those who are not living within my own head/heart.

2. I have learned to keep my trivial thoughts either in my head or between the covers of a private journal. I will try not to burden you with them.

3. I have felt God laying things on my heart that are too long to put in a Facebook status, or even a Facebook Note (and who really reads those anyways, besides the people you tag?).

4. It will give me a better, more beneficial activity to take part in than pinning pictures of funny jokes or pretty dresses to my Pinterest boards.


There is no promise that this blog will be read by any one, or that my words will ever mean anything to anybody. That's ok with me, though. No matter what happens, my mom will always tell me I am a great writer and then she will encourage me to keep at it. 

-Andrea