WHEN MY LAST SINGLE FRIEND FROM COLLEGE GETS ENGAGED
THE PARTY INVITE PERSONALITY TEST
You know you’re an introvert if you’re like:
You know you’re extrovert if you’re like:
You know you’re borderline if you’re like:
4 Ways We’re Wishing Our Lives Away as Single Christians
I used to have this recurring dream where I’m traveling on a high-speed train in a foreign country and I’m suddenly captivated by scenery previously unknown. I reach for my camera, zoom in, and it won’t focus.
And the moment passes by.
And I’m left banging my hand against my pillow while simultaneously slumber-swearing.
As single Christians, I don’t even think we make it to the slumber-swearing part. We’re too busy anxiously awaiting our arrival at the next stop to even take the time to get out our cameras and focus in on what’s currently outside our window.
And the moments pass us by.
Read the rest on Converge Magazine!
WHEN A PRESBYTERIAN SUDDENLY REALIZES THE CHURCH HE WAS VISITING IS CHARISMATIC
WHEN I’M ON A PLANE AND SUDDENLY HEAR MEOWING COMING FROM BEHIND MY SEAT
And it’s like:
And I’m like:
Sometimes, the boar doesn’t need a haircut
G:
It’s March already?! It feels like just yesterday we were celebrating your Son’s birthday.
It seems as if the older I get the faster time flies—as if we’re picking up speed the closer we get to the finish line.
Since I’ve been gone in Seattle for more than a week for work, my blog clearly showed the effects of my busyness. In my efforts to juggle so many things in seemingly so little time, I always end up dropping at least one ball somewhere (at least I’m not juggling chainsaws).
While at this work conference, there were hundreds of tables where people from schools or literary journals had fun and interesting freebies. My coworkers stumbled upon a table that gave away tarot card readings. Of course I don’t believe in it, but I was on a mission to get as many awesome freebies as possible.
I walked up to the table and picked this card:
The guy at the table stared at it for 15 seconds and declared:
“Clearly, this is a man trying to give a boar a haircut.”
Clearly, this tarot card reading was directly applicable to my life.
I felt the excitement go out of me like helium from a popped balloon.
He went on to say: “This man is trying to do the impossible. You have to allow yourself to be realistic. Sometimes you can’t do everything. Don’t try to do the impossible. Sometimes, the boar doesn’t need a haircut.”
Even though this guy made up all this stuff up on the spot, it reminded me that I can’t do everything.
Clearly, I need help.
For all the things I need to do and can’t avoid, for all the balls I need to keep juggling, I’m thankful You give me the strength to accomplish it all when I focus on You (Philippians 4:13).
And then sometimes, there are those balls that can and should be dropped. Sometimes I try to tackle the impossible, when it’s not in Your best for me. Thanks for giving me discernment to drop the ball.
Because sometimes, the boar doesn’t need a haircut.
Your child,
m
WHEN I TURN ON THE TELEVISION AND THERE AREN’T ANY SEQUINED ICE SKATERS FALLING DOWN ANYMORE
Olympics withdrawal.
I ain’t my Momma
Upon turning 22, my friend declared that “22 is halfway to 44 which is halfway to 88 which means you are halfway dead.”
(We are clearly no longer friends.)
Birthdays are kind of like New Year’s—they make you reflect on where you’ve been and where you’re going. You’re another year older. And another year closer to 88.
On the day of my 28th birthday, I couldn’t help but compare myself to those I love and admire more than anyone else in the world: my parents. I think about where they were at 28. And at this age my mother was married for 6 years with a two-year-old and another on the way.
If my life was supposed to follow those breadcrumbs, the birds clearly had a 28-year feast and unknowingly I stumbled upon the long, scenic route up the side of a steep mountain.
While I would be blessed if I had even 1/100 of the character my mother has, my life has not followed her blueprint.
I ain’t my Momma.
Chatting with another single friend the other day, I decided expectations for young adults are like kitchen cleaners under the sink to little kids. It’s just not fair that the blue stuff that looks like a huge jug of blue raspberry Kool-Aid is locked away behind childproof cabinets—seemingly unattainable. But here’s the thing: turns out that stuff may not be the best for us anyway.
My life and the lives of my single friends are not the lives of our parents. But our lives aren’t wrong. They’re different.
I’m single. I’m living on my own. I’m pursuing my passion for writing. I’m really great at making cereal for dinner.
I can’t help but compare myself to those I love most—and I pray that I have even a fraction of the love, faith, and character that my parents do. But I know You have different plans for me than you had for my father and mother.
I ain’t my Momma.
I’m me.
Your child,
m
Why Shaun White’s new haircut broke my heart
This year’s Olympics have left me more depressed than a vegetarian at a Brazilian steakhouse.
And I’m not talking about the fifth snowflake-ring debacle, or the times my countrymen haven’t nailed their triple sow-cow twist and shout ice skate thingy. I’m talking about follicles.
Actually, the lack thereof.
You see, Shaun White and I were meant to be.
Exhibit A:
We have the same exact hair.
Well, we used to.
Exhibit B:
I’m not lamenting the fact that he was the Samson of the skateboarding world, and with the loss of his locks came the loss of a medal. No, I’m lamenting the loss of what our Christmas card would have looked like with us and our six children:
(It was inevitable at least one would pop out with recessive genes.)
For the sake of our future spawn and holiday greetings, consider this a passionate plea, Shaun White, to grow out your locks like Rapunzel once more.
I’ll be waiting.
WHEN I’M INSPIRED TO GO FOR THE GOLD IN MY OWN HOME
#HomeOlympicsFail
I needed a course just as bumpy as Sochi’s.
meghanmellinger.com 