THE SINGLE GIRL’S STICK FIGURE FAMILY BUMPER STICKERS

There are a lot of things I’ve seen people stick on their cars. Antlers. Pink handlebar moustaches. Menorahs.

But the stick figure family bumper sticker has infected more cars than the Toyota recall of yesteryear.

stick figure

So what do you do if you are a single girl sans stick companions to slap on your car’s rear window?

 

For the single girl who has everything she will ever need:

girl and nutella 2

me myself i 2

me and jesus 2

girl netflix 2 copy

 

 

For the single and searching girl:

single and searching 2

 

 

For the single girl who has given up all hope:

cat lady 2

You’re welcome, ladies. You’re welcome.

-m

AN OPEN LETTER TO PEETA MELLARK

(Because Catching Fire just came out on DVD)

Like food poisoning, my love for you came on suddenly and without forewarning.

There I was sitting in a crowded theatre of tween girls and I found myself squealing in decibels I’ve only believed to be in a gerbil’s register.

My mind quickly replayed Catching Fire staring me, in a side braid and cargo pants:

(I’m practicing my archery skills in the backyard on some soda cans I’ve lined up on a fence. I  shoot. Miss. Hit a stray cat that happens to be walking by. It shrieks, dies. My depth perception and prescription are clearly far worse than Katniss’. YOU appear.)

 YOU: It’s almost time to go. The lady with the hair the color of cotton candy is here. Her dress is made out of butterflies.

(You stare out into the woods to avoid eye contact. I notice you are carrying a bag of freshly baked cookies.)

ME AS KATNISS: I love a man that brings me baked goods.

(You continue to avoid eye contact. I clear my throat, put down my bow, walk over to you.)

ME AS KATNISS: We’re going to have to continue to act like we’re in love.

(You turn, look at me. I can see in your eyes that you weren’t pretending the first time and are hurt that you thought I was.)

ME AS KATNISS: But I won’t be acting anymore.

PEETA: But what about that other guy who is actually significantly taller than me and used to date Miley Cyrus?

ME AT KATNISS: I want to be the hummus to your Peeta.

(You give me a cookie. I eat it. You look at me. I look at you. My insides melt like a popsicle in the Sahara. Then we run away and start an underground bakery in another district.)

You should know—surely you must know—I would never, ever, date anyone shorter than me.

But yet here you are, 5’6 and I’m 5’10 and we’ll make it work.

As long as you keep bringing me baked goods WE’LL MAKE IT WORK.

cookies me volunteer

Until the next movie comes out and/or I finally read the third book to figure out what finally happens to you,

m

PS. I may or may not have a torrid relationship history with fictional characters.

Because ‘seriousness’ isn’t a fruit of the Spirit

G:

I’ve realized two things lately:

1)     This blog has become more stale than a loaf of bread three months past its expiration date

2)     Christians are way too serious

seriousness

I can blame my busyness for my blog’s dryness, but what excuse do Christians have?

We can’t blame it on our expiration dates.

For a people that have been redeemed through a sacrificial act of extravagant love, we seem to be walking around like our puppy keeps getting run over by a truck every single day.

I’m not sure if You can feel the chill all the way up there in the clouds, but it’s pretty cold down here.

If the “Frozen Chosen” were a brand of popsicles, it would probably be a lot cooler than what they actually are.

My friend went to a Christian concert the other day and told me that the band, in an effort to get everyone to loosen up and enjoy themselves, said: “We’re going to have fun tonight because seriousness isn’t a fruit of the spirit. Joy is.”

I know it was written on the stone tablets, “Thou shall not steal,” but I’m totally stealing that saying.

Somehow we’ve forgotten the joy. The laughter. The happiness.

Yes, there is a time and season for everything. “A time to weep and a time to laugh, a time to mourn and a time to dance” (Ecc 3:4). But we seem to be forgetting to laugh and dance.

We seem to be forgetting that seriousness isn’t a fruit of the spirit.

Like a spiritual fortune cookie, Solomon sums it up well in Proverbs 17:22, “A cheerful heart is good medicine, but a crushed spirit dries up the bones.”

I’m not sure what’s crushing our spirits as Christians. The world. Money. Jobs. Relationships. Suffering. Depression. Illness. I’m sure it’s a list that rivals an exhaustive phone book of New York City.

And I’m sure our joy-less spirits are drying up our bones.

I wonder what would happen if we stopped being a stale people and started being the ones that displayed joy amongst love, peace, patience, kindness, goodness, faithfulness, gentleness, and self-control.

Turns out laughter may be the best medicine after all.

Your goofball,

m