Fuel for the soul

It's no surprise to me that Wheat Thins can make almost anyone smile.

Even in a gas station parking lot.

Last week, I was driving to work and kept glancing down at my gas gauge, knowing I really needed to stop. I had enough to make it to the school, and I decided I would rather wait until the drive home to stop and fill up. I just wasn't in the mood.

But, for some reason, when I started to pass the station on the street where the school is, I changed lanes really fast and pulled up to an open pump. As I was waiting for my car to fill, a young man started walking toward me. He was dressed in dirty-looking clothes, and I had a feeling I knew why he was heading my direction. Sure enough, he had a story: he and his girlfriend were living out of his car and hadn't eaten in a while. They needed money for food. I didn't have any cash on me and told him so, and he walked away with a sullen look on his face.

Honestly, I never know when to trust people who beg for money. When I was in college, there was a man I would see on a street corner often, and sometimes I would give him peanut butter and jelly sandwiches or granola bars. But I was always hesitant to give him cash. Plus, his sign said something about being hungry, so I figured it was better to give him food, anyway.

But something kept gnawing at me Wednesday morning.

Whether or not this guy was telling the truth didn't really matter, because I felt God prompting my heart: give him Wheat Thins.

I always have Wheat Thins in my car—and in my purse, of course—and I remembered that I had an unopened box in my backseat. I grabbed it and then got the attention of the young lad, who had then moved on in search of funding from other people excited about the slight decrease in fuel prices. I handed him the box and said, "Oh, here, I have some Wheat Thins."

Smiles will ensue

I then got to witness a face full of glee light up with a smile that completely overshadowed his frazzled hair and unwashed clothes. He said, "We love Wheat Thins! Thank you, thank you, thank you!" And he quickly went back to his car to show his girlfriend his prized box of crackers.

My heart couldn't help but smile and become filled with hope.

We don't know everyone's stories—everyone's history or struggles or losses or hardships or needs or multitudes of other things that all contribute to who people are and why they do the things they do. And we certainly won't learn these stories about every single person we encounter, especially strangers in parking lots.

But we can learn to love.

God places people in our lives at just the right time that we need them and that they need us. Even if that young man and his girlfriend aren't as in need as he claimed they were matters not--they still deserve to receive love. A coworker was at the same gas station that morning and saw the Wheat Thins exchange take place, and it prompted him to give the couple a little something, as well. I think God brought us both to those pumps that morning specifically for these people—to show them that they are loved by Him and that they matter.

Love doesn't have to be flamboyant—in fact, it often works in simple and little ways that still manage to make beautiful smiles dance across storied faces.

It can even come in a box of tasty crackers.

My childhood hero

Sometimes the most influential people are the ones who tormented you in your childhood.

Just kidding. Sort of.

When I was growing up, I wanted to be just like my older brother. I followed him around everywhere, and I don't think he always liked that. I always tried joining in on the football games he played with other boys in the neighborhood, and he would tell me to go home. And I wouldn't. So, he eventually would give up and just let me play but let me know it was my fault if I got hurt. Hurt? I didn't get hurt. I was like him, so I couldn't get hurt. Duh.

And on the few occasions I actually got hurt, I just pretended like I didn't. It seemed like the right thing to do at the time.

But, even though he said I was pretty much on my own, he was always secretly looking out for me and protecting me from the boys. He even got quite physical with a kid who pushed me down during roller hockey once. I smiled.

I remember how special I felt when I got to middle school and people started calling me "Little Merrill." I still thought my brother was the coolest person who existed, and the fact that he was my older brother made me partially cool by default. Even when he ignored me in the halls on occasion, I figured he was only doing it out of love. He obviously just didn't want to stroke my ego too much.

Through the years

My brother excelled in every sport he did, so naturally I tried to be just like him in that regard, too. I started playing on his soccer team when I was 3 for two reasons: Gatorade at halftime and to be like my brother (I ended up playing that sport for 15 years, oddly enough); I joined a T-ball team because he played; I played golf in third and fourth grades because he played (I actually won two years in a row at a summer tournament. He won for the boys, so it was Merrill domination. I chose not to tell people that I was the only girl in the tournament both years, because I figured it was just superfluous information); I took martial arts after he went to national competitions in Taekwondo; and I tried to play football because he was a quarterback star (it didn't work out—I wasn't allowed to join the team).

I even sacrificed the well-being of my hands and arms by serving as his wide receiver in our front yard when he needed to practice throwing. Let's just say he didn't let up on speed and power just because I was a girl—I think he threw it harder at me than his actual teammates.

I reached a point where I realized I was my own person and didn't need to be my brother or try to be just like him. This is actually a really good thing, because I am a girl. But I sometimes missed following him around and doing everything he did, and I think one reason is because our interests were no longer the same. I guess it was just hard to accept that we were growing up, and everything changes when you start to let that happen.

My brother and I don't hang out as much as we did when we were younger, but he always shows up when I need him most. I almost started crying at my college graduation, because I didn't think he was going to come, but I looked out into the crowd and saw him. And he's always there at my big races, even when he has to wake up early in the morning to come stand around and only see me at the start and finish. And I know he would do anything for me. He's still that big brother in the front yard who will defend me if anyone comes close to picking on me. And I still smile because of that.

My brother is 31 today, and I'm so thankful that I got to join his journey almost 29 years ago.

And if someone were to call me "Little Merrill" because they know my brother, I would still feel just as special as I did so many years ago in those middle school hallways.

You're still a kid

I sometimes miss watching Saturday morning cartoons.

I don't always like the responsibilities that come with being an adult. I really hate bills—especially student loan payments—and it seems really silly to work so many hours and have almost every penny you make be given to people you've never met who work for entities about which you probably know nothing.

Especially if those things involve the letters IRS.

And then there are the expectations. We are taught to act certain ways in various situations, to wear certain clothes, to interact with certain people, to avoid interacting with certain people, to exercise a certain amount of time every day, to eat certain foods and not eat certain foods, to avoid discussing certain "taboo" topics in public, to date and marry certain people—the list could obviously keep going for a really long time.

I remember when things used to be so simple.

This is life.

I remember when a peanut butter and jelly sandwich and a hug from my mom suddenly made my bike-accident-skinned-knee pain go away; when one of my parents holding my hand suddenly made everything around me safer; when my sister and I played in the backyard and suddenly escaped into a different world where we made up imaginary people and places; when wearing a backwards baseball cap and following my brother around everywhere was normal; when playing outside until the sun went down and we couldn't see anymore was carefree and completely acceptable; when deadlines didn't exist; when I had someone to tuck me in every night when I went to sleep; when the Internet and every social network there is didn't exist; when I didn't even know what name brands were; when life was all about just finding the joy in everyday circumstances and not stressing about things that truly don't make much difference in the grand scheme of things.

And I miss that.

Sure, there are certain things about growing up that are wonderful. There's much more freedom—yet there's much less freedom at the same time. It's certainly nice to be able to become the individual you were meant to be, but that also has to come in God's timing and when you're not caught up in what the world wants you to be.

When we're young, one reason we don't really worry about much is because we have so much dependence on the people who care for us. There's a sense of trust, and we don't have as many responsibilities. But, when we get older, we tend to try to take all of the weight of everything on our own shoulders, and we allow it all to bog us down and sometimes even cause us worry and anxiety. The truth is, though, that we don't have to do that. We still have Someone who is there to care for us—someone who will hold our hands and make everything around us much safer.

We may be adults, but we're also all still kids.

And there is certainly reason to find joy in letting your heart remember that.

Choose your foundation wisely

You can learn a lot in life simply by wearing heels.

Especially when you're walking on a cheer mat.

I'm the emcee for our school's pep rallies, and we had our first pep rally of the school year on Friday. Naturally, I figured it would be a wise idea to wear my gold heels that day—I mean, it was Homecoming, after all. I'm pretty good at walking (and sometimes running when I'm running late for the bus leaving for convocation or when I realize I just set off the alarm in the school and have 60 seconds to get from my classroom to the back doors to disarm the system), so I honestly didn't think a thing about me having any trouble at all walking around the gym floor in my heels.

But I hadn't factored in the cheer mat element.

And I really wish I would have.

The cheerleaders had put out large blue mats for their stunts and tumbling routines, and the mats remained on the floor for most of the pep rally, because they also had the markings for where all of the kiddos who were nominated for Homecoming court were supposed to stand. I can't recall a time in the past where I've walked on such a material in heels before, and I wasn't hesitant to do so.

Until I took my first step.

As soon as my foot hit that mat material, I went into an inner panic attack of sorts. I felt incredibly unstable and was certain I would fall at any given moment. My legs even started shaking a bit. At one point, I was announcing a kid's name for the court, and my heel got stuck in one of the cracks of the mats. I couldn't move. I wasn't sure what to do, and it took me a few seconds to weasel it out of there and still try to look like I wasn't having complete difficulty doing a task I normally do with such thoughtlessness: walk. I developed a tactic of walking off the mat and onto the gym floor periodically, but I couldn't stay there very long, because all of the cheerleaders were sitting in front of the mats, and I would trip over them rather than my own shoes.

It was quite the predicament, I must say.

Somehow, I made it through the entire assembly without falling flat on my face. Although it would not have been the worst thing in the world to trip in front of the entire school as I was attempting to pump up all in attendance for the big game that night, it wasn't exactly something I was wishing would occur. But at least I learned a valuable lesson: when you wear heels, make sure you are walking on surfaces that are conducive to you looking like you possess at least a slight amount of gracefulness.

And obviously foundation is important.

We go through life often letting ourselves try to strut around without the firm footing we truly require. We need that solid, hardwood gym floor, yet we continue wobbling on puffy, foamy stuff that isn't strong enough to keep us up for very long. And sometimes we get so far out there on it that there isn't that security of the hard floor being there for us in a step or two. The truth is, though, we need that hardwood floor to be our constant surface; we need to fold up the cheer mats and get on solid foundation before we can even attempt to walk in any type of shoes.

Thank God that's always an option.

We have the opportunity to be on secure foundation at all times from the One who cares for us the most. And, when our heels get caught in sticky situations, He's there to pick us up even if we do end up falling down.

Cheer mats might be good for tumbling, but I don't want to tumble, and I certainly don't want to stumble. I want to walk on firm grounding with the confidence and security that even my sassy heels aren't going to be detrimental to my existence. I know there will still be times where I let myself wander back onto the foamy instability, but thankfully the hardwood will never be too far away—because He's never too far away.

It's good to know that it's still safe to walk through certain adventures in heels—especially if they're gold.

Dancing in puddles

Oftentimes situations you thought were going to be bad turn out to be exactly what you needed.

Especially when they involve rain.

I was pretty bummed this morning when I woke up and discovered the sun would not be making much of an appearance today. My plans to hang out at a pool on this holiday were obviously ruined, and I had a few errands I needed to accomplish, which is never a fun activity when you have to worry about getting drenched each time you go to and from your car.

I attempted to go up to the school today to work on a video I'm making for the district, but after driving all the way out there in the rain, I realized that some of the files I needed were sitting on my desk. At home. That was certainly not a good thing. I found myself take on a fairly bad attitude as I turned my around in the school parking lot and started the trek back to the house, where I figured I would have nothing to do.

But some childish fun distracted me before I got there.

I was passing by a park and glanced toward the parking lot, taking keen notice of the large amount of oversized puddles there were. I couldn't really control my hands as they suddenly steered the wheel into the lot and parked the car. Before I knew what I was doing, I kicked off my shoes, rolled up my pants and started running to as many puddles as I could, splashing and dancing to the music I had left playing in my car (Taylor Swift, of course). The rain started coming down a little harder, which made it all the more fun. I didn't care that I looked like a complete fool, and I didn't care that my clothes were becoming ridiculously heavy as they continued to become more and more soaked with the rain. In fact, in that moment, I didn't care about anything that would take away from the joy I had found. At all.

Joy in puddles

I wish I could dance in puddles more often. I think there are far too many instances in life where people choose to see puddles as these horrible things that get in the way, but I think they are more significant than we let them be. It's a simple fact that sometimes your plans will get soiled: you don't get the job you want; you don't end up with that person you thought would be by your side forever; you lose that championship game that you were sure was yours to clench; your flight gets delayed and causes you to miss an important business meeting; your car gets a flat tire the morning you were supposed to leave on a road trip with some of your best buddies; you realize you packed two left shoes in your gym bag when you're getting ready for work; or you get stuck in unexpected traffic when you just don't have time for that.

Sometimes life just happens.

Dancing in puddles this morning didn't make any of my problems go away. It also didn't solve world hunger. It didn't lead people to Jesus. It didn't cure cancer or take away people's pain or remove crime from the streets or bring peace to warring nations. But it helped bring joy when joy was needed most. Life can be difficult at times, and we have to face our struggles head-on, but the journey along the way doesn't have to be full of pain and negativity. There can be joy found in puddles—we simply have to discover it for ourselves.

So find a reason to dance—after all, it's OK to be slightly ridiculous every once in a while.