The light in your eyes

There are times when you really just need a trip down Memory Lane.

For some reason, I feel the need to conjure up a memory from my past, though it might be painful to think about at times. Well, some parts of it, at least. For the most part, though, I suppose you could call this a happy tale.

This is a story about the day I made my sister lie.

Yes, that's right. I caused someone else to sin, and I did it intentionally. I am a horrible person.

I was in ninth grade (so, for those of you keeping score at home, yes I was a Christian by this point), and I had recently broken my hand while playing basketball with a bunch of guys at the local YMCA. So, because I clearly had high aspirations of pursuing my basketball career deep into my life beyond high school and college (yeah, right), I thought it would be wise to go up to the Y and shoot some hoops with my left hand and practice dribbling so that I could stay on top of my game. But I didn't want to go alone—I was a freshman, after all.

My younger sister didn't have much to do, so I asked her to go with me. My mom was busy and couldn't accompany us, so Steph was a little worried about the fact that she was only 13 at the time, and you couldn't be at the Y without parental supervision unless you were 14. I told her not to worry—we would just tell a little fib if that problem arose. But I honestly didn't think it would be a big issue.

As with many other incidents in my life, I was mistaken.

As soon as we walked in the door, without our cards, of course, the lady at the front desk forcefully asked us who we were and how old we were. As a big, bad 15-year-old, I was safe. The little runt, however, stumbled through her words as she claimed to be 14. When the lady asked Steph when her birthday is, she lied on the year, as I told her to do.

Yes, I know I am a horrible sister.

We proceeded on our way and went into the gym so that Steph could rebound for me and pretend to guard me as a ferociously drove to the hoop. (Looking back, she really was so giving to me that day and definitely didn't deserve what was about to happen to her. Foreshadowing.) Things were going just great until the grumpy lady who hated her job burst through the glass doors and onto the hardwood.

"Stephanie!" She then berated my sister for lying and basically made the poor little girl feel like she was the scum of the earth for exaggerating her age by one year. Really, was it that big of a deal? Apparently it was.

The worst part of the whole thing is that I didn't step in and say that I made her do it, like a good big sister would. I would do anything for my sister, and I know I would defend her in any situation. But, as a freshman in high school, I guess I was a little bit more hesitant.

We were then kicked out of the Y.

The walk home was awful. Steph definitely didn't want to have any engaging conversation with me, and I think we were both more than relieved when we saw my mom's big red Suburban pulling up to us as we faced quite the long stretch of pavement until we were home.

Biggest blessing ever: my little sister.

When we got home, my precious little Squirt went straight to her bedroom and began crying on her bed. I felt absolutely horrible. My sister was in tears of guilt, and it was all my fault. I tried to go talk to her, but she wanted nothing to do with me, and I totally deserved it. You know that knot in your stomach you get when you've done something wrong? I had about seven of them at the moment, because I knew that she had only committed her YMCA criminal act because her older sister—someone who should be striving to be a role model for her—had forced her to go on a journey to the Y and encouraged her to get a reputation of a little liar.

I promise that I'm really not the Devil dressed up as a girl.

I thought about it for a little bit, and I decided I needed to win my sister's heart—and her trust—back before she saw me as a failure of an older sister for the rest of our lives.

Enter LeAnn Rimes.

Don't ask me why, but I started listening to "The Light in Your Eyes" and taught myself all of the lyrics. I took the portable CD player (I know, way old school) into Steph's room and cued the music before I serenaded her and belted the lyrics:

"Keep on shining

Keep on smiling

Don't lose faith, and don't lose heart

When you're crying

Just keep trying to remind yourself

You're a shining star, yes you are"

I don't know how it worked, but she actually forgave me. And, for the record, that was seriously probably the last time she told a lie. Thankfully, she is more of a truth-teller than most people.

Every time I think about this memory, I can't help but think about the fact that there are probably so many other times I've caused people to sin and likely not even realized it. Instead, we should be encouraging others to live their lives in honorable ways that bring glory to God. We shouldn't be the ones to bring others down and make them go cry on their beds.

We should remind them not to lose that light in their eyes. The world will be a lot brighter.

Whenever I hear this song, I can't help but smile and think about how much I love my gracious baby sister.

Life is not a highway

I think sometimes we all just really need to slow down.

As a runner, I love a good race. But, I think on occasion I allow that to carry over into too much of my life. I often forget that not every single thing has to be a competition to see who can get there first.

As it turns out, I am not the only one like this.

For instance, today when I was driving I noticed a car with its gas cap dangling on the side, so I pulled up beside the guy and tried to get his attention. But, as soon as I got even with him, he thought it was time to race, so he sped up. Each time I caught up with him, he sped up again. Fine. I hope you enjoy your Check Engine Light, sir.

This was after I got out-kicked this morning on the way to the checkout counter at a boutique store. I guess the woman with the pink feather earrings had somewhere super important to be. The look in her eyes was pretty fierce as she gave me an absolutely authentic smile as she made those last few swift steps that ensured her victory. Congratulations. You just saved yourself about 182 seconds.

Then there was the guy the other day who raced me to the door of Barnes & Noble so that he could hold it open for me. I will accept that defeat, thank you. Chivalry is not completely dead.

I don't know why I feel I have to be in a rush so often. I guess it partially stems from growing up in a household with Skipper, who is freakishly early to everything. I kind of got used to rush, rush, rush. My mom, who is just the opposite, primed my little sister to be more like her: relaxed and a bit more nonchalant when it comes to time urgency. You won't find either of them gunning it to beat someone off the line at a stoplight. It's often a different story with the other three in the family.

Lately I have really been trying to remind myself to slow down in life and not treat it like a race where I have to beat everyone around me. After all, life isn't a sprint; it's a long race that we must run with perseverance. If we're constantly trying to be the first and leave others behind us, how are we to engage with them? How are we to be lights to them?

If you eat a snow cone really, really fast you probably get a brain or heart freeze, finish before all of your friends and have to sit there waiting for them, and you likely didn't get to enjoy the taste that much. But, if you eat it slowly, you get to relish the taste and have fun chatting with your friends while the ice melts, and the flavor sinks in more, making it taste even better.

I am going to try to enjoy every precious moment I have here on this earth. I'm going to try to let my light shine for Jesus every chance I can, and that won't happen if I'm rushing through everything I do. Racing really fast is fine for actual races, but it doesn't have to be the way to live my entire life.

I think Ferris Bueller had some good insight when he said: "Life moves pretty fast. If you don't stop and look around once in a while, you could miss it."

Slow down. Have a snow cone. Enjoy it.

The multifaceted "like"

I think we have a new "like" problem.

When I was in middle school, this word was, like, overused in almost, like, every sentence by mostly, like, teenage girls. It was, like, so ridiculous.

I purposely avoided the word—unless I was using it as a simile, of course. "

Then, oh goodness, was the use of the word to describe how you felt about that special crush. Do you "like" him, or do you like "like" him? Clearly there was a HUGE difference. I mean, one is like; one is like like.

Most recently, "like" has taken on an entirely different meaning—it describes our affinity for certain comments or postings in Facebook. The problem is that this can't exactly transfer over into real life.

For instance, the other day a group of people and I were e-mailing back and forth, and someone said something really funny. I was a bit astonished when I went to click "like" only to find out that there was no "like" button. What?! How was I to express my feelings of appreciation for such witty commentary? I mean, clearly I could not come out and just say, "Wow, that was so funny!" No—I needed to "like" that.

It's the same thing with blog entries. I can't like them. I actually have to leave comments. What's up with that?

I sometimes even find myself in situations in society where I need to click like, but I am nowhere near a computer—or anything Facebook related, for that matter. Sale at Target? LIKE. Another Rangers win? LIKE. No line at the snow cone place? LIKE. Compliment from a random stranger? LIKE.

I even saw a picture in a frame sitting on someone's desk, and there was nowhere for me to click "like." Instead, I had to tell the person that it was a great picture. Good grief.

In these situations, we actually have to use our words to communicate our thoughts. We can't just do something as simple as click a "like" button, as convenient as that would seem. I think it's safe to say that certain aspects of Facebook and other social media have truly changed the way we behave—and that's not always a good thing.

I feel that (possibly purposefully avoided use here) the word and concept of "like" has been abused throughout history. Perhaps we just like the word "like" too much.

After all, if there were a "like" button for the word "like," I definitely know a lot of people who would, like, click it.

To quote Lloyd Christmas: "I hate goodbyes!"

I lost a little piece of me yesterday.

Two summers ago, I made myself a necklace during my lunch break of a professional development workshop. It started out as nothing too special—just some stretchy string and little turquoise beads creating a simple choker. However, I loved it, and it immediately became an important part of me. By the end of that summer, I even had a tan line around my neck of where it sat. But, since I never took the necklace off, it didn't really matter.

That necklace and I went through a lot together. I wore it everywhere—to work, to weddings, running, to the pool, in the shower, to sleep, to baseball games, on road trips, in mud races, through airport terminals—you name it. My turquoise treasure NEVER left my neck.

Until yesterday.

I had noticed that the strand was becoming weaker by the day, and I figured it was only a matter of time until it met its demise. But, it was one of those things that I thought would just never happen. I wasn't quite ready for reality just yet. I didn't want my neck to be without that perfect circle.

Scattered pieces of my heart

But I cannot control fate.

I had just taken a shower, and I reached my towel back to dry the back of my neck. There was a weird snap, and I put both of my hands on my neck hoping that the horrific thing that I thought had just occurred was nothing more than an over-exaggerated imagination.

But I knew better than that.

I carefully removed the broken necklace and just stared at its lifeless state in my hands. Some of the beads had even stuck to my neck as if clinging for more time. I looked in the mirror to see a neck that looked completely barren and boring. It was a sad moment.

There are things and people in our lives that come and go. They impact us while they are here, but then they are gone just as quickly as they came. Sometimes we just have to learn to say goodbye and move on with the realities that we face.

Now is one of those times for me.

I have more stretchy string and more beads, but I doubt I will make a replica. There's just no replacing such awesomeness.

Cloth rings last forever, right?

The good news is that I still have one piece of "jewelry" that has outlasted all: a cloth ring that I've been wearing since I was a junior in high school. This one might be a story for a different day, but let's just say that it used to be bright orange, and it's made a permanent indention in my finger. The only way to get this thing off would be to cut it, which I definitely will not do.

I guess I'm sort of hoping it's made of magic cloth that lasts forever, because this is one goodbye I never want to say.

The fairy tale life

I'm 26 years old, and I still believe in fairy tales.

No, I won't be putting on a sea-shelled bra and serenading a hunk on the shore, and I won't start talking to furniture and exploring forbidden wings of dark castles, but I'm not going to give up the belief that love can truly transform people and result in miracles.

I realize that I've never been in a relationship, so I can't quite speak from experience, but I've definitely talked to enough of my friends to know that my fairy tale dreams don't exactly occur in every situation. Apparently some people have to go through a few jerk faces to get to Prince Charming. I listened to one of my friends recently as she told me about a relationship that had just ended for her when she discovered the guy had been lying to her for three months. He had looked her directly in the eyes and simply lied about so many things. Clearly she is not going to be eating a bad apple and hoping for him to come around and kiss her so she will wake up anytime soon.

She is not the first to have this happen to her, and she certainly won't be the last. I mean, just listen to almost any Taylor Swift song, and you can probably relate. I don't understand how people can treat one another that way, and it's times like these where I wish everything really were like fairy tales. But, then I remember that even fairy tales have bad people in them—after all, how would Prince Charming seem so perfect if everyone around him were just as flawless?

One thing that's frustrating about not living in a fairy tale—besides not being able to bust out in song at random and have everything rhyme and make perfect sense—is that God's plan isn't always what Disney would write. I can think of numerous guys I thought were supposed to be the one with the glass slipper to fit my foot, but the Big Man had other ideas in mind. Looking back now, it's pretty clear why those didn't work out, though I certainly wasn't able to see (or care) at the time. I just couldn't understand why I was trapped in this ocean when obviously I was meant to be part of someone else's world.

Obviously not.

My parents: the epitome of love

I don't know if I will ever end up with a prince, because some people really are meant to be single forever (BLP=Be Like Paul), but I do know that fairy tales are being written every single day. This August, my parents—who got married straight out of high school—will celebrate their 39th wedding anniversary. While they don't get dressed with the help of birds, and neither has ever experienced the luxury of living in a castle or dancing in the finest gowns and suits, they know what love is. I can't ever think of a time during my entire lifetime when I questioned how my parents felt about each other. It is so apparent that they were made for one another, and there has never been a day when they doubted that love. Sure, their life together hasn't been perfect, and there haven't been singing mice and talking candlesticks, but I see a fairy tale when I look at them. Life's thrown its own Ursulas and poisoned apples at them, and they've overcome them all, because that's how fairy tales go—love always wins.

I think one of the greatest things of all is that we can all have fairy tale endings whether we find our princes or not. Jesus Christ is the greatest example of a fairy tale out there—someone who sacrificed himself and died for us so that we don't have to suffer eternally. Instead, we get to go be with our greatest Love when we leave this world.

Yes, I would love to find my Prince Charming here on earth and see sparks fly every time he walks into a room. But, even if this never happens, at least the Prince of Peace is always in my heart to let me know that I'm a princess in His eyes. 

My BAM sibs

Growing up, I definitely didn't always like my siblings.

Now, I don't know what I would do without them.

These are two people who can drive me so crazy yet keep me incredibly sane at the same time. And it cracks me up how different they are.

Family photo shoot!

My older brother is very ambitious and knows exactly what he wants. He is currently getting his MBA and hopes to run his own business one day. He is also somewhat of a planner and operates on a very strict schedule. In fact, when I call him and ask him to do things that haven't been on the calendar for at least a few days, I don't always get the results I prefer.

My younger sister, on the other hand, is still trying to figure things out. She pretty much just takes one day at a time, and she could probably live her whole life without a watch and not be concerned about the time. Now, this doesn't always make the Skipper too thrilled when we have to be somewhere at a certain time for a family event, but the runt doesn't let that disrupt her calm demeanor.

One thing that made me laugh earlier this week was the different attitudes each of them had towards to weather. My sister used to be paranoid about tornadoes and would constantly ask us if we thought a tornado was on the way, even if the sky had no clouds and not the slightest indication that bad weather was anywhere near us. So, Tuesday night when tornadoes actually were in the area, and updates were interrupting television programs, my sister called me to make sure I was OK and to check that I knew how to take cover if I needed to. She even made me call her every 10 minutes to ensure her that I was still alive. She also seemed to have some sort of plan ready if a twister invaded her home.

Then I decided to call my brother, who had grad class Tuesday night right in the center of where many of the storms were. When I talked to him, it was clear that he knew nothing about the weather conditions and really didn't care. A girl in his class gave him a ride to his car (he had parked rather far from campus), and she asked him if he had an umbrella. He told her no, but he was wearing a Dri-Fit shirt. When she asked him if he had heard or seen that it was going to rain, he let her know that this was the reason he was wearing a Dri-Fit shirt. Duh. Anyway, I told him about the tornadoes and how he was probably driving right into them. He told me that he would drive straight into the eye of the tornado if he saw it. Nothing can stop Chris Merrill.

My siblings can always keep me entertained, no matter where we are. I will never forget when I brother and I drove out to Fort Worth for my sister's 21st birthday. Even though Chris bought Stephanie her first shot, it was cute to see how much he took care of her the rest of the night. We also have a blast every Christmas Eve when my mom insists that all three of us come back and spend the night at our old house. We go out to dinner with our relatives that evening, then we attend an annual Christmas Eve party where we usually all feel awkward and can't wait to get home. So, to pass the time, we make fun of our parents. That's a bonding experience in itself.

I'm the only one who wanted to take this pic.

It's funny how much things change over the years. When we were younger, we used to play this game called Bonkers on my parents' bed. The goal was to be the last person on the bed and to throw everyone off of it. We also had boxing matches to settle arguments. It was as if everything we did had to end with an individual prevailing above the rest. Now, instead of trying to break apart, we are always trying to come together. It's not a competition anymore. In fact, when our lives become bonkers, we're trying to help each other back up rather than be the last man standing. I think we've all finally realized just how important family really is in life. It's not about winning the individual title—it's about surviving and triumphing together.

One thing that's always stayed true, though, is that we don't let anyone else bring one another down. We've always taken up for each other, and this still hasn't changed. If any guy were to break my heart, I know my brother would want to rip him to pieces (after Skipper, of course). And Stephanie would have some choice words, as well. That girl is full of sass that unfailingly brings a smile to my heart.

I can't effectively put into words just how much my siblings mean to me. There were times when I was younger when I regretted not being an only child. If that were the case, my life definitely wouldn't be what it is today. Chris and Steph have helped make me who I am, and I wouldn't trade them for anything.

As little kids, we constantly were outside in the street in front of our house. The street would have been empty if those two weren't there with me, even if all of the neighbor kids were out there, too. We paved that street together.

Now, even though we don't live on the same street, it's comforting to know that we are still paving the streets of our own individual lives together.

Into the rush

There's nothing wrong with holding your nose before you jump into a pool.

I remember when I was growing up, my family used to go to a somewhat local community outdoor pool that had a 5M diving platform. It was always a rush to jump from that thing, and for some reason I could only do it if I knew for sure that my parents were watching me. My brother, though, always made fun of me because I couldn't seem to make the leap without first holding my nose lest water should invade my nostrils and cause that burning pain that lingered for hours (slight time exaggeration). I, however, found it extremely necessary, and—even though I wanted to do everything my brother did—this was one exception I had to make. I even tried a few times to jump without my hand glued to my nose, but those fingers always managed to cover it just seconds before I hit the water. Whew!

One thing I've learned in life is that it's OK to take the safe route sometimes. We don't always have to jump in head first at full-throttle speed. I mean, I'm even one of those people who usually eases into the pool in super slow-mo when I think the water is too cold instead of just taking the path of the maniac and running and plunging into the iciness (probably another slight hyperbole, considering where I live). The point is that gradual is the better idea on various occasions.

Most recently, I have valued this lesson when it comes to running. I've been out for six weeks with a fractured hip, and Monday marked the first day I was able to try a run. Of course, the doctor told me to "take it easy" and that I needed to stay on soft surfaces, so I made a plan to run a mile on a track near my home. A mile—whoop-dee-doo. I definitely had a little devil Natalie on my shoulder encouraging me to keep going after those four laps—"You can go another four so easily"—but I knew that this was one of those things where I had to follow the rules and ease back into running. I can't just jump straight from the platform without holding my nose. The pain in this case would be a lot worse than a bit of rushing water in my nose.

I'm not going to lie—being patient sometimes just plain sucks. I can't really think of a better word right now, so we will leave it at that. When it comes to running, I would rather not hold my nose; I prefer to be running many more miles than one. Granted, I did go 1.5 yesterday morning—holla! As Miley Cyrus once wisely pointed out to us, it's all about the climb.

Life is full of opportunities to jump without holding your nose. I think the wisdom comes in knowing when to do so and when to play things with caution. Sometimes it's definitely better to take a few big risks; others, you would be foolish. I will admit right now that I often mix up the two—I want to be risky, but I take the safe road; I know I should walk on my tippy toes, yet I take off at full speed without a helmet.

At least I know it was OK to hold my nose before jumping into this pool.