to continue reading visit Britta’s blog. I’m guest posting there today!
But I persevered. I found my trusty measuring tape and began the process of “staging.” I found that the piano would fit through the doorway–by barely an inch–and it would be the perfect size for the wall in the front room. Awesome.
If you’re local and know of anyone interested in lessons, send them my way!
Kevin and I had a great time browsing aisle after aisle at the Dollar Tree on our Annual Shoebox Filling Date. Here’s what we ended up choosing to fill our shoebox with:
Sesame Street Coloring Book.
3 Mini-Composition notebooks.
Sparkly (regular) Pencils.
A huge package of pencil sharpeners (these sharpeners actually work–I own a couple myself.)
Mr. Caterpillar stuffed animal.
Pack of 5 toothbrushes.
Extra large toothpaste.
3 pack of Palmolive Soap
Googly Eyes. (<–all Kevin)
Colorful Beads. (Kevin again. He was all about the girly stuff that afternoon. So cute.)
A collection of 3 toy magnifying glasses. (ok, so this was Kevin too.)
Multi-colored Hair Ties
A blue jump rope. (Kevin, once again. How brilliant is a jump rope? Seriously, awesome.)
It was so much fun hearing from all of you about your experiences with OCC–especially you first-timers. Did you all have a great time filling your boxes to overflowing?
I encourage you to gather your family together, before shipment day, and pray over your box–over the child who will receive your gifts, your letter, your love, and the message of The Cross.
*please note–Before I get up on my little soapbox, I would like you all to know I’m not actually mad at anyone who’s ever said anything about my age. I, too, enjoy knowing how old people are and comparing life experiences. If you have ever happened to say something to me along the lines of which I’m about to write, please please please don’t take offense. I still love you. I’m just trying to work out this little predicament I seem to be in. You are welcome to share your thoughts with me at the end. :)
I am young. I am well aware of this.
I look very young. I am well aware of this.
Most of my life I’ve dealt with people guessing my age wrong by years and years. Decades even. Almost weekly, I see the genuine shock on someone’s face when they hear I’m *almost* 26. “Oh my gosh, you look 16!” Yes, I know. I look 16. At a recent youth conference, my husband was sporting his “My Wife Rocks” tshirt and chatting with a vendor, when all of sudden the woman stopped and said, “Oh my gosh, you guys are MARRIED? How old are you? You don’t look any more than 16!”
“She’s 25 and I’m 24,” Kevin said.
When I was actually 17 years old and my sister was just 13, I distinctly remember hearing, “Are you twins?” (by the way, we don’t look anything alike…) and “I’m sorry, but which one of you is older.” *sigh*
I have a baby face. And I completely understand the benefits to this. Or, at least the most obvious benefit–when I’m 40, I’ll look 30, right? Or when I’m 65 I might only look 55? Sure, that would be cool. All I can say is, it had better turn out that way, or I’m gonna have a bone to pick with someone. (JK, Lord, jk.)
Looks aside, I realize that *almost* 26 is still young. But is there anything wrong with being 26? I’m mean, I’m pretty sure most everyone who’s older than me was, at some point, 26 years old. Right? So why is my age such an issue?
It’s hard being “young.” I have been an “old soul” for years and years. When I was in elementary school, I remember preferring to sit with my mom and her “lady friends” rather than playing with the kids. But I knew I wasn’t really welcome at the adult table back then.
But here I am, an adult. Seven years from living at home with mom and dad. Three years out of college. Three years into a lifelong marriage. Paying gas bills, water bills, car repair bills. Maintaining excellent credit. Building my own business. I lead worship. I confidently speak in front of large congregations. I lead women’s small groups. I understand what copays are and what a deductible is and how to sign up for car insurance. But yet, some days, I feel like I’m still in some awkward puberty stage, where I don’t really belong with the “kids” and I don’t really belong with the “adults.”
I know this isn’t true. I present myself in a manner that asks for mutual respect from other adults. I talk like an adult. I understand adult conversation.
So why do I feel this way?
Maybe it’s because my age almost always seems to be an issue. I want to be taken seriously, even though I don’t have the extra decades of life experiences. I would love for everyone to listen to me and watch my life without ever thinking, “Aww, what a nice young lady” or “Isn’t that adorable? Melanie acting all grown up?” I know I’m as old as some of your children, and I’m sure that makes it kind of weird for you to see me as a friend. But my mom treats me like an equal now. She respects my opinion. She doesn’t look down on me. She talks to me as she does her closest friends.
That’s all I ask.
I try to remember Paul’s encouragement to Timothy. Don’t let anyone look down on you because you are young, but set an example for the believers in speech, in conduct, in love, in faith and in purity.
I’ll always be younger than someone right? So I’m just beginning to wonder, “When will I really treated be a grown up?”
Does anyone understand what I’m talking about? Do you have any thoughts or suggestions for me (and my attitude) about my age?