My Golden Globes Acceptance Speech

As awards show season is in full swing, I found myself asking the question of “If I were to win that award, who would I be thanking?”  The quick and easy answer is that I would never have to thank anyone because I can’t act or sing well enough to ever win an award for it.

The blog worthy answer is this – The award that I’ve already won is found in all the doors that are being opened right now, and in all the opportunities I’ve been given in these past few years.  I’m in a place right now where I really can be whatever I want to be when I “grow up” if I just do the work – and there are so many people who were vital in me getting to this point.  (Fun fact, I got to see several of them today and I hadn’t even planned on it.) 

So, in honor of tonight’s awards – the Golden Globes – I’ll list these as quickly as possible before the association tells me to shut up with class.

Iwanttothankmyhighschoolyouthminister,whowasthefirstpersonwhocalledmeonallmycrapandnevergaveuponmebecauseofit. Iwanttothankmycurrentboss,whoisalsoayouthminister,forshowingmehowtoasktoughquestionsandhowtosurvivejuniorhighmissiontripsandslumsimulationsandcryingseventhgradegirlsamongsomanyotherthings.

Iwanttothankmybestfriendwhotaughtmeaboutbeingintentionalandconsistentinfriendshipsandrelationshipsandtaughtmehowtousemywords.
Umm. Uhhh. Ehhhh.
(Stuttering is important because it makes it look like you weren't expecting any recognition)

Iwanttothankmyteachersfromeverygrade,whotaughtmehowtofightforgradesIdon’tdeservemostofthetime,andwhotaughtmehowtobeagoodhumanbeing.

IwanttothankmyhighschoolsoccercoachwhoIamstillconvincedhatedmeforthreewholeyears.EverytimeIthinkaboutquittingsomethingIdecidenottosothatIcanpretendtorubherfaceinmyhappinessandsuccess-andmostimportantlymyhumbleness.(Thisone’s acompletejoke)

Iwanttothankmyparentsforbirthingmeandmygrandparentsforbirthingthemandmy greatgrandparentsandso-onandsoforth. Ohandmybrotherbecauseitwouldhavebeenweirdtohavebeenanonlychildandtohaveneverhadsomeoneshoothockeypucksatmeandtrickmeintothinkingyoucouldpushacarupthedriveway(sorryforalmostkillingyouwhenyoudidthat). 

Okay, its exhausting to type without spaces, and its getting late, and I can hear them playing me out with that classical music.

Happy Awards Season.

Couldn't Avoid the Election Post

This election year I thought I had it bad going to a Christian school in the south. I knew that I would be chastised for supporting the wrong candidate. I knew that if the president was re-elected I wouldn't be allowed to be happy for my country.

And here we are - another 4 years with a fellow who's done a lot, and I'm not even going to start talking about politics because I've heard way too much of that the last few days.

My point today is that Christians have completely lost sight of the gospel in this election year. Catholics especially. Every one of the people I've looked up to in the Catholic church have posted hateful, pessimistic blog posts and facebook statuses and tweets. Rather than focusing on spreading God's love this year, they've been focused on telling us all that we're wrong and stupid and ignorant.  If this is what I'm "called to do" to be a good Catholic, I don't want any of it.  Chastising me for my vote is not your duty. If our president had the capability to kill our Catholic culture and ruin the world, he would not have been elected.

So when you're wondering why I don't like your statuses or favorite your tweets, it's because every one of your one hundred-sixty characters is only pushing me further from the community of the Catholic church and on to search for truth, beauty, and life in a place where people acknowledge God's power, grace, and mercy.

Overlooked

It's been a while.  I know, I've been slacking.

For the past four months I've been all over the south.  In Orlando, Jackson, Memphis, Cincinnati, and Nashville I worked in the kitchen and played percussion for a Catholic Work Camp for five weeks.  After that, I moved into a friend's empty apartment and led worship at a United Methodist Church where I have been interning for the last two semesters where I got to work with Junior High School students more than I ever have wanted to before.  Then I returned to school for my Junior Year, studying non-profit business, worship leadership, and more importantly rowing and coxing for our school's crew team.  I might not have my priorities in order now that we're in the thick of the fall semester.

In the last four months I've slept in over twenty-five different rooms, six air mattresses, 6 real beds, 5 couches, 1 cardboard box, 1 hammock, and a Philippine style bamboo floor.  I've met hundreds of high school and junior high school students, dozens of young adults, and several new best friends, and all I can say is that people are the most beautiful and the most awful things that I have ever experienced.

They love so fully, but they love so selfishly.  They lift each other up with their words, and then cut them down with their judgements.  They open doors, purchase strangers coffee, and then blindly knock over the classmate they looked through on the sidewalk.

People are capable of great love, and great harm.  And in these four months, I've experienced both extremes.


The folks that I worked with across the south this summer practiced the most faithful community life that I have ever experienced.  As we got to know each other in only five weeks, we learned how to pray together multiple times a day, how to be vulnerable with each other, and how to hold each other accountable.  Every person played an integral role in this family and every member of this family knew their worth, because the others would never let them forget it.  For the first time in my life, I knew what community and family was supposed to look like.

In Nashville, we had to say our goodbyes.  We organized skype dates, reunions, and group text messages, but we knew that this family would never be together in the same way as it was this summer.  This family was stronger.  This family prayed harder.  And this family has continued to stick together.

I suffered through another split community as this summer closed too.  My best friend in high school, who was two years older than me, introduced me to her roommate right before she transferred out of the college I was about to attend.  When I got to this school and I lost contact with my old best friend, this stranger of a roommate gave me rides to mass, invited me to talk over coffee, and eventually ended up saving me from some pretty dangerous situations.  A complete stranger who had hardly any ties to me became (what I dare to call) my best friend after two years of pulling away.  No matter the number of times I rejected her friendship and her acts of kindness she was always there, she was always introducing me to her community of solid friends, and she was adamant about teaching me that people don't suck.  This fall she moved to Augusta and I was convinced that after the two weeks she spent with me in Birmingham that we would never see each other again.  Again, I was mistaken.  The love and community and prayer that surrounds this friendship has been one of the biggest blessings in my twenty years of life, and just might have proven her point that people don't always suck and there's very few things more important than community.

People are capable of great things. People are capable of great love.

Back in Alabama, I was privileged enough to chaperone the Junior High School service learning trip to SIFAT, or Servants In Faith And Technology in Lineville, AL.  At SIFAT we spent 16 hours in an urban slum simulation, where I watched my seventh grade girls get "sold into prostitution" (simulation) to fee their families, I watched one of the father chaperones react to seeing his daughter as one of these girls, and I watched what desperate people do when they don't have a guaranteed place to sleep or a guaranteed source of food and water.  It seemed cruel that 1 in 7 people on this earth live like this.  And I was angry.

Later in the week I stayed up well into the morning trying to force these eighth grade girls to go to bed. Screaming and laughing and tormenting my sleep deprived soul, these girls were determined to wear themselves out before the real work even began.  Even after seeing how exhausting life in other cultures can be, even after learning about how much work many people have to put into just one meal or just one cup of pasteurized water, these girls would not tire.  It seemed cruel that we could so easily forget how easy we have it.  And I was angry and frustrated.

Then I returned to campus where I learned what an invisibility cloak would feel like.  As I had trouble sleeping for the first time in my life, I lacked the energy to defend myself from the students who don't look outside of themselves.  If I had counted the number of times that someone has walked directly into me in well lit, public areas, then I would probably have counted the number of days I've been back on campus.  It seemed cruel to me that people could be so selfish in just the way that they walked.  It seemed cruel that no one seemed to care for the other people in their path.  And I was angry and frustrated and defeated.

People are capable of great harm.

But it only takes little reminders for the lighter side to win.  A daily reminder that people are capable of so much more love is often overlooked in the moment, but is the key to continued kindness and faith in mankind.  A stranger with a wide open door, a friend with a fresh cup of coffee, an unexpected bear hug or encouraging phone call.  These little things have been the things that have gotten me through these past four months.  The communities, the families, and the teams that I've become a part of have saved me and saved my view on humanity.  Sure, people are capable of great harm, but people are capable of so much more kindness than we ever choose to see.

I'll try to return in less than four months.
Until then, check out some of the other sites I've been working on.

-Laura Lynn
lauralynnwms.blogspot.com
lauralynnwms.weebly.com
twitter: @lauralynnwms

Two Years

Two years ago my hometown was underwater for days. Several friends, family members, acquaintances, and strangers lost their belongings and homes to this water. It was the greatest natural disaster that I had seen or heard of without warning.
Hurricanes are predicted. People evacuate their homes with a slight idea of what could happen.
Middle Tennessee woke up one morning to rain. The rain didn't stop. No one knew what was happening.

I could write for days about the flood. I could write about the damage, or the inconveniences, or every other negative aspect of your entire town being underwater, but the thing that stood out the most about this storm was the story of unity, community, and kindness that followed.

Every other natural disaster I've heard stories of has been followed with stories of looting, lack of aid, and desperation. As soon as the water began to rise in Tennessee, all I saw was hope. Before the water even receded, strangers took their boats out to save people from their flooded homes. People were waiting anxiously for the water to recede, not for themselves but so that they could begin helping others.  Strangers showed up ready to contribute in any way possible. There was too much help in many neighborhoods. There was hope. There was community. There was kindness.

Two years ago, my friends and family were homeless. Two years and they have recovered and grown. Two years and Nashville has maintained this kindness and community that it established long before the flood and reaffirmed during the flood.
Two years. And I haven't seen a kindness like this in two years.

I'm always proud of my hometown, but especially in the past two years, and especially in May.

The Song of Kindness

I'm listening to a song right now by The Head and The Heart, and I absolutely adore it.  I can't stop tapping my feet, nodding my head, and adding in harmonies.  Naturally, I'm waiting for my roommate to get out of class so that we can pull out some instruments and try to cover this song together.

That's all well and good, but what does this have to do with kindness?  Well, anyone who plays an instrument will understand.  What do you do when you hear a song that really fits your style?  You look up the chords, or you let your ear study the sounds, and you try to imitate what you hear.  Sometimes you even try to improve the song by adding your own sound to it.  You want to create something similar to what the artists you admire have created. And so it is this way with Christianity.

Jesus was kind.  Jesus loved.  Maybe he wasn't a songwriter, but he wrote the song of kindness, and all I want to do is pick up an instrument and cover those sweet, sweet sounds.


This weekend I was at a retreat for the Junior High at the church where I intern, and one of the Senior High speakers told a story of a man named Tony. From what I remember, Tony was a preacher who had traveled to Honolulu to speak at a conference.  Tony woke up around 3 AM the first morning in Honolulu due to jet lag, and he decided to go ahead and find a place to eat breakfast.  He ended up at a diner in the shadier part of Honolulu and was chatting with the owner/waiter/somekindofemployee at the diner when a group of prostitutes came in for breakfast.  The owner/waiter/employee told Tony that these girls came in every morning after they finished "work" to eat breakfast and unwind.  Tony overheard one of the girls tell the others that it was her birthday the next day, and the others made a sarcastic comment about "did you want us to make you a cake or something" or something like that.  The girl shrugged it off and said she didn't expect it to be like any other birthday, and Tony realized that this girl had never had a birthday party.  Tony turned to the owner/waiter/employee and said "what do you think about throwing this girl a party." And they agreed upon it.

The next day, Tony spent the whole day inviting people to the diner for the party, picking up decorations and cake, and when 4 AM rolled around there were tons of people just waiting to wish this stranger a happy birthday.  The prostitutes walked in to this surprise, and the girl was taken aback.  No one had ever thrown her such a party.  No one had made her a cake.  She even asked if they could not eat the cake just so she could look at it longer.  It appeared to be the best birthday ever.
When the party was over and the crowd had cleared, Tony said he had better get to the conference he was scheduled to speak at.  Remembering that Tony was a preacher, the owner/waiter/employee asked in an awe-struck manner what church he was with.  Tony responded calmly, "I'm from the church of throwing prostitutes birthday parties at 4 AM."


Tony understood that the Church is all about love and kindness.  Jesus befriended the prostitutes, lepers, and tax collectors.  He loved the hated.  He loved everyone.  And that is what this is all about.

He wrote the song of love and kindness, and we are all here to pick up our instruments and cover His song.

hate

I’ve never understood this word.  I’ve never understood exactly what it means or how it works, so naturally I looked it up in the dictionary: 

“To dislike extremely or passionately; to feel extreme aversion for or hostility toward; to detest.”

Okay, so what does that mean? I mean, milk feels pretty hostile toward my stomach, but does that mean that milk hates me? I guess that’s a bad example because milk can’t feel.  But in high contact sports like hockey or football, does every player on one team hate everyone on every other team? They have to be hostile toward each other in order to win the game, but do they hate each other? I highly doubt they’ve reached that level of hostility.

So I continued my search for the meaning of “hate” on the trusty urbandictionary.com  and this is what I found:

“A special kind of love given to people who suck.”  Maybe that’s kind of funny, and it’s true in the sense that occasionally I might tell my friend that I hate them because they made a joke about my religion, but generally I’m laughing in that kind of situation.  There’s no hostility or aversion about this.  So this couldn’t be what I’m looking for.

“When you dislike someone so much that if you and the other person were in an empty room with a knife in the middle, one or both of you would be dead.”  That’s extreme hostility. That’s extreme aversion.  This is what I’m looking for.  Hate is a feeling so strong that it could lead someone to make rash decisions forever altering their lives, such as murder, or maybe just a really underhanded comment causing permanent emotional scars, but I like murder better for this example.

Last one: “(noun). Calculated and/or intentional intense dislike; an intensified and elevated level of anger; an unnatural emotion (i.e. hate is something that is derived from natural emotions such as anger or fear); learned dislike or loathing of another person, group, or thing.

Ex. Hate is the root of much of the world's suffering.”           

Now that we have the definition covered, I still have questions.  How can someone feel so strongly about another person that they would hate them.  Yeah, I’ve used the word hate a fair share of times in my brief existence, but I don’t think that I can honestly say that I’ve ever truly hated someone.  I think that, as our last definition states, hate is the root of much of the world’s suffering.  I think that hate should be illegal.  Anyone caught hating another person should be locked up, preferably in a religious establishment that teaches love, until they could never even imagine anything less than loving their neighbor.

Come to think of it, I can’t think of a single person I could truly claim to hate.  Sure, I disliked my soccer coach in high school, but only because I so desperately sought her approval.  Yes, I couldn’t look at Sister Helen in middle school without thinking awful thoughts, but that’s because she insulted my family and my ability to dress myself in less that five seconds of meeting her.  But generally, I’ve never disliked someone until they’ve proven to me that they were incapable of loving me, and even then I reacted poorly by not showering these people with the love that they need.

I understand that people don’t get along.  I understand that if he stole your baseball glove in the sixth grade, you probably won’t be so fond of him.  Or if she called you ugly in high school, you may not jump at the opportunity to love her. But truly, that’s what these people need.  Hateful people need love. Hate requires love. Because if I were in charge of writing the dictionary, I would describe hate as a complete lack of love, and the only cure for this is drowning in love.  And how do you drown someone with love? You rain down on them with kindness and you don’t quit.

James Taylor has a song that says “Shower the people you love with love, show them the way that you feel” but really, Shower the people you hate with love, because a world without hate would be boring, but it would be better for everyone.

It must suck to be a dad.

 I will never be a dad. Why? Well, obviously because I’m a girl, and also, because it must suck to be a dad.

Dads: Constantly having to swallow their pride because their wife is always right, or must be reassured that she is the most brilliant mind on the face of the earth.

Dads: Constantly stepping carefully around the words they say so as not to permanently damage their daughters’ self esteem. Trying so hard to save the world from another girl with “daddy issues.”

Dads: Giving up their weekends to watch their sons play sports, or act in musicals, or do whatever it is that their sons do best.

Dads: Always picking up the bill at a restaurant. Always offering to buy that last tank of gas before sending their kid back to school, or off to other cities to become just like him. Always selflessly providing for the family in the best way he sees fit, whether or we see it or not.

            The life of a dad must suck.

Or it must be the most amazing experience ever.  Seeing a person the size of a football grow to be more that 5 feet tall, fully functioning in the “real world” (I’m far from the real world, but my brother and friends are starting to get there) and to see that this person has his hair, or his eyes, or his nose, or his impeccable sense of humor, or his questionable taste in beer.
And as I get over the annoying fact that I have a couple missed calls, a voicemail, and a text message from my dad asking if I'm okay after the storms that passed through my town, it's becoming more and more clear to me:

It’s amazing to have a dad.

           

            It must be amazing to be a dad.

Because dad’s, believe it or not, are the kindest people in the world. Take note.