Tuesday, May 9, 2017

I See You, "Molly McCully"

To the “Molly McCully” in class. I see you. I know it’s hard. I know the numbers don’t make sense and others don’t seem to understand why you haven’t caught on. I know the steps don’t add up, but your fingers do, even though you don’t want people to see that you still count with them. I know the times tables are hard to memorize, and division takes forever.

I know how uncool it feels to raise your hand again and again, asking the same question you asked the day before. I know the feeling of wandering eyes, hoping your neighbor knows what they’re doing. I know the pressure to feel smart like your friends, hoping they don’t notice your low-test grade. I know what it’s like to take those tests home, feeling the uneasiness as it sets in your bookbag.  I know school isn’t always much fun. It’s hard. Sometimes, it makes you feel like your falling hard in the dirt, over and over again.

But, you know what? You’ve got the strength to get back up. Know how I know? Because I hit the ground hard many times, and I got back up. Thankfully for me, I had friends and teachers that helped dust me off after I was on my feet. And you do too. And you have me, because I know a little bit about what it’s like to be you.


So, take heart, “Molly McCully”, it gets better. I know you want it to get easier, but that’s not a promise I can make you. What I can tell you is that you’ll make it. And, hey, maybe someday you’ll sit across from a younger you, pencil in hand, math book open, hoping they understand that it can get better.

Wednesday, March 29, 2017

It Was All A Lie.

This morning I uprooted a ridiculous lie- my life should be good.

Nope.
Now, let me back that “nope” by saying that my life is so good, much better than I could have orchestrated on my own. Sometimes Will and I look around our apartment and wonder how we acquired all that we own. Whenever we came to the realization that we needed something else, an affordable option would wiggle its way in front of us. Super blessed, and very grateful for the way God used our friends and connections to help us fill, and find our first home. And that’s just our home and possessions. We both have jobs, loving families and our wants, not just needs.

Okay, enough about what we do have, because that’s not what I started this post about. I started by talking about a lie, a dirty, conniving lie that told me, “Psst... Molly. Your life. It should be better than this! Your missing out on something. God must be withholding it from you, because girl, you don’t got it.” Now, I’m very well aware who told me this lie. And I’ve had a little education on how to detect when I’m believing his lies.

If you look at what’s in quotations, you’ll find the word “something”.  All I knew was that I was missing out on something. Something, oh gosh I can feel it in my chest when I type now. Something is missing… but what? Nothing. Nothing is missing, but this lie made me accuse God that he was holding something back, something I needed, something to make my life… easier. Not better, easier. Easier so my life could feel good. And then this feeling of entitlement creeps up, and I’m laying in bed, with bitter tears rolling down my face, wondering why God isn’t loving and blessing me like I deserve.

Are you annoyed with me yet? I sure am. This non-specific lie I was being fed caused my heart to hurt and point the blame to the man on the cross. It’s his fault, he’s supposed to make my life better once I choose him! I’m supposed to be blessed, protected, loved! But that’s not what I signed up for. I asked for an anchor for my soul. An anchor that keeps me still through the storm, through the storm, not an easy pass out of it.


My life is so good, because I asked Jesus to lead it. And I don’t always like where he leads, but then he reminds me of a specific prayer I prayed, “Jesus, I’ll go anywhere you want to send me.” And right now, he wants me here. In a small school, in a small town, going to a small college to teach small children. But these small things I’m experiencing now are gearing me up for something big. This is a different something than the one I was believing before. This something makes tears come to my eyes, and dreams flash through my mind. This something has hope. And hope is the anchor to my soul.

Friday, October 21, 2016

From Pages to Nepal

You know what books do? They inspire. They introduce you to friends, enemies and role models. They hold your hand and guide you through the Chamber of Secrets and allow you to walk through the wardrobe endlessly. Books open worlds, minds and hearts to unknown passions. And the people that love books never keep the good ones to themselves.

In 10th grade my favorite trick was slouching in my seat and propping the text book between my stomach and the desk. But sandwiched in between myself and my education was often a book. I'm sure my teachers noticed, because what teenager looks that engrossed in a text book?

Whether they noticed  or not, I only remember one teacher recommending me books. She didn't just recommend good books, she suggested ones that she thought I would enjoy. And, as every excellent teacher does, she went above and beyond by recommending books that jived with existing passions I had.

But no book could compare to SOLD by Patricia McCormick. Suddenly I was sitting beside a Nepali girl in a dirty, Indian brothel, fighting for her freedom. I reread her story. Her hike through Nepal into India. Her days of being broken into the sex workers world. Her longing for hope when none was visible. Suddenly I had an unlikely friend that I had to set free. I had to meet her. I had to walk the roads in Nepal, a country I could barely locate on a map.

So I went. In 2015 I carried my own copy of SOLD into the very country that birthed the main character. I put the book in my purse and waited for the right moment. I wanted to take a picture holding the book with some Nepali girls. When my moment happened it was even more beautiful than I had planned.
These girls surrounding me are from a people group that was enslaved until just 10 years ago. Some of them were born into captivity, but because of those willing to fight, they no longer have to live enslaved. They are free. And I got to meet them. And hold hands with them and dance with them.
They're real, not held to the pages of a book. But without a book, I would have never met them. And without a great teacher I would never know what a giant impact a good book can make.

Monday, May 23, 2016

A Closer Look At Our Not Very DIY Wedding

Here are some pictures from our very not DIY wedding. Enjoy!























Warrenwood Manor, Danville, KY, Venue
Gourmet Goodies , catering
Sweets By Cindy , cake and cupcakes
Molly's Flowers and Things, bouquets and boutonnieres
Morie Lee, dress designer
Henri's Cloud 9, Minerva OH, dress and belt 
Angela Karla Bridal,  custom veil and all alterations
Men's Wearhouse, groomsmen's outfits

Kara Smith and Betty Miller were our coordinators
Kelly Taylor did my hair and Taylor Morris did hair and makeup for bridesmaids
Meredith Glover MC'd our reception and Elle Smith was our DJ
Kaylee Morin was my bridal assistant 
Anna, Elijah, Kristen, Will, Anna C, Ian, Kara, Betty, Ed, Mom and Dad helped with set up
Libby Thorngate was our ceremony pianist and Mike Harper ran sound
Pastor Jeff was our officiant and marriage counselor
Ben Fitzwater and Elijah Gates were our ushers and Courtney Raymond was our greeter
Our niece was our flower girl and my second cousin was our ring bearer
Tons of friends and family helped clean up


Saturday, April 9, 2016

Skip The DIY Wedding

My wedding day is very much a blur at only six months since. I was warned it would be and those people proved to be right. It wasn't perfect like they turn out to be in the movies, and it wasn't a disaster, like they turn out in the movies. It was ours. It was our day. And although I felt like I waded through mud (very thick mud, similar to quicksand) throughout the preparations I was glad I did a lot of it on my own and with  the help ( a lot of help) from family and friends.

There were pieces of our lives scattered throughout our wedding. The windows from my childhood home were painted and propped up as decoration. The table that held our communion bread and wine (just kidding, it was juice) was built by Will over the summer. The spray painted mason jars came from camp and the sweets on the tables were Will and I's favorites. Every decoration had thought because almost every decoration was made by yours truley. What we didn't save on time we saved on money.

A Do It Yourself wedding isn't for everyone. It's stressful, even if you enjoy crafts and projects. But a DIY wedding is laced with you and those around you. It felt like everything that made up our wedding was held together by those sitting in those cheap plastic chairs (sorry, tight budget). Alterations done by a lifelong friend and music played by an old roommate... I guess our wedding wasn't really a DIY. We didn't do it on our own. Screw DIY. DIY is the opposite of what a marriage represents and it's not what the church represents either.

Skip the DIY wedding and allow the tribe around you to lend a hand and hold you up. A wedding day really does go by in a blur, and who better to spend that blur with not just the one love of your life, but the many.


Tuesday, December 15, 2015

Courage, Dear One.

You know what’s scary? Change. Now. Sometimes I like and invite change because I'm one who bores easily. But those changes are ones I can control and are normally pretty small or something to divert my attention. Like most people in the universe I need time to transition. But life doesn’t always give you time to do that.

I had no time to transition when I felt the impact at the back of my car and crashed into the sign I was suddenly careening towards. Car accidents offer no transition other than the ride to the hospital.

Not every life changing event happened at 45 mph, some happened over the course of 11 months as I planned our wedding. As much as I wanted to get married I felt myself digging in my heels, hoping that time would slow down. In the end I walked away, not only a wife, but full of memories I’ll cherish forever. Like the barn doors sliding open as I stood, waiting for my groom, arm and arm with my dad. That one’s my favorite from the day. And it only took about a year to plan.

There was a lot of coming and going in 2015. Packing and moving and leaving and crying and goodbyes. Some goodbyes were short lived, and some will last a lifetime. But there were also hellos. New ones and old ones and salvaged ones. Some lasted for only a second and others were practiced weekly.
Dreams were had. Streets were walked. Skies were flown. Seasons came and went and a year went by. Big (and sometimes scary) things happened in 2015. But I know bigger (and sometimes scary) things are yet to come. Things scarier than wedding dates and job offers. And I guess they don’t have to be scary. Instead they can be grand and beautiful.

I knew a year ago that I had a choice. I could choose fear or simply think of 2015 as an adventure. I longed to stick to the adventure but fear crept in, as it does so often in life. But it’s when fear is overcome that character is deepened and courage is gained.


I’m not sure how much courage I gained over the past year. It may have been little and it may have been much but I do know one thing; this adventure isn’t over yet. In fact. It’s only just begun.

Friday, October 2, 2015

I'm so sorry, Mr. President.


"...our thoughts and prayers are not enough. It's not enough."- President Obama

I'm sorry. 

If I truly believe that Jesus is my all and everything and that he is who he says he is then I must disagree, Mr. President. Just because you have given up hope, doesn’t mean I have to. It doesn’t mean we have to. Terrible, terrible things happen every day to people. But I don’t have to give into hopelessness. My soul is with hope because I gained hope. I showed a crowd of witnesses when I came back up from the water that my life is with hope.

I’m sorry you’re so hopeless Mr. President. I’m so sorry that you’ve given up hope that a great God works ugly things for our good and his glory. I’m sorry. You were appointed to lead us. So lead us to hope.

Don’t let death win. Death loses. Death dies, Mr. President. Don’t worry. These trials and tribulations here on earth hurt and drain and are terrifying. Sometimes life just sucks and it feels like our hearts will ache for ages. But don’t let that win.

Be courageous. Be brave! Hope again. Hope in the Lord. We have nothing else. We can’t win these battles, both unseen and in our face, without Him. We’ll lose.


Lead this nation to hope again, Mr. President. I know it’s scary, but He’ll come through. Even in the darkest of times. Hope will shine through.