We Wish You a Merry....NO.

City sidewalks....busy sidewalks....

BANG!

Again my closed eyelids grimaced along with the rest of my body as I realized that my loving mother was YET AGAIN waking me up with the banging of metal pan lids and Christmas music.

It's August.

Oh dear.

My mom.

Precious woman.

Light of my life.

Christmas sadist.

That woman loves Christmas. Every day of every week of every month, growing up and even now, you can walk into our house and hear Christmas music playing. Burl Ives, Dolly Parton, Kenny Rogers, anyone with a voice on a record played throughout my childhood. Into my later "tweenage" years our cassette player had Alabama and Reba McEntire crooning out Silent Night.

I WISH IT WOULD'VE BEEN SILENT.

And now we have the joys of furthered technology. She found out what Pandora was!

Oh hooray.

At any time, anywhere, in any situation, the lyrics to Silver Bells are playing in my head.

Being in mental health this semester of nursing school.....it makes me believe I'm under a St. Nick psychosis, also known as Krismosis Kringlosis. (Yeah, I did that. So sue me.)

She drives me nuts. And everything's themed! At one point of time we had ELEVEN THEMED CHRISTMAS TREES throughout our house! We had a laundry one by the dryer, a patriotic one near the window because we're American, we had a Santa one FULL-SIZED....ON A TABLE.....right in front of the television! THERE IS NO LOGIC THERE?!?!

I must say when carolers come to the door, I usually answer with a ketchup covered chef's knife and ask them if they can come back in twenty minutes. Ain't nobody got time for Christmas.

My favorite movie is the Grinch. I never watch the end. I enjoy his personality before "the change."

Yeah, not a fan these days. The Merry-time overload I had growing up did me in.

It is precious though. She starts decorating for Christmas by October and come Thanksgiving it looks like a Rudolph the Red-Nosed Reindeer projectile vomited all throughout our Winter Wonderland of a house.

It's her favorite season! As much as she drives me BONKERS, I can't help but appreciate how much she enjoys the season of said holiday.

When that adorable little Poinsettia-loving, Christmas cookie baking, present-wrapping extremist says, "But honey....I LOVE CHRISTMAS! It's THE BEST SEASON!" I respond with, "But there are so many other seasons to be enjoyed! Emphasizing on this one HAS RUINED IT FOR THE PEOPLE YOU LOVE!!!!"

Hahaha.....but wait, how many times do I do just that in my life? I'm in a season of life, whether difficult or wonderful, that should be appreciated, and I've begun "dragging out the christmas lights" way too early ahead of time?

Are you with me folks?

Perhaps you do it too.

Single people or even dating people, are you so wrapped up in the pursuit of marriage has taken you away from the ministry you have NOW, the loved ones you have NOW, the opportunities you have NOW?

Moms and dads, are you so focused on building a financial future and safety net for your kids that you've forgotten that they're with you NOW, they love you NOW, they need you NOW?

These are just a few examples...mirroring my own issues...I can think of so many! I get so focused on my career as a nurse, I forget the ups and downs of nursing school, the fun of clinicals, the friends being made, and what I could be doing NOW! (Are you ready for me to throw away my CAPS button?)

Jesus Christ rebuked Martha as she prepared for an evening of fellowship with her sister Mary in Luke 10. While Mary lay at His feet, Martha, in frustration, busied herself with the preparations she felt was "needful" for the coming hours with her Friend. In this frustration, she begs Him to encourage Mary to join Martha, but He tells her that Mary is doing the "one thing that is needful", and that was fellowship with Him in the moment. Mary took full advantage of that season of the evening, the time she had with Christ...and He blessed her for it.

Don't forget what is needful....enjoy your season. NOW.

Ohio Doesn't Have Burger Kings.

Road trips.

I love them.

But life is hard sometimes.

I suffer.

I am a fairly healthy human being. I exercise, I eat healthy, I don't do fast food much at all.

Then there's road trips.

I have a general rule: On the way to and from Point A and Point B, you may stop and purchase food to consume wherever you want, whenever you want, with no judgment.

This is an awesome plan.

During this time my body mentally prepares itself, and the cravings begin. I am not pregnant, but I have pregnancy cravings. My body starts to tremble, my mouth begins to salivate, and I get a rumbly in my tumbly.

During this time, I may want anything from a Mr. Pibb to fried pickles to a Whatchamacallit. 

But I have to have it, whatever it is.

Let me say this again....I HAVE TO HAVE IT. My cravings are not satisfied until justice is served and I am chowing down on whatever deliciousness my starving imagination has come up with.

This time, it was a Whopper from Burger King.

Oh I'm gettin' me a Whopper.

I was on my way home from North Carolina. I was in Virginia and I thought to myself, "By Ohio I shall be near lunchtime, and for lunchtime I shall have a Whopper, or else someone shall inevitably die."

It's a 12-hour road trip. Many cravings come usually, but this was one craving, one craving only, it was specific, and it was GLORIOUS.

WELCOME TO OHIO! OH MY SOUL! THERE IT IS! I'm here! I had seen a thousand million trillion Burger Kings along the way, but I had set my goal to Ohio, so let the task of finding a food exit with that voluptuous red font written all over it begin.

First exit. Awesome....a KFC, a McDonald's, and a Dairy Queen.

Well that's disappointing. Must I push on? Of course. Mission yet to be accomplished.

Next exit: Dairy Queen and a Wendy's. That's just unnecessary.

Next: Another KFC and Dairy Queen. Do these people not like beef? Moses.

Next, and next, and next, and next exit goes by. WHY DOES OHIO NOT LIKE BURGER KING?!?! 

By this time my pulse has gone up, I'm feeling feverish, and I'm hallucinating about burgers with ketchup and mayonnaise and thinking of how I would t-bone a minivan at this point if it meant I was going to get my sandwich.

I got a text about a tornado warning....WHY DOES THIS HAPPEN TO ME?!?!

:insert delay due to trying to survive the cloud apocalypse that followed and then rain crashing into my vehicle with the force enough to take the feathers off of birds that got stuck in the storm:

I like run-on sentences.

Exit again, nothing. Another exit.

Now I'm angry. I'm yelling at the state of Ohio, yelling at the drivers with Ohio license plates, screaming that "They Don't Have Respect for the King" and that "They can't have it their own way because they're communists."

VICTORY! Burger King, next exit.

I pulled into the stupid drive-thru still angry. So angry I didn't even care at this point. It'd been two hours now. So I ordered.....grumpily.

I ate that sandwich bitterly. There was nothing wrong with it, but I felt the state of Ohio had wronged me for making me wait until my stomach had begun to eat itself from the inside out to get what it wanted.

Woe is me.

I naturally fall into a victim mentality when things don't go my way. Why did someone treat me that way, why didn't this situation go as I planned, why do bad things happen to me?

Instead of looking at each instance as a set of events that create one major purpose for my life, I focus on the small instances that don't matter for eternity.

When Christ faced the cross, He didn't want to. He prayed that if possible, God would let some other situation occur where He wouldn't have to die. He was human, He wanted to live. But He ended with, "Not My will, but Thine be done." He strayed away from the victim mentality that we were BORN with, and overcame it by seeing the big picture.

That road trip was one of the best things that's happened to me in a while, and I shouldn't have let something so trivial ruin its ending.

Whether it was a Whopper of a problem or not. ;)

A horse is a horse of course, of course....

"Everyone gather around, they'll assign you guys to your horse and then we'll begin the trail shortly."

Oh my Moses. I was so excited.

I loved horses growing up. Did riding lessons, had my room packed with figurines, squealed ridiculously like a mouse when My Little Pony Tales came on, the whole bit.

And now it was here.

I was a teenager, and we were going on a TRAIL!

A REAL TRAIL!

WITH TREES!

AND FOREST-ED-NESS!

We were at Turkey Run in Indiana, and there they were, beautiful stallions prancing toward us like they've known us forever and loved us since before that. I watched a few of my fellow youth groupers grab their pony and sling themselves on like pros.

And there she was.

Glorious steed.

Is that sunlight in her mane, or a halo? I chuckled to myself. What a dandy young lady...

Maybe not so young. As she cantered closer, she might've had more years on her then they care to adm---

Oh who cares! Let's get on with it!

I whispered in her ear, telling her we were about to have the best day ever.

Her eyes looked a little glazed and she was making a few weird noises, but I figured she was maybe speaking another language....perhaps she was a foreign horse, imported from the finest Arabian breeds across the Atlantic. That's it.

I swung my legs over and nestled into the saddle. She seemed a bit uneasy at first, but I think she just couldn't handle this massive spiritual connection we had with one another.

Yeah.

The riding began. We all formed a line of horses, marching through the trees as if we were cowboys in the ol' West.

Feels good to be alive.

I could feel what seemed like rumbling. A kind of strange vibrations against my calves. Is she purring? I'm sure she's purring.

That is really a lot of rumbling. Can a horse become pale? She looks pail. She's looking more pale. This horse has gone from grey to white.

I tried to shake it off, pet her neck, talk to her, but then I heard the strangest noise! It sounded like a can of Spaghettios forcing their way through a trumpet while someone played God Bless America.

I looked behind me.

I shouldn't have looked behind me.

Her once lovely tail was now propelling like a military chopper and things I have never wanted to see in all my life were flying out of her rumphole.

"HELP! THE HORSE HAS EXPLOSIVE DIARRHEA! NO REALLY I DIDN'T THINK HORSES COULD HAVE IT BUT FOR SURE SHE DOES THOUGH!"

End scene.

That was not my proudest moment. I thought for sure that this day was going to be my finest, one of those golden memories that you always look back on and tell your children about, and instead it is a projectile memory that randomly comes up every time I hear the phrase "loose stool."

Some days don't turn out the way we planned. Some situations don't turned out the way we intended. Our dream job wasn't what we thought it was going to be, our marriage isn't that fairy tale it was supposed to be, and that day you finally had off to relax and enjoy blew up right in your face. What do we do then?

Joel once said to a hurting nation something to the effect of, "Fear not, O land. Be glad and rejoice, for the LORD will do great things." That's what I think of in these instances. Great things can still come of this. It all comes down to perspective.

It's a day I could've cried my eyes out, or laughed my hiney off. I'll let you guess my response. ;)

Toe up from the flo' up.

Well, I should just say it.

I will never have pretty feet.

Again.

I used to. They would glisten in the moonlight, shine brightly in the sun, even be admired by passersby for their lovely coloredness and french manicures that I used to get on my toes every couple of weeks.

Then, it all went down.

I'll never be the same.

I received a pedicure from a new place that had opened up in town.

Seemed legit.

Too legit to quit.

A couple of days later, TMI but some type of barbecue sauce began to expose itself from underneath my nails. Then they decided to leave my feet altogether. My toenails, that is.

I have ugly feet.

Because of one trip.

One bad pedi.

It's embarassing.

The last time I went and got a pedicure, I was too embarrassed to let my friend know that I was missing a few nails, so I decided to see how far I could go in the pedi process....and then the lady came.

Beast of a woman.

Standing an intimidating 5'1", she grabbed my foot like she'd been doing this all her life, and started to scrub my foot.

Oh boy.

She stopped.

She's staring......long stare.

She's starting to frown.

She turned my foot from side to side, zoomed in, face scrunched.

Don't ask.....

She asked.

"Why you ain't got no nail?"

I bit my lip....I didn't want to tell her. But I did.

I leaned over and in the hoarsest whisper I could muster, "Bad pedicure. They fell off. They'll never grow back."

I thought she'd kick me out. Yell, scream, say, "YOU AIN'T GOT NO NAIL! NO NAIL NO SHAME NO SERVICE!" and maybe throw a chair at someone walking on the sidewalk nearby.

Sometimes I overdramatize situations in my head.

She looked at me seriously for a moment, looked at my stub of a toe, and then smiled.

"It ok. I give you new nail."

I know I had a crazed look in my eye as she went and grabbed a fake toenail from her little drawers and glued it onto my toe.

A NEW NAIL!

It looked just like my old one used to!

I feel pretty, oh so pretty!

My toenail is one of the smallest and unnoticed parts of my body, but I chose to focus on it and put all of my unnecessary time, attention, and shame into it, claiming worthlessness because I lacked something small and not vital to me as a person.

I wonder how often I've done that in life. Lacking something I desire, maybe a talent, maybe a possession, maybe the inability to take a bad choice in my life back, so much so that I've taken my mindset off of what is beautiful and made in the image of Christ. What He's given me that is still in tact, that still works, that isn't broken....that I refuse to focus on.

One bad decision, one bad pedicure can take a piece of you. But you're still usable. You're still beautiful. While waiting for the shame of your imperfection to be exposed, He'll smile and reassure you. It's ok. He makes all things new.

Even if it's just a toenail.

Headgear.

I love motorcycles.

This surprises people.

Mainly since I don't wear leather chaps, have a Mike Tyson tattoo, chainsmoke cigars, and my name isn't Beersheba.

I don't feel this stereotype is fair, because if you've ridden a motorcycle at any time, you know how amazing it is, no matter who you are, where you're from, what you did, as long as you love motorcycles. (For those of you old schoolers singing the Backstreet Boys song I tossed into this paragraph, I appreciate you.)

There are a few things that you will do in your love for motorcycles, whether or not it's a good idea.

You ride in the cold. This idea is preposterous. Seriously. Sometimes it's a gorgeous day. A crisp 50 degrees, and just nice enough for a light jacket. But if you're going 70 mph down the interstate on a bike in the same weather, you begin to wonder if you're a stunt double for Jack in Titanic, as it feels as though you've met an icy grave. There is nothing more attractive than pulling up to a car at a stop light with your runny nose draining out the bottom of your helmet. You see the driver and passengers in said vehicle do a double take as they realize that's not your hair glistening in the sunlight, it's your snot. Riding in cold weather is the only time one will consider urinating on themselves in order to feel warmth. We don't though....usually.

Motorcyclists do the "two-fingered wave" where, upon passing the other motorcyclist, will put their left hand beside the bike and stick out the index finger and middle finger, as if to say, "Sup." It's a precious time in a rider's life, realizing they're in this big VIP club, something that cannot be taken away from you as long as you're on that blessed two-wheeler. This happened to me for the first time summer of 2013 TODAY, and let me tell you what my face looked like when another rider passed me and gave me "The Wave":

Yeah, glad they couldn't see me either.

Night rides. Oh man, this one is key. Riding in the day time? Awesome. Riding at night? It feels like you are literally flying off the ground. I love it.

One problem.

Everything looks like an animal.

Running at you.

Riding on a motorcycle at night is the ONLY time in your WHOLE life where a mailbox looks like a herd (pack, school? Ugh...) of deer and where a "No Passing Zone" sign appears to be the only existing wild moose in the state of Illinois. I am so unbelievably paranoid about hitting a creature on my bike. I swerve more than I ride in a straight line at night, but I continue it nonetheless. I must say though, when you ride over a hill and your headlight catches the eyeballs of a not-so-distant animal, the Jaws theme track will inevitably play in your head as well as cause you to pray to your Creator for mercy.

Entertainment.

Few and far between when you're on your bike.

Guess what cars have?

Radio.

Guess what my bike doesn't have?

Yep.

So I am forced to entertain myself. Inside my helmet. All alone.

Do you know what it's like to be stuck with no one but your own thoughts on a 30-minute trip? You read this blog to be entertained, but when I'm left to my own vices, it becomes a terrifying fight again self-inflicted cabin fever. Helmet fever, if you will.

Sometimes I sing at the top of my lungs. God help the person who realizes I'm rapping Sir-Mix-A-Lot while waving at them as they pass, or the person who doesn't realize I just quoted the entire Anchorman movie while waiting my turn at a 4-way stop.

I wear a full coverage helmet just so that other people don't realize that I'm laughing so hard at my own jokes that tears are streaming down my face.

I would never want anyone to know what goes on in my helmet. It's too much for any other person to handle.

If people really knew what I was like in my helmet, I would be mortified. That's why I am the way that I am when I have it on, because I know that no one else knows what's happening inside of it, therefore I can't be judged for it.

A lot of times, it's that way for me without the helmet, only it's my thought life. I would be mortified for people to know what goes on in there, and most of the time, I think the things that I do in there for the soul purpose that no one else knows what's being said or thought there.

If someone lifted up the helmet of your thoughts, what would they think? Would they still have respect for you? Would they still think you were a good person?

Our actions speak louder than our words, but our thoughts are the seeds of our actions.

May we stray from the thoughts that lead us down a negative or uncomfortable path. It's definitely worth it in the end!

Get out of my dreams....get into my car.

My car is many things to me.

My heart and soul? That's obvious.

But more than that.

Lately it has been a changing room (much to the relief of some bored truckers....not my problem), a dinner table (I am assured to find at least two pounds of shredded lettuce that's dropped off of McChickens and 3-18 Starbucks coffee cups upon vacuuming the Bonne of it's contents), a bed (yes, I look homeless sometimes, sleeping in a stray grocery store parking lot as customers check to make sure I'm not an infant, even though I'm crying softly and in the fetal position), a library (nursing textbooks are too heavy to carry, so since I bought them all together I have adjusted them under the seats as I would on a bookshelf, and pull them out PRN (that's nursing for 'as needed')), and most importantly, a sound booth. Sometimes I just need to sing to destress. And no, I do not get embarrassed when someone catches me belting it out as I drive....I make eye contact with them, and continue singing until it's weird for the both of us. I also yell. If someone or something is frustrating me....I yell. To myself. Very good for stress. Also good for people to not cut the schizophrenic girl in the right hand lane off because they don't want her to follow them to Wal-Mart and murder them slowly in front of their entire family.

My car has lasted me many years and many miles.

In fact, the other day, it, yet again, got me out of a tough situation.

I was hours from my college of nursing, but I had to be at class shortly.

I am not a speeder.

Every time I speed, I get pulled over.

Cops don't like me.

I have cried, joked around, been honest and told them why I was getting pulled over and deserved justice, but no. The only time I've gotten out of a ticket was when I had an asthma attack. Heretofor, I've had an asthma attack the past two times I've been pulled over....and it's been "Warning City" for this gal. Aww yeah....respiratory failure equals cop compassion up in here.

But this time, I made an exception.

I sped. Oh did I speed.

I felt like a rebel. I even rolled the window down and let the wind whip through my hair.

I rolled it back up quickly. Turns out wind whipping through your hair hurts your face.

In order to make sure I didn't get pulled over, I consistently followed someone faster than me. I would watch carefully for....you guessed it, brake lights. The moment that happened, I knew I was just seconds away from a po-po spotting.

I was right.

Brake lights=brilliance.

I can't believe I'm so smart.

Towards the end of my trip, I realized I had compromised my well-known grandma-like driving skills. Sure, I made it on time, but I'm not a speeder. I don't like reckless drivers! I have road rage! I would've yelled at me any other day!

How often do I live my life that way though? I'm doing something that I know isn't right, and I'm just watching for those brake lights to make sure that the people that really count, the people that keep me in check, won't see what I'm doing? Or better yet, I excuse the act for a silly reason? Maybe it's something ongoing, maybe it was the way I spoke to someone or responded in a situation and refuse to right it/fix it, maybe it's whatever just popped into your head!

It's called being a hypocrite, everyone does it, but this is a real kicker for Christians. This is our downfall. This is what others judge us on. Knowing what's right and doing it, knowing what's wrong and not.

Sorry for the Belay....

Exercise and exorcise are two very similar words.

Need I say more?

Anytime I try to do some various form of exercise, I feel like I'm trying to get demons to leave my body. I writhe back and forth, sweat my bum off, and scream things that don't make sense.

I tried rock-climbing the other day.

Do you KNOW what rock-climbing is? DO YOU EVEN KNOW?!?! You see these people in commercials climbing the tops of mountains, with no moisture on their foreheads, looking as though they have barely exerted any effort. They make it look heavenly.

THIS IS NOT WHAT ROCK CLIMBING IS.

We went to this "top-secret" rock-climbing place (I call it top-secret anytime I can't find something without my GPS) inside of a silo right next to a dog-food plant. (Sounds like the beginning of a Lifetime movie, am I right?) We walked into this amazing facility where they had harnesses, special shoes, and bags of chalk. I knew we were either going to climb some rocks or do some very risque sidewalk graffiti. After paying a rather small amount of money, we walked into the rock climbing area. We made the AWESOME decision to go on Youth Night, which should be called "Embarrass Newbie Adults By Destroying Their Self-Confidence Through the Visual Slap in the Face of Spiderman-Like Children" Night. These kids were crawling up the walls like arachnids on crystal meth. I couldn't believe how easy they made it seem! Definitely built up my "let's do this" mentality. I had chalk all over my hands and I was ready to go.

I am a waitress. I lift heavy trays for hours at a time. I am well aware that my upper body strength is 10x the average human being's. I AM WAITRESS. HEAR ME ROAR.

"OH MY SWEET MOSES."

I had barely even pulled myself up the first ledge when I realized that lifting your body with your hands and knees is HORRIFYING. Who knew one could look so thin but be so heavy underneath all my ridiculously good-looking muscle?

I thought I'd reached the top....I could almost smell the metal of the bell we rang when we got to the top of our wall, when I chose to look down. That's so weird....the people didn't look like ants like I thought they would....they still looked their regular size. Also, they could reach out and touch me if they wanted. I was only four feet from the ground.

Really? I mean, really?

Also, I was exerting more bodily fluids than I cared to admit. No, little children, I had not gone swimming right before entering this place of death. I was just sweating. Sweating unGodly amounts, all over my yoga pants. That chalk was turning into play-doh, and I could do nothing but hang my head in grief.

Needless to say, I'd go again.  Moving four feet probably burned 2,000 calories, so without doing much of anything, I worked out quite a bit. And for $20, I certainly wouldn't mind it. But I'm not going on Youth Night anymore. I'm going on Rookie Night.


While waiting my turn to climb, I noticed a young lady reaching ridiculous heights. I followed her rope down to another young lady holding tight at the bottom. They call it "belaying" someone. They're able to climb higher and with more confidence in their ability as long as someone is at the bottom, holding them steady, giving them verbal encouragement, and watching them to make sure that they have help the moment they're needed.

Are we a friend that belays? Haha....it sounds interesting enough, but really? It was a random thought that crossed my mind at the moment, but it's straight truth. There's a saying that says, "Be kind to everyone, because everyone's having a hard time." Each and every one of your friends either has gone through, is going through, or is about to go through an extremely difficult time in their life. The knowledge that someone is standing with them, holding them steady, giving them the encouragement that they need and being there the moment that they start to let go allows them to get through and accomplish things they wouldn't be able to without you. I suppose this can be directed in any relationship in life. Consider it, think on it. I hope we're being a support system rather than a shallow one to those who need it most.

Pop it, lock it....OH HECK NO.

:phone rings:

"Thank you for calling Geico, how may I help you today?"

"Hello, my name is Kendra McBee....I locked my keys in my car."

"MY NAME IS KENDRA TOO! KENDRA POWER!"

"Wooooo....Kendra, this Kendra needs her keys."

"I can't believe it, I have never spoken to another Kendra on here."

"Well I'm so lucky I LOCKED MY KEYS IN MY CAR so that I could be your first one! How do I get my keys, Kendra?"

"Wow...Kendra....so crazy to be talking to another Kendra! Let me get you some help."

I can't have a normal conversation on the phone. Not when it's urgent. Anyone else, call the number, give the policy number, get the keys. Me? No, it ends up being a weird random conversation that causes slight tension in Kendra's shoulders (the one who locked her keys in her car, other Kendra seemed to be doing great) and patience is encouraged as she allows Kendra #2 to get out the excitement of speaking to someone with the same name. Crazy....maybe we should be Facebook friends.

Anyway, I needed to be somewhere STAT. I have never locked my keys in my car before. I've had that blessed Bonneville since 2007. I always have my keys when I need them. Only when I'm on my way to someplace URGENT does this happen....and only when I need it taken care of URGENTLY does God laugh and put Kendra on the phone with Kendra, prolonging the solution to my problem.

The ministry is a lot like that day. Frustrating sometimes, but we laugh about it later and realize where the blessing was. I can't use this story if it didn't happen, I can't compare this to my spiritual life it Kendra hadn't spoken to Kendra.

When I locked my keys in my car, I was stuck in a tough situation. I knew who to call to fix the problem, my only job was to call and notify them, and expect them to fix it for me, because I had insurance.

When I find myself stressing over situations in my life or ministry...finding the time to work with people, having difficulty accepting that some teenager or friend might be making the absolute wrong decision, realizing that I am not the one in control of my life, missions, or much at all, I know Who to call to fix the problem. My job is not to fix it, but to rely on the One Who can and wait for the results, until then, I just need to keep doing my thing....I don't call it insurance, I call it assurance. And it's good, really good.

Don't sweat the small stuff....

I am not a smelly individual.

I wear deodorant.

Keep reading.

At least I don't think I'm a smelly individual.

If you're my friend and you think I smell, tell me now.

I don't want to be living a lie.

I have become close friends with the elliptical in my gym. It's the only way I can accomplish exercising for an hour AND catching up on my Law & Order obsession all at once.

There are two people that I usually see when I work out, but until the other day, I never saw them at the same time.

One is a nice-looking gentleman. I am not a lustful hussy, but he is of a bearded nature, and that is attractive. He also does not sweat....he just glows a lot.

The other is an older gentleman. I will not go into detail. If you know him, do not speak of this to him nor mention his name at any point of time on this blog or in any aspect of your life. He is a straight-up "I am on crystal meth" ellipter. He goes to town on that thing. I perspire normally just because he is making me physically exhausted watching him go like an extreme skiier on that machine.

This man has an odor. I noticed it the first time he worked out. Not when he enters....he smells just fine. It's the dew emitted from his skin. As he slowly starts to dehydrate his body of any and all fluids he could contain, I can smell it. Everyone can. If an iguana ate a family of stinkbugs  and a bowl of cottage cheese and then was left for dead on a hot summer sidewalk for eighteen months, it might have a similar scent. I have dry-heaved.

Since I had never worked out with these two at the same time, I am fairly certain that by what I am about to tell you, they had not worked out together either.

I was in the middle elliptical....learning all about the legal system and how to be very dramatic at certain pauses in conversation.....when bearded man walks up.

Well hello there.

He begins doing the same thing to my right, probably watching some manly channel or QVC. Then the older man comes in.

No big deal.

He goes right to it. Well, to my left. Right to it.

Right to it.

The sweat followed quickly.

The smell, yeah, it was there.

Then, the worst thing.

Bearded guy looks over at me in disgust. Wha....no. No sir. Not I.

I kind of side-looked at him so as not to catch the attention of the kind old soul to the left of me. Dude, no, I spray Febreze on e'erday before coming into this place.

His face gets worse. He scrunches more. Why is he doing that? Stop doing that.

Then I do the head point. You know, where you move your eyes and your head just a little towards the person you're trying to pin out. I mouthed "NOT ME"....but bearded man is not easily convinced. I guess common sense doesn't filter it's way through the facial tarp...oh geez.

Then....five minutes into his workout, he gets off, grabs his stuff, and just straight up leaves the building. I look over at Old Faithful and he smiles at me, ignorantly happy about destroying my nasal reputation.

I mean, come on! I finished my work out. This nice human didn't even realize what was happening, and I will never tell him.

How many times do people mistake us for what we're standing next to? I thought about negativity. You can be the most positive person I've ever met, but if you're spending time with someone who is selfish or negative, chances are, people are going to start to think it's you they're smelling.

Keep a Febreze odor in your life. I struggle with negativity in my own mind quite a bit. It's a tough thing to conquer. But if you're hanging around the right people with the right scent....you're gonna be just fine.

LOL.

I love to laugh.

My favorite verse in the Bible is Proverbs 17:22, "A merry heart doeth good like a medicine, but a broken spirit drieth the bones."

How good is that? Laughing is like medicine, it makes everything better. Humor, kids, oh humor is what gets us through life! No one said it was going to be easy, but I can make sure it's funny.

I don't have normal days. A year or so ago my sister joked with me that I can never have a regular day. In an effort to prove her wrong, I tried to have the most normal day possible the following day. Work was great, everything was smooth and beautiful. As I went to lay down my last check on a table, the woman looked straight ahead, looked at me, and then projectile vomited her entire meal.

I will never look at fried catfish and cole slaw the same way.

Neither will you.

Let's talk about some of the things in life that happen to me, that I laugh about.

I was in my citizen clothing the other day. I call them citizen clothing because, being I work all of the time and live out of town, I wear my Cracker Barrel uniform everywhere. People naturally think my favorite outfit includes a button-up Oxford and some hot Goodwill pants with jacked up shoes. Either way, I was walking down the mall aisle (lane, area, pathway?) towards the exit sign when someone begins walking towards me. It was a tall, rather large, man. I hate to stereotype the whole "girl being approached by strange man" but there was no one else around. I tried to act cool....not a big deal....he's not moving out of the way.....don't look up, Kendra. Be calm. Everyone be cool, it's just a normal day.

At the point he was directly in front of me, I had no choice but to slowly look up and prepare for my fate.

"I want...." He began to speak and I had wished to myself I had raised my life insurance policy before I had left the house, "some scrambled eggs, sausage, biscuits, and some gravy."

My grimacing was now beginning to look out of place. "I'm sorry?"

"You're my waitress!"

Ok, now I just look ridiculous. "Actually, sir, I am owned by no man, but I will be working tonight if you're still in the mood for breakfast for dinner. Good day to you." :Kendra exits the building quickly:

How about while driving? Let's laugh when we get road rage, folks. We already know that #1, I am a terrible driver....easily distracted, easily veered off the road, I hit animals consistently, etc., and #2, I have terrible road rage. People make me angry. So angry. I was driving behind a 300-year-old man the other day going 15 miles below the speed limit, and coincidently, though I began to get goosebumps on my arms from irritation, I was not going to let this get me down, I have nowhere to be and I need to just be thankful that this man at his age even has his driving privileges. But then....it happened. We were soon tailed by a crazed soccer mom, she was speeding, she was on her cell phone, and she was mad at us immediately. I smiled at her in my rearview mirror as if to say, "We're gonna have to be patient with our great grandfather's grandfather up here, ok?" But she wouldn't have it. She laid on the horn. I had to look straight ahead.

Don't get mad, Kendra. WWJDTY. (What would jail do to you?) I clenched the steering wheel as all three of us pulled into the right hand lane to turn at a stop light....Methuselah first, myself second, and a woman who was so red her face was about to explode. She revved her engine.

Kendra, you need to be Christ-like.

Then it happened.

The light had just turned green. I had prepared myself for this elderly elderly elderly man to take at least three and a half minutes to push on his gas and move forward. She didn't even give him three seconds.

She blared her horn.

Homie don't play that.

In the most righteous effort possible, I allowed the old man to choose his lane of choice between the two we had available, and then I pulled into the other one. Right next to him. He and I joyfully drove side my side in slow-motion bliss, as I cheerfully watched Real Housewife of Bloomington-Normal fishtail behind us, waving finger motions I hadn't seen in awhile.

Now, that was not the best judgment on my part, but it was something that made me laugh.

I'm still laughing.

We're going to have struggles in life, we've discussed this kids, but you've got to laugh. Some of you may be sitting there, thinking, "I don't want to. It's not the time for laughter." We're eager to get medicine for whatever ails us, but we're refusing now to do something that works like medicine. God said so!

If you're having a rough day, you're stressed out, you just don't feel right. Pop in a comedy, call a friend who always makes you smile, or think on something that makes you laugh until you cry. Life's too short to be so serious. ;)

Watch this video a couple of times, it'll make your day. This is also why I want a pug!

Royal AWESOME.

Let's talk travel.

I love to fly.

I do not have the face for flying, or apparently the brains.

TSA hates me. Apparently, in their life of misery, they do not see people like me very often.

I love to smile. Smiling's my favorite. If I look at you and you are not smiling, I will flash a big smile until you do....or, in the case of airport security, you think my smile indicates I'm carrying a lot of weed on my person or perhaps a bomb in my suitcase.

Hence the reason I always get checked with pat downs.

I am ticklish.

Do you see how this is rough?

How about those new machines in the airports where you have to step inside what feels like a human microwave, put your hands up in the air (based on personal experience, this is not the time to wave them like you just don't care) and wait to be full-body assaulted by some random spinning x-rays?

I always have something taken out of my bag and thrown away. A bottle of water that they mistake for pure gasoline, some work-out weights in Taiwan...."You no can carry here....I throw away or you no fly".....and some tweezers. My friends, seriously....if someone tries to hijack a plane with tweezers, I will not slide down my seat in fear, I will applaud him and give him some pilot wings, because congrats on being such a dreamer, kid.

I love to people watch. As certain as I'm sitting here typing, every parent with a child looks as if they've been run over by a bus, every old woman with unkept hair will be traveling with a lap dog that looks like it's 19 years old, and every one else will look better-dressed than you. How is that possible? Sometimes I see women in stilettos with their leather handbags and newly-highlighted hair, looking like they just stepped out of a photo shoot, and I think, "How does this happen?" Then in hopes that I can somewhat compete, I run to a mirror. Nope. I am still in an old motorcycle t-shirt with a hole in the armpit, some sweatpants, flip-flops in the middle of January, and my eye-liner and mascara somehow slowly melting off my face. And bed hair. WHY?!?! I just can't explain it, but it's embarrassing nevertheless.

Let's talk cruises.

How did I not know about these?!?! HOW HAVE I NEVER KNOWN THEIR GLORY?!?!

The ocean. GORGEOUS. Who knew there were so many stars in the sky? I love to roam around the ship and read the signs left from somewhat special people. Rounding the corner of the ship, you'll see "Joggers must slow down around corner due to heavy drop off." How many times have they had someone jogging carelessly fly off the edge of a cruise ship?

Glorious food. They have buffets. BAPTISTS LOVE BUFFETS. Gluttony is a sin, but not on a cruise ship, it's an edible embrace. There are pans and pans of bacon. When a pan of bacon is emptied, ANOTHER ONE APPEARS! Endless bacon! How many pigs had to die so that I could spend the weekend on a ship?

They have formal dinners. They give you a menu with a list of 8-10 appetizers, 8-10 entrees, and 8-10 desserts. You don't have to choose between them, you can have them all! I felt like a whale in the ocean, inhaling shrimp-like creatures with each breath. It was beautiful. Could there have been a tear in my eye as I had my eighth helping of mashed potatoes? Maybe.

Every day you're stopped at a different port in the Bahamas. You can swim with dolphins, snorkel, or lay on the beach....all day long. Not saying this happened to me, not saying it didn't, but if you fall asleep with your hand on your arm, chances are you will have a handprint tan line, and it will ruin your life.

All that to say, I was amazed during my travels at how grumpy people were. During the cruise, people were living the high life. At the end of the cruise, they became different human beings. Budging lines, hitting babies in the face with their bags and not apologizing (one person, not every single one), and complaining about everything. I was appalled, but at the same time, it made me think.

We are taught to praise God for the good times, we are taught to praise God for the hard times. All this is amazing and so true, but we have a lot of "normal days". Days that aren't particularly exciting or difficult. But God deserves praise for every day that we have on this earth. The very fact that we're breathing is a blessing. If you're coming off a high or a low, don't forget. God's good all the time. We have so much more than most. If you're reading this, you have internet access somehow. Welcome to being in the tiniest percentile of people on the earth. If you're wearing one set of clothes today while having had tons of pieces to have chosen from this morning when you opened your closet, again, welcome to being overly blessed. Don't take your place in life for granted. Don't take these gifts as normal, as average, or even as deserving. God loves us all individually, and shows in ways we need to remember all the time, even on the regular days.

SO SMILE!