A Christian's Stance on Gay Marriage

Okay. I've tried to hold my tongue (well, fingers), but I just can't do it anymore. This is going to be a long post, so strap in. 

First of all, let's discuss the definition of "bigot". Do you know what that word really means? I'll give you a hint. It's NOT "someone who is a Christian". It's also NOT "someone who believes differently than you". A bigot, as defined by Webster's, is "someone who is INTOLERANT to the BELIEFS OF OTHERS". So if you're one of those individuals who says you can't stand Christians and think that they are worthless or otherwise less of a person than you, then CONGRATULATIONS! You, sir or madam, are the very definition of a bigot. We are all never going to agree on everything, and if you can't accept that people feel differently from you, then you're the one who's close-minded. 

Now, let's talk about gay marriage. I believe that any two people have the legal right to enter a binding contract that gives them government benefits. Yes, a gay couple should be able to file their taxes together and enjoy the insurance rate cuts that come from being filed as a couple. But marriage, in a church, by a CHRISTIAN minister? Absolutely not. Would you want a Muslim wedding, if you weren't a Muslim? Of course not! Insisting that we bend our religion to suit you (especially if you're not a believer) is perhaps the most ridiculous thing I've ever heard. The Christian definition of marriage is the union of a man and a woman. Let the gay community have their version of marriage before the law, but you can't force us to see it the same as marriage before God. Now, if any of you read this and say anything that lets me know you didn't read the whole thing, I'll delete it without even giving you acknowledgment. Again, gay couples have the right as Americans to have the exact same benefits of the law, but it shouldn't be called a Christian marriage. They should be happy and able to love who they want, but calling a horse a duck doesn't make it a duck. 

For those of you waiting to tell me how perfect I am not and condemn me for judging others, let me stop you right there. I'm not judging anyone. I am speaking my personal opinion. God gave us free will, and what you do with yours is none of my business. It IS my business, however, when our customs and traditions are trampled upon by people who think they're entitled to everything. If you want to be married and are gay, go for it. But don't expect our ministers to be there. Many people hate when Christians "stuff their religion down their throats", but that's exactly what you're doing to us. 

For those of you willing to throw Leviticus verses in my face, let me first say 'lol'. Leviticus is in the Old Testament, and it is my opinion that the OT is more of a history lesson than an instruction manual. You'll notice that we no longer sacrifice young animals and sprinkle blood on altars. That's because after the coming of Jesus, we no longer needed to. He came and died for us so that the ONLY thing we have to do to get to Heaven is believe in Him and profess our faith before men. So telling us that we can't wear cotton or eat fish is a moot point, because those were no longer necessary after Christ. So, if the OT isn't orders, you say, why do I feel that homosexuality is wrong? Well, I'd invite you to look at Romans 1:24-31. Yes, that's right, a New Testament verse talking about all the various impurities that people fell to. Not only that, but Ephesians (a NT BOOK) 5:31 it states: “For this reason a man will leave his father and mother and be united to his wife, and the two will become one flesh.” Let me also say that being gay does not condemn you to hell; being an alcoholic or gambler is just as much of a sin. What condemns you to hell is a lack of belief in Jesus Christ. And if you truly believe, you want to sin less. Deliberately living a lifestyle that you know is wrong is a slap in the face to Jesus himself. So yes, I feel the same sadness for alcoholic marriages, lying marriages and so forth. Entering a Christian marriage, which is so sacred and precious, while openly sinning without repentance simply breaks my heart. 

Next comes the argument "If you're so concerned with marriage, why not argue against divorce?" I do. I hate divorce. I also hate adultery and gambling, drinking, smoking, lying, idolatry, stealing, and many other things. I hate sin because it is ugly and painful and absolutely everywhere. Does this mean I don't sin? Of course not. We as humans aren't designed to not sin. We're incapable of living perfect lives, which is why Jesus had to sacrifice His own so that we could have a place in a Heaven we don't deserve. I hate sin, but I do not hate the sinner. 

Now, let me say that because I disagree with any of you, does not mean I do not love you. I am saddened more than anything, but I hold no ill will towards you because of your ideas. I hope that you will come to know Jesus, and feel what it's like to truly be loved and provided for. I expect this to offend people, and while it does hurt that I can't express myself without knowing some of my 'friends' will hate me for it, it's okay. I will in no way be ashamed (Phil 1:20). I have accepted all of you regardless of your feelings, and I do hope that you can do the same.

hire me, please!

The job search. Oh, the job search. After you’ve spent nearly all your life stumbling through school, some old guy hands you a piece of paper and BAM. It’s time to find a job. The scariest thing is that just a year ago you caught your roommate making instant mac-and-cheese using blue koolaid because the water in the dorms was off. Now you find yourselves standing in a shapeless gown with pointy hats and the world expects you to be responsible adults. You gasp and splutter, feeling a cold sweat break out on your forehead. “Excuse me?” you say. “I can’t even paint my fingernails on my own without turning into a disaster!” Well fear not. I’m going to give you a few tips on how to increase your chances of having a successful job interview. Also, everyone feels just as inept as you do when they start. It’s part of the human experience. 

LOOKING FOR A JOB

Take a deep breath, look down at that little piece of paper that cost you more than a new house, and smile. You've done it. The sweat, the tears, the essays… They’re behind you now. Unless, of course, you’re becoming an educator yourself. In that case you’re a masochist and there’s no place in this article for people like you. 

Kidding!

No matter what your degree, give yourself a pat on the back. Then sit down, grab a caffeinated drink and start your documentation. A good resume can make the difference between being skipped over like you’re invisible and snagging an interview. A good site for your resume-writing needs is here. Don’t forget that you’ll also want to write a cover letter. Oh look. I lied about no more essays. Whoops!

Now that you’re ready for submission, you can start your web search. Find job opportunities that match your degree. Sites such as Indeed and CareerBuilder can take hours off of your search and save you some hair. Once you find something that looks promising, do some independent research on the company. Scams are everywhere, unfortunately, and you don’t want to fall victim to them when you’re in such a fragile post-graduation mental state. 

Once you've got a few good looking opportunities sorted out you can start submitting your resumes! Make sure you tailor them to each specific opportunity and always proofread before you click that submit button. Keep a list of all the companies you’ve applied to as well as the date that you sent it in. Plus it’ll give you a stack of papers to straighten nervously while you sit in front of your computer and wait your life away! Bonus!

>>MORE TO COME!<<

The Beast of Baat Hrum

I don’t know how long I had been at sea. The moments had begun to smear together, blurring into a haze of misery and loneliness. I could not tell you the difference between seconds or hours, since time has no meaning when one is adrift. And while my mind suffered greatly from my circumstances, my body fared no better. My skin had become soggy, carved into intricate layers and folds by the water which surrounded me. The flesh that normally glowed with youth and health had been reduced to a pale and tattered tapestry, swelling with liquid. And the Cold! Heavens, the Cold! When I had first made the mistake of venturing into the water, the waves had been warm and inviting against my hide. But then the temperature began to drop, declining steadily (as did my condition). At one period there were these white…things! Floating all around the surface! Everywhere that I looked! I envision a similar object causing the famous Titanic to meet her fate in the icy grip of the Atlantic. Perhaps I am one of the lucky ones.

Directly before I returned to solid ground, there was a Great Rain. It came down suddenly and with fervor, pelting my tired skin with fat droplets of water. Irritating as it may have been in the beginning, the Rain soon became warm. Comforting. It even dispelled the icebergs that surrounded me, steadily beating them into oblivion. I sang praises as the torrent fell down upon me, rinsing me clean of what I had endured. And then the glorious, glorious land. My feet fell upon the soil and the water receded from me, leaving my skin tingling with the absence of its embrace. But somewhere on my journey my clothes had been reduced to little more than a mound of worthless threads. And so I took my feeble first steps towards freedom (my legs were no longer accustomed to the earth) stark naked. The wind was bracing, raising goosebumps along the tissue covering my legs and arms. I sought shelter on my new land, searching for something with which to cover myself. But what I found was far from a new wardrobe.

The Beast stood before me, taller than I could ever have imagined. Its round body sat on eight spindly legs that stretched out in every direction. Its face was covered in sinister, shining eyes that were little more than glass bubbles of nothingness and fear. Fangs hung low from its wretched jaws, and they rubbed together roughly in the delight of an easy meal. I could almost hear the sickening creaks as the monster angled its carapace to better face me for the impending battle, for I was not to be devoured without a brilliant fight. At first I felt nothing but fear, sweeping down from my brain and along my spine, pressing heat into my senses. There were snaps and sparks along the synapses in my body as they sent jolts into my still-pruned fingers. A familiar thud against my sternum told the tale of my frantically beating heart. The Beast was blocking my path entirely! On one side a mountain wall, jutting steep and far into the Heavens. And on the other side there was a cliff that led to a pit straight into the belly of Hell itself. I could turn and run, flee back into the arms of the sea… But what more could the water hold for me? The Beast took a lumbering step forward, gnashing its teeth to release a deafening din. Beyond the arachnid I suddenly saw civilization! A way back to the world of people and land and far from endless waters and vile spiders! To reach this utopia I knew I would have to defeat the monster.

My eyes were wide as they searched the area for any sort of useful item. I found a stick- rather substantial in girth and quite sharp on one end. It seemed to be my only option, and so I took up the crude weapon and thrust it wildly at the creature (who had closed some of the distance between the two of us). At first the arachnid recoiled, taking measured steps in reverse and bunching up its gangly legs. But then the monster reared up! It held itself like a charging stallion, slashing through the air with ferocious limbs. I yelled at the demon, hoping to force it over the edge of the cliff and back home to the devil. But alas, it was no good. The Beast was unphased by my noises and it continued to tread towards me slowly, it's eyes glinting with madness and hunger.

‘Twas at this time that my mind began formulating final prayers to offer before the Good Lord. It seemed as though this creature would best me, and my resting place would be near the sea. No sooner had these words formed in the recesses of my skull, than I spotted a canister off to the side. It was very large, vibrant purple in color and weathered by the humid air. Perhaps it floated in on the tide? However it managed to come resting at my feet I do not care, because without that canister I may not have gotten the opportunity to share this story.

My hands were quick to find the cylinder and remove it of its lid. The Beast made an awful sound and lurched forward, spraying saliva onto the earth below us. But I hefted the container up and released a vile chemical spray into the face of the hellion. How justifying it was! A foul material rushed forth, lacing itself over the spider with a sticky film. The irony! It was worth the scare to watch this creature suffocate and struggle against an adherent material so similar to its own web! The monster bellowed and flailed, but I did not curb the flow of the chemical. No, I advanced forward, ushering the Beast towards the cliff! Snarls and growls shattered the air as the vile demon fought against the spray. Two of its many legs soon found the edge of the cliff and I lunged forward with a final burst to send the creature falling over the edge rim. It tumbled and slid far down into the canyon, coming to rest at the mouth of the hole. As the Beast lay dying in its sticky mass of legs and fangs, water came rushing down from above, shoving the arachnid into the pit and far, far away from me.

Then I could finally get my towel and get the heck out of the bathroom. I just hope I remember to get more hairspray at the store.

12 steps to get ready for your first tattoo

I’m all about tattoos. I think everyone should have at least one. If you don’t know me well enough to know that, then you’ll probably get a taste of it in more than a few of my blog posts. But let’s say you don’t have any ink yet. Maybe you’re considering getting some. Hooray! (As long as you’re going to a reputable parlor and not your cousin Jimmy’s basement.) In case you want to mentally prepare yourself for your first tattoo, I’ve compiled this handy list of things to do beforehand.

1.)  Clear five hours of your schedule. Then tell your loved ones (parents especially) that you’re planning on getting a tattoo. Use the previously allotted five hours to allow them to lecture, moan, complain, beg, yell, and throw things until they run out of steam. It won’t be the last time that you hear about it, but it helps to prepare you for the future arguments. Isn’t self-expression fun?

2.)   Go to Pinterest. Browse at least 10,000 designs. Pin 5,000 of them, and then sort those into the top 100. Take a Sharpie and take turns drawing each design on the body part that you want tattooed. Wear each one for at least three days. No showers in between!  Stare at yourself in all the mirrors that you pass. Take lots of selfies to ensure that the new ink will fit your style. After you decide which design you like the best, you’re allowed to take a bath.

3.)   Buy a large canvas. Take it to a local painter. Give him or her $500, but ask him or her to paint it in stages, starting with only lines first. Take it home and hang it on your wall. Invite people over. Don’t punch them when they ask questions and you have to explain repeatedly that it’s not finished.

4.)   Find a clean shop. If all they want to do is designs from the wall, that's not the place for you. If you wouldn’t eat off of all of the surfaces in the shop, turn around and find another. Look for/ask to see their certifications. I mean, you wouldn’t let some scrub operate on you without a medical degree, would you? Say no to scratchers!

5.)  Go buy a cactus and some itching cream. Spread that cream all over your arm (or shoulder, foot, wherever you plan to get the tattoo). When you start to itch, repeatedly beat the affected area with the cactus. NOTE: If you’re not breaking the skin, you’re not doing it hard enough! Repeat this for about three hours. If you cannot find a cactus, then get yourself a cardboard box. Cut a hole in the box big enough to fit your arm through. Insert a wet, feral cat and let it shred your arm for a couple of hours. After you’re finished, use steel wool to apply Vaseline to the wound. Congratulations, you can handle the pain of a tattoo!

6.)  Take the painting back to the artist. Let them do the second session of the painting and return it to your wall. Endure at least three more weeks of weird looks from your friends. By now you’ll probably be explaining that it isn’t finished before they even speak. Learn to love it.

7.)  If there’s any skin left from the cactus/cat incident, expose that area to blistering sunlight for at least six hours. Reapply the itching cream. You are not allowed to scratch, only slap. Every couple of hours, get the steel wool again and slather some diaper rash ointment on it. Now you’re experiencing the first two days of healing tattoos!

8.) When the sunburn/cactus perforation/cat damage has started to peel and scab, you must RESIST ALL URGES TO PICK IT. Yes, I know, this is the most difficult task so far. Man knows no agony like an itch un-scratched. But I find that repeatedly banging my head against something wooden helps to take off the edge--especially since I usually wake up a couple of hours afterwards. Note that you should use solid wood because particle board may result in face splinters. No one likes face splinters.

9.)  Session three for the canvas painting. At this point, it will be coherent but not quite finished. Three more weeks of questions, odd expressions. You can do it! At least by now it will be obvious how nice the finished work will look. I promise it’s worth it.

10.) Get a T-shirt made that says some highly offensive saying or racist remark. Wear it everywhere. When people give you scowls, return a smile. Be especially ready for old people to glare at you.

12.)  Have the artist finish the painting. Bring over everyone who saw it in progress, and rub it in their faces that the finished piece is absolutely amazing. If it would make you feel better, I wouldn’t blame you for beating them with it. But, of course, I can’t actually condone it. So shame on you!

13.)   Lotion your cactus/cat/sunburn arm frequently. Make sure that you always wear sunscreen or clothes to protect it. Write a quick story on a flashcard and practice explaining the meaning to random strangers. For some reason, it seems as though everyone wants to know the story behind ink. 

Finally, congratulations! If you’ve survived all that, you’re ready to get your first tattoo! And don’t worry. It isn’t half that bad. Well, except for the unfinished canvas bit. That’s the real deal. 

Pop in the buggy, y'all!

If you’re from Southern Kentucky and you’ve ever travelled out of state (or far enough north, in some cases), then you’ve certainly encountered some… ‘attention’ due to your accent. In fact, the last time I was in Florida, the worker at Cold Stone Creamery had a little chuckle at the way I said ‘cheesecake’. I have no clue how I say it any differently than anyone else in the world, but he asked me to repeat it for effect, and then awarded me an extra scoop. Totally worth it.

But sometimes the attention isn’t positive. On another vacation a couple of years prior, my family and I were snapping pictures on the beach. You know, standard tourist stuff before we headed home the next day. There was another girl, a bit younger than me, who actually started laughing at us talking, and then proceeded to makes jokes about us, while standing no more than twenty feet away. And she had the gall to do this while wearing a flippin’ stormtrooper mask! I tried to strangle her using the Force, but it was no avail. So I had to settle for shooting her some dirty looks and grumbling under my breath.

It never fails to get my blood pumpin’ when people assume that anyone with a southern dialect is ‘stupid’. Tell me, oh Ye of Standard Speech, did you get a 35 on the English section of your ACT? No? What about a 34 in the reading? I didn’t think so!

The point is that our mountain culture makes us who we are. Sure there will always be individuals that poke fun at us for our dialect. But I’ve learned that you should never let the opinions of others affect who you are, or who you want to be. Let your roots shine through. What does the judgement of strangers matter, anyway? The only person that needs to be happy with you, is YOU. So to celebrate my love for our culture, let’s examine some of that funny ole mountain speech and how it’s different from other parts of America the Beautiful.

Pop

When I did some research on the spread of Pop/Soda/Coke across the US, I was actually surprised that ‘pop’ seems to be a more northern trend, although it’s snaked its way into the southeastern region of the bluegrass state. And don’t ask me about that weird interjection of Coke in Missouri and Illinois. I have no clue where that came from.

Buggy

I was under the assumption that Buggy or Cart were really the only terms at play when it comes to the metal contraptions that help us carry all of our crap that we just impulse-bought at walmart. But apparently, the list also includes wagon, carriage, trolley, and basket. While more heavily used in the South, buggy does seem to have quite an influence throughout the Eastern US. Who knew?

Pecan

Perhaps I’m weird, but I’ve never pronounced pecan like ‘pea-can’. My family has always opted for the more centralized ‘pick-ahn’. How do you say it? Is it different from the way your grandparents say it? Let me know!

Caramel

Similar to the little spread of Western influence with pop, ‘car-mul’ seems to be a Northwestern thing that has snuggled into the heart of Eastern Kentucky. If I think ‘care-uh-mel’ I might think snooty rich people with champagne and pearls. But that would be prolonging stereotypes, so of course I don’t do that. ;)

Crayon

In my experience, most people from my lovely hometown of Hazard carry on the Southern tradition of pronouncing it ‘cray-ahn’. But I did meet this guy in college who actually said ‘cra-oon’. To each his own, I suppose.

Y’all

Through my twenty one years of life, I’ve never had someone say ‘y’all’ who wasn’t doing it sarcastically, or to be dramatic. I always say ‘you all’. I did get a little chuckle from the comment above the graph, though.

But that’s all I could think of. Do you know something that is specific to Eastern Kentucky? (Or anywhere else, for that matter!) Please leave a comment with your own tales of dialect!

You have HOW many animals?

Well, see that’s a funny story, actually. It depends on how you count them. Animals that are living in the house, not necessarily mine? Let’s see… three dogs, three cats, and a snake. Essentially, a small zoo. But now, there are three people living in our little nook of the city, so that averages out to one dog, one cat, and a foot-long section of a snake each. That’s not so bad, is it?

The living situation itself is a little odd, but it works. My husband, Kyle and me have one bedroom, and my best friend since God-knows-when has the other. So there are ten living organisms in a small house. TEN. It was eleven, but Patrick Henry (the little freedom fighter fish) has recently gone to the big fishbowl in the sky. Godspeed, my little friend. Godspeed.

Cats or dogs first, who do you want to meet? How about C, the snake. Her name is lady, she is a corn snake and she belongs to Tiffany, my roommate. Now, that doesn’t mean I don’t like her. I actually really enjoy snakes as pets, I just don’t have any at the moment. Okay, maybe you’ve got the heebie jeebies and you think I’m insane. That’s perfectly okay. But hear me out: they live in a small cage. No hair on your clothes or furniture- ever. You feed them about once a week and they couldn’t give a crap whether or not you spend quality time with them. No, your scaly, legless friend will never demand a walk in the park, or that you throw a ball. They’re even lower maintenance than fish. Fabulous for a busy mom or someone who’s just lazy. Or a lazy, busy mom. Whatever. They make good pets.

Dogs. Man’s Best Friend. Woman’s Biggest Annoyance. Okay, okay, that’s not true. I didn’t really mean it. They can be a little bit much sometimes, but you better believe I would rather spend time with my dogs than most people. That’s right, I’m the awkward friend who never makes it inside your house because I’m rolling around in the grass with your German Shepherd, Hank. Fur > skin. I mean come on, has a dog ever caused drama in your life? No. And if you do somehow manage to push the envelope of their patience and actually piss them off, one slice of bologna and all is forgiven. Reminds me of Kyle. Ha.

Of the three dogs in our humble abode, Rynn is my absolute favorite. She’s a white Australian Shepherd with striking blue eyes. She hasn’t left my side for more than a few hours since she was just five weeks old (yes, I know that’s way too early to be away from mom. But that is a rant for another blog post). And goodness, she’s brilliant. She’s one of those amazing dogs that will listen like a human. It’s “Rynn, will you get in the floor?”, not “RYNN FLOOR.” She’s amazing. She’ll even give you a high five! Her favorite past times include chasing a ball, chewing a tug rope, sleeping with her legs all splayed out like a fool, and running madly around the house like a puppy possessed. Favorite foods are pepperoni pizza from Pizza Hut and peanut butter.

Baby Rynn!

Those eyes though!

Second place in my heart is Tiffany’s black GSD, Bella. God love her heart. I honestly think the poor gal may be autistic. She struggles with dog body language and can’t handle looking you in the eyes if you’re within five feet. She’s also got and extended top palette, so she has the most wicked overbite I’ve ever laid eyes on. But she’s a good dog, despite her learning difficulties. She never makes a mess in the house, never gets in the garbage, never shreds things or causes general havoc. She’s been Rynn’s best friend since day one of her puppyhood. They’re vomit-inducing, I warn you.

UGH.

And then, there’s Dozer. He is literally the dumbest dog I’ve ever met in my life. He’s a sweetheart and he means well, but he’s cost me approximately $7,000 in paper towels. Well maybe not that much, but I am certainly getting tired of cleaning puppy pee puddles. Heh. Puppypeepudddles puppypeepuddles. Say that five times fast.

Anyway, he’s exclusively Kyle’s dog and the absolute bane of my existence. I don’t have a problem with pitbulls as a breed, but Lord have mercy, this one is making me go gray. He can't learn. Just can't. I need a vacation. 

Rynn and "Doo Doo"

Felines are just the best thing. I’m really disappointed that Adam didn’t name them ‘Furry Awesome Balls’ instead of just…cats. But in his defense, I’d probably be running out of creative juice with animal naming too. So we’ll let this one slide. For now.

Of the three cats scampering about, only one of them is mine. His name is Vincent. I can hear it now. “Vincent? That’s a strange name for a cat.” Well, maybe it is to you. But maybe that’s because you don’t know that he’s missing a large chunk of his ear. He was like that when we found him, so for all I know he sliced it off and mailed it to his girlfriend. If you understood that allusion, then you’ll know where his name comes from. If not, go back to art class.

Vinnie is a black shorthair of unknown origins, with an adorable white spot on his chest and ‘deodorant marks’ (as I call them) beneath his front legs. While he may seem like a normal cat if judged from his appearance, he is actually completely insane. Certifiable. No one in the house is protected from his sudden bouts of kitty play. Maybe you’re stumbling towards the kitchen at two in the morning, croaking for a glass of water. And maybe you’ll find your ankles being mugged by a sudden flurry of cat baps, before he dashes off into the shadows to await his next victim. He never uses his claws, because his intention is play and not murder (although that is debatable between Kyle and I). But there is nowhere to hide that he will not find you. Nothing is sacred from his explosive kitty-zoomies. Not even the dogs are safe. Vincent is undoubtedly the King of the House. And no one is brave enough to argue with his Highness.

High King Vincent

And finally the last two cats. They’re property of Tiffany as well, and they’re sickeningly adorable. Bruce and Quinn. Yes, Bruce Wayne and Harley Quinn. Brucie is gray, and his sister has a white mask and little gray spots. They don’t have much personality developed aside from the general kitten-ness, so we’ll see how they turn out.

Sometimes I complain about the animals, yes. I get tired or waking up in the morning and taking the dogs to pee, or scooping out Vincent’s litter box. I have to come behind them and gather the stuffing from their latest toy. And Rynn is always asking me to throw her ball. But no matter how much I may grumble about them, I am so grateful that they’re a part of my journey here on earth. Fur babies bring me heaps of joy and entertainment. They catch my tears and listen better than anyone else. I can’t imagine my life without them.

Now excuse me while I go get a lint roller.

love is a four legged word <3

Jesus didn't wear jeans

No, he didn't. But I do. Well, I try to. It's a little frustrating, combing the racks for denim with a long enough inseam. I need a 37". Most 'longs' are 34". Hellooooo, high-waters. That happens when you're a woman, and you're 6'2" though. I guess that makes me a modern-day Amazon. No. A Glamazon. 

While it is definitely the tallest pillar (pun definitely intended) of my physical being, my height is not everything about who I am. In all honesty I probably couldn't make a list of all the things that make me me. I was going to name this blog Nervous Nellie to pay homage to the anxiety disorders that I suffer from. Then I started thinking: while that's a part of who I am, it's not all of it. And I don't intend for it to stick around for my entire life. So I won't try to condense my personality into a couple of paragraphs for easy reading. The human mind should never be constrained and condensed. Be who you are, no matter how much room it takes to express it.

So, anywho, this blog. What do I have in store for you? Lots of different things. A literary smorgasbord of brain droppings from my skull to your screen. There will be joy. Heartache. Anxiety. Laughter. We'll walk hand-in-hand through all my likes, dislikes, hopes, and dreams. You'll learn about my psychotic cat and adorable dog. We'll go over weight loss, dental floss, and taco sauce. Definitely taco sauce. But above all, this blog will have praise for God. He is the captain of my life, and I sincerely hope that I can reach out to others with my writing. He gave me these tools, and by golly, I'm going to use them!