"Are you even Christian anymore?"

In my own opinion, my experience as a christian growing up was that faith was defined by actions… if I acted more "christianly" or "christian enough" than my heart had to be right with God. If I showed up on Sundays and sat through pointless lessons on things I didn't even remotely care about than absolutely I was walking the walk and living out my faith in a real way… excuse my french when I absolutely say if that is the way we are judging the point of christianity and relationship, then it is bull. If anyone would have sat down with me at sixteen years old, seventeen, eighteen, nineteen… and so on, they would have seen how far off and how misaligned my "heart" was with my creator. I knew of God, but I didn't KNOW God. 

I know of Justin Bieber… Adele… Kim Kardashian… Lady Gaga… or my personal favorite, I know of Derek Shepherd. I can tell you that before any surgery, Derek would say, "It's a great day to save lives!" or that Adele must have called a thousand times but you never seem to be home… I know that for whatever reason Kim has the worst luck with pregnancies while her sister Kourtney claims pregnancy was the best experience. I know all of these things about these people that don't have any idea who I am or who even remotely care to know my name… I know OF these people, but they wouldn't have my number saved in their iPhones (or in Kim's case, her blackberry) and they wouldn't pick up if I called. 

The same went for God… I knew of God just like I knew of these people. I knew he apparently created the world in seven days, flooded the world, caught bushes on fire, and created a son with a virgin who would eventually come to save the world. I guess you could say that I knew of Jesus too… the apparently perfect man who would save the world and die on a cross, perform hundreds of miracles, make the blind see and the sick healed… but I didn't KNOW either one of them and I didn't care to. If we want to bring this to a 21st century problem, I didn't have their numbers in my phone and I wouldn't have picked up had they called. 

I don't exactly know at what point this entire thinking shifted for me… I don't know when God became real and this idea of him caring about me settled in and took root in my life, but I know it's there. I know things have changed in the last year and that somehow I can recognize a need for God in my life and how every day I have to choose the relationship aspect of Christianity and to not get caught up in the legalistic side. I know that daily I have to choose to love… 

I say all of that with a warning that what I write next is probably not the most loving example to portray, but sometimes when others want to question my walk and my faith and judge me on things you know nothing about, for lack of a better term, I get my panties in a twist. 

I ran into an old friend that I had met back during my first year or so at Mizzou and while she was more than aware that I was not walking with Christ as an undergrad, she was always supportive, always genuine, and typically respected the views I held. While we chatted about each other's lives since we had last seen (or heard) from each other, we sat on the ledge outside and she asked me questions about, "Are you still going to church?" or "How is your walk going?" or "How is God working in your life?" The typical cheesy questions Christians ask each other with straight faces before replying with a cheesy answer that doesn't even scratch the surface. Honestly, I thought these questions was her way of genuinely caring about me and my relationship with Christ. We talked about things that were going on in both of our lives (while she smoked a cigarette) and before leaving, she asked for my email and said that she had recently read an article that she wanted me to look into. I tend to be a junkie when it comes to popular news articles and journals, so I willingly put it in her phone and we went our separate ways, only half expecting to hear from her again in the next five years. 

Last night, while I was in class, I got an email with the subject, "Are you even Christian anymore?" with an article attached with the main premise claiming that "Christian girls with class should not be prancing around in skin tight pants made for yoga." Reading this article with a straight face has got to be one of the hardest moments of my entire life… As I read, "Your body is the temple…" my mind immediately raced back to watching this friend light up the other end of the cigarette hanging out of her mouth. ARE YOU JOKING ME? I never mentioned it. I didn't care to. I didn't judge her and it never even occurred to me that her own faith may be lacking because she is a smoker. It never even crossed my mind… it absolutely blows my mind and frustrates my soul that she noticed the fact that I was wearing yoga pants while I hardly even noticed (and was certainly not bothered) that she was smoking. So my question to not just my friend but to the world is this:

Why do the clothes I choose to wear effect the way people see me as a Christian?

If we're being honest here, this isn't the first time I read this article and definitely not the first time I have ever had a conversation about yoga pants with church people… this article, which I will admit is very well written and makes valid points (especially around modesty). But if we're looking at my heart and my relationship with Christ, how does wearing yoga pants make me any less of a Christian than the person next to me? I wear yoga pants because I want to… not because it ever crosses my mind that when I put them on and walk around campus or the grocery store that some guy is going to be staring at my ass (Yes, I said ass… and yes, I am a Christian. I refuse to sugar coat this… if you want to insinuate that my walk with Christ is less than it should be because of a pair of pants I chose to wear, then I will say that word we're all thinking). 

I am a Christian and I wear yoga pants… because I don't believe either one affects the other. I mean for goodness sake, last month, Christians were all upset and outraged over a business who chose a red cup for the holiday season. A cup. Why did we become so sensitive and can it stop now? 

In many ways, I am glad that I am strong enough in my faith that the comments others make or don't make really have no impact on my walk with Christ. I know where my heart is… and let's be real, 98% of the time when I choose to slip on a pair of yoga pants, it's after a long night of cramming for an exam with my hair tied in a bun and a sweatshirt. I don't wear yoga pants typically to look cute (I usually look homeless), I wear them because they're pants and I almost don't trust those who oppose them. 

If you want to get mad at me, get mad at me that I answered the door without any pants on last month… at least I got dressed yesterday. All jokes aside, my faith is the most important aspect of my life and I will defend it… but not by tearing a part (and sending passive emails) to anyone who wears an outfit that is not "Christian enough." This isn't biblical… and it isn't okay. 

I don't wear yoga pants to church on Sundays (not that I even think that matters), but had I not known my creator like I do today, that email would have sent a very loud message that the Christian faith doesn't have room for anyone that was less than perfect. It would have told a girl, before any conversation that identified where her heart was, that she was simply not welcome based on their appearance. That will never be okay in my world. We're talking yoga pants, not drugs, not cigarettes, not alcohol… we're talking about pants, people. Jesus Christ made the ultimate sacrifice and it is much too high of a price for you to choose who is worthy enough of that salvation. He gave his life… for you, for me, for the girl wearing yoga pants, for the girl smoking a cigarette… and for that guy who looks at my ass. He gave his life for all of us, regardless of what our sin may be… or the clothes we wear… or the person we have become. 

If you think differently than me, by all means… I will still respect you. Do me a favor and respect me as well (and the choice I will continue to make to wear yoga pants). It's nearly 2016, can we stop being overly sensitive and get back to being human?

Rant over. 

Somedays I am NOT proud to be a MIZZOU tiger...

Sometimes I hear things that make my skin crawl… where I can't even comprehend the lack of human compassion and understanding for social issues. I am more than aware of my privilege by my skin color alone… and I have always acknowledged that fact when given the opportunity to do so. I am not black, but does that really mean I can't care about ending racism and bigotry just as much as those who are?

I will never claim to understand how it feels to feel outcasted and alone based off of the color of my skin. I will never claim to truly understand the impact of the "n-word," or to know exactly the weight of prejudice or racist comments directed at me. I will never know how it feels to be black in a world that is not inclusive and representative of the potential of my race. 

… but I want to listen and understand and try to relate. I want to know how it affects YOU and how I can use my privilege to help YOU feel more inclusive, more empowered, strengthened, and heard. I want to hold your hand, if you will let me, and walk beside YOU as YOU use your voice to change things that should not be acceptable and should not be tolerated any longer. 

Acknowledging this is not any attempt at all to downplay the choices Jonathan Butler has made or the #MizzouHungerStrike or the supporters of #ConcernedStudent1950. I am simply saying this because I do not understand, I just do not understand. I do not have any idea what kind of thought process goes into making a decision like this, a decision that says remove this man from his position or I will starve myself and I am prepared to die. With that being said, I also do not know what goes into the thought process that says, I am okay with calling this black man the n-word or ignoring racism on a campus where it is more than evident.

I think, for me, I also have to acknowledge that I do not know because I was ignorant to the real issues and fell victim to believing that racism was in the past. I knew of racism, but I didn't know racism. I didn't believe it existed in terms of my world or context, but it does. It is real and alive and I know there is a long history of valuing white lives over black… but with the recent events that happened around Mizzou and throughout this hunger strike, it is that much more apparent that unless change comes, our future generation and the future of our university is damned. 

Why do good men have to die for good causes? It's a haunting question. Terrifying, actually. Do good men have to die in order to make any good change? Do good men have to take drastic measures to be heard and understood? Does Jonathan Butler have to be another man on a long list of those who lost their lives trying to do good in a world where so much is wrong? 

I honestly do not know what to think of everything going on at Mizzou right now. I know the actions of many of the students on our campus have not made me proud to be a Tiger… or to call Mizzou my home. I do not know the weight of making such a final decision to end my life for the purpose of advancing awareness around a specific issue… I don't know what that must be like. My heart is sad that this was a choice that had to be made but even more so, that another young black man with a bright future could potentially die. However, I also applaud his determination, strength, and courage to stand up against an entire school system, demand a change, and fight for a better future for Mizzou. 

"One person can't do everything… but everyone can do something." 

I'm conflicted when I say, "I hope it works." While I hope real change happens before his life is lost, I also know that a lot of change happens far too late. Jonathan Butler, I applaud you. I support you. You are inspiring. Your courage is something many, including myself, severely lack. I would stand with you, if you would let me… using our voices to change and end racism not just at Mizzou, but everywhere…

I only wish that together, white and black, that we could find another way that did not include Jonathan Butler losing his life. 

You can do better, Mizzou. 

To read more about #MizzouHungerStrike or #ConcernedStudent1950:

http://mic.com/articles/127914/why-a-black-student-is-going-on-hunger-strike-to-get-a-missouri-college-president-fired

http://blavity.com/mizzouhungerstrike-is-what-happens-when-universities-disregard-black-lives/

http://www.themaneater.com/stories/2015/11/3/students-camp-out-support-mizzouhungerstrike/

http://www.stlamerican.com/news/local_news/article_94ee3724-835c-11e5-b868-170e594b3f4d.html

http://www.columbiamissourian.com/news/higher_education/student-activists-camp-out-to-protest-wolfe-and-support-hunger/article_b204b8b4-81dc-11e5-a4a0-cb305bb09bed.html

"Where there is deep grief, there was deep love…"

"So do not fear, for I am with you; do not be dismayed, for I am your God. I will strengthen you and help you. I will uphold you with my righteous right hand.

                                                                 -Isaiah 41:10

The absolute worst day of my adult life came unexpectedly and without any anticipation. It came with a shock so sudden and so great that before I even stepped out of bed, the weight of the world was so heavy and the grief unbearable. 

It came to the tune of a text that read, "Are you okay?" to which I sleepily replied, "Yep." Nothing more, nothing else… I turned over and went back to sleep, completely unaware that the entire world was falling a part for everyone I loved. I woke up an hour later to 31 missed calls, more texts that read, "You need to call me," and "It's important, answer your phone!" 

I don't know the hell everyone else went through while I selfishly slept on that Sunday morning back in 2012 two hours away from everyone else… but I heard the stories and played it all out in my head how I imagine it all went. The hell, for me, started about an hour after she died with a single conversation that woke me up and immediately I knew something was so wrong. 

I remember waking up to the buzzing of my phone under my pillow… and seeing "Mother Hen" flash across the screen. The name I put in for my mom's number in a way I thought was clever… I answered the phone with a typical, "Hello," and my brother's voice answered back saying, "It's Toby," to which I snapped back with, "What do you want?" as I was almost positive he was going to bust me for sleeping in and skipping church. He didn't call me out or ask why I hadn't answered anyone's calls but rather just calmly said the most haunting words as if he had done it a thousand times, "Grandma died."

I don't know if I could ever forget that conversation, all of it, every word and every detail is ingrained into my memory… from me yelling at him, "You're lying. Stop lying. You're not funny!" From the quiver in his voice saying, "She died, Tedi. She didn't make it. She just died in Sunday School," to me begging him to let me talk to our mom, to him telling me that I needed to come home and to him telling me exactly what happened. I remember it all, literally… as if it was yesterday. 

Tori and Grandma in 1998 

Almost immediately, stories flooded my head, memories that seemed so real that I could of sworn I could of touched them… those memories stained then with grief as I was haunted by the fact that what was would never be again. Those stories of my grandma chasing my siblings and I around every summer growing up, to days of going out to her swimming pool where I first learned to swim and where we followed the golden rule, "You can't swim after you eat." It was her that taught me to hold my breath under water, how to open my eyes without goggles, and how to do the "deadman's float." I remembered the days of playing kickball, where my older sister and brother would team up and leave me to have to pick my grandma… I loved that woman to death, but she was no good at playing sports. She wasn't very fast, always got out, and always made me run the bases for her. She was silly though, would throw frisbees with me, and taught me how to smile through it all. 

I know I am who I am because of the grandma I had, who taught me about strength, faith, courage, hope, joy, and love… who taught me to embrace the red hair, to always look your best, and to show up even when you don't feel like it. She convinced me that peppermint made you smarter, that car windows were meant to be rolled down, and it isn't Christmas unless there's decorations everywhere. There's no doubt in my mind that the lady I called grandma was the best to ever walk this earth… and twenty-one years was just not enough time. 

It was her who constantly told me how smoking was the worst, who reminded me that I was loved, who always made sure there was her homemade spaghetti on the stove, candy on the coffee table, and the famous Vess soda in the fridge. 

The best memories of all were the days every summer, when we sat around the kitchen table, snacking on lemon cookies as she helped me memorize bible verses, paying special attention to make sure I grasped the meanings… She loved lemon cookies and while it will never be the same without her here to share them with me, part of me knows that she has to be looking down smiling whenever I rip open a package.

Part of me thinks she liked being "GG" 

more than she liked being grandma

I remembered the vacation my whole family took just two weeks before she passed away, the last time I saw her, the last moment I saw her when I jumped out of the van and ran to wrap my arms around her neck before she walked inside the building she had just moved into. I remembered the conversation I had when I told her, "I'll be back in three weeks, don't miss me too much!" She died the week before I would come home… something I still regret and have not accepted. Why did I not quit my job the week before? Why did I not pick up my phone once to call her the day before she died? Why was I so self absorbed that I had no idea her last night was her last? When I came home the week before for a day trip to surprise my mom for her birthday, why did I not just call her or go see her? 

I remembered those holidays where we would gather around her tiny kitchen and make pies and mess up recipes, and when she would end up kicking me out of the kitchen nearly every single occasion? I remember the last holiday dinner, where she said, "Sorry Tedi, trying just isn't enough," before she told me I had to go watch TV instead of helping. I miss sitting on her couch and watching that TV, the old shows she loved… or playing with her nativity scene that she would pull out every year. When I was in middle school, I started asking her to put things in her will for me… so by the time I was 18 or 19, I would just comment saying I liked a new decoration or picture or something and she would laugh and say, "Don't worry, I'll make sure I put that in the will too." 

summer of 2012

She was kind. and gentle. and sweet. She loved me a lot and I knew it, never questioned it, and always knew I had a place to go when I needed it. Even after I learned to drive, whenever a storm would roll in, I would jump in the car and drive to grandma's where she would have food waiting for me and a seat on the couch saved where we could watch the storm together. She was the sassiest, most loving, and most faithful woman I had ever met. She loved me well, cheered me on my entire life, and always made sure I stayed out of trouble. 

Three years has seemed like decades, but not a day has gone by that I don't wonder what life would be like had she still been here. What jokes would she have told. What stories would she say. What lessons would she teach. What ways would she have loved.

The day she left us was the day when I think I needed her the most, I needed her then… I still need her now. The loss doesn't go away… or somehow lessen with time… it's still just as deep and as raw as it was three years ago. The memories help but the grief is strange, it comes on sometimes just as suddenly as her passing… that's the only way I can describe it. Some days are good, where I can remember her laughter or the little quirks she had with a smile and hope… but other days are unbearable where I feel like my family will never be complete without her. 

For everyone that knew her, the truth of her love cannot even be put into words… she loved with her actions and with her words and with her whole being. She loved so well… and I miss that the most. 

...the last project she made me; the first thing I see every morning

 and the thing that comforts me the most

The most important thing she ever taught me was apparent in the way she lived her life and also in her death, where she chose to serve God selflessly and fully, putting Him first and foremost in her life. As my brother said three years ago on his Facebook page, "My grandma walked into Sunday School this morning to learn more about Jesus. Just a few short minutes later, she was able to see him in person. We will always love & miss you, Doris A. Murphy." 

Most of all, I hope Heaven has lemon cookies… and maybe just maybe, for old time's sake, she rips a package open when she sees me do the same and remembers the best days of my life. 

1928-2012

What a life. What a testimony. What a lady. 

She is missed. 

I never noticed that Cain killed Abel…

I never used to give much thought to the stories found in the Old Testament other than the days when I was six years old in my Sunday best and had no idea about anything other than my ruffled socks… back to the days of Sunday School and lectures and long sermons before Sunday dinners. Those stories were just something I grew up listening to with such a childlike innocence that they became normal, I became desensitized and never gave them much thought. They were always a part of the story I grew up believing… 

God created the world.
He made Adam.
He made Eve.
The sun.
The ocean.
The land.
Animals.
Everything else.

Not in that order, but somewhere in seven days all those things came to life.

Adam sinned, Eve was a little jerk and was manipulative and she led him to do it. The serpent was the devil or something, he talked and convinced her to do it… which is totally weird, but normal because I first heard this when I was five and that's how the story goes. They sinned, they saw that they were naked, it was awful, they tried to hide from God… then they were kicked out of the garden and now I have killer cramps every month. I paraphrase well. Long story short, Eve was a woman and women tend to be have problems saying, "No," to food. I like to think about it as chocolate… I can say, "No," fairly easily to apples… but not to brownies, so it helps me relate to her.

Later there was a flood. Noah saved the animals two by two. Elijah went into the heavens on a chariot. There was a bush on fire. Jonah got swallowed by a whale, people got turned into salt, Abraham almost chopped up his son, crazy stuff happened. That's my point.

It all became ingrained into my mind and faith that I never truly thought about it, I always took it as truth. I never questioned it. Never tried to relate. Never identified with the suffering of these people, I never recognized them as people, but rather as pawns or characters in a story… completely separate from me.

For some reason, tonight, my mind was elsewhere and I got to thinking… not truly about any of those stories listed above, but about the story of Cain and Abel. Two brothers. One good, one bad… murdering the other. Everyone knows the story. We're talking about homicide here, of blood… of family killing family, not a friend or drug dealer or random person, we're talking about Cain murdering Abel out of anger, out of jealousy, out of envy. Killing him, taking his life, murder. That's what this story is about.

I grew up knowing this story so well that I never thought about it. Is that not the worst story you have ever heard? A brother killed his brother… the only way I could possibly imagine it (since I only have one brother) was imagining one of my sisters killing the other or killing me or me killing one of them. What? No. That is simply unbelievable. It's not even fathomable… it hurts to think about.

When I was about 15 or 16 years old, I remember being so angry at my sister that teachers and our friends in high school staged an intervention because we went for THREE whole weeks without talking. They put us in the same room and forced us to actually address the situation… what were we mad about? By the time it got to that point, my soccer coach laughed as he drug me by my shirt into his room because neither one of us could remember the initial fight. We beat the hell out of each other, we got up, we hugged it out, we cried, and we were back to being sisters. BUT never in my entire life do I EVER remember a time where I thought, "I should kill her." There's been times when I said out of annoyance, "I'm going to kill you," which again usually happened after she ate my ice cream or brownie or refused to drive me somewhere, but after 30 seconds I was over it and never could I even think about taking her life.

Don't get me wrong, my family can piss me off like no other. My sisters drive me crazy, they're way overprotective sometimes and treat me like I'm nine years old going off for the first time to a sleepover… I hate it when they tell me what to do or laugh at me as if I'm an idiot… but I love them and could never imagine life without them or anger big enough for me to take their lives. I cannot do it, I cannot even think it.

How could Cain do that? Why would he do that? Why has this never mattered to me before? Why have I always skipped over this without any thought? It's murder and I wrapped my head around it as if I was talking about Cain giving Abel candy.

How does this happen?

This weekend, I was once again reminded of the horrors associated with being a part of this world… where Christians were gunned down for their faith. It's inconceivable. Christians. No, actually… I won't even go there because it is unbelievable for me to think about ANYONE being gunned down whether you are five years old in the middle of your kindergarten classroom or twenty-two sitting in a lecture hall at a community college, whether you are white, black, whatever… christian, muslim, atheist, anything. Why does this happen? Again and again and again…

If I was to write a book about the experiences and tragedies that we all face in the world right now, would anyone believe it in a hundred years? In 2,000 years? Would they become so detached from today that they simply would be stories, characters without meaning or life or substance? Would their lives matter? Does Abel's life matter today? 

Did Abel's life ever matter? What about the twenty six people who were killed at Sandy Hook or in the movie theaters? In classrooms? In shopping centers? In streets? In cities across the world? Do the people of Syria not matter? As a person, as people, as a nation, how do we not stop this nonsense, how do we justify ignoring murders, of senseless acts of violence, of hurt, of suffering?

I was told last week that death is natural… but I refuse to believe that there is anything natural about saying, "Yes, I am a christian," and being shot for it. There is nothing natural about offering a sacrifice to God and being killed for it. There is nothing natural about having to teach our children intruder drills so they won't be gunned down in rooms with letters and numbers on brightly colored posters. There is nothing natural about being afraid to go to work, of being pulled over, or having your child killed while they watch a movie. 

I usually have point to the things I write, but truthfully, I don't tonight. I wish murder wasn't a part of the world we live in, I wish people didn't have to live in fear, and more than anything, I can only pray that I would have enough courage and strength to stand up and say, "I am a Christian," even if a gun was pointed at me. 

I refuse to believe that I live in a world where these things are common… when will the good eventually outshine the evil? At one point do these stories become as routine as Cain killing Abel? Will we eventually stop even noticing, even caring, even being affected by the killing of innocent lives? As a human race, we owe it to our children and their children and their children, to make these stories become so obsolete that they don't even exist in the context we know them in, to be known just like Cain and Abel, but to be so uncommon that our children cannot fathom and comprehend their impact. 

...if I only have five years, five years is all I need.

I'll never forget one of my high school teachers who sat me down for a serious conversation and honestly asked, "Do you even have thoughts? Do you use your head, ever?" This was after I decided for my semester project that I would create fake "student IDs," download programming to create the format, and would sell them… I "sold" four before that conversation, one for $6 dollars, two for a bag of Otis Spunkmeyer cookies, and one for an essay that I needed written. I wasn't in it for the money… I was in it for the purpose. They told me I couldn't, I knew I could. 

My poor parents had it rough, they had perfectly healthy, law abiding, respectful, well behaved children and then I joined the family photo and I definitely think their whole world was flipped upside down, shaken up, and changed forever. I often wonder how I even survived past childhood… 

There was another time, around senior year, when I decided I didn't want to have to use my locker on the third floor, as that was too many steps… so I bullied freshmen into letting me "buy" stock at the bottom of their lockers in exchange for signed tardy passes. I wasn't forging anything, I typically signed, "Tedi" and put a few extra scribbles around it and most were accepted without any question. I should have been an entrepreneur or a business owner… I was always thinking up my next scheme. 

By the age of fifteen, I was a self acclaimed badass and knew what I wanted. I wanted the most out of life. I wanted to make my own rules, live by whatever means necessary, and to escape the tiny town that was much too small for me. 

Once, I asked my school principal to allow me to "sell" elevator passes to the staff at my high school. Within the first hour of passing out letters on official letterhead, I sold four… convinced three teachers they could buy them after lunch, pissed one off so badly that she stormed out of her classroom and right into the principals office to throw a fit, and I gave a custodian a good discount since he bought two. They eventually made me return the money and issue an apology. I did it with my head held high, a smile on my face, and an attitude that I could do anything I put my mind to. 

I wanted to change the world, to bring more laughter. 

The days of wrecking havoc in the halls of my high school have been long over for a few years now, but I often wonder if people remember me and laugh… or shake their heads… or say a bunch of curse words under their breath. To be honest, it's probably a combination of all of the above for every single person I've crossed paths with, I have not been an easy person to deal with. Honestly though, with all practical jokes aside, I hope and pray that if something terrible was to happen to me, that people would remember the good. 

Five years is not a long time, that''s my point. High school seems like yesterday. I have spent the last five years in college up to this point, I have skipped classes for the mall, sat in bars with professors, ate more pizza than I ever have in my life, and watched Netflix for days, never having to leave my house. I found my place in this huge world on this great big campus and I settled in perfectly in a town that was small, but where I could still go to the store and not recognize a single person. Growing up in the town that I did, trust me, not being recognized is a luxury that many will never appreciate. 

If I have learned anything in the last week, it's that sometimes life falls a part… dreams come undone… and the entire world comes crumbling down around you. I've learned that sadness can be overwhelming, that joy is contagious, and that hope is the only thing that truly changes anyone. I've learned that it is impossible to control everything… but I have learned that roadblocks are nothing more than obstacles and with the same determination I had when I was was sixteen, selling those ridiculous fake IDs just because no one believed I could in the first place, I am not afraid to fight for what I want, to create new dreams, and to live in the present. I don't know the future, I could die tomorrow because life isn't guaranteed and I have been living my life like the next twenty years were set in stone… I don't know if I have twenty years, but I do have today… and today, I am choosing to fight back. 

Somewhere between high school and college, I became afraid of the world and more importantly, living. I let the fear of failure control every move I've made…  and I don't want to live like that anymore.

… but when I'm gone and this life I've made is over, I don't want anyone to remember the things I've said out of anger, or hurt, or fear. I don't want to be remembered for the punches I threw, for the names I called, or the stone cold glares I gave. My only hope is that somehow I would have lived my life up to this point with such love and laughter and joy and hope that my legacy would be filled with memories like the ones above. I want to be remembered as someone who is witty, and creative, who can always make people smile and laugh, who never heard, "No," who loves with her whole heart and shows kindness whenever the opportunity presents itself. I want people to laugh at the jokes I pulled or the things I said… I want to be remembered for the times I showed up late to class with tubs of ice cream for everyone, for the moments I fell down the stairs ungracefully, for the stupid questions I asked, and for the screenshots I cluelessly took. I want to be remembered for the moments where I stood alone, determined to make this world a better place. 

As I sit alone on my bed in the quietness of the middle of the night, listening to the buzz of the ceiling fan and the ticking of the clock, I am painfully aware of how good life is. The stars off my deck, off in the distance give me hope, they remind me that there is so much life out there waiting to be discovered. 

I don't know what five years will bring… hell, I don't even know where I'll be in six months, but that's where the beauty lies. I think I have finally come to a place where I can grasp that and learn to be okay with the unknown. I am trying to not let the fear control me… but rather to embrace it, use it for fuel to actually make my life worth something. 

There is so much life to be lived when you choose to fight back against the storm. 

That aunt swag

***cheesy, emotional post starting now***

I got some time off work this past weekend so I rushed home to spend some much needed time with my family… when I first became an aunt, I never imagined how much those little people would mean to me, but truthfully they are my favorite people in this entire world. There's no greater feeling than to hear tiny voices scream, "Tedi! Tedi's here!" as they run into my parent's house… nothing compares to their smiles and giggles and their thousand hugs and kisses.

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Here's a list of reasons as to why I love those tiny people:

1. I get to answer questions that I never imagined having to answer, like "Did you see my teddy bear jump off that table?" or "Can we watch Necklace (Netflix)?" or "Can you take me for a walk without the dogs?" or "Why can't I be a marshmallow instead of an ice cream cone?" They teach me how to be silly while being completely innocent… and while they are growing up and learning all about this world, they are teaching me how to be a lifelong member within the world of childhood. 

2. There are no such things as quick goodbyes. The days of picking up the keys and walking out the door are long gone for my brother and sisters, their new normal consists of asking those little people to put on their shoes a hundred times, to gather their toys and to grab their coats… it means chasing them around, dealing with their cries of refusal and "I need 10 more minutes." It means once they have their shoes on and they're out the door and strapped into carseats, they'll probably have to go potty and the whole process starts all over again. When they leave me or my house, this process is no different… it just also includes a hug and a kiss, an "I'll miss you," and a "When are you coming back?" But it also means I get to respond "After while, crocodile," after a little voice says, "See you later, alligator." They make goodbyes so much harder and sweeter at the same exact time… but more importantly, they make coming home one of my favorite things. 

3. Normal everyday things like putting on makeup and doing my hair consists of a learning process where a thousand more questions are asked, they marvel at simplicity and routine… and remind me how easily I take everything for granted. When I heard my recently potty trained three year old nephew proudly yell, "I washed my hands! I did it all by myself!" as he ran through the house this weekend, my heart melted. I've watched this little boy grow from a newborn child to this little guy who can now do things all by himself. Where did the time go? Their excitement is contagious. They are eager to learn. They love with their whole being. They wear their feelings on their sleeves. They are sassy and sweet, tough and bold, and full of energy… When they do something great, the beam with pride and want the whole world to know. 

4. They want to do everything I do… which makes me want to do everything better. I've never considered myself a role model, ever… but when my niece giggles, "Papa said shit," I quickly realize that every word I say is being soaked up and they are learning, even when I don't pay attention. I know I'm not their parents, but I want to live better, do good, and be the best person I could ever be for them to imitate. My niece already told me, "I'm going to go to Mizzou just like you… and I'll live at your house with you and Macey." I have a duty to encourage future tigers, even if her concept of mizzou only consists of tigers, bounce houses, and pizza places. I want to be someone they can proudly call their aunt. 

5. They are brutally honest. My six year old niece recently asked me how old I was… and when I said I was 23, she asked without even a stutter, "Why aren't you married?" I told her I needed to find someone to love me first and she said, "but I might get too old to be your flower girl by then…" Even she is aware of how painfully sad my love life is… and without fear, she shares her feelings. Through her honesty, she is learning and processing and asking questions, and even if those moments are awkward for people she's calling out, she is taking a stand for her place in the world. Those moments make me proud… especially when she giggles and says, "I'm happy you're not married because then you wouldn't play with me anymore."

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I never knew how much my heart could love until I became an aunt, but I pray I stay their "Aunt Tedi" for as long as possible. I pray I never get too old or too married to sit down and play with these little people… they make goodbyes terribly difficult, sweet weekends not long enough, and the life of homework and college much more depressing. My reality is hard when I live two hours away from them, so because Facebook can't even handle their adorable faces and antics, here's pictures from this weekend.

Selfie game strong.

Snapchat stories are all the rage. 

...because tossing cheeseits in your nieces mouth is better than catching grapes. 

There's always time for chutes and ladders…

it's never too early for painting projects…

Why does my kid have to pay the price for your kid's comfort?

I read an article recently about a parent group trying to overturn the "No Peanut" decision in the public school system where their children attend. The article quoted a parent who said, "I had to tell my daughter who loves peanut butter and jelly that she no longer could enjoy her favorite snack just because of another child's problems. Why does my kid have to pay the price for your kid's comfort?"

As a person who has had a peanut allergy all her life, my question to you is, "Why does your kid's 'comfort' trump my life?"



I posted this picture to my Facebook page last week about running into a store, grabbing a candy bar without paying attention only to get home and realize it was a new addition, "peanut butter twix."As a joke to downplay the allergy, I posted this caption, "Another case of Tedi forgot to pay attention happened again. Oh, how I wished I lived in a peanut free world, where peanut contaminated candy didn't disguise itself to look like normal everyday candy."


Yes, it is obviously printed on the package that it contains peanuts… and thankfully, I am old enough to read it and understand that it isn't something that I can eat… when I actually pay attention. I've lived my whole life with this allergy and am accustomed to carrying Epipens, asking for ingredients in restaurants, reading labels on foods, and avoiding anything that is questionable… to put it simply, I have learned to be extremely cautious. 

Does it always matter? No. 

As a child in an elementary school nearly two decades ago, concerns like mine were not taken seriously. I remember trading lunches with another girl in the first grade only to find out I couldn't eat hers, I remember being surrounded by peanut butter sandwiches at lunch, worried about being touched by another student with peanut butter fingers, and choosing not to raise my hand to answer questions when I knew the reward would be chocolate candy bars that may contain traces of peanuts. There was a time around the third grade when I was told I had to sit at a different table for lunch, away from my friends and classmates, simply because it was the only way I could be guaranteed safety. I learned to hate my allergy, try to hide it from the world, and to be careless in order to fit in… simply because I didn't want to feel like an outcast.

Did being that cautious even matter? No.

I have had countless trips to Emergency Rooms, I have spent many weeks in ICU rooms, I have used Epipens more times than I can count, and I have been exposed accidentally to my allergen because of someone else not being careful. Sometimes it has been my fault for being willing to take the risk, but other times my life has been placed in jeopardy because of someone else's carelessness and refusal to understand the life threatening nature of living with a peanut allergy. 

For me, what I eat and what my food contains is a matter of life and death. I do support taking peanuts out of schools because while I know what to look for on food labels now, children do not. Children want to fit it. Children don't want to be segregated from their friends and have to sit at special lunch tables without their peers. Children touch everything and put their hands in their mouths, which could be a deadly decision. At 23, I still have a hard time choosing foods without peanuts, how do we expect a 5 year old child to always make the right choice? It isn't realistic… especially when we have the choice as adults to make a healthy and safe environment for everyone. 

The article I read made the argument that, "those kids can just carry Epipens…" News flash, world… here's what you don't know about Epinephrine. It is scary. I have laid in hospital beds and ambulances as I could literally feel my heart beating inside my chest. My blood pressure has been dangerously over 250 more times than I can count. Epinephrine is a high dose of pure, man-made adrenaline which causes the body to either fight or shut down. Depending on the allergic reaction, I have experienced both… both extremely painful. It can also cause severe bleeding, lack of clotting, and muscle weakness. Imagine trying to breathe with a swollen throat while your heart is beating so quickly… it may only last a couple minutes, but it feels like an eternity of suffocation. Anyone who has ever had an allergic reaction and has needed an Epipen would tell you that while usually the side effects are minimal, no one would willingly choose that… especially for a child. Your argument is not only invalid, it is bordering on child abuse. 

I do carry an Epipen, several actually... and while yes, they have saved my life countless times… they have also not worked or they have required several doses just to counteract the reaction. Why would we make a child go through that pain if it can be prevented? Anaphylaxis is painful. For me, my throat swells, my chest tightens, my muscles stiffen, breathing is hard, and I can't swallow… there have been times when my lungs stop moving air and my throat has nearly closed completely. Most of the time, it's within minutes of eating an allergen. I've had tubes put down my throat, through my nose, shots in my side, legs, and arms, and oxygen tubes trying to keep my lungs from collapsing. That isn't even including the pain of the shots, IVs, medicines, side effects, and the disruption of normalcy. Is all of that worth it just so your child can eat peanuts?

Let your daughter eat peanut butter and jelly sandwiches when she gets home… teaching her that her comfort matters more than another child's life is setting her up to fail. Teach her about compassion, empathy, and sensitivity instead. I'm not telling you to stop feeding your child peanut butter sandwiches because I can't eat them, I am simply saying, let her eat them at home where my life won't be at risk if I come in contact with her. 

Just in case you are not convinced that this is a real issue, here's some statistics I found:

• Every 3 minutes, a food allergy reaction sends someone to the emergency department – that is more than 200,000 emergency department visits per year. 
• This potentially deadly disease affects 1 in every 13 children (under 18 years of age) in the U.S. That’s roughly two in every classroom.
• Teenagers and young adults with food allergies are at the highest risk of fatal food-induced anaphylaxis.
• Eight foods account for 90 percent of all reactions: milk, eggs, peanuts, tree nuts, soy, wheat, fish and shellfish. Even trace amounts of a food allergen can cause a reaction. Peanuts and tree nuts are the only allergen known to be airborne, which is identified as not needing to be ingested in order to cause a reaction.
• Somewhere around 150 to 200 people die in the U.S. each year because of food allergies. It is estimated that around 50 percent to 62 percent of those fatal cases of anaphylaxis were caused by peanut allergies. Around 75 percent of those fatalities are under the age of 18. 

How many more kids have to die before this is something we actually take seriously? To put it nicely, why does my kid have to pay the price for your kid's comfort?

I'm at a place now where I can joke about my allergy and take silly pictures when I'm sitting in a hospital bed with oxygen on my face and IVs in my arm… I've learned to live life with my allergy and to be cautious on days when I don't want to. I have learned to live with this, to react quickly, and to take it seriously…to occasionally make peanut jokes and to laugh when my dad asks if I want a peanut butter and jelly or rubs his favorite chair down in peanuts just so I'll sit somewhere else. In the process of dealing with this, I have learned to not take myself so seriously, that not everything can be avoided and to laugh when you have to have five different nurses during one night shift just because they accidentally ate something with nuts. But I have learned all of this because I had adults in my life fighting to keep me alive before I even knew what a peanut allergy was… every kid deserves that same voice and a chance to feel safe in their own school, sitting at their lunch table. 

My faith is in Christ, not in the Duggar family.

The Duggar Family 

I started watching the show back when I was still in high school, I think at that time, there were only a few more kids in the family over what was considered "normal," but their message of life and faith was something even I admired as a lost and confused, church-going kid, who has stuck between the struggles of public school chaos and her faith. The Duggar family had a message of hope in a world when Jon and Kate Gosselin's marriage was falling a part, when the Here Comes Honey Boo Boo drama unfolded, and when the Bruce (Caitlyn) Jenner rumors first surfaced… The Duggars boldly professed their faith in God, their unwavering beliefs, and a lifestyle that was different from mainstream America. 

Although the similarities between my own family and the Duggars are very minimal, they somehow captured my attention and the attention of others around the world. They lived differently, somehow more simpler, without any fear of rejection. For many years, they were the standard for "Christian" that I compared myself to. That wasn't due to their fault or wrongdoing, they didn't campaign for followers, they never asked for the world to put their faith in them, they simply wished to share their faith in God on a public platform, and they did it well for almost a decade. 

They shared their family, their joys and hurts, their children's births, courtships, and marriages… They talked of a different lifestyle without much TV or Internet, of homeschooling around the kitchen table, of side hugs, and chosen careers, and the famous Duggar girl curly hair. They stood up against abortion, against gay-marriage, and every other lifestyle that was different from the Bible… In my mind, they were the epitome of a Christian family. 

When the actions of Josh Duggar first made the news, I didn't trust the accusations. They weren't the first to circle around and I took it as any other rumor that had floated around Facebook in the last five years. In fact, I saw the posts for a few days before I even read a single article. Truthfully, I read Josh Duggar's statement before I read anything else… it was one of honesty, repentance, and remorse. 

I would be lying if I said I wasn't disappointed by the actions he made, but to me, in a way, I applauded the family. The way this was dealt with privately, yet publicly is a testimony to their character and their faith in Christ. Did he do a terrible thing? Yes. Did he own up to it? Yes. Was he the one who first went to his parents? Yes. Did his parents get him counseling and treatment? Yes. Did Josh Duggar's heart change? Yes. Was he open and honest with his girlfriend, now wife AND her family? Yes. And perhaps the biggest question of all, was he forgiven from his creator the moment he asked? Yes. 

If Christ did not condemn, who are we, as nothing more than simply viewers of their TV show, to throw the first stone?

The truth in the matter was Josh Duggar was fourteen. 

So… when I read the article this morning about Josh Duggar being a part of the Ashley Madison hacked information, I was once again disappointed by the hypocrisy of this man's words. He has been outspoken against problems our country has, he has been in favor of traditional values, but has secretly been dealing with pornography and has admitted to being "unfaithful" to his wife. At first I was angry. If this family has been a Christian example for the rest of the world, including myself, why would He do this and risk ruining their family's reputation again OR worse, sending thousands away from the message of Christ? 

But then I remembered my own life, and I jumped off my high horse. In the last couple years and specifically in the last couple months, I have preached Christ and his role in my life… but I have also failed miserably as well. Just like Josh, I am a sinner. I may sin much differently than him, but sin is sin and it is still black no matter what it is. 

Who am I to judge? Who am I to throw the first stone? 

As christians, I beg you to rethink, just like I did, to consider that maybe their message of love and Christ is still unwavering and true. Maybe with Josh's bold words against such sins there is STILL truth in that God is still good and He is still forgiving and merciful, simply because Josh knows the redemption and grace God has shown him… even while he was still caught in sin. 

Even in the face of controversy, the Duggar family amazes me in their poise, their faith, and in their honesty. There is no shame in the Gospel of Christ… even if you happen to be a Christian family facing the world's judgement. 

I would be lying if I said that the Duggars haven't disappointed me in the last year, especially Josh, but that's only because I placed them on this perfect pedestal, believing they were without sin… when the reality is that they are just like me and you and everyone else. 

We all fall short. 

Josh Duggar is a sinner and in no way at all am I saying his actions are excusable, but I am simply saying before you cast that stone, take a look at your own life, Christian or not. 

To read the family's statement, click the link below:

http://www.duggarfamily.com/2015/8/statements-from-jim-bob-and-michelle-duggar-and-josh-duggar

A summer of brokenness, redemption, and questions galore…

*Note: My language is sometimes offensive…

After sitting through an orientation for summer missionaries at the end of May, I became painfully aware of how different "my walk" with Christ was from the other students sitting in the room… I think I have always considered myself a "Christian" and when asked about my faith, I usually always replied with a "Christian" answer. I knew enough to talk the talk. 

Just days before I left for that orientation, I was sitting on my driveway after one too many margaritas trying to be coaxed into the house by my patient best friend… She was trying her hardest to convince me to go, to not give up, and to take a chance with God. I, being the typical Tedi Ellis, threw a tantrum on the concrete claiming that, "I just don't want to go" and "God doesn't like me right now." She told me to put my big girl panties on, suck it up, and go… I probably yelled some obscenities at her but I got in the car and I went. 

It was miserable… I doubt I even cracked a smile the entire time. To be blunt, I don't like new people… and I certainly never liked "Christians" even though I claimed to be one. I never associated with "Christians" and I never went out of my way to be friends with any. I never felt accepted by church people. I always felt different… judged like an outsider. I got really good at being fake and hiding behind fake smiles and rehearsed words of wisdom and memorized bible verses. But there was just something about being in a room full of real authentic followers of Christ that turned my heart into a mess and sent my mind running in a thousand different directions. I wanted what they had. 

As I watched the other students singing out and lifting their hands in worship, I realized how different things were… Most importantly, I realized what I was not. I realized quickly that I was not following Christ… or even slightly paying attention to Him. I never prayed about my summer plans, signing up for the summer missions program, or anything, in general really. It was about me, once again doing my best to talk the talk with no intention of ever walking that talk. The moment I got there, I wanted to run away as fast as I could… but I knew on my own, I was a lost cause. 

I was desperate for hope. 

The best thing that anyone has ever done for me happened this summer. I was called out on the bullshit I was trying to hide behind… I couldn't hide behind my pride and bad attitude anymore. The decision for me to leave was not only an answered prayer but the first time my eyes were actually opened to the realness of God. It was the first time I wasn't allowed to just skate on by with no intention of ever truly pursuing God… It was the first time I truly understood and realized a need for a relationship with Jesus Christ. 

Just days after leaving the summer missions program, I gave my life to Christ in the middle of a dark closet, with no one around. I think in all my 23 years on this Earth, that moment was the most honest and sincere that I have ever lived. I realized that no matter how much I wanted to be, that I couldn't be my own savior and that I needed a lord and a savior and a king and that answer was found in Jesus Christ. 

Even though I grew up in a Christian home and in the church, I never actually encountered Christ in a way that was real and life changing until that moment. I slowly have seen my heart transformed and changed and molded in ways I never expected or could have done on my own. However, I am still just as much of a sinner and a screw up than I was five years ago or even just three months ago. I sometimes still have moments when I curse like a sailor and lose self control over worldly things, but I am trying. I know God is at work for that fact alone… In the past, I never actually tried.

If we are being absolutely real, I would tell you that "my walk" is probably still far different than everyone else in that room. To be honest, I just wrote in my journal last week what probably doesn't sound "Christian" enough for most "Christians"…but it was real and an honest look at where my heart is.

"God, I don't really know if I love YOU or not. I don't know where I am, exactly. I love what you did for me when you sent your son to the cross, but I don't love other things that have happened to me that you could have prevented. If you have power over death, then everything else should be trivial for you. I want to love you. I want to serve you. I want to follow you… but God, I don't know if I'm there yet. I don't know if I love you for simply being you, I feel like I only love you for what you did in Jesus and for forgiving me and for saving me from Hell. Is that enough? It doesn't feel like enough… I want to love YOU just because. I want to KNOW you, I really want to know you personally, just like I think you want to know me. I don't know… but please know that I am trying. Help me to love you." 

The awareness I have about myself is becoming more and more as I try to draw closer and closer to my creator, but I still don't have all the answers. I still screw up like it's my job, mess up my witness on a daily basis, and trip over my words. In my opinion, this newfound struggle of trying to know if I truly love God doesn't make me less of a "Christian," because I still believe Christ entered my life back in June when I asked him to. I know where my heart was and I know without a doubt that I was forgiven the moment I asked… with or without knowing all the answers. I want to love God for simply being God, but my heart isn't there yet. Don't get me wrong, I love what He has done for me… I just believe strongly that the relationship I want will come when I figure out how to love Him, not for what He has done, but for who He is. There is absolutely a difference. 

Before I left the summer missions program, one of the leaders told me, "God can handle your anger. I think the first thing you need to do is to get alone with Him and talk it over. You can yell at him, curse at him, pour your heart out… God is big enough to handle your anger." The moment I unleashed the fury of my heart on God, I realized that in me doing so, it wasn't about God for He already knew what my heart felt... it was about me acknowledging God was real and allowing Him to heal my heart. In order for me to let God come into my life, I had to get rid of all the things I was desperately holding onto out of anger. When I finally let the anger out, I realized I took away it's power to control me. 

All of the heartbreak and chaos that this summer has brought, got me to that closet and because of that, I wouldn't change any of it for any reason. This rollercoaster started years ago, it's just that now, I've finally decided to jump out of the driver's seat and let God take over… My only job from here on out consists of me following Him wherever He wants me to go. His plans are far greater than mine.

New beginnings aren't always cute and adorable and easy… but somehow, I do believe that this one will eventually all be worth it. When I doubted God and his existence, He was there. When I admitted I was a sinner and in need of a savior, He was there. When I questioned his sovereignty and his power, He was there. 

I long for the day when I can write of my love for Him… but until then, honesty is where my heart is. Disagree with me all you want, but there isn't a doubt in my mind that although my heart is painfully unaware of where I stand and what I feel… He is there. Luckily for me, my salvation doesn't have anything to do with me or the way I feel, but everything to do with what has already been done for me. His love came first, it has and will always be greater and stronger and deeper than anything I could ever offer. 

He is God and He is so damn good.