Cheese!

So I just realized I never uploaded my real picture that I use for the magazine. It's totally not as cool as the other one (I rather rock a nifty mustache) but I guess it'll do. I hate having my picture taken, so this is as good as it gets. Special thanks to Aimee Dugas Photography for having the patience to get a good shot while I wasn't busy goofing off!

The Secret is Out...

I never thought I’d be writing this, but the day has come. Ladies and gentleman, I have hit the wall. I have writer’s block. I have nothing witty ... or interesting ... or tear-provoking to write about. My creative juice has evaporated in the immense summer heat. So this month, in lieu of a deep and thoughtful column, I’m going to let you in on a little secret of mine. No fair telling others that haven’t read this column. You have to keep it to yourself ...

I’m a people watcher.

Whew! Feels good to get that off my chest! In a conversation the other day with our new sales rep, Lesley, I discovered we share a similar “hobby” of sorts. We enjoy watching people.

At restaurants, in line at the ice cream place, at the ballpark, in the airport—wherever people gather in public. Checking out what people are wearing, imagining where they are going and watching them interact with one another.

My favorite place to people watch is in a busy mall out of town where I am sure to know nobody and just watch as the people go by. Hearing tidbits of their conversations, with each other, to a person on their cell phone, with themselves ... it all leads me to begin to weave intricate stories about those people. I let my imagination and creativity take flight. I come up with fantastic stories about the unsuspecting people that cross my path. I give them names, careers, spouses, children—whatever! Don’t worry, I never write any of these fabricated stories down.

I’ll often ask my regular dining companion, John, “What do you think their story is?” about other people sitting in the restaurants we frequent. It’s an especially good night if I can get him to play along. I was thrilled when the movie “Date Night” included a scene in which the characters do the same thing at dinner. OK, well, maybe I just don’t feel so silly about my secret hobby anymore.

Dear 16-year-old me,

Dear 16-year-old me,

Smile. This year is going to be bigger and more monumental for you than any other. You are entering the 11th grade. You have finally grown into your features and decided to tame your eyebrows despite your mother punishing you. Just don’t get too carried away—full brows will always suit you better. Stay away from the hair dye. Just pluck those few first grays and move on.

Don’t worry about boys. There really are more fish in the sea. Don’t feel like you have to have a boyfriend to fit in. He’s not the one for you, and you will make the right decision.

Every time you wish you weren’t so thin, pinch yourself. The people that question why you are so thin are the ones that are in a personal struggle with their own weight.

Treasure your friends. Life takes some unexpected turns after high school, and you are almost 30 before you reconnect with these girls. They do like you for exactly who you are, not who you think they want you to be. Go to the parties, but stay true to yourself. And no matter what anyone says, you CAN be just friends with a guy.

Go a little easier on your parents. They are new to this, too. They may not always have the right things to say, and you may swear you are leaving on that first train out after graduation, but they will turn out to be your biggest supporters, no matter what you decide to do.

Don’t start smoking. You end up not quitting until you are 26.

Never stop writing. You end up doing that as a career! Keep reading. It helps you in more ways than you will ever know. People, even your own family, will pick on you for your wealth of useless knowledge. In your late twenties, something called Buzztime Trivia is in every bar and restaurant. You will ROCK this and impress lots of people.

Overall, treasure these moments. You are a very serious teenager. Loosen up a bit. Life is meant to be LIVED! You are strong, and I’m proud to tell you that you do make all the right decisions.

Press Photo

Every serious writer needs a press photo. You know, a head shot, to send along with works to be published. I am terrible at taking serious pictures. The photograph will inevitably get one terrifically silly shot that I beg to use. This is that shot. And Yes, I got shot down when I asked to use it in the Magazine. boo.

Happy Wednesday! Here's to finding the silly side of you!

Chosen

Lately many of the blogs I follow have been chatting about adoption, specifically Africa and the orphans in that country. Reading their stories and experiences has been breaking my heart. But in some ways, it has also forced me to look inward and examine exactly what adoption means to me. Being an adopted child, not internationally, but right here in Louisiana, has played a major role in my life. Whether I want to admit it or not, it was tough being told at age 11 that I was adopted. Imagine everything that you know as true, all of a sudden, isn’t any more. Your parents aren’t related to you. Your brother isn’t your brother by blood. Everyone has been keeping this HUGE secret from you all this time. It took me until nearly the age of 26 to finally realize the best part of being adopted.

I was chosen.

Ephesians 1:3-6 says: “Praise be to the God and Father of our Lord Jesus Christ, who has blessed us in the heavenly realms with every spiritual blessing in Christ. For He chose us in Him before the creation of the world to be holy and blameless in His sight. In love He predestined us to be adopted as His sons through Jesus Christ, in accordance with His pleasure and will—to the praise of His glorious grace, which He has freely given us in the One He loves.”

Just as God chooses to allow us to enter into His family as adopted sons and daughters through faith in His son Jesus Christ, my parents chose (and were chosen by God) to add a daughter to their family through the miracle of adoption.

To know and feel this love in my heart is an amazing thing. My parents went through a tough time and miles and miles of seemingly unanswered prayers while trying to start a family. But God had a plan. He planned to place a beautiful baby girl (me, of course) directly into their laps as an answer to prayer they had forgotten to pray. And in their infinite wisdom, they chose. They chose to keep this precious gift and to raise her as their own. So much their own, that telling her any differently seemed like a lie. I was as much theirs as the next one, a little brother, that God blessed them with a mere 16 months later. And our family was complete.

Today, I awake and thank God every day for blessing me with this family. They are the miracle I hope my birth mother prayed for. To this woman, I also say a prayer of thanks for being strong enough to give me up. The greatest gift, the gift of life, can never be repaid. I hope she knows that.

To parents considering adopting a child, I hope God answers your prayers. It will not always be easy, but with your love and His, your child will be forever thankful.

Who wouldn’t want to be chosen?

My Mood These Days...

I really think this just sums it up. I have some seriously great plans. I know where I'm going.

Do you?

Kiss Me, I'm Irish!

March’s most popular holiday is St. Patrick’s Day. It used to be one of my most favorite days too. Green is my favorite color and I have a thing for four-leaf clovers. Many years ago, I wore a t-shirt around my Grandmother that said “Kiss Me, I’m Irish!” She looked at me and said, “That’s true, you know. You are part Irish.” Of course, I had no idea, but it made me all the more proud to wear that shirt.

Recently, my dad began to work on our family tree. He signed up for a popular website and threw himself into the research of his past. It was incredible to see how far back a person could really trace their history. This particular website had actual scans of original census records, military records and draft cards. On the draft cards, we could actually see the signature of my great-great grandfather.

It was amazing to see where family names come from. My father and brother’s middle name was actually a family surname at one point. It was apparently lost in a generation where there were no males to carry it on and became a middle name.

My grandmother was right, our family can trace its origins back to Ireland. So look for me on St. Patrick’s Day, celebrating my heritage like my ancestors would want me to. I’ll be playing green-beer pong at Mahony’s Irish Pub. Sláinte!