The truth about "Everything Happens For a Reason"

“Everything happens for a reason” 

 Every time I hear this line it makes my skin crawl. Partly because, yes, it’s true. Everything happens for a reason. But sometimes, just sometimes, there is a second part to that truth. Everything happens for a reason, and sometimes the reason is that God gave people agency to make terrible decisions. 

The sentence “Everything happens for a reason” makes it sound like every decision that you make, or worse, that people make to you, was INTENDED to happen. But that simply isn’t true. So let me take time to say things I think you need to hear.

 God didn’t intend for you to be used against your will, to be molested, bullied, raped, beat, or manhandled by someone.

 God didn’t intend for your spouse, loved one, or family member to desert you.

 God didn’t intend for your loved one to die from a drunk driver, a shooting, a murder, or for either of you to be injured by the actions of someone else.

God did not INTEND for you to go through misery, pain, and suffering because someone else made that decision for you. You were not put on this earth just to have that happen. No, he didn’t and wouldn't do that to you. He allowed it to happen, yes, but allowing and intending are two different things.

 I give you two examples. One is a nerdy, Harry Potter Spoiler alert, and the other is a long, somewhat confusing story. Pick your poison, choose your own adventure.

 This is something that I struggled with for a long time. I heard the phrase over and over, and all I could think about was the people that God saved. If everything was to happen for a reason, and some people were able to be saved from my situation, then God must have intended me to be hurt. And if he intended hurt and pain at the hands of someone else, then he must not like me very much. It’s extremely hard to trust someone that you believe wishes you harm. The phrase “Everything happens for a reason” made me feel attacked. The thing I wish someone had said to me instead was “There is nothing that you go through that God can’t consecrate for your good.” 

Yes, heartache and pain are part of this life. Heavenly Father knows you are going to go through them. He lets them happen because it’s part of your growing process. As CS Lewis says “The real problem is not why some pious, humble, believing people suffer, but why some do not”. He doesn’t let anything come your way that he can’t rescue you from, or you can’t find your way out of.

Anything that happens to you can become your own Phoenix rising from the Ashes. I’ve seen a girl, who was abused by her father and she used those experiences to do the opposite of him and become the best mom I’ve ever seen in my life. I’ve seen people who struggled with addiction become counselors at rehabilitation facilities. I don’t think God intended Elizabeth Smart to be kidnapped and raped, but he knew that when all was said and done she would be able to rise from that experience and become an outspoken advocate against rape culture in religion and a personal example to many women in the church. I don’t wish those experiences on her, but I am grateful for her example as a pioneer for women because of everything she’s been though.

 God loves you. I have wrestled, grappled, and fought with this truth for all of my life. I have felt that it was impossible. That due to who I was, what I’d done, and what he allowed to have happened to me in my life that this fact had to be false. It was true of other people, but never of me. I have heard many of you say this of yourselves as well and I have cried with you. Because I knew that no matter what I said you would not hear me. I know, because I had been there. But I ask you this question- why would God create you already deficient? Do you think that there is anything on this earth the Savior has not experienced with you? And if God allowed his only begotten to suffer that with you, don’t you think he has a plan for you on how to move past it, better than before?

 I debated whether or not to write this, and then Brayden, the very person who helped me find my own answers, recently sent me the passage above.  General conference talked about turning to God. And I kept trying to scream at the top of my lungs to everyone “GOD LOVES YOU.” He knows where he’s leading you, despite the roadblocks along the way. He knows what those trials can lead you to become. He knows that the very things that feel like they are going to break you are the ones that might turn you into warriors, healers, teachers, and examples of him. He knows how to comfort you, he knows how to heal your broken pieces, and he understands the pain and anger you feel. He never INTENDED for you to be hurt. But he intends to help you become better from it. He will consecrate all things for your good. “Know thou, my son, that all these things shall give thee experience, and shall be for thy good”.

There is no bad thing on this earth that God can’t use for his purposes of good. He can turn every difficult thing into something useful. The way I see it, every prophet in the scriptures lived through their fair amount of trials. Those trials didn’t reflect God’s lack of love, care, or insight. So I’m sorry. I am sorry for you that have had agency hold you down, steal your happiness, your breath, and your faith. I have been there. But don’t cut out the one person that knows how to make it right. It’s okay in the end if you don’t make it out the same as before, but don’t distance yourself and allow yourself to be bitter. I know it’s the easier path, but you haven’t seen the Phoenix God intends to make of you yet.

Of Blankets and Hands

I guess it’s a tradition now to do a yearly blog post. Predictably in January or April. And I went back on forth on whether or not I should post this. Because honestly? I am very secretive about my testimony. I don’t bare it in church, I don’t post talks that inspire me, and I try not to talk about my faith too much. I think a major reason is that I know my testimony is weak compared to the amazing people I surround myself with. My testimony isn’t this complete perfect thing that I hear and see from others.

Said Blanket fort. 

I have a favorite quilt. It was hand stitched with love from an old Young Women’s leader. And I have had that quilt with me since high school when I started coming back to church. It has been across states, countries, and in all types of conditions. It has been my warmth on late night dates to drive in movies, the only thing between me and a rocky floor while camping, it has been used in the building of the most epic blanket fort ever, it has soaked up tears, mascara, sand, spilt hot chocolate. It is worn from going through the wash forty times, and has holes from all the times I’ve rubbed it between my fingers on restless nights. But it’s been the only constant object I have had since high school. Most of the time I didn’t even realize I was carrying it with me. I just needed some sort of blanket and it was the only one in my possession. It had served me well in the past, so I relied on it. When we found out Sister Kearsley, the wonderful woman who made it, was sick, someone asked all the girls to send a picture of them with their blankets, I balked at the idea of sending a picture of me with the quilt. It’s fraying,  covered in small rips and tears, has mysterious spills I don’t want to discern. “Oh no,” I thought. “There is no way I am showing how terribly I treated this fantastic gift she gave me. All of the other pictures are going to be girls showing spotless quilts.” And I didn’t do anything. 

And then when I found she passed away, I felt a deep sense of shame.

The picture I should have sent. 

I should have shown my tattered, dirty, soiled, LOVED quilt. It has been with me through first kisses, it was the only thing for me to grab on to in the plane ride to the biggest journey of my life, and it’s been my pillow in many car trips. It was not perfect, but it was always there, always appreciated. I don’t think she gave it to me expecting that it would come through the journey of life spotless, I think it was more important to her that it came on the journey to begin with. Some of the other recipients were more respectful of the gift they had. They kept it inside, treasured its workmanship but my road was filled with lots of rocks and bumps. Regardless of the many twists and turns, that quilt was with me. While I didn’t go around bragging about my quilt, the people closest to me know exactly what blanket I’m talking about. It was one of the most dependable things of my life, and as such I took it for granted.

I can’t tell her the difference of having it meant. I lost that chance to my own insecurity. But my testimony, much like the quilt, has seen me through my journey. It's rough around the edges, sometimes in worse repair than others, but it's still my constant companion. And I still have the responsibility to the giver who gave me all to share it, imperfect as it is. 

I am not going to go up to a pulpit and bear it to a bunch of people. Not yet, anyways. But instead I’m going to take the time and do it in my own personal way. And anyone who knows me at all knows I can talk in circles, so I apologize in advance for the long, wordy, winded post. 

Isaiah 49 15 Can a woman forget her sucking child, that she should not have compassion on the son of her womb? yea, they may forget, yet will I not forget thee.

 16 Behold, I have graven thee upon the palms of my hands; thy walls are continually before me.

I always hated the phrase “like the back of my hand” because, honestly? Who really knows the back of their hand. Can you name all the veins, every small pore? No. But, on my right hand I have a scar on my knuckle. And if you asked me to draw it out, I can’t draw, but I think I would still get it right every time. That’s how well I know that scar. Every time I look down at my hands, I see it. I’ve heard when you get tattoos in visible places it’s much the same, you know every line, every part which you wish was shaded differently, you know every edge that’s not unblemished skin. And while the scripture literally means he has scars on his palms from the cross, it's more than that. 

He also has scars on his feet, in his side, but those aren’t the marks he makes reference to. It’s his hands. The first thing Thomas wanted to do when he saw Christ was resurrected was to assure himself by touching him. And from the very beginning, hands have been tied into the very essence of understanding. If we could but touch, we could be healed.  Hands are probably the body part we see the most of ourselves in our day to day interactions. We watch as our hands do things- type, eat, read, write, serve, hug, hold other peoples hands, shake hands. It’s with our hands first that most actions are accomplished, that we touch, feel, grasp and come to understand objects and people around us. And to think Jesus spends every day looking at the mark of us on his hands, at the scars he knows so well, and see’s us. We are literally imprinted on the skin of our Savior. We are engraved in his very being. He died so he can look at your mark on his skin, and think of you. He is ready to serve us, his hands are outreached to us, those same hands that are scarred because of us, but more importantly- for us.

Sometimes you need someones help to climb a wall..

But what’s more than that? Our walls are continually before him.

Now I am sure I am misinterpreting this scripture completely, (part of the reason I don’t bare my testimony at the pulpit, thank you), but there are all types of walls. But the most common types of walls I can think of are the ones we build around ourselves. And everyone has them. Some are small wire rimmed gates that blow open and closed with the wind, some are low brick walls you have to just slightly jump to get over. Some are lego walls, constantly changing shapes depending on the day and mood of the person. Some are mighty fortresses that only bombs or valiant warriors can chip away at. As many people, with the highest and sturdiest of walls will tell you, sometimes those walls are not there to keep people out, but to keep pieces of yourself in. Because typically the people with the highest of walls have learned the hard way that it’s easy to give too much of yourself away and not be given anything in return to fill the empty spaces with. And thus we add a few more layers every time we fear the essence of ourselves is escaping and we hoard it within our fortresses.   

But the Lord, the one who wants to give us everything, to just fill those empty spaces, he just keeps running into our walls. Imagine loving someone so much that your whole life revolves around them, they shun you, spit on you, kill you, and even after you continue to love and do anything for them? In any other circumstance we’d consider that a unhealthy relationship, and urge that person to put up some walls, to think of themselves. But the Lord? Has no walls. He has not let our hatred, spite, malice, indifference, or any myriad of indifference keep us from his love. We do that ourselves. We build up walls to keep us away from his love, and he waits patiently on the other side for us. Sometimes he sends the right people to help us tear down the walls, or to invade our deepest fortresses. And in very rare cases, he climbs the walls himself to reach us on the other side.

I've improved my wall climbing skills. 

As I cried to my bishop about how far I felt from the Savior, how undeserving I felt, he listened patiently and explained a simple principle to me. In my life, I have experienced selfless love. But I have also known quite a bit of conditional love. I was loved based on what I could do for the other person, what I could give, how good the circumstances were. And I have been mistakenly assuming the love from God and the Savior was the same way. And in my head I wasn’t serving the Savior with everything I had. I saw the way other people excelled at serving the Lord and I always fell short. And thus, I couldn’t be deserving of the type of love I desired. 

But it was just my walls before him. His love isn’t conditional. And that’s a hard concept for me to understand. There is no way to earn his love, to deserve it, to speak the love languages up to heaven to obtain it. It’s there. It’s been there all along. I’m written on his palms. 

Mormon 5:23- Know ye not that ye are in the hands of God?

And as anyone can tell you, the only way to obtain selfless love is to always strive to be worthy of the love you are given. I will never be worthy of the blessings of the sacrifices, but to acknowledge them, to try and match them in my own ways- that's the first step of breaking down the walls.

And I say these things, in the name of Jesus Christ, amen. 

To My Father Who Told Me Sexism Doesn't Exist

TO MY FATHER WHO TOLD ME SEXISM DOESN'T EXIST- Here is a look at my education.

In kindergarten a boy pulled my pig tails and tripped me. I got skinned knees. When the teacher found me sobbing she told me he must have done it because he liked me. She didn’t punish him, but instead encouraged me to give him a break for his actions. That’s when I learned that boys intentions were more important than my perception of them. That it was more important for me to be nice, than to be physically safe. 

In second grade a boy named Nicholas used to make witty comments during every class, which earned him the title of class clown. Everyone laughed when he spoke. There was one girl- Julie, that had the same sense of humor. But she had to be quieter about her jokes. The teacher laughed at and encouraged Nick’s jokes, whenever Julie did it the teacher would shut her down, or chastise her. That’s when I learned that there was a language difference between boys and girls.

When I was in third grade there was a boy that told me he liked me. I told him I didn’t feel the same. And so he started to attack me. Daily he would point out my choppy haircut, my furry eyebrows, my hairy arms, and my peach fuzz on my face. He never attacked my character, just my appearance. And he told me because of my failings in my appearance no one would ever love me. I told the teacher, but she just told me he was wrong, I was beautiful. As if that was the fault in his actions- the truthfulness of his words- not the words alone. I called him four eyes, and got called to the principals office for bullying. But for months after he had his friends continue to tell me how ugly I was. After that I learned that it was better to suck up to boys you don’t like and pretend there is a chance, than deal with their reaction to your rejection. 

The first week of fourth grade, I got called to the principals office for a math test- because the teacher didn’t think I should have gotten such a high score. There was a boy, Dan, who sat on the opposite side of the classroom, who had all the same answers as me. And the whole experience in the principals offices seemed like an accusation. By the end of it I wasn’t convinced that I hadn’t cheated anymore. Because somehow it was more believable that I could read papers from across the room than be talented in math. After that I learned that different ares of education had gender attachments to them as well. 

In fifth grade we worried about going into middle school. Because, for the first time,it would be all three local schools combined. When we went to multi school events, I was told I had to glare at the pretty girls because they were “competition”. The day was a minefield of stink eyes from girls who knew nothing about each other and some unspoken agreement that someone else’s appearance somehow made your own less important. That’s when I learned I wasn’t even protected by my own. 

In sixth grade our teacher used to drop pencils and make girls in skirts pick them up. He told one of my friends her grade would be raised if she wore short shorts more often so he could see 
her “nice long legs”. When word got out we were called to the vice principal’s office. Which is where he proceeded to tell us how wrong it was to accuse good married men of such things. We had to continue the rest of the year with a teacher who would make us do “morning stretches” as he went around the room to evaluate us, his arms always lingering on my friends back. That’s when I learned that “The Boy who Cried Wolf” was a more socially valued story than “Little Red Riding Hood”.

When I was in seventh grade I was pulled aside by a teacher who told me I was too bossy. He encouraged me to stop talking altogether in class, and to let others lead. The funny part? There were no activities for which to lead or follow. He was making the statement based on how often I answered questions in class. So I stopped talking in class altogether. Later, when he gave me a poor grade in class, his reasons were that I hadn’t participated enough. That’s when I learned my voice was only valued when it was asked for. 

When I was in eighth grade I asked why we couldn’t read a book with a female protagonist. I was told that most of the books like that were trivial and focused solely on romances and drama that boys wouldn’t be interested in. That’s when I learned that it would be harder for me to be able to find myself accurately reflected in the world around me. 

In freshman year I had a reputation for being a prude. But there was a boy I really liked. The one day he asked me out, I found out that I was only asked out because there was a dare that he could be the first to get into my pants. That’s when it solidified that to most men in my life I would be an object as opposed to a person. 

In Sophomore year our teacher split us up into groups, and each group was named for a male in that group. In our group, we only had one boy so we were Matt’s group. Matt had no interest in the subject, or the assignment so I took over as leader. My teacher pulled me aside and told me I should let Matt lead because he was going to need more experience with it. Whether he meant the subject material, or leading in general I have no idea. So I went back to the table and stayed silent. Matt did as well. In the end, all of us girls did all the work in a jumble without a leader. But we stayed Matt’s group, and Matt got the praise when we got a B+. That’s when I learned my biggest success would always be expected to be tied with a man. 

In Junior year, all my doctors continually treated me like I was a drama queen, or had mental health problems when I said I was going through immense pain. It took three doctors, three prescriptions of unneeded antidepressants, and five specialists until ONE finally took me seriously enough to operate. Turns out I had the worst case endometriosis the doctor had ever seen, cysts the size of bowling balls, and had to have my appendix removed. That same year my friend swore something was wrong with his ankle, and had it operated within a week. They found nothing, but continued doing tests until he said the problem disappeared. That’s when I learned that my pain wasn’t considered real until there was proof.

In Senior year I went to a party and had someone slip something in my drink. I blacked out. But I was promptly informed the next day that while everyone at the party knew I was on something, it took thirty minutes before a friend decided to take me home. Only after I’d tried to take my clothes off in a room full of people I didn’t know, hit on a friend’s boyfriend, and kissed a stranger. I woke up with accusations of being a terrible friend, and a promiscuous person. The relief I felt that no one took advantage of me while I was roofied, was underscored by the realization that everyone knew and blamed me for my drugged out actions more than they blamed the person who drugged me. That’s when I learned it’s easier to blame one girl than an entire system.

When I was a different kind of freshman I went to my ward bishop when I was feeling guilty about some personal decisions. He asked for the males name with the events and I refused to give it- I was confessing my own misdeeds not someone elses. He continued to tell me that it wasn’t my fault, that I couldn’t have known what I was doing and that the only way I could have been in that situation was by coercion from someone else. That’s when I learned that someone else always got credit for my actions- even my bad decisions.

In my sophomore year a friend of mine dated an abusive boy. He used to tear her down, make her feel small. He tore her down chip by chip and used those chips of her self worth to bring himself back up. When I tried to tell her family- because I feared for both her safety and mental wellbeing, they told me I was jealous of their relationship and that he was a good match for her because he “evened her out.” Like she was a bread he could shape and mold. That’s when I learned that happy ever afters were more important than the sacrifices they called for. 

When I was a junior I had a boy kiss me that I didn’t want to kiss. I tried to pull away, but he held me tight against him. When he started going further I cried “Wait. Please. Stop.” But he just laughed and continued grinding me deeper into the couch, as tears streamed down my face. It wasn’t until I yelled, “GET OFF AND GET OUT OF MY HOUSE.” That he finally let me go with a “You don’t have to be a bitch about it” and a look to where my roommates rooms were to check none of them had heard. That was the first time, but certainly not the last or the worst, where I truly understood that while I might move my limbs, and muscles, it wasn’t hard for someone else to claim ownership over them. 

My last senior year I was told I was going to be promoted, only to be told in front of everyone that I didn’t get the promotion but another girl had. When I asked why I was told that the main manager felt more comfortable working with a married girl. That’s when I learned that sometimes the qualifications aren’t qualifications that should affect how I do my job.

When I was a child rape was a joke or a scary nightmare that seemed impossible but now I know more women who have been sexually assaulted than people who have been outside the United States. And these women? Are encouraged to be quiet, because we don’t know how to handle their pain. 

I personally have been denied equal education, equal voice, equal pay, equal rights in the workplace, equal healthcare treatment, and equal respect. In my life I have been physically injured attempting to escape from someone heckling me, I have had to fake engagements for people to leave me alone because they can not understand my ownership of myself, I have been stalked because someone else saw me as their possession, I have been violated, I have been injured. And yet you continue to tell me my voice doesn’t matter. 

Well my education may support that- but I don’t.

Dating and the Rice Crispy Theorem

Forward- For all my Australian friends asking what is a Rice Crispy Treat? Leave a comment and I shall make you one. For all my American friends- hell and damn aren't considered cuss words here. So.....  I wrote this like two months ago in my journal and thought why not share? 

The problem with most of the men in my life is that I have loved them like I have loved Rice Crispy Treats.

If you were to ask me if I love Rice Crispy Treats my mind automatically goes to all the other sweets out there. I picture warm gooey brownies, tuffs of custard pillowing over the edge of a cream puff, melted caramel dripping over the edge of a fresh made cake. But Rice Crispy Treats?

"Ya I guess...."

When I am at a party and there are Rice Crispy Treats my odds on eating them are entirely dependent on the other desserts. If all I have is chips and salsa, or lumpy chocolate chip cookies to choose from- sure I may grab the crispies. But chances are, I won't. Even if the party has nothing but Rice Crispy Treats, I will typically hold out hope that a cheesecake might walk through the door. And I wouldn't want to be the sucker who got full off of the pre dessert and missed out on the real thing.

But I have eaten them before. In moments of desperation, they seem to appear. The first bite- I am always genuinely surprised. And soon (whether because I'm hungry or I start to enjoy it more than I anticipated)the entire glass pan will disappear. And if I know someone else wants one after I've taken the first bite, I will fight for the damn dessert like it's a creme brûlée.

Before long the whole tray has been eaten, and I am lying in my bed hating myself for the waste of calories. All I can think about is how I am still not convinced I actually love Rice Crispy Treats. I know I loved it in that moment, I did. I even fought for it. But when alone with a stomach ache, I just feel like saying 'I love Rice Crispy Treats' is just too big of a commitment. Because if I say I love Rice Crispy Treats, people might make that my designated "Give to Lexi to be nice food" and I'd much rather have other desserts. As my stomach churns, I wonder why I ever even ate Rice Crispy Treats to begin with. And I swear off it.

But then I become hungry again.

I just wish I could love Rice Crispy Treats as much as I love pumpkin pie. Hell, I wish I could love boys as much as I love pumpkin pie.

And on that note I am off to make a dessert. The only things I have the ingredient to make are Pumpkin Pie and Rice Crispy Treats. One would take hours- what with whipping the cream, hand making the crust, and letting it sit, and baking for an hour. The other takes seconds..... and we all know I do hate waiting.

Same Named Besties

Notice the signs.....

Growing up I didn’t meet a lot of other Lexi’s. There was one that was two years younger than me that had a questionable reputation which thankfully made it easy for most people not to get us confused at all, and another that was around my sisters age. But that was it. I never interacted with these two girls and my life was relatively confusion free.

Flash forward years later and my best friends name is also Lexie. I live in an apartment where 75% of us are named Alexandra, and Lexie and I have recently become close with yet another Lexie. Everywhere I go I feel like I am meeting another Lexie, Lexi, Lexy, or Lecksi. So what is it like to have a best friend with your same name?

What it’s like to be best friends with someone with the same name as you 


  The first time you meet your name twin you are ready to do battle. Somewhere inside of you, you feel like only one person can have that name in a group and you are ready to prove that it should be you. You have to take home the title, screw friendships.

But then you actually talk to them and realize that they aren’t trying to take your identity- they just happen to have the same name.

         And the more you hang out with them people take it for granted that you two are best friends because of that tie binding you. It’s like being twins- you can’t not be the closest with your name twin.

c       And it is that very same thing that gives you a tie that other friendships don’t have. You both had variations of the same nick names growing up, and you both have something that brings you together.

        People don’t believe you when you first meet them. They act as if it’s that hard for our parents to have chosen the same popular name in the nineties and even more unlikely for us to have found each other. Also you feel the need to tell them if you spell it differently.

       Cue the stupid questions. My favorite? “Wait…. If you two are both Lexi, how will people tell you apart?” Um… because we have different faces?

          You do become a package and get cool nicknames that go along with it. Ours include, the Sexy Lexys', the Naked Lexies', the blonde Lexis'.

You can start to tell which one people are addressing by the way they say it. You are different people. People will treat you differently and overtime you realize the different ways people talk to each of you. In our groups of friends I can almost always tell which one they are referring to by the tone they use.

        Some people have a hard time and decide to a)number you like cattle (which is always offensive if you aren’t number one) B) Call you by your last names (which just reminds you of school sports), or c) give you nicknames to tell you apart

.

    You randomly forget that you have the same name, and turn around when someone you don’t know is trying to talk to your friend. You also forget it isn't normal until you start meeting new people. And then they, and you forget until the next time.

.   Whenever you talk about your best friend- everyone assumes you are talking in third person.

      You start to want to collect people of the same name. And everyone with the same name intrigues you. Oh we can add ANOTHER Lexie to the group? She will fit right in.

  

    People confuse your stories. I have been asked if I was dating the other Lexie’s boys, and heard stories related about me that really were about the other two. People have loved me based on reviews they heard of my friend, and hated my friend based on things that they had heard about me. 

     

       People will become worried about where you stand in pictures, and want to be in the middle of your "same name sandwich". 

      You will meet people of the opposite sex who will relay to their friends that they want to date one of you and then you will play the game of trying to figure out which. We have had to ask numerous boys if they had the right one of us. 

    You have a hard time deciphering who the flowers on the doorstep, or notes in the mail are to if they don't have last names. 

   Your other friends will pretend to be thankful to “have their own identifier”- but       deep inside they will wish they could go back in time and whisper the name into their mother ear just so they can join your party. And you make jokes about making them an honorary same name so they can join your group. Because honestly- your group is awesome.

#Youcanneverhavetoomanylexies

      OH and the Lexi(e)'s are always taking applications for new Lex(i)(y)(ie)'s.

Advice from an Older Sister (100 things I wish someone told me)

Life Advice To My Sister

    1.       Every person you meet has something they can teach you.

    2.       Have one song you dance to in your underwear.

    3.       Make sure when you dance in your underwear that your blinds are closed.

    4.       Budget your money so that you always have the funds to go to any special event or dinner that your friends invite you to.

     5.       Make sure you always own one waffle iron. You will need it.

    6.       Don’t be afraid to experiment with makeup. Wear sparkles while you are young.

7.       When you are with other people, put down your phone. Listen to what they are saying. 

8.       You are never too old to wear a tutu/dress up crazy with friends.

9.       Compliment your fellow girls instead of trying to compete with them.

10.   Stick out one job that you hate for at least six months.

11.   Whitening strips are worth the money. (But try to find coupons).

12.   Kiss a boy you don’t intend to date.

13.   Take pictures.

14.   You could be the best damn carrot in the world but sometimes  they are just looking for broccoli.

    15.   Exercise.

    16.   Recognize that not everyone who comes into your life and means something is meant to be in your life forever.

    17.   Always wash off your makeup at night.  

     18.   Have one expensive perfume that you keep for special occasions. (I recommend Aqua Di Gioia)

    19.   Pray.

20.   Listen more than you talk when it comes to politics. And remember that very few people do this.

21.   Keep the number of people you dislike to one hand

22.   Newest isn’t always best. Watch old movies, read old books, listen to old music, wear old fashion.

23.   Use coconut oil and aloe vera on your hair as a night mask.

24.   Don’t complain about the same thing to more than two people.

25.   Learn how to cook.

26.   Put away money with every paycheck. You never know when you will need it.

27.   It’s okay to wear leggings as pants, as long as your crotch is covered by your shirt.

28.   Never be the one doing the chasing.  

29.   Recognize that people around you, and the media themselves, are always try to spin things the way they want you to look at them. Research all angles and stories before you decide what you believe.

30.   Find the cheap place to buy produce near you. Eat your produce before you eat your junk food.

31.   Have a stash of chocolate in your house.

32.   Try to have gum, deodorant, scissors, ibuprofen, lip gloss, and contact solution in your purse.

33.   Keep mementos throughout your life- old love letters, notes passed in class, concert tickets.

34.   People will sin different than you. It is not your place to pass judgments.

35.   Buy Nars Orgasm blush, and white mac eyeliner.

36.   When you are sad think of something you would like someone to do for you, and then instead do it for someone else.

37.   Don’t drastically change your look after a breakup. Pretend you couldn’t care less.

38.   Don’t buy clothes that are hand wash only if  you won’t hand wash them. 
39.   Make an effort to keep going to girls nights, yoga, and book club even when you have a boyfriend. 
40.   Buy your cleaning products and cooking pans from the dollar tree.

41.   Don’t ever tell someone they “look sick”.

42.   Understand you are going to spend a lot of money on bridesmaid dresses, and they will never be cute.

43.   Don’t shop at the grocery store when you are hungry.

44.   Know the lyrics of “Everyone to Free to Wear Sunscreen” by heart.

   45.   When you are crying and you don’t want to be, demand yourself to keep crying. Our brains our naturally wired to say “Don’t cry” when we are crying- so think the opposite. Also- you can cry over broken makeup, roommate drama, sad tv shows and movies, but NEVER cry over a boy.

   46.   Honor the sacred holiday of Galentines Day.

    47.   Have a library card and USE IT.  

48.    When you shave your legs- show them off. It will become less of   a common occurrence.

49.   When you feel ugly- put on sexy underwear.

50.   Own a heating pad and a humidifier. 

51.   Let karma take care of people.

52.   Buy ginger beer for when you are sick. If there is a miracle drug it is that and Sudafed.

53.   Don’t share your personal issues on facebook, twitter, or any   place where it can come back to haunt you.

54.   Instead make a crazy music video with a friend and put that up.  

https://www.facebook.com/photo.php?v=10202000013547936&set=vb.1413640843&type=2&theater

55.   There is no such thing as a condom for your heart. 

56.    Be prepared that Laser Hair Removal probably won’t work no matter how much you want it to.

57.   Read reviews online first.

58.   Everybody looks dumb when they dance at clubs. Do it anyways.

59.   Don’t get your hopes up that your parents, doctors, or teachers   will have the answers to everything. You will be utterly disappointed.

60.   Buy silk sheets.

61.   Rock out in your car. I can’t count the amount of time boys in nearby cars have tried to get my number after watching me go   crazy to Britney Spears.

62.   Go to the local theater.

63.   Build credit at a young age.

64.   Be a roommate that cleans up after herself. This will greatly decrease your house drama.

65.   Use febreeze to kill ants.

66.   Sometimes it hurts more to be the first one to walk away.

67.   If you wouldn’t buy it that day, donate it.

   68 In college- it’s okay to flirt with your TA’s or tutors for study help.

   69.  Don’t judge a hole in the wall restaurant by its ambiance. When you find good ones they are a million times better than any chain.

   70.    Keep in contact with your childhood friends, even when distance seems to have turned you into two different people.

   71.   Be careful before living with your “best friends”.

72.   Have two bright lip colors you love.

73.   With boys- you are damned if you kiss them too early and damned if you kiss them too late. So don’t worry about the right timeline of it all. Just do what feels right, and what you want. 
74.   Never tan your face.

75.   Own a small hot glue gun. You never know when it will come in handy.

76.   Get boys to take out the trash for you. I know you can do it yourself, but let them. 

77.   Take bubble baths.

78.   Cold spoons out of the freezer decrease puffy eyes. 

79.   Don’t stay in a relationship where you feel like you are just waiting for the other shoe to drop. It
will. 
80.    ALWAYS CHOOSE DARE, AND ALWAYS DO IT.  
81.   Youth doesn’t make you invincible. You are going to have friends and family die. When they do, there is no “right way” to grieve.

82.   Knowing that, you should be excessive with I love you’s.

83.   Don’t be afraid of moving to a place where you don’t know anyone.

84.   Have one dorky obsession.

85.   Have one nice pea coat. (Or forty).

86.   Go skinny dipping, streaking, and dance parties in sprinklers at night. Preferably on a golf course.

87.   Be loud when someone is demeaning your beliefs. You might stand alone- but do it.

   88.   Don’t hold grudges. If you say you forgive someone- you have no right to hold it over their head.

   89.   Don’t bail on people. If you make plans stick to them.

   90.   Pay for your friends meals every now and then.

   91.   Extreme diets never work. Try to eat healthy, but also don’t deprive yourself of ice cream or cake when you need it emotionally.

   92.   Own a pair of super soft sweatpants- if only for the worst days.

93.   Don’t be afraid to fail faster. 

94.   Support your friends and family. Go to their plays, soccer games, band practices, no matter how boring.

95.   Learn how to sell.

96.   Cold water removes stains. Vinegar removes   the stinky towel smell. Chalk or baking soda removes oils.

97.   It’s okay to copy store mannequins if you really like their outfit.

98.   Own The Harry Potter series, a copy of the Bible, a Sarah Dessen Novel, and Why Men Love Bitches.

99.   Kiss ass before you kick it.

100. Call your sister. She wants to hear everything going on in your life. Every failure, every heartbreak. It doesn’t matter if she warned you, if she’s been there before, or even if she has no idea what you are talking about- she wants you to know she is watching out for you.  

I know this will be your reaction now..... But hopefully one day you will understand.