the best Thanksgiving ever

This morning was the usual--- parade, coffee cake and coffee while we lounge around a bit, this is usually when I start cooking pancakes for breakfast. However, this morning I was cooking potatoes to take to Momma Tina's. For those of you who don't know, Momma Tina is my hero. She has a house downtown where she feeds people, loves people and in my eyes she treats everyone the same. She's a gem.

I did something today that I have wanted to do since watching my first Hallmark Christmas movie. I got to serve in a 'soup kitchen' on Thanksgiving and it was 100% better than anything I could have imagined. We arrived at the house, unsure of what was going to happen. Our goal was to fix 500 to-go boxes of Thanksgiving food. Then next goal was to pass out every plate on the street. And apparently the next goal, without me knowing, was for my heart to burst today. As we started fixing the plates, I watched my daddy beam with joy as he placed stuffing on each plate so diligently. I watched the lady and her children who had a system. I watched a man who had gang related tattoos all over himself, smile as he filled each plate to the rim. I watched young children place cookies on each plate. I watched a man who had only one arm run circles around the rest of us-- he knew what to do, how to do it and he got it done. I watched Momma Tina walk in and out of the house, I watch this tiny, tiny kitchen produce multiple trays of food. && I listened to the celebration when we reach our goal of 500 plates.

Next, it was time to load up the cars and go hand out the food. As we all gathered outside for the game plan, I noticed a girl who had been serving beside me all day, standing alone. Dad and I walked over to talk to her and see if she wanted to ride with us to pass out the plates. As we introduced ourselves, we learned that her name was Ellie and she'd only lived here for a couple of weeks. Her family lives in Washington state and she was spending Thanksgiving alone. With no hesitation my dad said, "You are more than welcome to come to our house for Thanksgiving, please come." ----- I know that I am his daughter, but in this moment the table flipped and I felt like the proud parent. As we loaded into the car, Ellie shared her family traditions as we shared ours. At this point the talk of our mad game of charades may have steered her away from coming over, but we would see.

We arrived at the first apartment complex and our rules were "just start knocking on doors and passing them out, these people are not as scary as they look." We kind of split up during this part and it all came natural. I walked to the first door to knock, there is a screen door to open first then the wood door to knock on. The very first door I went to, I opened the screen door and there sat a man in his chair. I don't know who was more shocked, him for a strange white girl holding an abundance of to-go boxes standing in his door frame or me thinking that I would be knocking on a wooden door only to literally be standing in this mans house. I smiled, pushed through the super awkwardness and said " Happy Thanksgiving, would you like a plate" I handed it to him in his chair, need I remind you and walked off gracefully. It was the best start to this experience. As the next couple of stops went on I watched as the people were so thankful, my goodness so thankful. One of the men in charge, walked up to my dad, Ellie and myself and with the biggest grin said "This is what its all about, doesn't this just make you feel alive-- this is what I live for." Then he explained to us that these people may be needy and poor, but they will not take anything they do not need. I watched the people with that in the back of my mind. It's true, we walked to a couple of people and they seriously would deny the food and say, "someone else could probably use that more than me."

The day wrapped up and we went home to eat dinner with the family, of course with Ellie in tow. The family arrived and it was time to eat. Ellie was one of us, she fit right into the picture-- she is in the military so she talked to my nonno & dad about military stuff. We ate quickly because at 5:00 we had to be at the Rescue Mission to serve with the church. This is another one I was looking forward too, simply because this is where my sweet Deana and Joshuell are. As we pulled up, I wasn't sure if they would be there due to family day-- I got out of the car and walked through the courtyard, only to see a bicycle fall over and see two kiddos running towards me yelling "Miss. Callie"-- then we served there, we prayed, we talked, I introduced Ellie to my church, and we heard Joshuell play chopsticks on the piano for a bit. Then we packed it up and headed home to play our traditional game of charades.

Charades is my favorite tradition. We split into team, write out our movies, books or songs and we battle. It gets real. For example: tonight with 2 second left in a match, my uncle (out of ideas) ran out of the living room only to come rushing back in by sliding on his socks and pointing his fingers, while I shout "Risky Business"-- and the crowd went wild. Ellie was used as an example for The Strangers. My memaw used the same motion for heaven in every match, even if heaven wasn't in the title she would still lift her hands toward the ceiling and spread them like she was doing an interpretive dance. It's my favorite tradition because each word we have to act out describes our personality perfectly. We get each other and I think that is what makes it so special.

Tonight as I sit in my pool house and watch a Thanksgiving episode of Friends, I can't help but do that giddy grin-- because today was not in my control at all. I gave it all to Jesus, that was a known fact when my feet hit the floor this morning. I woke up knowing that this day wasn't about me and I am so glad, so glad that it was not about me. I am so honored that I had the opportunity to watch people smile over a plate of food, I am thankful for a daddy who jumped into the outreach game today. I am thankful for the huge hug I got from Momma Tina, for the handshakes I received, for the smiles and for the 'Happy Thanksgivings." I am thankful for the two kiddos who dropped their bikes and ran towards me at full blast. I am also very thankful that Ellie didn't get scared away by this crazy, loud family.

Today Jesus showed me a new part of myself. He showed me love in a new way. He reminded me that this is my heart beat. Everyone has a past guys. We've just got to be ready to listen.

Photo Session -- It's A Boy

I had the opportunity to do a photoshoot for the sweetest couple I know. I know that the phrase is thrown around a lot, but I mean it. I've know that since I met this couple about two years ago I knew that their marriage is what I wanted mine to look like. They are a wonderful example of Jesus' love.

Meet Amy & Mo--

They just found out that they are expecting their first little babe. With so many cute ideas of how to tell their parents, how to tell their friends and most importantly how to tell one another the gender-- I received a phone call from a very, very excited Amy and she went over the ideas she had.

The idea was this:
1. I get the ultrasound picture in a sealed envelope.
2. Open it
3. Get blue paint or pink paint
4. Get empty (squeeze) bottles
5. Cover them in white
6. Fill them with paint
7. Do not tell a soul what the gender is
8. Do not tell a single soul what the gender is
9. Not even my backup photographer, until minutes before the shoot
10. Take pictures of them throwing the paint on one another
11. Catch their reactions to the reveal
12. Be creative with it

I scouted for a location, only to come back to a field near my house that was too pretty too pass up.

I found a backup photographer. Who is pretty good, might I add.

&& we started the session. It was exciting and nerve racking a bit because I wanted to be sure to get good shots of their reaction. 

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Here is the one of the first ones taken that day:  this is the moment Amy saw the blue paint. She shouted "It's a boy, we are having a boy" and dropped the bottles of paint and ran towards Mo only for him to scoop her up and kiss her. It was a moment that I will never forget. The pure joy in the moment was beautiful. 

It was such a pretty day, the weather was on point.These two are so easy to photograph simply because the love they share for one another.


Thank you Mo and Amy for allowing me to be a part of this.  

that time I was reminded of my calling

I have not had the chance to blog in awhile, like actually sit down and write. I have so many ideas throughout my day that I write them all out on a notepad on my phone. So here is a blog to catch things up a bit.

I almost changed my major to photography.
I almost applied for a job in Birmingham.
I started a job at the writing center on campus.
I became friends with a really good bunch of guys, who have a band--Immerse.
We planned a benefit show Kasee (who has to have the brain surgery).
I decided not to change my major.
I have had a bunch of photoshoots.
I lost my camera charger.
I have been happy.
I have cried while listening to Taylor Swift.
I have had dance parties in the kitchen.
I have had craft night, movie night and wing night.
I even had a black out poetry night.
I tried a grilled cheese at Chick Fil A.
I ate dinner with one of my best friend home for Thanksgiving.
I taught my preschool kiddos.
I remembered why I didn't change my major.

This list could go on and on, but I will stop it there. I will stop it there because the last point that I wrote is the most important in this post. I seriously considered changing my major to photography.I was telling people that it changed, I was practicing taking pictures and editing them, I was even looking for jobs in the specific field. I was tired of school and I did not want to spend the rest of my life in a classroom. So I was throwing in the flag. I went to a show in Birmingham and could have easily applied for the in-house photographer position. I would be taking pictures of bands, I could live with my cousin, I could be happy-- I would love it. I was set on it, until I had lunch with my pastor the next day to tell him the big plan. He listened while I told him all about my plan and how it aligned with what I wanted to be when I was in high school. Then he said "sometimes we have to let that past person die to let the new person live, and fully live in the calling God has for our life"--- I wanted to scream and leave, but I stayed and listened because he knew what that meant.

A few hours passed and we got to Rescue Mission to serve our once a month dinner, the doors opened and a little girl came straight to me. She walked up, hugged me and introduced herself. I listened while she talked and talked. She got her plate and walked to her table-- I turned around and looked at my pastor while he just grinned. As the night went on I walked by her table and she begged me to sit beside her, of course I did. She smiled and giggled. I listened to her tell stories. I watched her mom and little brother all giggle while they told stories of staying up late and eating too much candy. I left the Rescue Mission, only for my pastor to look at me and say 'don't you have a gig to be taking pictures at or something.' Like a ton of brick, literally it hit me -- if I quit school, I am not giving up on my dream. I would be giving up on the kids. --

My heart was reminded of what I was placed here for that night. Sure, I may write multiple other post during the next two years telling you all how much I want to quit and run away from it, but I won't run away. I cannot give up on those kiddos. I can't give up on my future students who need good influences in their life. I want to teach the children that nobody wants to teach. I want to teach in inner-city schools, I want to love those children when nobody else will. Yes, it will be hard, but it will be all worth it just to know that I kept one child off the streets. That I helped one child feel what love really is.

Part of this story is that the little girl -- Deanna, who reminded me of my calling the night at the Rescue Mission reminds me of my sweet Joseani in Africa, and the best part is-- I get to see Deanna every week. I get to see her tomorrow actually and hear her shout "Ms.Callie" while she runs to hug me. While I long to hear Joseani sing 'Jesus Loves Me'-- I get tell her all about Deanna when we talk on Facebook. Maybe someday they can meet each other. Those are the moments that keep me pushing towards that big dream. The dream of walking into my classroom the very first day of school, with sweaty palms I will get to say 'Hey, I am your teacher Ms. Callie" (maybe I can go by that, my last name is a tough one)
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The photography dream is still in the works. Currently, I have photo-shoots lined up. I have 4 booked and I have an awesome friend who is helping me start up a website. It's not been he easiest thing sitting behind this bulky old computer while editing pictures, but I've had How I Met Your Mother and Disney movies to help me through. I hope to launch the site by tomorrow night. It will be a blog of the sessions I do. It's a fun activity I have outside of school and work. It's a good time.

I am looking forward to sharing it with you guys.

A long season: JM

I just finished 'Someday I'll Fly'-- it's about John Mayer and if I told you that I watched it without crying, I would be lying. I still remember the first time I heard his music. I was 13, and I only knew Backstreet Boys before I heard 'Your Body is a Wonderland.'

I remember when I saw him for the first time -- in Atlanta. I was 14 and when he walked out, I cried. 

I loved his music and  sure I thought he was cute and still may or may not. I loved watching his interviews and I have seen him more than a handful of times. I use to play his music every single morning when I woke up, not just in my bedroom but I woke my house up by blaring John Mayer throughout the house. I burnt multiple cds for people who'd never heard of him and I watched every Thanksgiving episode of him on Letterman.  

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Now.

I am not writing this blog to express my love for John Mayer. I am writing this blog because the documentary took my back. It reminded me just how much life really does change, no matter how bad you want good moments to last forever and bad ones to leave quickly. It is still life and it still carries on. With that being said. I watched the screen with tears in my eyes while he explained what it felt like when he realeased his first cd. What he felt like when he lost himself completely and what it felt like when he got stopped because of his vocal cords giving out on him. I was a fan through all of it. It was the Continuum tour when I saw him for the first time. It was that cd that got me through a lot in 10th grade, so much in 10th grade. It was the Mayercraft cruise that I found out I really wanted to be a band manager (that had been a dream for a couple of years at that point). 'Stop This Train" was my graduation song, and the first time I saw him on the Battle Studies tour he was great, It was him -- then the second time I saw him later on the tour it wasn't him. He'd lost himself-- shortly after the terrible interviews were released and I just kept telling myself that it was all because he was lost. Then he walked away for a while. I was still a fan. 

I know this all sounds like a blog by a fan girl, but it's not. His music seemed to be there for me when nobody else could be. I didn't know Jesus then I just knew good music with powerful lyrics. As I watched the documentary, reminiscing on all of the things in my life that have happened since being 14 and all of the emotions that are so connected to those lyrics. I thanked Jesus for John Mayer and his music. I thanked Jesus that it was John Mayer that I liked and not some other crazy off the wall musician. It was a real musician, with a real life, with real lyrics, a creative soul who lived to write music and could play a guitar so well that I am sure Stevie Ray Vaughn would have been proud. 

I am now 22, and I still say John Mayer is my favorite artist. I say that 'Your Body is a Wonderland" is my favorite song. And the funny thing is I go weeks without listening to him, then he comes on shuffle on my iPod and I'm taken back. What I love even more is listening to his music and being able to hear my Pepaw say, 'he's gone country' or hear my mom say 'i sure do miss you listening to this in the house every morning' or listening to new friends ask 'who is your favorite musician?' and when I say John Mayer they seem a bit thrown off. My favorite thing to do now is find the lyrics in his songs that could be about Jesus-- simply because I could write a hymn off of 'Gravity.' I clearly don't come off as the girl who use to want to be a band manger, move to New York City and knew every John Mayer lyric by heart. but I was her for a long season. 

It is a season that I have hid very well at some points because I didn't want to seem like a fan girl, but you can make your own judgements on that one. I am a fan. I am a girl & I am thankful for his music.

"things will continue to change, but I will just be continuing the story" -J.M

His story has shown me that it is okay to change. I think that's how Jesus created us, He didn't place us on this earth in hopes of us staying the same. He gives us different seasons to help shape us to become the final product--  This was part of my story. It was the soundtrack to my life for awhile. I grew up knowing it. And I loved it. 

the real dream

Written Wednesday. 

Today I wish to stay in bed and write. It's 11:31am and I've been awake for a couple of hours just sitting in my bed. I've not done this in so long. But I've sat here, I looked at my phone. I read a couple of blogs, I read my assignment for class, congratulated my cousin on her engagement and now I am choosing to blog. 

I am choosing to blog because it's something I enjoy doing. It's something that I think about daily. I think about what I want to talk about on these post. I have ideas behind some and some I just throw out because I'm in need of a post. So today my blog post will be about this one question: 

If you could live a life where money isn't an issue. What would you choose to do? 

I recently read a blog about things nurses hear from people on their deathbeds, it's their top 5 regrets. 

Things like: 

I wish I’d had the courage to live a life true to myself, not the life others expected of me.

I wish that I had let myself be happier.

I wish I’d had the courage to express my feelings.

With reading that blog and already pondering on the question I asked above.

I have not wanted to do anything other than sit and write. && for thirty more minutes I am going to let my dream come true. While I tell all of you viewers what I would do if money weren't an issue, only in hopes to make you ask yourself those same questions. 

I would travel everywhere with a notebook and camera in hand. I would go on so many mission trips that the airplane seat feels more like my bed than my own bed. I would sit and listen to people, just listen- not in hopes to change them or save them, but to just listen. I would blog about every experience I have. I would teach kids in other countries, I would teach them small words in English while they teach me how to love more. I would give everything I own (except my cat and camera) away. I would be a voice for the kiddos who don't get a voice. I would adopt so many children, that's it's like I have my own Orphange in America. I would get sweet Joseani & baby Grace and bring them home to me. These are all things I dream about doing when I'm driving or while I'm writing. I dream of seeing new places, meeting new people and loving everyone along the way. 

Unfortunately, I can't unless I have money. That's the way this world works. I'm having to come to grips with that at the whopping age of 22. It's a messy world where money controls all things. But I refuse for it to control my dreams and goals. 

As I read the post I mentioned earlier,  I nearly cried. Simply because I say those things now. I wish I were other places, I wish I were married (only some days) I wish I were a mom, I wish I had a nonprofit. Instead of embracing where we are now-- where I am right this second, sitting in my bed, listening to Explosions In the Sky and writing. I get anxious about where I will be in 5 years, I dream of being this other person with a better body, healthier hair, who has it all together, who knows what she wants and when she wants it. 

No. 

I am tired of people being lied to by this world. I am tired of children comparing themselves to everyone else. I am tried of people turning their nose up the second they see someone who looks differently than they do. I am tired of a world where we as Christians debate with one another instead of going out and loving the ones who need love. Not preaching, but simply loving. Our actions speak louder than our words. 

I don't want myself or anyone elses lasts words to begin with, "I wish."

I want your our last words to be "it was a good time, but this is about to get even better" and we meet our creator and he grabs us up and says "good job."

That's the real dream. 

My family on a Saturday

I wrote this last Saturday. It was a busy day, it's been an even busier week. I now find myself behind a camera or computer doing something with pictures. It's been a good one.

Here is the post -- it was a special day and I regret not posting it that day. Here was the start of the day--

Nonna and aunt Susan are currently walking around the field, I'm pretty sure I've seen a couple of Jane Fonda moves. 

I smell meat of some sort cooking somewhere, maybe on the grill? But the cool breeze blows the smell over to where I am currently swinging and reading.

My dad cooks chili inside and walks back&forth between my house and his to look for missing utensils. 

My sister changes clothes 5 times. 

Her boyfriend sits on the couch watching football.

My uncle is helping my dad cook. 

My mom tries rushing everyone while they get dressed, because she wants to do something today. 

My Memaw and Pepaw come over for coffee.

I wake up grumpy only to have a discussion with my mother, which only lead to us play wrestling. 

My other sister and my cousin have gone to a ball game.

My best friend comes by to borrow a GPS because she has to get to Tampa today.

And I sit outside now watching it all. The weather takes me to a place my heart longs to be most days. The book I am reading makes me wish I were sitting in a coffee shops writing. Instead I'm sitting on my front porch while my cat plays with the blinds inside (like he's telling me to open the windows). Of course, I wish to be other places often. But if I weren't here today I would have missed play fighting match with my mother, my sisters boyfriend coming to sit on my couch to look up sports stuff on the computer, my dad running back and forth looking for cooking supplies, and my Nonna sitting next to me while she tells me and my aunt the story of her brother who passed away when she was 3. 

His name was Ugo -- 

He was 19. And would bring his mother, my Bis (twice-great) Nonna, coffee in bed each morning. Nonna says that she doesn't remember him much, but she has pictures of him. She tells me of how when she was younger, he would pick her up and she would stop crying immediately. He was a stand up kind of guy. One morning my Bis Nonna, begged Ugo not to leave because she had a bad dream. Side note: my Nonna grew up in Naples, Italy. Her house overlooked the ocean and off in the distance you could see an island. In my Bis Nonna's dream, Ugo was on a ship, holding a while flag and saying "bye mama, this is the last time we will see one another." 

With this fresh on her mind, she asked Ugo not to go receive his diploma that day but to please wait. Ugo, excited to receive it and knowing that he wouldn't get another chance hugged his mama bye and said he would be back. He left with his bike and the day carried on. About 15 minutes later, (at this point Nonna gets choked up- she explains that it's not because she lost him. She was too young to remember him. She says its because she knew how her mother must have felt)-- there was a knock on the door, only leading to my Bis Nonna shouting "Ugo, Ugo," because she knew something was wrong. The police explained, that he had been ran over by a large truck carrying stones. My bis Nonno, ran down the street to check on him.

Only for Ugo, at the age of 19 to be laying on the ground. His last words were "mama, mama." My Nonna said that over in Italy when someone passes, you wear black not just to the funeral, but for as long as your soul mourns. She said her mother wore all back for 10 years. 

So, as my heart longs to be on the other side of the world today because the weather and the smells remind me of it or maybe in Nashville on some new adventure. I am here with my family today because these stories shape me. 

Minutes after the story wrapped up. My best friend showed up to borrow the GPS. She has

to go to Tampa today to tell her aunt whom has cancer, maybe bye. I asked my Nonna to pray for her and she wrapped her in her arms and prayed such a powerful prayer over her. 

Throughout my Nonna's pain in life she is able to pray for other people and help them through their pain. 

So today, I wish to be here because Jesus has me here for a reason.