Book Review: God Loves Ugly, Christa Black.
I first became familiar with Christa Black in November of 2007, when Jordin Sparks debut album was released. I was a fan of Jordin, and took time to put her album in and listen carefully to each track. When I got to the song titled "God Loves Ugly", I was overcome with emotion. The words touched my heart. I quickly grabbed the CD inset to find out who wrote the song- and read the name Christa Black. I logged onto myspace to find out more about Christa, and when I found her page, I found it was full of compassion and inspiration. I followed her ever since, discovering her incredible writing abilities and the way she related to young women, giving them hope. Most people know of Christa through her work with the Jonas Brothers, as a member of their band on a world tour. During that tour, Christa began writing blogs that touched on topics such as self esteem, eating disorders, faith in God, etc. Those blogs turned into a book, appropriately titled after the life changing song, God Loves Ugly.
Within just the first couple pages of God Loves Ugly, I was completely taken aback by the truth and wisdom in Christa’s writing. So much so, in fact, that I often had to put the book down and take a break. By the middle of the book, I almost didn’t pick it back up again. I wasn’t sure I was ready to hear what I had been shushing all these years. Thankfully, I picked it back up, kept reading, and kept learning about myself. Christa’s writing is not only beautiful, but honest and daring. She shared her story, intertwined with snippets of advice and encouragement. It takes a strong person to be able to pour her heart out the way that Christa did in this book. She did it with grace. Through her stories, her struggle with eating disorders (both a food addiction and bulimia), struggling to fit in, and discovering that she was truly worthy of love, I have found a new hope. The book is relatable, inspiring, and gives hope to all those suffering any form of addiction of self hate that freedom is waiting for them.
I really believe every woman should read this book. While it is aimed at young women and teenagers, everyone will be able to relate to the stories and testimonies. The book will change the way you view yourself, not only with Christa's words of advice and inspiration but the helpful "your turn" section at each end of the chapter, where Christa encourages you to ask the questions that are in the way of finding freedom. I'm not sure that I have ever read a book so hopeful and honest, so invested in its readers and truly wanting them to better themselves and to realize their worth.
Do not be afraid to read this book. I can promise you, it will help you through your struggles. You are loved.
Friday, April 8, 2011
Thursday, April 7, 2011
Fort Walton Beach, Florida
I had to go to my friend Jena (check out her blog. She is a fantastic writer) for advice on today's blog. I had so many ideas and no clue where to begin. Jena's response? I think it just depends on what mood strikes you when you sit down to write. Amen.
For as long as I can remember, my family has been traveling to Ft. Walton Beach, FL every Easter. And when I say family, I do mean- FAMILY. We took over! It used to be that when you pulled up to the gates of the El Matador (the condominiums which we rented), you could say “Carolin” and the guard would just laugh and wave you you through. My Dad, the youngest of seven, has been going there his entire life. It’s a tradition, it’s a memory, it’s an escape. My parents actually met in Ft. Walton when they were both on vacation there. Year later, it would be the location my brother-in-law proposed to my sister, and where my brother and sister-in-law had their honeymoon. So, Ft. Walton is pretty special to me. Unfortunately, I have not been able to go since I was 16, A junior in high school. I did a service trip my senior year, and then my college spring breaks never lined up correctly. So, Ft Walton is slowly becoming a distant memory. That breaks my heart, because for the longest time I could just close my eyes and imagine myself on the beach. It’s tougher for me to do that now. I am distracted by all the memories crushed in between my precious Ft Walton and I.
Here is what I do remember… I remember our usual condo in Building 3, with my mom’s parent’s right across the sidewalk. I remember the smell of the ocean combined with sunscreen and aloe. I remember the palm trees and the pure white snow. I remember the tall white buildings with the red roofs. I remember the Y shaped pool. I remember playing outside in the grassy areas after a day of swimming and mini golf. I remember shrimp sandwiches and raw oysters from the High Tide. I remember my grandpa forcing me to try black butter on my shrimp, saying I was not truly his granddaughter if I didn’t like butter. I remember spending hours in the ocean. I remember my uncle fishing further down the beach. I remember every year looking for my brother’s ninja turtles which he had lost in the sand when he was little. I remember the water park, the souvenir shops, the mall (it had a carousel inside that always amazed me as a kid). I remember being terrified of go Karts…and when my sister’s friends forced me to go on them when I was a little older, I remember crashing. Yes. I crashed. In a go Kart. I remember my sister’s friends then buying me ice cream and one of them hugging me while I cried. I remember Easter mass. Waking up early to find eggs scattered across the condo, putting on an Easter dress and headed to mass, surrounded by aunts, uncles, and cousins. I remember brunch afterwards at Jo and Eddie’s, a kind of dirty little diner that we could never stay away from. They had the best chocolate chip pancakes I have ever had. I remember one very special trip where I drove down with my cousin Patrick and his son, Laurence. That would be the trip that bonded Laurence and I, and I held a very special place in my heart ever since then. I love that kid, may he rest in sweet peace.
I remember, when I got older, that I was allowed to bring friends with me. The first year I brought Jamie and Lindsay. I remember our long walks at night with sunburned cheeks and hoodies, sitting on the boardwalk and laughing at the other teenagers who were drinking. I remember us laughing until we cried every single night before we fell asleep, taking turns who had to sleep on the floor. I remember the car ride with them there and back, and writing down all our inside jokes. The second year, I brought Reena and Megan. My brother was a senior then, so he had quite a few friends with them. Naturally we tried to keep up with them and hang out with them. I remember an epic water fight with them that turned pretty painful. The third year, I brought my friend Staci. I actually don’t remember much from that trip, which is sort of fitting considering our friendship completely, fell apart shortly after that trip. But I remember going shopping one day and finding a Starbucks and we both screamed with joy. I remember how well she got along with my family, how easily she fit right in, and I do remember our long, LONG late night chats. We were really good to each other. What happened I’m still not sure, but I thank Staci for making my last trip to Ft. Walton a good, peaceful, and fun one. I guess I remember more than I thought. Amazing what your mind can do when you just let it be. I miss that place, I miss the family times and happiness it brought. I can’t think of it without thinking of each of my uncles, aunts, grandparents, and cousins whom I spent that week with. I think of my brother and sister and what fun we had annoying each other in the car. I hope, soon, that I can go back and pay it a visit. My special Ft. Walton. Our special Ft. Walton.
Pictured here is the El Matador, our condo place where we rented from. You can see the pool, white sand, palm trees, and grassy areas I was talking about. See the two buildings that are closest together? With just a sidewalk in between them? We were always in the building on the right, first floor, first room on the left. Grandma and Grandpa were right across the sidewalk, first floor, first room on the right.
And here, my friends, is a very short slideshow of my family and I at Ft. Walton. These are more for my own sake than my readers, but enjoy a little glimpse into my favorite vacation spot :) Click on the box below to open the video in a seperate window. Thanks.
For as long as I can remember, my family has been traveling to Ft. Walton Beach, FL every Easter. And when I say family, I do mean- FAMILY. We took over! It used to be that when you pulled up to the gates of the El Matador (the condominiums which we rented), you could say “Carolin” and the guard would just laugh and wave you you through. My Dad, the youngest of seven, has been going there his entire life. It’s a tradition, it’s a memory, it’s an escape. My parents actually met in Ft. Walton when they were both on vacation there. Year later, it would be the location my brother-in-law proposed to my sister, and where my brother and sister-in-law had their honeymoon. So, Ft. Walton is pretty special to me. Unfortunately, I have not been able to go since I was 16, A junior in high school. I did a service trip my senior year, and then my college spring breaks never lined up correctly. So, Ft Walton is slowly becoming a distant memory. That breaks my heart, because for the longest time I could just close my eyes and imagine myself on the beach. It’s tougher for me to do that now. I am distracted by all the memories crushed in between my precious Ft Walton and I.
Here is what I do remember… I remember our usual condo in Building 3, with my mom’s parent’s right across the sidewalk. I remember the smell of the ocean combined with sunscreen and aloe. I remember the palm trees and the pure white snow. I remember the tall white buildings with the red roofs. I remember the Y shaped pool. I remember playing outside in the grassy areas after a day of swimming and mini golf. I remember shrimp sandwiches and raw oysters from the High Tide. I remember my grandpa forcing me to try black butter on my shrimp, saying I was not truly his granddaughter if I didn’t like butter. I remember spending hours in the ocean. I remember my uncle fishing further down the beach. I remember every year looking for my brother’s ninja turtles which he had lost in the sand when he was little. I remember the water park, the souvenir shops, the mall (it had a carousel inside that always amazed me as a kid). I remember being terrified of go Karts…and when my sister’s friends forced me to go on them when I was a little older, I remember crashing. Yes. I crashed. In a go Kart. I remember my sister’s friends then buying me ice cream and one of them hugging me while I cried. I remember Easter mass. Waking up early to find eggs scattered across the condo, putting on an Easter dress and headed to mass, surrounded by aunts, uncles, and cousins. I remember brunch afterwards at Jo and Eddie’s, a kind of dirty little diner that we could never stay away from. They had the best chocolate chip pancakes I have ever had. I remember one very special trip where I drove down with my cousin Patrick and his son, Laurence. That would be the trip that bonded Laurence and I, and I held a very special place in my heart ever since then. I love that kid, may he rest in sweet peace.
I remember, when I got older, that I was allowed to bring friends with me. The first year I brought Jamie and Lindsay. I remember our long walks at night with sunburned cheeks and hoodies, sitting on the boardwalk and laughing at the other teenagers who were drinking. I remember us laughing until we cried every single night before we fell asleep, taking turns who had to sleep on the floor. I remember the car ride with them there and back, and writing down all our inside jokes. The second year, I brought Reena and Megan. My brother was a senior then, so he had quite a few friends with them. Naturally we tried to keep up with them and hang out with them. I remember an epic water fight with them that turned pretty painful. The third year, I brought my friend Staci. I actually don’t remember much from that trip, which is sort of fitting considering our friendship completely, fell apart shortly after that trip. But I remember going shopping one day and finding a Starbucks and we both screamed with joy. I remember how well she got along with my family, how easily she fit right in, and I do remember our long, LONG late night chats. We were really good to each other. What happened I’m still not sure, but I thank Staci for making my last trip to Ft. Walton a good, peaceful, and fun one. I guess I remember more than I thought. Amazing what your mind can do when you just let it be. I miss that place, I miss the family times and happiness it brought. I can’t think of it without thinking of each of my uncles, aunts, grandparents, and cousins whom I spent that week with. I think of my brother and sister and what fun we had annoying each other in the car. I hope, soon, that I can go back and pay it a visit. My special Ft. Walton. Our special Ft. Walton.
Pictured here is the El Matador, our condo place where we rented from. You can see the pool, white sand, palm trees, and grassy areas I was talking about. See the two buildings that are closest together? With just a sidewalk in between them? We were always in the building on the right, first floor, first room on the left. Grandma and Grandpa were right across the sidewalk, first floor, first room on the right.
And here, my friends, is a very short slideshow of my family and I at Ft. Walton. These are more for my own sake than my readers, but enjoy a little glimpse into my favorite vacation spot :) Click on the box below to open the video in a seperate window. Thanks.
Wednesday, April 6, 2011
I can see it in your eyes...
I have this crazy weird obsession with eyes. In some regards, they terrify me. I have to look away when someone is scratching their eye, and it took me two hours to learn how to put in a contact. I won't put eye drops in, either. Just grosses me out.
But, one the complete opposite spectrum, they fascinate me. I know that sounds weird. Eyes are the absolute first thing that I notice about a person. I can get a glimpse of who they are, what they are feeling, by looking into their eyes. My kids at Cristo Rey used to be freaked out by this. I'd ask them if they were okay, they'd say no, why, and I'd respond I can tell by your eyes. Common response "dang Miss Carolin!". Sorry. I love how much eyes can tell you about a person or a situation...fear, happiness, sadness. They are incredibly descriptive. I have a notebook full of poems/song lyrics, and I'd say about 1/2 of them mention eyes. Brown eyes, green eyes, lying eyes, sad eyes, etc. I love that we all see the world differently through our eyes. I once heard someone say "let us walk this life with faith filled eyes". What a passionate, intuitive statement! I try to remember that every morning.
One more thing about eyes, and then I'll stop creeping everyone out. When I was a little girl, I had (Well, I suppose I still have them) HUGE eyes. Most of my childhood memories involve people saying stuff about my eyes. Whenever we went out in public, at least one person would stop us to say something about my eyes and how big they were. It terrified me, and I hated the attention. I was a really shy kid, so any interaction with strangers totally threw me for a loop. On my first day of preschool I cried and cried and cried. My mom asked me what was wrong, assuming I was just nervous or maybe not quite ready. My response? "I just don't want anyone to say anything about my eyes!". Yikes! People still comment on them, actually, but I don't cry anymore. :) My students at Cristo Rey were fascinated by my eyes. One of them even said she was going to take them out of my head and keep them in a jar. Creepy. Oh, and Kelly Clarkson told me that we had the same eyes.
To close, I will leave you with a song from Rent. I've heard a lot of Rentheads say that hate this song...that Roger could have come up with something better. Maybe so, but I think it's perfect.
But, one the complete opposite spectrum, they fascinate me. I know that sounds weird. Eyes are the absolute first thing that I notice about a person. I can get a glimpse of who they are, what they are feeling, by looking into their eyes. My kids at Cristo Rey used to be freaked out by this. I'd ask them if they were okay, they'd say no, why, and I'd respond I can tell by your eyes. Common response "dang Miss Carolin!". Sorry. I love how much eyes can tell you about a person or a situation...fear, happiness, sadness. They are incredibly descriptive. I have a notebook full of poems/song lyrics, and I'd say about 1/2 of them mention eyes. Brown eyes, green eyes, lying eyes, sad eyes, etc. I love that we all see the world differently through our eyes. I once heard someone say "let us walk this life with faith filled eyes". What a passionate, intuitive statement! I try to remember that every morning.
One more thing about eyes, and then I'll stop creeping everyone out. When I was a little girl, I had (Well, I suppose I still have them) HUGE eyes. Most of my childhood memories involve people saying stuff about my eyes. Whenever we went out in public, at least one person would stop us to say something about my eyes and how big they were. It terrified me, and I hated the attention. I was a really shy kid, so any interaction with strangers totally threw me for a loop. On my first day of preschool I cried and cried and cried. My mom asked me what was wrong, assuming I was just nervous or maybe not quite ready. My response? "I just don't want anyone to say anything about my eyes!". Yikes! People still comment on them, actually, but I don't cry anymore. :) My students at Cristo Rey were fascinated by my eyes. One of them even said she was going to take them out of my head and keep them in a jar. Creepy. Oh, and Kelly Clarkson told me that we had the same eyes.
To close, I will leave you with a song from Rent. I've heard a lot of Rentheads say that hate this song...that Roger could have come up with something better. Maybe so, but I think it's perfect.
Tuesday, April 5, 2011
A-Z Challenge...Detroit.
I love this city. When I was in high school, a group of my friends and I did Habitat for Humanity during our Spring Break. We traveled to Beattyville, KY to help build houses and a church for the community. I remember that trip very clearly- not only for our service but for the laughs we shared together. Everyone down their asked us where we were from, it was pretty obvious we did not fit in. We quickly responded "Detroit". One of my friends, Mary, rolled her eyes. "THEY are not all from Detroit. I am". She was mad we didn't say we were from the suburbs. I never quite understood that. IS someone from Beattyville, KY going to know where Bloomfield Hills is located? Not likely. Detroit? Likely. I didn't understand why it mattered. Sure I didn't live in the city...but I had been there...for like...concerts and stuff. Plus I had friends that lived there. That counted, right? Wrong.
I would never fully understand what it meant to be a Detroit resident until I lived there for myself. For one year, I lived in Detroit (Trumbull and Michigan Ave) with three other roommates. We were doing a year of service through the Mercy Volunteer Corps and placed at different organizations around the city. I soon learned Detroit was about more than concert and sporting event venues. It was a city full (well...not exactly full, but you get my point) of people from thousands of different backgrounds, beliefs, stories. People who hated the city and wanted to get out of there as quickly as possible, kids who were told they never would get out of there, and people despretly trying to make a difference. I saw working people, over-working people, homeless. I saw rich and very poor. I saw excited and I saw bitter. I saw victory and happiness and I saw defeat and heartbreak. But through all of that, I saw beauty. Yes, I think that Detroit is beautiful. Call me crazy, but until you see it for yourselves, until you truly live there and take in the experience of being a "detroiter", you have no idea what I mean.
Detroit is full of these little hidden treasures. Good Girls Go To Paris. Heidleburg Project. Campus Martius. Cafe Con Leche. The Burton. Little Bird. Amazing places, amazing people fronting these businesses, trying to breathe life back into a city that has suffered more than anyone could ever imagine. I have zillion "favorite places" in Detroit. I've met beautiful, anxious, inspring people working insanley hard every single day to deliver to the people. That's what makes Detroit beautiful...the hidden treasures. It's not hard to find something you like in Detroit.
I have been lucky enough to work with a large number of teens in Detroit. One thing they all have in common? They've been told they won't make it. Imagine that. Imagine your whole life hearing from a parent, or a different family member, a family friend, the news, a teacher, someone on the street..saying "hey. kid. you won't make it.". The cycle that turns into is a dangerous one, and we are seeing it now more than ever. But I've seen kids who have turned around and said "screw you. I will make it, and this is how." I have more belief in those kids than anything else. You can tell me I'm naive, but I tell you to go visit Cristo Rey High School, have a conversation with those kids, and PLEASE tell me that they won't make it in life. I dare you. Every single one of them has the potential. We have to work a little harder to make some of them realize it, but they will. They will get there, and they will play a huge role in turning this city around. I promise.
I cringe when I hear bad things about Detroit. I worry watching the news, fearing one of my kids has been hurt in a hideous crime. It's not a bad city. We've had horrible things happen, there are people who are so far past the point of desperation they are willing to go to any lengths to escape reality. Detroit will rise. We will make it.
Also, now that I am back living in the surrbs (I'm not a traitor. After a year of volunteering, I need to live with good ol mom and dad for a while), I do miss that city. I'd love to go back. But when I do, I want to bring people from these parts with me. I want them to see it for themselves, without going to a concert or a play or a Red Wings game. I want them to meet some of the people I did. Vist the museums, go to the grocery store and talk to the cashiers. LIVE IT. That is what it is going to take to bring this city back.
I love you, Detroit. Thank you for being so good to me. Take care of yourselves.
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