I LOVE MY JOB.

Mama said I did this kind of thing at age 4. HUGE compliment, Mom.

This job is hard. I've come to adore it, but let's be honest--it potentially includes: 3:30 a.m. wake up calls to catch planes, donning "real clothes" (skirts and stilettos, not Nike shorts) for about 12 hours, "Hey! I know I'm just meeting you, but can you give a 30-min. presentation to 75 women on recruitment in like, 2 minutes?," excessive chanting/singing, recruitment number crunching on the reg, people 24/7 (no exaggeration. 24 hours a day. Every day.), and enough staring at Microsoft Word to make my eyes cross.

But it's the best job in the whole wide world. For me.

This kid shows the kind of attitude I'm attempting to bring with me every day.I mean, sometimes I stand in front of a mirror and do the fist-pump-lunge, sometimes I slack. If you Facebook stalk me, you know I posted this YouTube find the other day. But I can't help it. A sister at UGA passed this hysterical video along to me, and it's perfect...

Because to some of the girls, I've gotta encourage from the ground up. To some girls, regardless of how much sleep I'm getting or how I'm doing personally, I'm supposed to be the one that believes in them at 2 a.m. when the scripted lines aren't sticking to memory, the lists from Panhellenic still aren't in, they feel like they're the "only one," and when the little world they've built is crumbling.

And in our Eat, Pray, Love-minded, self-centered kind of world, we've gotta have this kind of confidence. So we can dole out a lot of love. I CAN DO ANYTHING!!! (clap)

UGA and NebraaaAAAaska reports comin' stat. Promise-cross-my-heart.

Saying a-yo, gotta let go.

So one time when it was this weekend we went to a Braves game. This is one of my favorite life hobbies.

Jittery. Nerves. What-in-the-world-did-I-get-myself-into. Excited. My foot is jiggling on it's own accord. Shoulda stopped at the second cup of coffee. I wish you could be in this kitchen right now--we're hysterical. The little house on Ponce is emptying itself of a group of 7 women: I leave for UGA in precisely 30 minutes. My first real job. I don't get nervous, I don't let 'em see me sweat. What is this...?

I can't even concentrate.

I can't even write.

My eyes can't sit still. God was probably laughing as I stumbled through Habakkuk this morning, willing my mind to stay put on one subject for longer than .2 seconds. This is the only thing that stuck:

The Sovereign Lord is my strength.

He makes my feet like the feet of a deer,

he enables me to go on the heights.

Habakkuk 3:19

Welp, I'm gonna go stand on the heights now. And meet a gazillion people I don't know and smile and be "on" 24/7. I'll be back, Atlanta. You rule.

Here goes nothin'. Go dawgs.

Post title: Dynamite by Taio Cruz. Current anthem.

Tailgating is a lifestyle.

First of all, I got my first pay check last weekend. And what'd I buy? Workout clothes. An oversize American Apparel t-shirt. Leggings with neon blue zippers up the ankle. Welp, so much for being a grown-up.

Next purchase? It's LC tradition to buy a souvenir from every university you visit. So, what do I want 30 of? (Besides tennis skirts and bathing suits and Tory Burch shoes.)

Option A: I was gonna do charms for my bracelet. 30 charms. Until I realized no one wants to hear jingle bells until the 24-hour window between Christmas Eve and Jesus' birthday. Option A was nixed.

So I moved to Option B: Koozies or Tervis Tumblers. With my already-substantial collection of both, I've recognized two perks:

1. They're not noisy.

2. I'll be tailgating for the rest of my life so this is really quite practical of me.

But which item? Both?

Y'all have any other ideas?

Daddy's requested a t-shirt from each school. He's pretty pumped about his Huskers shirt. Except when I got relocated to University of Georgia for my 1st visit (next week!), my iPhone immediately blows up with this text:

"Hey, by the way---I'll pass on the Georgia t-shirt. Know what I mean?"

WDE to that, Daddy. I shan't be bringing my UGA Tervis to the Stallings family library lawn tailgate. Promise.

It makes no sense.

If I could tell you why I took this job in 8 lines, there you have it. I don't really know why I'm here except I was commanded to be. And because 25 cents an hour is a huge draw. Duh.

I'm one of those in-love-with-love people.

(Chyeah. Not the romantic kind, people. That'll be fun one day though I'm sure.)

I'm fascinated with how God built love.

How he made it to be a reflection of a salvation story.

But then we grabbed it. Then we twisted that redemption mirror into snobby ignorance of the ugly and the homeless and the brokenhearted.

We turned it into The Bachelorette.*

* Not that I won't be watching tonight. Just proving a point.

Huh. How'd that happen?

So I was thinking about it yesterday. What it really means to love. And this wound up on the pages of my journal:

Messiest handwriting ever. Good thing God can probably read it.

It doesn't make sense at all to love. Like, at ALL. If you really think about what it really means. It's kinda the most preposterous, unsafe thing you could ever do with your life. I mean, the you-might-get-burned rate of playing in traffic is probably lower than extending biblical love to someone.

But that's the fun in it.

We trust in the "and it never fails" part.

And we go for it.

Why not?

Slow down. Be still. Let go. We will. Be here. Be now.

If you choose to love / to know that the call / is give all that you are

To give love away.

Rise, rise. People of love rise. And give yourself away.

- Robbie Seay Band. Thank you Pandora, which I listen to on the reg each a.m.

Being Still and Knowing

Photo courtesy of Bippity Boppity Boo. Which is crack. I'm newly obsessed.

It's hard to not get swallowed up by something when you're living in its epicenter.
To fight to remember the reason I'm even placed on earth.
It's like going against the odds.

I adore living here, I really do. With history and stories woven into everything and with training that has already made me a stronger, tougher, smarter woman (at least I hope). I'm having wisdom poured into me day in and out as I learn how to empower women and inspire self-confidence.  But this phenomenal organization is a WAY of life. It is not my life.

And I'm fighting so hard to remember that. So hard.

I kinda love it when my sister (blood, not sorority) smiles and rolls her eyes when I gush about my job. When I talk to friends and they don't even bring up ADPi. When mama breezes over any Greek life conversation I had in mind to tell me how my family is and what the dogs did today. In fact, that's more like it. Pull me down to earth. Dear family and friends, keep it up. Love, me.

 

So I've found a room here. It has large bay windows across the back that gaze out onto a green-draped second-story snapshot of Druid Hills. Without my BFF's across town, without a home church, and without my mama, daddy, and sister under the same roof, it can get shaky. Somedays (Okay. Whatever. Most days.) I just want a hug from someone that knows ME. But then I look out this window and it's like looking into God's face. And He knows me.

Steady, loyal oaks. A calm, expansive sky. The occasional cardinal.

Hey, God :)

Who am I to blow against the wind? To doubt, to question, to sigh at Him? To ever get caught up in anything besides His beauty? And now I'm excited to see what His face looks like under an Athens sky, a Nebraska landscape, and a sleepy rivertown in Pennsylvania...

"For my thoughts are NOT your thoughts, neither are your ways my ways,

declares the Lord.

As the heavens are higher than the earth,

so are my ways higher than your ways and my thoughts your thoughts."

Isaiah 55:8-9

Oh yeah.

Find a high on Peachtree Street

(Yes, I did just give two John Mayer lyrics for blog titles back-to-back. Also, I do not endore drugs. It's just a good line.)

Anyway--I just feel the need to declare

how much I love Atlanta.

Obviously, over here in Sorority Academy, we're in ADPi 101 class most hours of the day. Which makes new-city exploration difficult. But we've managed a few outings, because sometimes (hair flip, hair flip) you just gotta get outta the mansion. Am I right or am I right??

1. Murphy's, Virginia Highlands: Crab cakes and a glass of chardonnay with Mama before she dropped me off at my First Post-College Job? Apprehension cured.

2. Twist, Buckhead (Devoted readers already know I went here.)

3. Pozole, Virginia Highlands: After our first long day, we walked down Ponce sidewalks and onto the porch of Poloze. Again it is proved: Mexican is my hands down favorite food genre. And their famous mango margaritas have finite reason to be famed.

Lori, me and Emily at Pozole

4. Neighbor's, Virginia Highlands: We'll be back. That's all I'm sayin'.

5. Cafe Intermezzo, Brookwood: They had me at the dark hardwood floors and walls plastered in art. It's like my future house. Except my house will have lion-y things strategically placed. Until my darling husband catches on and asks me to chill and lock up the ADPi-ness.
6. Front Page News, Little Five Points: Sometimes, you just need a sports bar with 92 televisions turned to various ESPNs. Especially when you miss testoterone. At least I've found a cure for when I'm getting keyed up from being around sorority women 24/7 this year: "Ladies, take me to a sports bar tonight."

The sign? It stands for "If I tell you what it means will you buy me a drink." When you ask the waiter and he answers you, don't argue with him for 5 minutes that you would never buy him a drink anyway. Oops. Told you I have blonde moments.

9. Pinkberry, Buckhead: That nationwide obession? I get it now.
8. Treehouse, Buckhead: Treated by the most wonderful new friend. You know who you are :)

Tagged: Emily, Me, and our stir fry.

And then sometimes we cook. Which means singing/dancing party in the ADPi headquarters kitchen, duh. Regardless, whatever table the 7 of us are sitting around, there's a lot of laughter. Especially when while cooking, you set off the security alarm for ADPi International Headquarters and the ATL po-po have to drop in for a visit. Whoopsadaisy.

False advertising. At this point in my life, I do not consume meat products.

And we're taking suggestions! Where else should be on our Atlanta list? We want to feel cool and earn more FourSquare badges. At least Megan does. (kidding, I love you, Blondie.)

Shawty wanna break my bank:*

I'm runnin' up a tab on you, ATL.

*"Break My Bank" by Iyaz. A Memorial Headquarters bunk room theme song, thanks to Emily.

Of Yellow Jackets and Huskers...

Friday, our adorable boss Annie waltzed into the training room with 7 sheets of paper in hand. You would have thought Oscar nominations were going out from our grins and squeals (Well, for those of us that are sopranos. I don't squeal.)

Our August visit schedule has arrived!

Drumroll, please: Here are my first three visits, in order of future appearance:

1. Georgia Tech, Zeta Omicron chapter
Atlanta, Ga.
I won't lie, I'm kinda pumped for three more days here in the ATL.

2. University of Nebraska, Alpha Epsilon chapter
Lincoln, Ne.

YES!!! My first time to cross the mighty Mississip' is upon us. I even Googled "Nebraska" the other day for visual imagery. Flat farmland? Yup. This little Alabama girl's gonna feel right at home. Dad's already requested his Huskers shirt. Anyone else?

3. Bucknell University, Theta Iota chapter
Lewisburg, Pa.
I know nothing about Pennsylvania. I know nothing about Bucknell. Yay!

For the most part, until September comes to pass we will be doing recruitment visits.

Yes, I said it: RECRUITMENT. Not "rush." I fill the spot as the delinquent ADPi consultant that slips out "rush" more times that I say "recruitment," the official Panhellenic title. Can't help it. I grew up in an old Southern town where mothers and grandmothers obsess over grooming their younglings for a week of sundresses and ice water--I've heard the word my whole life. But I'm workin' on it. As my Province Director used to fuss at me on the phone, "(Sigh.) Ashlyn, I'll just never get you Deep South chapters to get the hang of it."

So let's see if taking me out of the

dirrrty South makes me a more politically correct ADPi.

Know anything about these universities and their respective towns?

Why Georgia.

My besties celebrated with me on my last night home. Yes, all of Montgomery is this beautiful.

I'm here! As of yesterday, I'm an official resident of Alpha Delta Pi headquarters.

(With an extremely tightly monitered security system, creepers.)

The front door knocker is a lion.

The upholstry in the turn-of-the-century parlor rooms is blue and white.

The  songbook on the grand piano downstairs is turned to "I Love the Frat!"

Painted woodland violets dance on antique dishes.

Portraits of honored Alpha Delts are everywhere.

They stocked the fridge for us.

You wanna see a frat castle?

You should check out my new digs.

ADPi Memorial Headquarters. Home sweet home.

Every morning, (Well, this morning. I've only been here 27 hours.) I wake up at 6 a.m. in a Southern mansion, rub my little eyes, and smile at the stirrings of my 6 new BFF's/LC sisters. Then we pop up and run a coupla miles through Atlanta's Druid Hills neighborhood and I'm reminded we're the overachieving, can't-slow-down, Type-A brand of girls that are pumped about traveling across America after these 3 weeks of jam-packed trainin' seshes.

Merry Christmas! Hair flip--just ask me for my cahd, dahhhling.

The throw us BlackBerrys (which, DUH, Mary Kathryn renamed BlueBerrys. #sororitygirl) and PC's. Which basically means I'm learning Yiddish and am cheating on my Mac products. Along with my very own ADPi ritual book which I squealed over--baha. People who know me are groaning because I so would.

Anyway, last night our most-fabulous boss trotted us over to Buckhead's Twist restaurant for sushi and tapas. Though we didn't see the fabulous Kim Zolciak of Real Housewives of Atlanta (she and her fake blonde hair frequent the joint), we ate up and then wandered through Phipps. Unfortunately, an LC salary isn't built for Elie Tahari or Gucci, dangit.

And today? After a breakfast of Chik-Fil-A (You'd think Truett Cathy was from here or somethin'), the 7 of us listened with intense, absolute, zero-day dreaming ears to a chunk of hours about sorority financial interorkings. Hear that, Daddy?! I actually paid attention to words like "accounts receivable," "billing,"and "credit" for hours. That's your cue to be proud.

Packing did NOT go well. When things got hard, I'd leave and go to layout at the club. They understand me there. Things eventually made it into the suitcases though.

So I have taken down the ponytails--sorta. I'm wearing more shifts and stilettos than my beloved Nike tennis skirts and bathing suits. I've actually got to put on something besides mascara and strawberry flavored Lip Smackers (yes, I'm 5).

But I'm having a ball.

'Cause of course, we're the real future housewives of Atlanta, like the LC class before us taught us. Being a professional sorority gives you major homemaker points.

Confessions of a Professional Sorority Girl

Yeah, right. If only. Photo courtesy of SBS Film/Legally Blonde.

Well y'all, it's go time. I leave in 5 days to start this crazy adventure as a traveling leadership consultant. So I wanted to take some time to explain why exactly I took this job. Why I'm working for a sorority. Cause I've heard it all, and I honestly poke fun at it myself most days:

    "So this makes you like, a professional sorority girl, right?"

    "You majored in sorority! Way to buck the higher educational system!"

    "&^%$, you're working for nationals? Dang, Ash. We hated that guy." - Frat Star

    "Wow. (eyebrows raised) You sure had fun in college, huh?" - Kind Church Pew Neighbor

Given the above skepticism, this how the 2009-2010 LC class instructed dealing with my friendly aisle buddy aboard a Boeing:

New Buddy: So, what line of work are you in?"

Me, flashing my million-dollar smile: "Oh, I'm in counsulting."

NB: "Really? What kind of consulting?"

Me: "You know, recruiting, retention, marketing, leadership services, financial needs..."

NB: "Oh, okay. Now what's the company?"

Me: "Well um, it's a non-profit women's organization based in Atlanta, Ga."

NB: "I meant like, what's the name of it...?"

Me: "Alpha Delta Pi sorority."

'Cause otherwise, you'll lose 'em at "sorority." Dang Animal House. Legally Blonde. Old School.

Old LC's passing the torch to us newbies.

So as journalism opportunities bloomed left and right in this ravishing job market NOT, I jumped at the opportunity to give back to ADPi. To get paid to jetset/sightsee. To grow up 3 years time in 9 months. To see if there's life on the other side of the Mississippi River. To plug my ears and turn my back to the looming world of corporate cubicles. To pretend I'm sorta-kinda still in college. To share Jesus as often as possible. <--this is the biggest reason I said yes to God's whole crazy idea about doing this. He had me on that one. So I said yes.

New LC class: It was love, and it bloomed quickly. Emily, Regan, Lori, Me, Megan, Jenni, Mary Kathryn

And yes, it absolutely scares me to death. I worry about getting lost, misplacing important things (um, have you met me?), navigating airport ALONE every 5 days, feeling kinda alone, and wreaking havoc on important relationships. That's the big one. No one's really sure about the cost of upkeep on a friendship when you don't exactly know when you'll see that girl again. Dear everyone: Yes, ha, I realize I'm the one potentially straining our friendship these days. :) Chyeah, you bet I'm leary.

But then God looks at me and says, "Hey, sunshine. (That's what God calls me. Not 'peanut,' like some of my friends think is a good nickname for me. They ignore it when I suggest 'sunshine' so I'll let God call me that.) No. Quit it--Stop worrying. Didn't I tell you "who of you in worrying can add another hour to her life?" The point of your life is Me, not you, remember? There's a glory of it all. That's me. I am going to pull you through a lot this year--hang on. Take my hand, we'll make it I swear. And hey, those friendships? Not to fret. I'm looking at the other side of this year and you'll eventually love what I work out, baby girl."

Hello, Hartsfield-Jackson. Can we pretend that airplanes in the night sky are our future home?

So here we go. Now to negotiate with that empty 3 piece Heys luggage set on the other side of my room that are staring at me. I'll pack tomorrow.

Same Kind of Different as Me.

"You loved me for who I was on the inside,

the person God meant for me to be, the one that had just gotten lost for a while on some ugly roads of life."

- Denver Moore, "Same Kind of Different As Me"

I think a lot of people cried when they read that book. I'm not a huge crier, but if I were reading that part out loud, my voice would have started that dang shaking thing it does in lieu of sending emotion out tear ducts.

I am desperate to learn to love people like that.

Denver in his broken, Louisiana dialect said it perfectly. We're a race commanded to love and see people through God's eyes. And I don't mean a "love" feeling. I mean the action brand of love.

I know I'm a fan of long shots and lost causes, and I have the potential to be too trusting. But how can we give up on people when we serve a Lord who relentlessly seeks us despite what we've done to him?

I just don't think I can ever give up on anyone. Especially after finishing that book. I know I was late to the game. But everyone should read it.

And then we should love blindly.

Reduce, Reuse, Re-Lilly.

 Photo courtesy of The Preppy Princess.

Between my sister Kristen and me, we could potentially outfit a 2nd grade class with all the obnoxiously bright, punchy, pink-and-green cloth that is strewn across the Stallings' upstairs chambers.

Oh, Lilly Pulitzer.

Truth: Lilly prints can err on the juvenile side. (Case in point: I have a skort that I wear on the reg; my BFF Melissa calls it my 4-year-old skort. Thank you, Mel. At least I can do cartwheels in it, hence the genius of skorts.)

Yes: I realize the brand can offer some of the least seductive articles of clothing for luring boys.

But I do not care. This oh-we-should-monogram-that minded, slightly preppy, girl--raised in the sweltering South--sees Lilly and lunges. SO. The other day, Kristen pulls me over to Facebook and points to the screen. And then I met Re-Lilly. Oh dear.

The Re-Lilly Facebook page essentially offers Lilly lovers a spot to buy and sell pieces in excellent condition--and at cut-rate prices. Basically, you post photos of whatcha want to sell and then other fans of the page email the owners to claim their bounty. Think eBay. For those of us that pride ourselves on gettin' a deal, it's genius.

So I warned you. Beware the potentially to add the page to your iPhone Facebook app favorites so you can check for new postings when boredom strikes. Puh-leese. Not like I'd know about that or anything...

B-T-dubs, this is Kristen. She's cute and I love her. Photo courtesy of Brooke Glassford.

Sugar Doll Award

Sweet Ashley, next door to me in Mississippi, passed along an award while I was in Atlanta a few days back! Thank you for thinking of me.

Award Rules:

1. List 10 things about you.

2. Tag 10 bloggers that you've recently discovered

3. If you are one of the 10 bloggers awarded, link back to this blog, and pass it along.

Aight. I'll hit it.

1. Art history was my favorite subject in undergrad. Hands down. Next to tennis. Neither of which was my major.

Kandinsky. Because I'm one of those people that actually adores modern art and thinks there's meaning/reason to painting like this. And I love it when the title "doesn't make sense."

2. My grandfather gives me his week's worth of Wall Street Journals on Saturdays. Recent tradition as I try to decipher the stock market.

3. Speaking of, I should own stock in J. Crew.

Photo courtesy of J. Crew.

4. There is one movie I cannot get sick of. It's name is Walk the Line.

5. For my first pick-your-own-costume Halloween, I asked to be a gorilla. Like all normal 3-year-old little girls. I carried a banana.

6. Favorite days: Hair air-dried/wavy, ZERO make up, men's large t-shirt or polo over a bathing suit. Done. Extra points for wearing hats backwards which my family makes fun of and I. Don't. Care.

Sister Kristen and me this past weekend at the lake on one of those #6 days.

7. Can't swallow pills. As in, one time I went to the hospital for an endoscopy on my throat from when I swallowed a Dioxycycline and it got lodged in my throat. Hello, Flintstones chewables.

8. I harmonize not-on-purpose. I have this issue where I can't match the melody on a good bit of songs. Just ask my college roommate.

9. I think better/clearer/stronger (harder, better, faster, stronger. Wait, Kanye, what?) through the arts. Theaters, art musuems, ballet studios, words, lyrics just make more sense to me than more finite, black-and-white logic.

Hello, former life. My toes still have purplish scars.

10. I love Jesus. Because he is Love. And I love love. And loving people. Haven't done the "in love" thing yet, but I hear it's pretty wonderful. We'll see one day. But yup, I'm happily commanded to love.

Tagged:

Mary Kathryn . Lori . Lizzy . Ellen . Katie . Carrie . Marissa . Callie Nicole . Tara . Megan

Girl America.

Photo courtesy of Lilac and Ivy.

Happy fourth, y'all!

I'm off to the lake...

Because I'm a good girl, love my Mama, love Jesus, and America too.

Post title: "Girl America" by Mat Kearney. Which should be on everyone's iPod.

This is what hope looks like.

Apparantly 19th-century Montgomerians loved Italy's Il Duomo. And I love them for that.

First Baptist Church of Montgomery epitomizes the good 'ole Southern church sterotype: Sunlight pours past stained-glass as it has since 1829, and genuine syrupy accents lilt from pew to pew. Barefoot, curly-headed little girls run around in French hand-sewn dresses like Deep South faries. Hugs replace handshakes. It's home. It's a body of believers that know that Christianity is more than "fire insurance;" but realize that it's a daily living out faith. That it's not trusting in a "Help me, Lord" faith just to pull us through adversity, but it's when you can look at Him regardless of hat you're going through and smile and say, "Yup. I'm going to tell others about this."

That's what the Katherine Wolf story is.

The girl had the kind of outward beauty that made fellow women stop and gawk. Both Samford graduates (go bulldogs!), she and our pastor's son, Jason Wolf, were married and living the dream life on the shores of California. That's when everything--from a worldly viewpoint--went drastically wrong. But miracles and unshakable faith abound instead...

Please listen to her story and

vote for Katherine's show pitch on Oprah.com.

I read the blog of Katherine's mom, Kim Arnold, pretty much like it's my job. It's right up there with Fly Through Our Window for me, and that's a high ranking :)

As a perpetual role-model adopter, these are two strong Southern women you don't want to miss.

Happy Birthday/This is getting ridiculous.

Photo courtesy of Brooke Glassford. Embarrassment from entire Italian ice shop singing to me, also courtesy of Brooke Glassford.

First, I graduated college. Then I turned 22 last week. As a result of these celebratory incidents, I am now I have accumulated quite the gear and am set to travel the nation. Holy cow. This is real life.

3 pieces of Heys luggage

1 laptop/briefcasey bag

1 Vera Bradley ditty bag

1 Vera Bradley curling iron holder thing

1 Kate Spade Colin travel case

1 Longchamp bag

Graduation money in visable form.

That's a lot of luggagey things.

That's my life for the next year.

One week of job training in Atlanta (aka ADPi Camp, which always resembles a Lilly convention) starts today, then I'm back home for a few short weeks before being a mother bird and setting my little travel collection out into the wild.

Photo courtesy of Lilly Pulitzer. This is my current desktop/phone wallpaper.

So in the name of azure blue and white, I'm off to meet the 5 women/fellow traveling leadership consultants. We hear we'll be fast friends.