Thankful

 Expressing my love for the Thanksgiving/Christmas Season 

 

First of all, I know it has been a really long time since my last post. It’s insane to me that the last time I hit the little orange “publish” button for this blog, the most viewed post had only a little over a hundred pageviews. When I think back on that crazy week of my summer, I am still overwhelmed by the outpouring of love and recognition I received for my letter to Detroit.

That said, I’m back! Junior year swept me off my feet with all the work and extracurricular that appeared from the very first day of school onward. Now, as the first semester begins to wind down and my teachers are panicking and talking about exams, I am finding myself very reflective, and with Thanksgiving approaching fast, I have so much to be thankful for.

In October of 2014, an electrical fire broke out at my house. I never knew how devastating something like that could be. I like to think myself a spiritually grounded person, and I think most of the time,  I am. But as a sixteen-year-old girl growing up in lower middle-class, 21^st-century America, I can be pretty materialistic. Losing nearly all of my clothes and most of my possessions while trying to navigate my sophomore year of high school was not easy. Life at home became increasingly difficult, because tensions ran really high. Moving is stressful when you are prepared for it. Imagine having to pack up a house that is smoke-damaged, waterlogged, and half ruined, all in a weekend. Having to sort through and clean everything, on top of buying new things and handling the many generous donations we got, on top of moving into a too-small-for-us home…well, overwhelming is an understatement.

That was just over a year ago now, and earlier this month, we finally got to go home. I am so joyful to be back in our house. The house that I call home may not look like much, but it was my safe haven when I needed that more than anything else in my life. It represents a stability that I am so grateful to have. There are still boxes everywhere, and we aren’t nearly as organized as we would like to be, but we’re getting there. The house is starting to feel like ours, more than it did even before the fire. I think an experience like that is such a teachable moment. Being back home, I take so much more ownership and pride than I did before. I can’t take it for granted anymore, because I know what it’s like not to have that. I never appreciated our 1,200 square feet more than I do now.

The holidays have always held such significance for me. I am one of those people who absolutely adores Christmas. It arrives 23 days after my birthday each year, so the month of December is always a joyful time for me. When I was younger, we would spend Thanksgiving with my Maw-Maw, and holidays without her are always hard. But as I prepare for Thanksgiving this week, which we are spending in our home, I am beyond grateful. I love holiday preparation; the food, the decorations, the music. Thanksgiving afternoon was always spent decorating my Maw-Maw’s Christmas tree, and I love that tradition. It’s things like that, in my opinion, that make the holiday season so special. There’s endless nostalgia surrounding Christmastime, and I relish those sorts of things.

So this week, we are working through the boxes to make shopping lists, and organizing cabinets to house groceries. We’re making room for Christmas decoration, solely for the tradition of it (my family and I aren’t even staying in town for Christmas this year), and I’m setting the Macy’s Thanksgiving Day Parade to record on the DVR because for my dad to miss the football game would be treason in the Mattheis house, and we can’t have that. On Thursday, I will be making a pie from a recipe that I have never needed to write down, because my Maw-Maw taught it to me when I was so little that I had to sit on the counter. This coming weekend, I will get to hang all my ornaments on the tree, and hang my stocking, and put the jingle bell collars on my dogs. We’ll put out red candles and change the scent in our wax warmer to something more Christmas-y. Soon, I’ll get to start wrapping Christmas presents, and we’ll make Christmas treats and I’ll wear my candy-cane earrings.

All of that is happening, and this week, I am so much more thankful for what I have than I can recall ever being. I am truly blessed, despite my struggles, and because of them. So I take this opportunity to wish you and yours a very happy and blessed Thanksgiving.

A Letter To Detroit From A National Youth Gathering Participant

Dear Detroit,

My name is Cassie and I'm from a small town in North Carolina, where our largest building is Wal-Mart. I have always wanted to experience life in a big city, and you did not disappoint, but rather exceeded my expectations. You see, I was expecting a city filled with broken dreams and shattered glass, a city devoid of life and hope. I expected a scene of desolation against the backdrop of a dead city.

But you are not dead. You are so very much alive. You destroyed all of my preconceptions the minute I set foot on your gorgeous riverwalk and was exposed to the cultural diversity and breathtaking views you offered me. I saw the opposite of what I expected; I saw bike riders and people reading books and children playing in the fountain. I saw so much life, even after mere minutes of being there. And that first night, my group ventured into Greektown, and Monroe became my favorite street in all of a minute. It was still daylight out, but the criss-crossing lights that hung above the street had me hooked at first glance. I was entertained and enamored by your people, your mannerisms, and your atmosphere. (Not to mention the food, which is absolutely delectable).

Over the week, I saw your bad side. (the area around 8-mile road was pretty sketchy). I saw your homeless, your penniless, your dirty and your somewhat terrifying drunk Tigers fans. I saw your houses adorned with neon yellow signs that read, "Will Demolish". But I also saw your beauty. I saw your culture. I saw your parks. I saw your police; on boats, cars, horses, and bicycles. I saw your sports. I saw your riverwalk. I heard your music. I saw your street drummers and the guy playing the trumpet in Greektown. I saw your public buses, your taxis, your people mover. I saw your graffiti and your mosaics. I saw your alleys and your crosswalks. I saw Astoria Pastry Shop every single night I was there. I saw your stunning architecture and I ate your food. We rapped with a car full of your people as they drove beside us on our walk back to our hotel one night. I saw one of your artists sketching on a street corner and my dad bought me a rose from one of your people selling flowers on Monroe. I saw your Times Square and your Broadway. I heard your concerts and experienced your weather. I felt your rain, your breezes, and your sunshine. I sang in your streets and weeded your flowerbeds. I talked to your citizens. I heard your spoken word and the testimony of those who belong to you. I served and worshipped and learned and laughed in your city. And I fell in love with it.

I saw your life. I saw your hope and your future, but I also saw your present and it is so far from dead. I want to bring every single person who said to me, "Detroit? Why are you going there? So you can get shot?" and I want to show them the Detroit I got to see because there are a million reasons to see everything you showed me.

I came to see your for the first time as one in 30,000 teenagers. We all blended together for you, I'm sure,with our brightly colored tee-shirts, inordinate amounts of cheerfulness, backpacks and water bottles, not to mention the fact that we all seemed to know each other. You may have tired of our endless happiness, constant singing, or our multitude of high-fives and clothespins. Perhaps by the end of the week, you were ready to back to being "too-cool-for-you hipster" and leave the Disneyland vibe behind. You may have been ready to have your streets back at night, and not packed with teens singing the National Anthem for no reason at all. I'm sure your restaurants were ready to return to normal dinner crowds instead of being overcrowded by people clad in neon orange.

But I want to say thank you. Thank you a million times for putting up with the ELCA Youth Gathering 2015, because it wouldn't have been the same without you. Thank you for proving me wrong, and for showing me just how alive and vibrant and wonderful you really are.

I love you, Detroit.

Until Next Time,

Cassie

To Be A Missionary

What does it mean to be a missionary?

I recently had the occasion to ponder this question, and am still trying to work out the truest answer it has. Having been lucky enough to feel called to any sort of career this early in life, to have an end goal, and be able to plan my life out (although they say we plan and God laughs) has been a blessing. I see friends struggling with a lack of purpose in many ways, having no idea what they want to do. On the other hand, many people change their majors once or more in college, so perhaps my friends will be better off in the end, not clinging to a previously formulated plan.

However, feeling called to be a missionary has come about after several decision changes following the call I heard at 12 years old, which was to be a nurse in the NICU (Neonatal Intensive Care Unit). Since then, I have cycled through several options, all of which have stayed within the parameters of the medical field. I thought for a while that I wanted to be an Emergency Room physician. (Thank you, six seasons of ER watched consecutively.) I also considered family medicine, and becoming a full-fledged Neonatologist as opposed to a NICU nurse. And then, it came to me. Missionary medicine. A way to satisfy my wanderlust and travel the world, while quenching my desire to work with the human body, AND doing the Lord's work, which I have developed a passion for. It sounded, and still does, like the best idea ever.

So after this revelation that came as a result of prayer and thinking, along with talking to my mom, a lot (She was very patient about it, usually.), I was on top of the world. I knew what I wanted to do, I could look at what schools I would want to go to, and the kind of credentials I would need. Oooh, and what countries I wanted to mission in! Bangladesh and India? Yes. Saris, here I come!

Wait. Hold up, Cassie.

What does it mean to be a missionary? The thought occurred to me one day out of the blue, and while it did not burst my bubble or dim my enthusiasm for my new life plans, it did bring me down off my pedestal a bit. It made me stop and think.

I cannot go into such an endeavor because I want to wear a sari (although I totally do. The picture included here is of me trying one on with the help of author Kimberly Rae, aka one of the coolest people I have ever met.) I cannot set out to be a missionary, doing the work of the Lord in foreign countries, healing people and helping them, if I myself have no clue what  a missionary is.

Recently, at the NC Synod Assembly I attended, there were two missionaries that spoke to us. One is living and missioning with his family in Senegal, and the other is doing the same with her family in Argentina. I have so much respect for these two people, who both have spouses and children, and who are making major headway in Africa and South America.  As I listened to them speak, I could literally feel myself buzzing with excitement. As the first missionary told a story about their Muslim neighbors inviting them over for a slaughter (American speak: barbeque), I couldn't help but listen intently. The story ended with his recollection of the slaughter-feast-thing, and the fact that the Muslim neighbor had asked him, a Lutheran pastor and missionary, to pray before the meal, knowing full well that he was about to pray to our God. I definitely got chills. I saw pictures of his young son walking literally hand in hand with a young African Muslim boy, neither of them the least bit concerned about their differences or afraid of the other. Complete and total peace, captured photographically on the streets of Senegal.

And I have to admit, the idea of the whole thing sounded so appealing to me. The opportunity to see that peace manifesting itself in person, to be witness to something so much bigger than anything I've ever seen, is something that I can't even wrap my head around, while at the same time, want so desperately.

So I guess that still doesn't answer the question. I recently went to visit my grandparents in Tennessee, where I got to ride horses and see dogs that adore me and go kayaking and just generally live the life of the retired-which is amazing, by the way. But that's beside the point. My grandparents have this friend, whom I've met several times before, and who calls me a Communist, but that's the result of a conversation about my activist efforts...again, beside the point. The actual point is, this year, he and I had a conversation about the fact that I want to be a missionary. His exact words were, "You're not going to be one of those missionaries over there, are you?" Now, considering I'm a Communist, this shouldn't have been surprising to him.

I found myself on a strange side of things in this conversation. Up until that point, the idea of my being a foreign missionary had never been met with anything but, to be frank, somewhat gushing support. My church family is all very pleased by the thought, and I had already gotten used to people being excited by the prospect, as opposed to...well, somewhat disgusted. So here I was, sitting on the ground surrounded by gravel and dogs (not to mention dog hair and slobber stains on my shirt and my face), explaining to a man that I like and respect that yes, I was going to be one of those missionaries.

His argument was that maybe they didn't want my religion. And mine, which I stand firm on, was that they should have the option. In explaining my position on missionaries, I found that the answer to my initial question was within reach. To be a missionary?

I think maybe it's really about being willing. Not only to do what you have to do, to do the Lord's work, and to share the good news, possibly to people who had never heard it, ever. (A thought that seems, to me, a lifelong Christian who had Bible stories read to her from the time she was a baby and whose first public performance was Amazing Grace at barely three years old, REALLY foreign) Not only that, but also to humble yourself. To be willing to sacrifice what you have, and even what you could have, for the good of more than what you can see. I think a missionary is, in its most simplistic of definitions, a member of the body who is willing to do what she can to BE the body, to be the hands and feet of Jesus in a place where people need that. By such a definition, I was a missionary at eleven years old when I attended "Mission Project Lenoir" (Now LAMP) for the first time, and spent hours scraping old paint off of a lady's front porch railing. I was a missionary then, and every summer since, in my own hometown. I was a missionary with my team in Manchester, Kentucky last summer. And I can be a missionary in my day-to-day life. It's not necessarily about being in Bangladesh, or knowing statistics on human trafficking that would make your skin crawl. It's not about having an MD or the medication to treat malaria. It's not about praying over a slaughtered lamb in Senegal, or traveling Death Road in Bolivia because your god-daughter lives at the end. It's not about distributing Sunday School materials in Spanish to churches that didn't have them. Not that those things aren't good and worthy and wonderful, because they are. And they're so worth it, if you ask me.

But in the end, I believe that what it's truly about is being willing, being open, and being available. Doing what you can, when and where you can, to the best of your ability, to spread Truth and the Word to people who need to hear that, no matter what the reason is behind the need. So, I guess in the end, maybe my answer has been right in front of me the whole time, hasn't it? Maybe my answer lies in the people who surround me every day. Because maybe we are all truly missionaries, in our own ways. 

Things My Mother Taught Me

Well, it's Mother's Day, guys. So, if you're a mother, grandmother, maternal figure, or something of the sort, happy Mother's Day! I have been trying to think of something to blog about for weeks, and hadn't come up wih quite the perfect idea. Until today, of course. Today, it occured to me that, while I have blogged about some of the important people in my life, I have not yet done so in regards to one of the most important people-my mom!
I cannot even begin to express just how much she means to me. I never imagined that my mother would become so much my friend, confidant, and compainion. We aren't perfect, not by a long shot, but as I reflect on my relationship with my mom, I realize we have something very special. I tell my mom everything. Literally, there is very very little, if anything, that I don't tell her. I know that I can depend on my mom to be there for me when no one else is, and I like to think that street goes both ways. I find that I turn to my mom when I need basically anything. Advice, love, help, truth, prayer; all of these are things that I know she will give me to the best of her ability. I'm grateful. The truth hurts a lot of the time, but I love that I can go to her and know that she will tell me honestly what she thinks, and never sugar coat things or lie to me to make it seem better than it is. If there is something that I need advice on and she doesn't have the answer, she inevitably comes back to me some time later, with some form of an answer gleaned from nights of prayer and reflection. There is a stability and wisdom in that which I rely on and am thankful for.
Experience, I've learned, is the best way to learn things. Experience which I don't have. I am an inherently stubborn person by nature. Just because someone else tells me my idea is going to get me in a tight spot, does not mean I won't do it. Actually, if someone tells me that, I'm even more likely to do it, if only to prove them wrong. (Which usually doesn't work; usually, they were right all along and I make some kind of big mistake which leads to unfavorable consequences. I digress.)
My mother is far more experienced at everything in life than I am. (I know more Castle trivia than she does, so ha!) Despite my inherent hard-headedness, I know that she can teach me so much. She's made all the mistakes I seem to want to make for myself. She's done all the things I think are good ideas, when they aren't. She's been in the place where she had to make the decision I'm losing sleep over. And the best part is that she's willing to share all of that with me, willing to admit her wrongs and bad choices in life in the hopes of helping to prevent me from making those same mistakes. As I said, I'm very stubborn. A lot of the time, when my mom is trying to teach me by anecdote, I fight it. I am deermined that I will learn by my own mistakes. But sometimes, every once in a while, a little ray of light makes its way through the many layers of my thick skull and I realize that she's right (Don't tell her I said that). And because of her willingness to share her story with me, I evade a catastrophe. Sometimes.
My mother has spent so much of her time with me. She has given up her whole life for my siblings and I, all the time and energy she could be spending on herself, she spends on us. Hours talking with me about really stupid stuff that, at the time, seemed like the end of the world to me. Looking back, she had to be thinking, This is never going to matter. This "disaster" is nothing. But still, she sat with me until three a.m., talking about that boy I had a crush on. She spent entire days planning my wedding, only to have me change my mind. (Not that I need to plan my wedding anyway!) She indulges me when I tell her the same story fifty times, and listens to the songs I want her to hear, even when she may not like them at all. So, in honor of my mother, here are a few tips that I have learned from an incredible woman. If you're not as thick-headed as I am, maybe they'll sink in for you. If they do, and they make a difference, thank my mother.

1) All good people do bad things; it doesn't make them bad people. All bad people do good things; it doesn't make them good people.

2) God first. Family second. School or work third.

3) Just be.

4) Salad fork, dinner fork, left side of the plate. Knife, serrated side in, spoon, on the right side.

5) Always serve water with dinner.

6) A woman should know how to work on cars. Never rely on a man to do that for you.

7) Every woman should have the experience of living first with other females, and then by herself, before she gets married.

8) Be resourceful. You need neither meat nor beans to have chili.

9) Trust your gut. Your instincts are vital, and if something feels wrong, it is. Get out.

10) Call me before the cops get involved. I will only bail you out once.

11) Read books, and be cultured.

12) Grammar! GRAMMAR. GrAmMeR! Grammar. grammar! GRAMMAR! Grammar. Grammar.  Grammar?

13) Be well spoken, be classy, and be honest. 

14) People will talk. If there's nothing to say about you, they will make something up. 

15) Be part of a church in your community. What it says on the sign doesn't matter, as long as the people inside are worshipping God. 

These are just a taste of the things my mother has taught me, and continues to attempt to beat into me. (I'm kidding, I promise.) On this mother's day, and every other day of the year, I am grateful for my mother; the woman who fixes my hair and writes Bible verses on my face for me and corrects my bad grammar sometimes, teaches me to make cakes, and stays up binge-watching various TV shows with me. I am so grateful. 
I'll love you last. <3

Julie Andrews

If you haven't noticed, it has been 50 years this year since the release of the film The Sound of Music.
First of all, this movie is my absolute favorite movie of all time. I am completely in love with everything about this film. It makes me so very happy, so very, very happy, every time I see even a thirty-second clip or a single note of any one of the songs. I adore it.
Of course, it is one of take those movies that I can't take credit for watching. If not for my mother, I wouldn't have seen it. I saw it when I was about nine or so, and naturally didn't understand the history of it at all, but was enamored by the music and, of course, Julie Andrews' inexplicably enchanting charm.
So, in the wake of the 20/20 special The Untold Story of The Sound of Music that aired last week on ABC, I decided I had to do a blog post about one of my idols.
I don't know what I can possibly say about Julie Andrews that hasn't been said before now? Realistically, I am not the only person regarding her as a role model for life. There are millions of people who love Julie Andrews. For me, she is such an inspiration, a model of class and tact and beauty.
Julie Andrews was born in 1935 in England (so of course her accent is amazing) and hasn't stopped since then. She was an incredible singer, who starred in many musicals including The Sound of Music and Mary Poppins. I first saw her in The Princess Diaries (with baby Anne Hathaway before she was stunning and wonderful and everything amazing.)
I have a thing for girly, sparkly, princess-y things, so Julie's role in The Princess Diaries was almost more appealing to me than Mia's character of clumsy-tomboy-turned-glam-princess. I love class. I love it when a person is classy and tactful, well-spoken and graceful.
Julie Andrews is all of these. She is on my list of people to meet in my life, although somehow I doubt it will happen, but you never know.
As for The Sound of Music, it is by far my all-time favorite move. I fell in love with it from the very beginning, and have watched it a million times. I own the sing-along version. I love the innocence of the story line. Today's movies aren't nearly that clean. I am daily exposed to inappropriate, crude humor that I basically despise. I hate how worldly everyone is. I hate how everything is filled with the tropes of today's corrupt world. I'm not preaching here, just expressing how much I hate a lot of the current "humor". There isn't nearly as much innocence as I would like.
I'm not saying I don't like my cell phone, because I do. Believe me, I do. But sometimes, like last weekend when Aidan came over to help with yard work and such, and we ran around the building in circles and chased each other in pursuit of a tiny piece of my old bed frame...it's times like these, that make me wish there wasn't so much technology in the world. I long for the simplicity of times like those depicted in The Sound of Music. If I could have six siblings close in age and a singing nun for a governess, I so would. I would do it in a heartbeat. I would also fall in love with a German telegram delivery boy who turned out to be a Nazi and sing while dancing in a glass gazebo during a thunderstorm, and then get soaked and climb into said governess' bedroom. I would do it.
The thing is, Julie Andrews shines as Maria. She is captivating, and I could not help but fall in love with her and the movie. Recently, I have been watching interviews with Julie Andrews and find that she is always put together, always comes across as genuine and kind, always proper, but never haughty. She's a wonderful human being.
An idol should be someone you can look up to, admire, and strive to be like. I feel completely comfortable in calling Julie Andrews my idol. She is someone I'm more than happy to tell people that I want to be like.
If I have half as much class and talent as Julie Andrews at any point in my life, I will consider myself very lucky.

Lutheranism

I found myself perusing the Blog Topic Generator again, just for fun, and stumbled across this gem of a topic in the "Religion" section.
Lutheranism.
Really, how could I not seize this opportunity?

I am, by definition, Lutheran. I was baptized at Lutheran Church of the Atonement when I was seven, and I was Confirmed at St.Stephen Lutheran Church last fall. I have gone to camp at both Lutherock and Camp Agape, been a member of the Western Cluster Board of The Lutheran Youth Organization of North Carolina, I annually attend the LYO Assembly each February, and, next summer, my dad and I are both going to the National Lutheran Youth Gathering in Detroit. I love Lutheran rapper Agape, and recently met him, as you can see in one of the photos above. I love Lenoir-Rhyne University (which is the only Evangelical Lutheran Church of America-affiliated university in North Carolina) and annually go there for Lutheran Youth Day in Septemeber. I have a tendency to become irritated if I do not get to sit in whatever spot I consider mine (because I sat there last time, so it is my spot.) and I am very much a creature of habit who is rather attached to the cranberry hymnals. I sometimes end sentences with the words, "This is most certainly true," and when I hear, "(Insert anything here) be with you," I invariably respond, "And also with you." If asked, I can spout off a Martin Luther quote. If asked to choose a favorite year, I would say 1517. I have, more than once, explained the Martin Luther quote on the back of my tee-shirt to the lady in line behind me at the store when she comments on the "Martin Luther King, Jr. quote" by calmly saying, "No, this is Martin Luther. He was a sixteenth century reformist, not a twentieth century activitst." (I usually get a blank look, but that's okay.)
I am a Lutheran.
Words like 'bishop', 'synod', and 'liturgy' are commonplace for me, a fact of which I am reminded each time I say them and am asked what on earth they mean. The usual mealtime prayer is "Come Lord Jesus." A call of, "The Lord Be With You" is sufficient to quiet everyone down in seconds. Liturgical colors are wildly important, and I even know a song that explains them. Covered dish dinners are the highlight of my life, and I have a Lutheran Handbook that explains exactly what you should do should you ever be faced with being burned at the stake. I wear my white robe at least once a month, and I find myself in other denominational churches wondering when we're going to stand up. I literally know entire songs that are only about standing up and sitting down. I loved Mary-Kate and Ashley Olsen a lot more when I realized they, too, were Lutheran. Bach is my favorite composer...just because he was Lutheran. (Lou Gehrig, Steve Jobs, Felicity Huffman, Kris Kristofferson, David Hasselhoff, Steve Zahn, Lyle Lovett, and William H. Macy also make the Lutheran List.)
Yes, I am Lutheran.
I love Lutheranism. I love the ceremony of it, the little jokes that most Lutherans understand, and I love the simple fact that I know what it means to be Lutheran. I love owning the Lutheran Handbook, the Lutheran Book of Prayer, and Luther's Small Catechism. I love the fact that Lutheranism is part of my identity, part of who I am. I love that my church feels like home to me. I love the eccentricities and familiarity of the Lutheran church. I love that Lutheranism is a part of me. But even more than that, when you strip it all away, I love that I am a child of God.
Always, Cassie

The One Place In The World

I sat down at my kitchen table this morning intending to write a blog post. But as I settled down to do so, with my tablet open and my fingers poised and ready to type in the title box of my new post section, I found myself at a loss. After a few minutes of mentally flipping through files in my head, I came up empty and decided to hit up Google. (Naturally)
I searched, "What should I blog about?" (Google  is, after all, the kind of guy you have to be straighforward with from the start.) and clicked on the first link, a Blog topic generator. I flipped through the categories, and settled on "World". The first few topics it generated weren't for me. Things like, "The Languages of Europe" and other random things I do not know enough to blog about. However, the third or fourth result caught my attention. It said, "The one place in the world that you want to live." And immediately, I knew that this was a topic I could definitely spin into a blog post. For a long time, I have expressed a strong desire to live in, you

 guessed by the photos, New York City. When I express this to people, I find myself receiving mixed reviews on the matter. Some wholeheartedly agree with me. Some vehemently oppose the idea. Some are confused. Some are scornful. All of those responses are okay. Here's the thing: how you feel about me moving to New York City someday really doesn't affect my desire to move there. Shocking, right?
Even so, some people want an explanation. For me, there are so many things that appeal to me about New York that I really don't mind explaining it. So here are my reasons.
First of all, have you looked at these pictures? They are absolutely breathtaking. I'm not really into the beauty of the area in which I live. I mean, yes, the parkway is beauiful, but...news flash: I've grown up around the parkway. It has been equally beautiful my entire life. I

 enjoy a venture along the Viaduct as much as the next person, especially when it's foggy or the autumn colors are at their peak, and I do rather like a trip to Linville Caverns every  now and then, but honestly, those places are a part of life for me. They are something I've grown up with, not something new and beautiful and exciting. New York seems to be a gorgeous place. (I'm not stupid, I know it's also dirty and criminally active and crowded.)
Another reason I want to move to New York City lies with The Alternative Travel Project. If you haven't heard of it, which you probably haven't, it is a movement founded by actress Stana Katic in 2010 to promote going car free for just one day in an effor to minimize carbon footprint and impact both yours and the earth's health. ATP promotes alternative means of travel, be it by bicycle, by rollerskates, by skateboard, by subway or metro car or by foot. I wholeheartedly support the effort, but if you live in Lenoir, you might understand my struggle. Going car free in Lenoir is next to impossible. There are very few places withing walking distance and a lot of those places are not the ones tha are vital for life here. I cannot walk to school, because it sits right on Highway 321. I cannot walk to the library, because it is too far away. I cannot walk to any grocery store, nor to any store where I might buy clothing. I cannot walk to work. I cannot walk to church from where I live currently. Lenoir, North Carolina does not have subways or metros. I rest my case. 
I'm told that New York is a filthy place where people are mean and hateful, where crime rates are sky-high and every corner is terrorizing. I thought about these stereotypes and began to wonder how much of that is based solely on the crime dramas set in New York City. So I took it upon myself to do some research into the real-life crime rates.
Turns out, these are the statistics for 2014 in simple numbers:
Murders: 333
Rapes: 1,352
Robberies: 16, 539
Felony Assaults: 20, 207
Burglaries: 16, 765
Grand Larcenies: 43, 862

And here are the simple numer stats from the year 1990 (PRE-9/11, mind you.)
Murders: 2,262
Rapes: 3,162
Robberies: 100,280
Felony Assault: 44,122
Burglaries: 122,055
Grand Larcenies: 108, 487

Percent of change from 1990 to 2014 in each of those categories looks something like this: 
Murder: Down 85.3%
Rape: down 56.7%
Robbery: Down 83.5%
Felony Assault: Down 54.2%
Burglary: Down 86.3%
Grand Larceny: Down 59.6%

So this is for those of you who say New York City has gotten more dangerous. News flash: in the last fifteen years, which include post-September 11 crime, New York city has gotten substantially safer. 

Aside from all the numbers and statistics, New York City is a beautiful place. It appeals to me because it is busy and alive, it's vibrant and bursting with energy. There are restaurants and places to shop, parks, museums, history, culture. I find myself thinking that in a small town, I would be immeasurably bored as an adult. I cannot imagine that I would get bored in a place like New York. It's risky, you say, because despite my statistics, there are still  1,352 rapes in New York City per year. I have to ask, are you aware of how many sex offenders live in Lenoir, North Carolina? 520 of North Carolina's 613 registered sex offenders live in Caldwell County. Yeah. That's 85% of the sex offenders. In Caldwell County, the ratio of residents to sex offenders is 220:1. In Manhattan, that ratio is 324,379:1. Which city sounds safer?

My point here is not that everyone should move to New York or that there's no chance of my becoming a victim of violent crime there. That would be incredibly naive. All I'm saying is that maybe, before you lecture me on the crime rates in New York City, you should consider the crime rates of where we live today. The fact is, I am more likely to become a victim of sexual assault in Lenoir, North Carolina than I am in New York City. It's a somewhat stunning revelation, but the data is here to back it up. 

I've never been to New York. There is a possibility that, when I get there, I will hate it. But somehow, I don't think so. I crave stories, as a writer. New York, for me, is a mess of people who span a massive range of cultures and backgrounds. The people of New York City make up a culturally diverse melting pot, full of stories and amazing experiences that I haven't even considered yet. And maybe this is just me being a teenage dreamer, but I want to experience New York in all it's glory; all its beauty, all its darkness, its pain, its dirt, its crime, its passion. I want it all. Just to say I've had it. 
Always, Cassie

The Anonymous Complimenter

The vast majority of you are aware of where I attend high school. (If you weren't aware, it's called the Caldwell Career Center Middle College, and it lies in the above building.)
Last week, after first period, I was on my way to Spanish after taking the long way around from downstairs to walk with Tayler. I was about to enter the building when Sydney called to me from behind and I turned around to face her.
"You're on the Twitter thing, did you see?"
I had no clue what she was talking about, but I took her phone when she handed it to me, and I looked down at the screen, where Twitter was pulled up. The username was "@CCCMC_Truth" and I had been mentioned in a Tweet that read, "@Castle_Fanatic's hair is on point! Love the haircut beautiful! #cccmctruth"
I had heard about the "Dis List" twitter pages that had popped up around the county's district high schools, and even heard some murmurings of starting one of the Twitter pages intended for derogatory comments at my school. But instead of a mean, hateful list of comments aimed at specific students, my high school rose up and created a page for complimenting the students, run by two anonymous members of our student body. Word about CCCMC Truth spread quickly-by lunchtime, everyone knew about the page and speculation about whom had started it was rampant. Everyone had an opinion about who was behind the page, and Tweets from the user were surfacing at a rapid rate, nice comments aimed at at specific students. Here are some examples.

"@sammy_denise_9 is a really pretty woman. She is very smart as well. I am glad to be in school with her."
"@matryoshka_sey believe me when I say, you are adorable! Your attitude is amazing! Love you darling!"
@_senoritasmith your teaching technique is amazing! Keep it up!"
"The sarcasm of @TehemHolton is the best thing ever!"
"#cccmctruth Mrs.Johnson is an all-around wonderful and outstanding person, she is looking out for everyone. Sending so much love to her."
"#cccmctruth Besides having the best dirty and Star Wars jokes, George Hickein is a really awesome friend."
"If you haven't heard Nick Grozier sing, you haven't lived. He sounds like an angel...sorta."

As the school found itself swept up by the kindness and care of some anonymous members of our number, I found myself sitting back in reflection on the whole situation. While everyone was desperate to know who it was, and people were being "accused" left and right (myself included), it occured to me that this event was probably one of the best representations of the good in people. Teenagers are infamous for being cruel beings, and high school is known as a battlefield. I do admit, my situation at CCCMC is a little different because we are all hand picked for being the brightest of our age. Even so, there's still an element of teenage angst and the troubles that plague all teens. We aren't exempt from that, and are often judgmental, petty, hateful, mean, and self-entitled. We are materialistic and we are angry. We laugh at the expense of others and poke fun at our peers far more often than we should. We are selfish and we allow ourselves to be so absorbed in what we want that we often don't notice the needs of those around us.
But, amongst all of the worldly temptations and opportunities that the 21st-century world provides for bullying, two anonymous students at CCCMC rose above the norm. In complimenting people instead of tearing them down, bringing up the spirits of people without claiming credit for themselves, the entire school was abuzz with the hot topic of the day, and these two people were hidden somewhere in the crowd, among the people whose day's they had brightened. The fact that, in this selfish world, they refused to reveal themselves and didn't want the credit for their admirable actions.
That, to me, is the highlight of humanity, for teenagers to overcome the prerequisite of being cruel and harmful people, in favor of being genuinely kind to others.
Always, Cassie

Maleficent

Disney's 2014 re-telling of he classc fairytale known as "Sleeping Beauty", titled Maleficent was released in May 2014. Not long after the film's release, a group of friends and I went to see it in theaters. Even then, I was struck by how well-done the film was.

I was skeptical at first, I must admit. I wasn't sure if re-telling a classic fairy tale was such a good idea, to be honest. Plus, I'm not Angelina Jolie's biggest fan, as I feel she gets more time on magazines in line at Wal-Mart than she does quality screen time. (Sorry, not sorry.) 

However, we went to see the movie and I found it to be absolutely wonderful. Upon farther reflection, I came to atribute its success to the fact that it wasn't just a remake of Sleeping Beauty. They took a story that everyone knows, and twisted it around by telling it from a different point of view. 

Warning: Reading farher will result in spoilers. 

Another thing I loved about Maleficent was the way the story ends. When Aurora (played by Elle Fanning, Dakota Fanning's little sister) is in her deep sleep, the fairies find a prince to kiss her. However, his "true love's kiss" isn't effective in awakening Auror. The prospects seem bleak, but then Maleficent came over to speak to Aurora. Maleficent had come to love Aurora, and regreted cursing the baby. She apologizes to the sleeping princess, and kisses her forehead.
Then she wakes up.
Disney seems to be catching up. Between Frozen's sisterly love theme and Maleficent's motherly love theme, I'm starting to think maybe Disney is realizing that romantic love isn't exactly everything, and that every princesss doesn't need a man to save her.
It makes me like Disney even more.
Always, Cassie

The Bible Boldness Experiment, Day 5

If I had to pick a favorite youth group event, it would probably be the one I attended tonight. Parents' Night Out is always a total delight, even though I don't know the kids very well and most of them aren't super comfortable with me. I adore little ones, and I love spending time with them.
When I went to Parents' Night Out tonight,I expected the kids to be curious about the verse on my face, but I also expected them not to ask, because they don't know me well. (If you didn't know this, I attend St.Stephen Lutheran as my home church, but we don't exactly have a youth group, so I go to youth at First Presbyterian.)
After dinner, the kids were eating ice cream sandwiches and a couple of them were asking about Austin, my brother, having not known him either. So Rose accomadated them, saying, "That's Miss Cassie's brother. Do you know who Cassie is?" When they all shook their heads, she pointed me out with the words, "That's Cassie, with the writing on her face." It was a perfectly placed outlet for the kids to ask about the writing.
"What does it say?" Aubrey inquired.
"It's a Bible verse," I replied. "Phillipians 4:13, 'I can do all things through Christ who strengthens me." They all nodded, openly accepting of this concept in a way that was typical of a child, but also stunningly Christian.
Quinn (I don't pick favorite children, but if I did...) wanted to know why I had to write on my face. I explained to him that I didn't have to, that I wanted to.
Again, he stunned me with his acceptance of a concept that so many adults do not understand.
I think, a lot of the time, we get so caught up in our busy lives that we forget to be like Quinn and Aubrey. We forget the simple acceptance and wonder that children so freely express. I think that's why I inevitably come away from Parents' Night Out with a serenity in my heart. God is so evident in these little children!
If I could wish anything for myself, it would be to have the open acceptance and wonder that they do.
Always, Cassie