When I turn 18

My 18th Birthday is in 1 week, 6 days. I've been thinking about turning 18 since...probably a couple days after my 17th Birthday.

There's nothing special about age 17. I got my permit, but that's pretty much it. It's kind of a boring year.

18 is more exciting. I'm finally going to be able to go to the doctor by myself, which means I won't have to make appointments around my parents' schedules. Yes, I graduated High School over a year ago and I still can't go to the doctor's office alone.

When I turn 18, I'll be able to go to Costco and get samples without my parents. Okay, so I already get my samples now. If someone stops me, I'll tell them I'm in college. Frankly, I think I've been old enough to know what I'm allergic to or not since I was old enough to go around Costco alone.

When I turn 18, I'll be able to go on a Walmart Shopping Spree and buy:

1. White-out

2. Nailpolish Remover

3. Tylenol Cold

Yes. At the age of 17, I'm not allowed to go to my local Walmart and buy White-out. No, I am not making it up.

Yes, I'll be able to buy lottery tickets, but who cares? I can get pierced, but there's nothing I want to pierce, and I can't afford to get a tatoo (nor do I want one right now).

Well, at least I'll be able to buy white-out!

Pray Upon a Firefly

With a tush

shining bright

each and every

summer night.

-L. Jorgensen (2004)

Believe it or not, it is June.

It's too cold to be June. It's been rainy and yucky.

But it is June. In a few days it will officially be summer. (In two weeks I will officially be eighteen!)

I love June. That's when the roses in my front yard start to bloom, and that's when the fireflies come out. I still go out into the backyard to catch fireflies. I love catching them and ripping off their glowing butts, or just pinching them so the butts glow permanantly.

But I've also started to do something. I think I started it when I was about 11 or 12. Don't ask me where I got the idea from because I don't remember.

When I catch a firefly, I cup my hands around it so it can't fly away. Then, I stop and say a quick prayer for the first person that comes to my mind. It could be someone I know, or someone I don't know. Sometimes, the first person that comes to my mind is an old friend I haven't seen since I was five. Other times, it's a close friend that I know is having a hard time with something. It doesn't mater who this person is. I just stop and pray for him/her.

Then, I let the firefly go.

Since it's June, the fireflies are starting to come out.

Maybe I should go out and catch some.

Speaking in Tongues

I have gone to three Assemblies of God churches in my life. I became a Christian at an Assemblies of God Vacation Bible School when I was five. I was baptized (for the second time) in an Assemblies of God church last year. When I moved to New Jersey in 2004, I imediately started to look for an Assemblies of God church. When I realized that I didn't belong at the church I was attending in 2006, I looked for an Assemblies of God church.

But, even though I have such an attatchment to Assemblies of God churches, I do not consider myself a "Pentacostal Christian." In fact, when people ask me what denomination I practice, I will tell them "I go to an Assemblies of God church, but I don't consider myself any specific denomination."

For the past couple of weeks at church the sermon has been about the Holy Sprit and Speaking in Tongues. I've heard different versions of the same message countless times, and I have grown to dread services at youth retreats because of it.

I was a member of Missionettes (a church girl's club, it's called "Mpact" now) from the time I was five up until I was twelve. From third grade through sixth or seventh I went on annual church retreats. It was always the same thing. Services that started late and ended late. An altar call every night. And a message on speaking in tongues.

I hated that message. I hated those altar calls. They made me feel like I was worthless. Those messsages always made me feel like I was supposed to cry when I prayed at the altar...and I never did. I usually just prayed at my seat. Then I wouldn't have to worry about not crying while I prayed.

They made me feel guilty. At the age of ten, I felt like I was less of a person because I had never spoken in tongues. I never cried when I prayed. And I believed that was what was supposed to happen. Each time I heard the message, I felt worse. I always wondered what was wrong with me. What had I done?

Every time I hear a message on speaking in tongues, it brings back those feelings of worthlessness I felt years ago. Anyone who knows what it's like to feel worthless knows how terrible it feels. Broken...useless...not enough.

Eventually, I just stopped listening to that sermon. I came to the conclusion that maybe that message wasn't for everybody...and it certainly wasn't for me.

I'm not so sure about that anymore.

I really don't know what I feel about speaking in tongues anymore. I mean, I know that it's real and everything, but I'm not sure if I really believe if it's really for everybody. Maybe that message is for me, and maybe it's not.

I just wish I could know for sure.

The Ellie Letters: Take Off that Diaper and Grow Up

So, let's see. The last time I saw you was in fourth grade. It's the end of your senior year now, so I guess that means it's been what? Eight years since I last saw you?

Honestly, I can't say I missed you that much. I mean, it's not like we were such great friends or anything. We were in a few classes together. Kindergarten, second grade... now, was it third grade or fourth grade that you managed to switch classes even though my mom was told that they could not change my class? I think that might have been the same year (or perhaps a year before) that your mom flipped out at mine because you weren't the first to be invited to tie-dye t-shirts for Field Day (our grade's theme was the 1960s).

We were never friends, but I'm gullible. We got back in contact with each other about two years ago. That's six years of not seeing or hearing from you. How silly of me to think that you would have changed?

Look, I'm sorry that I don't respond to your text messages immediately. Sometimes, I get busy. Sometimes, the messages don't even send. Things like that happen, but I see no reason to overreact. I have enough drama in my life without having to deal with an eighteen-year-old who gets so overworked about me replying to a text message the next day. I mean, not that you would care or anything, but I actually decided not to reply to any of my texts that evening because things came up, and later on I was too upset about some things that happened while I was out. I didn't want to pull anybody into it. It's a shame that came back to hurt me.

So, let me refresh your memory. Thursday evening, I sent you (and about 20-30 other people) a quick text message. Then, a few things came up. I guess it was later that night (or perhaps the following morning...I didn't sleep at all that night) that you sent me a text message upset that I didn't reply back to your previous text immediately. I apologized, but you continued to be overdramatic. So, I sent you a text message apologizing (again) for not responding immediately, and to inform you that I decided to delete you from my Facebook friend's list. You said that I should delete everyone else from our elementary school because you constantly get together and make fun of the "stupid crap" on my Facebook.

So, it's been eight years since I last saw you, and at least two or three years since I've seen anybody else from our elementary school. I haven't lived in the same state as any of you in almost five years. You've been picking on me since I was seven. I'm nearly eighteen now. That's more than ten years of being teased, and I've spent nearly half that time in a different state. Is there nothing better to do than spend your time making fun of someone you haven't seen in so long? That's pretty pathetic, if you ask me. (And, yet, you claim nobody will insult me directly because you all have "lives." That's so sad, I don't know whether to laugh or cry.)

You know, looking back on it, I think I may have been a little too quick to delete you, and I'm sorry. I shouldn't have taken my anger towards some other people out on you. But that doesn't give you any excuse to go and treat me like crap.

And I'm not sure if I know your friend, who I have nicknamed "McDiddle Brains." She's too much of a chicken to admit her real identity to me, isn't she? She seems just as "mature" as you do. Sending me text messages accusing me of having sex with multiple people, calling me a stupid high school dropout, a fat pig, etc.

What are you trying to do? Prove you haven't grown up since fourth grade?

I hate to break it to you...actually, no, I'm very glad to say that I don't care what you think about me. Does being called a "fat piece of [poop]" hurt? Heck yeah! But I know that what you say doesn't really matter in the end. Your opinion means nothing because I know the only crap here is not me, but what you are saying about me.

You really disgust me. Can't you just take that diaper off and grow up a little?

You can't break me anymore.

-Ellie

God I want to dream again
Take me where I've never been
I want to go there
This time I'm not scared
Now I am unbreakable
It's unmistakable
No one can touch me
Nothing can stop me

-Fireflight ("Unbreakable")

This letter was written to an ex-friend from elementary school based on a recent event in my life. It's one of the first "Ellie Letters" that is not based in the past. The title of this letter was inspired by my friend Alex P.