Wednesday, December 14, 2011

Cookies and Kevin McCallister

This Saturday was the annual Christmas Cookie Baking Extravaganza my sisters, my mama, and I put together every year. Okay, that's a lie. They put it together and I show up. Smiling.

I am spacey and dopey and all kinds of air-headed when it comes to very simple tasks like following a cookie recipe, so while everyone else had to pre-bake several cookies to bring and exchange, I was given the task of baking the two cookies that needed to be made while we were all together (aka, while I could be closely monitored.). Both of my sisters AND my mom walked by me at various times during the festivities and gave me the kind of encouragement one might give to a five-year-old who  has finally managed to go three or more feet on a two-wheeler before crashing into a giant tree.

Heh heh.

The cookies all turned out (miraculously) unscathed, as did I, so I'd say this year was a victory for Christmas.

After such a Christmas miracle, I had many fun weekend festivities, and last night, my small group came over and we all watched Home Alone. Great balls of fire, I love that movie. It reminded me of a time when people painted the walls in their home Forest Green, when cell phones were practically unheard of, and when Macaulay Culkin was a TOTAL STUD.

I'm a year younger than he is. I'm not a creep. I was in kindergarten when it came out. Stop thinking I'm a creep. 

At the beginning of the movie, I watched young Kevin struggle with being the youngest in his house. He was invisible, or, "les incompetent." And I thought to myself, Dude. That's my life. Minus the robbers and the home alone part. That's what I grew up with. 

Let me get something straight here. My family is wonderful--my sisters are probably the greatest role-models any girl could ever, EVER wish for, and my parents are incredibly loving. And they have NEVER ONCE forgotten to take me to France for Christmas vacation. 

 But there is something pretty natural that happens when you're the youngest, especially the youngest BY A LOT (seven years minimum, thank you very much). Everyone takes care of you. Everyone has advice for you. Everyone parents and pacifies you. They reach stuff for you. They stir stuff for you. They give you the easy chores. And after a while, you start to think that maybe they are doing all of that stuff because you can't do the hard stuff yourself.

And it doesn't go away. Even at 25, everyone still knows that you are the baby.

It's not all bad. Trust me.

But sometimes I wonder when I'm going to get left alone to fight off some robbers, myself. When I'm going to officially feel like a big kid, like I've arrived, like I'm an adult. 

Like I'm competent. 

Because right now, Satan tells me all sorts of lies.

That I'm a failure.

That I can't do anything right.

That I am still a little jerk. (I mean I'm kind of a tool though so this one is moderately possible.) 

Etc. Etc. Etc.

What I'm realizing more and more is that I take these lies everywhere I go. I'm afraid of failing, afraid I can't do it, afraid I'll burn the cookies and run my bike into a tree. Or on a more serious note, I'm afraid that if I get married, I'll screw it up. If I take a business risk, I'll go bankrupt. If no one reminds me to take care of my life, nothing will get taken care of. My teeth will all fall out because I will actually never go to the dentist. I'm afraid that I am a complete moron trapped in the body of someone who appears to be much less of a moron.

What it all comes down to is this: I'm afraid of trusting that God might have made me more capable and competent than I think He did. 

And that is a big, fat, slap in the face to my Creator. 

I mean, wtf. If Kevin McCallister can put the Wet Bandits behind bars and still manage to decorate his own Christmas tree AND reunite a father with his son, all at the age of eight, then I can probably do some stuff, and do it well. And do it with the knowledge that God is the perfect love that casts out fear--even fear of failure.

I think you all just witnessed a pep talk given by me, to me. Well, given by Kevin McCallister, the Lord, and myself, to myself. 

I should really brush my teeth and go to bed. I wonder if my toothbrush has been approved by the American Dental Association.

Love you....

Ashley Grace


  1. you are the best. and i am the best for baby-ing you my whole life. you little jerk. ;o)

  2. great post Ashley! as the baby of my family (by 7 years) I know exactly what you are talking about and... am in the same spot you are... so your pep talk was to me as well and I greatly appreciate it. thank you! :)


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