Well, blogspot... sorry.

I conformed to the Tumblr world. Sorry bout it.

New blog :  http://kellyraesays.tumblr.com/

Makin' it happen. See ya's.

Oh, Joy down in My Heart

Tonight marks the one year anniversary of Boyfriend asking me to be Girlfriend.

It's only appropriate I relive the story.

After a long afternoon and evening of rehearsing with my choir on Sunday, January 24th, 2010, I met Boyfriend and a few other friends in the Upper Union for some games. It didn't last very long, and I was cranky from rehearsing all day. Boyfriend asked if I wanted to hang out more, and naturally.... DUH. Yes. So we headed to the music center. After finding my favorite practice room- the one with the beautiful Yamaha- we sat and chatted for a while, until Boyfriend slid me my favorite candy bar - Hershey's Cookies'n'Cream. I looked at him, and was overwhelmed by the sweet gesture. As I tore it open, saying something about definitely needing a "pick-me-up" that day and how sweet he was, Boyfriend stopped me and said, "Uh, isn't there something on it?" I looked, flipped up the flap, and found a half post-it reading 

                                                 "WOULD YOU BE MAH GIRL FRAHN?"

I was quicker than a Steeler tackle on Superbowl Sunday. I hugged him, somehow told him... DUH Yes Joyness I thought you'd never ask Of course i'll be your girlfriend  ECSTATIC. 

In the past 365 days, I've fallen in love with the most honest, caring, ridiculous, hilarious, crazy, confident, studious, passionate, loving, forthright, and handsome man I've ever met. At many points throughout our relationship, I've told either him or other people, "I wish every woman in the world could get the chance to date you, because they'll never know what they're missing." That sentence is consistently followed by a long pause -- a moment for me to comprehend how blessed I am to call him mine. He's my Boyfriend. And if you know him, you know that all those adjectives I used to describe him don't actually do him justice. He's just the best. (Again, an insufficient description).

I love that he sings one line of a song over and over. 

I love that he thinks I'm (sometimes) funny, and when I'm not, he still laughs. 

I love that he says exactly what he means, and means exactly what he says. 

I love that he puts up with me. 

I love that he loves his family; that he finds his parents the wisest people he knows. 

I love that I finally got a sister.

I love that he tells me I'm pretty. 
I love that he puts me in my place.

I love that he is passionate about education. 

I love that he is intelligent (even though he chooses homework over me... haha). 

I love that he is supportive. 

I love that he speaks Spanish (and gets to study in Costa Rica for 16 weeks). 

But most of all, I love that he loves Jesus. In his eyes, I see Christ's love for all people. He worships and lives out his love for His Savior so outwardly -- it's contagious. And from that stems all the other things I love about him. It's awesome.

In the good, the bad, the ugly, the times apart, the times we see too much of each other, miscommunication, being annoyed, misunderstood, or hopelessly in love... I have learned and grown so much because of him. I could't be more thankful for the opportunity to know him.


This poem makes me think of him. Especially while he's in Costa Rica. So, I'll leave you with the wonderful words of e.e. cummings: 

i carry your heart with me (i carry it in

my heart) i am never without it (anywhere

i go you go, my dear; and whatever is done

by only me is your doing, my darling)

i fear

no fate (for you are my fate,my sweet) i want

no world (for beautiful you are my world,my true)

and it's you are whatever a moon has always meant

and whatever a sun will always sing is you

here is the deepest secret nobody knows

(here is the root of the root and the bud of the bud

and the sky of the sky of a tree called life; which grows

higher than the soul can hope or mind can hide)

and this is the wonder that's keeping the stars apart

i carry your heart(i carry it in my heart) 

I love you, "my sweet." Happy 1 Year Anniversary. Go team.

and there he goes.

Boyfriend leaves for Costa Rica in 8 days For 4 months. To kill me. 

Or to be a really awesome person and get to study in another country. 

It's all relative. 

One of two things will happen in his absence:

1. I will spend all of my time either on the computer, eating, blogging, stumbling, crying, and thinking about how miserable my life is without him, watching LOST...

OR

2. I won't do all those things nearly as much as I anticipate. And I'll have a super awesome semester.

The question is... what does it say if I have the best semester ever? ... No pun intended.

With that open-ended question hanging in the air, it's apparent to me that I'm slightly a tad bit obligated to be slightly depressive frequently throughout the semester. 

Fear not, my friends. My thoughts on self-inflicted-circumstantial depression are as follows: 

DUMB.

After freeing myself of Resident Assistance duties at the end of last semester, I plan on having a wonderful time with my free-ness. And so now, FINALLY, begins the list of things to do, accomplish, or attempt whilst the love of my life is out of the country. Any and all assistance in succeeding in these things would be quite a delight.

1. Learn to knit.

2. Minimize my gourmet coffee intake to 1 latte a week. (Local coffee shops, I apologize if I single-handedly put you out of business) 

3. Scrapbook. 

4. Get all A's. 

5. Read Descartes' Meditations and Other Metaphysical Writings.

6. Write a song.

7. Watch the Hawaiian sunrise on Haleakala in Maui, take a picture, and paint that picture. 

8. Master the art of cooking pasta.

9. Listen to some major Lila Downs and Mumford&Sons. 

10. Find my long, lost camera.

Well, I'll leave it at an even 10, and add as the semester goes.

The main goal is really this:

Breathe in and out every moment of this semester, find joy in the little, insignificant happenings that I experience every day, and gain a deeper and more whole appreciation for my wunnerful, handsome, intelligent, savvy, hilarious, good, kind, and sweet Boyfriend. And pray he comes back to me in one piece, remembering how to communicate with me in English. 

I find great excitement that Boyfriend will come back with crazy awesome stories. And when he asks me how my semester was, I refuse to reply with any sort of mediocre, half-hearted, or uncertain answer. Mark my words... I'll have crazy awesome stories to share as well. 

I can't wait for you to return 107 days after you leave.

As e.e. would say, "I carry your heart (I carry it in my heart)." 

I love you, my sweet.

Tents and Time and Noise and Hope

I spent the weekend with Boyfriend and his family. They are simply the best people I know. The more and more time I spend with them, the more I see an outward, unmistakable Love that wins. 


Our church spent Saturday mid-morning and afternoon in Hopeville, a homeless city just across the Mississippi River. And by "city," I mean about a 50-tent cluster on the riverfront, just north of the Arch. 


Spending time with these people has been more rewarding than I can say. It's the little things, like knowing that I have a bed to go to, a place where I can warm my frozen toes, a car to drive me where I need to go, a family to fall back on, monetary birthday presents that buy me canvases to paint on... you know, those things I have-- those things they don't. I sloshed through the muddy terrain, handing out the supplies I could carry (gloves, scarves, cookies, hot dogs), all the while remembering the disconcerting wisdom Boyfriend gave me:
That homeless man is me if I were born in different circumstances.


They are people. And people matter, no matter their background, circumstance, age, color, addiction, education, or work ethic. They are children, mothers, brothers, uncles, and grandmas. One of the most important realizations I've been given in the past 6 months is how God feels about us. His eyes see me, the 21-year-old brunette college student, and Colombus, the 50-something year-old homeless man, exactly the same. The point is not that these homeless families have done nothing wrong or are exclusively victims. The point is that I, Kelly Rae Caringer, have no occasion to judge or assume anything about their lives. So, rather than stand far off, questioning why or how they got to be homeless (which does absolutely nothing), I meet them where they're at-- whether that means food, money, water, blankets, coats, batteries, candles, a hug, a conversation, or a good laugh.

 Hopeville. (Google.com)

I heard a spokesperson for Compassion International tell a story at a Shane&Shane concert in 2009. During and post-WW2, a church in Poland hired musicians to play loud music every Sunday morning so they wouldn't be able to hear noise from the outside. Established next to a train station, the church had heard the screams and groans of prisoners being shipped to the nearby concentration camp. So, they turned up the music. Ignorance was better than the guilt they felt. They turned a blind eye (and ear) to the most urgent and tangible need within their reach. 


In response to this story, and other stories of the forgotten hopeless, Shane&Shane titled their tour, and newest album and song "Turn Down the Music." 
Some of their lyrics:


    If you were hungry would we give you food?
    If you were thirsty would we give you drink?
    If you were a stranger would we let you in?

    And if you were naked, would we give you clothes?
    If you were an orphan would we give our home?
    And if you were in prison, would we visit you?

    What would be a song we’d sing to you when there in need?
    Would it be an empty hallelujah to the king?

    Turn down the music
    Turn down the noise
    Turn up your voice oh God and let us hear the sound
    Of people broken, willing to love
    Give us your heart oh God a new song rise in us

Ignorance is no longer an excuse for me. I have seen, smelled, and talked to those in need. And although I am unsure how to make a lasting difference, I simply must go. I must help. The Redeemer gives hope to the hopeless; He makes a lasting difference. But the extraordinary work of the Giver of Life is not always what I see. He works mysteriously, supernaturally, or unexplainably (and sometimes, tangibly or visibly). My job is not to see or know that I made a difference. My job is to go when He says.


I heard a resounding "God is good" coming from the mouths of the hungry and destitute on Saturday morning- more than I think I've heard all year. And certainly more than I've heard it from my own mouth. There is hope. I believe God is who He says He is, and I believe that there is hope.


Light a fire in this soul of mine. 

I woke up today, and I was Home

They say smell is the most powerful trigger for memory. You know, like how your house has that specific aroma, or the scent of mistletoe at Christmas time. As fabricated as it may sound, Minnesota has one of those smells. I stepped out of the car last night after 10 hours of driving, and as my roommate Jane would say, "It's like Christmas in my nose!" 


My family and I started coming to Minnesota the week after Christmas when I was 8. The first year we came to visit good family friends, the Berkleys (less formally refered to as "the Berks"), I told my parents that I was going to live here someday. Of course, they laughed at my tiny 8-year-old self, and gave me that condescending "Ok, Kelly" response. Although I think my parents the wisest, kindest, and smartest parents on the planet... they were completely wrong. After 10 years of only winterly visits, I made the move my freshman year of college. Sadly, my college getaway lasted only one year- it turns out I love my mom way more than I thought, and the academia of community college was a bit lacking for me. I moved from my favorite, beautiful, northern metropolis to quaint, country, podunk Greenville. Have you ever experienced culture shock?


Although Greenville College has brought wonderful experiences that I would not take back, exchange, or change for anything- I miss my beautiful Minnesota. After living in the north, I gained an accent with no intention of losing it, became a serious coffee snob without apologies, and adore cold weather and abhor midwest humidity. 


People consistently ask me why I love Minnesota so much... and I wish I could give them an answer. It's the trees, the landscape, the lakes, the people, the snow, the liscense plates, the food, the coffee, the cold... It's everything. Everything is better here. Ok, so to be a bit more tangible, I'll make a Top Ten List. 


Top Ten Reasons Why Minnesota (specifically Minneapolis area) is Better
1. Coffee (Caribou Coffee and Dunn Bros.) 
2. Kelly Berkley's French Dips
3. Weather (super snowy winter, not deathly humid summer)
4. Original Pancake House
5. 24-Hour Cub Foods
6. Eden Prairie Brunswick Thursday Night $1 Bowling
7. Lakes (the beauty)
8. Targets (all have Starbucks inside, carrying baskets are nicer)
9. People (classy, quaint, nice, home-y, northern-y)
10. Broomball in the winter


Should I counteract those nice things with the single most frustrating element of Minneapolis? I'll just briefly mention... the ASANINE stoplights on the on-ramps to highways. LEARN TO MERGE, MINNESOTANS. Geesh. 


It's taken me this whole day to write this post. That's ok- it's been quite an eventful day. 
7am: OPH (Original Pancake House) 
10am: Coffee at Caribou.
12pm: Left-over French Dips. 
1:45pm: Head to MOA and IKEA to shop. 
2:00pm: Stuck in traffic trying to get to the ramp taking you to the ramp that leads to the road where there's a stoplight to take you to one of the parking garages for the Mall. 
2:30pm: Give up. 
3pm: Visit Scrapbooks Too where I used to work. Buy unnecessary amount of paper. 
4pm: Back to IKEA. 
5pm: Rojo for dinner. Taste most delicious appetizer I'll ever eat. 
8pm: Visit old roommates and roommates' parents. 
10pm: Drive home and almost die because in the two hours that I visited, the roads had completely iced over. Almost hit a telephone pole making the left onto Scenic Heights, but that was all after I stopped on the side of the road to make sure the lady was okay whose car was inches from plunging down a hill into a lake. No biggie. 


Overall, a pretty uneventful day in Minnesota. 


All to say- I love it here. More than all those the fun things I do or things I hear, smell, taste, or see, I love the time I spend with my friends. I could sit and talk to my namesake, Kelly Berkley, all day everyday forever. I know the greatest people- and most of them live here.


I might get iced in tomorrow when I need to be leaving for Illinois... Alas, I will continue to visit much too often. I'll always remember the smells of my old apartment, the sounds of the Berkley's coffee maker in the morning, the beautiful landscape of snow-covered pines and icy lakes, and the numbing cold of November's wind in the city. It's just home, that's all. 

This is my blog.

Hello, I'm writing a blog. 
I'm not really sure why I'm starting this. I did vow that if I wrote in a blog, I would call my boyfriend "Boyfriend." There's some real funny chick that has a blog that uses that same idea. I stole that idea. Is anything ever truly original these days?
So, Boyfriend has a blog. It seems fun. Here we go. 


The sparatic ramblings of a simple chick.