The Glowing Girl, Final Day

Faithful

Georgia is my biological sister, but she is also my sister in Christ. I have enjoyed watching the breath of the Holy Spirit come upon her and make her life less about herself and more about others. Church transitioned from being less about going and more about being. Worship, particularly the much needed break on Wednesday nights, became a time to reverently honor the Lord. When she went to Honduras to help at the Lamb Institute, I think Georgia saw in those children a more raw, powerful form of Jesus, she felt God calling her to be used in His Kingdom.  

Georgia wanted to go to Furman, but there were a lot of financial questions that would have to be resolved to make that possible. She even felt like God might be calling her to go to The Citadel with “Lucy” after all. She certainly didn’t want to go, but she did want to submit to the Lord, knowing that if she did end up there, she really would have to depend on Him every hour. Thankfully, Furman worked out, but she hasn’t stopped listening to the Lord’s prodding. Kind Father, may I be your instrument is a weighty prayer, but Georgia has said it, and God is giving her opportunities.

Honduras

So Georgia, my sweet sister, you glowing girl. I and countless others are so blessed by you, by the Georgia who knows who she is and does not conform anything but the original mold. I would be far more boring without your enthusiasm and much less fulfilled as the oldest sister without your presence. I wish you the best of luck this coming semester. I am impressed (and yes, I acquiesce, even surprised) with the way you have stepped up to Furman’s academic rigors. You are a smart worker, and you have found the balance of work and play much better than I. Knowing that you have already found good community and lifelong relationships in college brings me great joy. 

The beloved roommate Julia. I'm not sure there's enough space in that room for these two crazies.

I am proud of you for facing challenges head on, for making sacrifices when necessary, and having an ear turned to God’s guidance. I pray that your faith only grows stronger and your shining light brighter the longer you walk with the Lord. As you head into track season, my prayer is that your passion for running is reignited while your body strengthens to meet D1 demands. I pray that when you meet discouragement in words or unmet goals, you will look to the One who loves you unceasingly and pours His affirmation upon you. There, submitting yourself once again, you will find victory.

Unbrushed hair on Christmas morning

She can sing some "Carolina Girls"!

Always a model

G & Nina - besties since diapers

Forever a goober

When we try to take Christmas pictures...

ROAR!

Awkward middle school years

Yeah. We did that one year.

Moxie

Bathing Suit Model

Sunscreen models

She'll always rescue me

Probs just slapped some booty

Speed demon

Sisters Reunited

Somewhere along the way we grew up and got kind of fashionable

Get ready. The chronological school pictures progression begins.

The grown up senior. Hot dayum.

Love you crazy girl.

The Glowing Girl, Day 6

Queen

Let’s all admit it. Georgia basically rules whatever she does.  It’s not like she’s vying for power, either. She is a natural leader, and people gladly hand the reins over to her. Wando probably needed to get rid of her; aside from giving someone else have a shot at winning an award, by the end of high school, Georgia could basically do whatever she wanted.

When she caught wind of a few cross-country mates being mildly harassed by some boys in the hallway, she stormed out lecturing them and threatening to write them up if she caught them again. Questioning who she was, she retorted, “Who am I?! I’m Coach Compton, and you do not mess with my girls!”

When sent to the administrator for wearing a tight superhero costume during Homecoming spirit week, she entered Mr. Hearn’s office confidently. Throwing a Snicker’s bar on the desk, she addressed him, “Mr. Blankenship doesn’t like my school spirit. You let him know I came to see you.”

“Get back to class, Georgia,” Mr. Hearn replied, shaking his head, unable to entirely conceal his grin.

Dress codes fall by the wayside in the name of school spirit

Though she listened to Mr. Hearn that time, there were plenty of other times when she should have been in class and was not. She would leave, roam the halls, and have half hour friendly conversations with administrators. Another loiterer passing by would be sternly admonished to return to class immediately.That's just the way Georgia is, though. She was not belligerently skipping class or skimping on work (at least, not most of the time), but she loves being around people. She was the four year old that tugged the shirt of the stranger in line at Wal-mart and introduced herself. She is still that girl. She has no fear; she is, in her own right, a 21st century Superwoman.

The Glowing Girl, Day 5

Woman of Words

These are some of Georgia’s most famous sayings. I’ll let them stand for themselves.

 Seriously? I’m about to punch you in the face.

Ey gurl, what up?

That’s it. You’re getting the pinkey. (Georgia’s less crude finger)

E stupido!

I’m done.

Livin the dream

Lookin’ Good, Feelin’ good

Haters gon’ hate. Proverbs 5:8

The Glowing Girl, Day 4

All Business

“Step right up get your tickets at Oooold South Carriage Company.” With her index finger pointing across the touring passerby, bouncing with every syllable, she adds, “Guarantee you’ll like it!”

Some of Georgia’s most satisfying childhood Saturdays were the rare opportunity when Hoffa allowed her to sell carriage tickets on the corner of Market and Anson Street. Under all that cuteness, at the age of five or fifteen, there is still a calculating businesswoman. After losing her first tooth and realizing that visits from the tooth fairy were profitable, her grin rapidly became more gapy, “losing” four teeth in just one week. If lemonade stands were slow, she began knocking on neighbor’s doors. Once after she and Rosa Marie partook in an enthusiastic day of selling, they decided to enjoy some of their profits at Fire House Subs. Only after Georgia downed a large combo meal while RoRie ate a small sandwich did Georgia recommend splitting the revenue equally. RoRie agreed to that, not realizing the injustice of the settlement. Since tentative future career goals include owning a Chik-fil-A franchise someday, I'm hoping her ways have become a bit more honest in the last few years.

The Glowing Girl, Day 3

Unwavering

Georgia has learned not to shop with the rest of the Compton women. The indecisiveness of Rosa Marie, Mama, and I is inhibiting; we go back and forth, wasting time, trying something on again, unsure of whether the price tag is worth it. Not Georgia. She knows what she wants, and she is willing to pay for it. I remember in middle school when those gray New Balance lace-up shoes were popular. The four of us ventured into a large Carnival shoe store. She and I both tried those “stylish” shoes on first. She was finished shopping. I  proceeded to try on every other option in my size. As Georgia grew more impatient in the following two hours, I, in the end, returned to my first choice.

This unwavering attitude goes far beyond the shopping cart, though. She knows which movie to rent, which food to order, and what to say in any circumstance. She’s not afraid of being bold, and she sticks to her gut. She even knows what talent to win titles in the Miss Wando pageant when she has no known performing talent: Year One, bring out the black light and golf balls; Year Two, convince the younger shag-dancing brother to help you.  Her decisiveness not only makes her efficient and successful, but it also leaves her without regrets.

The Glowing Girl, Day 2

Roomies
When I was in the sixth grade, one dishwasher replacement progressed into a full-blown house renovation. In the throes of the developing plans, our parents made a deal: if we shared it, Georgia and I could have the old master bedroom. We agreed.

The first few months were hard. My type A ways and her whirlwind of chaos consistently clashed; fighting regularly ensued.

“For the love of God, pick up your clothes!” I would yell. “People live here – I live here – not pigs! I cannot deal with it another day.”

 Tape went down on the ground. My half and your half.  It might as well have been invisible. After an ineffective week of border restriction, I pulled the tape, but dissension continued. When PB Teen magazines started coming through the mail slot, I spotted one page displaying a nook I liked, and low-budget redecorations began at a fraction of the Pottery Barn price. Georgia would have no part, but she certainly didn’t mind having friends over to goggle over it, rarely giving me credit.

I don’t remember when breakthrough finally saved us. It was almost as if, under these smaller living constraints, we had to relearn each other in proportionately closer intimacy. If our room was a volcano of fighting, at least the eruptions became less active. They were replaced with lights-out pillow talks and fashion advice. In those first years together, our sisterhood became doubled bonded by friendship. Sharing a room with Georgia was the greatest blessing of my adolescence.

This made moving out one of the poorer decisions I made. Georgia hit puberty kind of late, so the mood swings didn’t really set in until I was in twelfth grade. Couple that with the late-in school arrival senior privilege I gained (and thus later sleeping schedule) second semester, and I was ready to have my own room again. After barely catching a conceding, “Fine,” from Rosa Marie to switch rooms one morning, I proceeded to move all of my stuff back into the original room of my childhood, never announcing to Georgia my intentions, much less my actions. When my sisters came home from school that day, they were both shocked. I think I hurt Georgia’s feelings, too. After a few weeks, I started missing her a lot, and I asked if I could move back in. The upset emotions had not yet worn off, and I was told I had to live with my (poor) decision. Fortunately, much good even came from this bad choice. Once I left for college, Rosa Marie and Georgia continued to share a room, becoming close friends also.

This pretty much defines our roommate relationship

To the Glowing Girl

I know someone who glows. She radiates seemingly endless doses of energy and optimism, and she is contagiously upbeat. Dirty blond, dimpled, and confident, only her inner spirit outdoes her physical beauty. From her earliest years, she has been able to tell a stream of gut-wrenchingly hilarious stories, befriend any stranger, and make life plain fun. Like mosquitos swarming around a bright light on a summer evening, others inevitably gravitate to her magnetic presence.  God gave her a good heart, and every day, she gives it back to Him, allowing Him to use it for His holy purposes. She does not focus on herself; her compassion for others often leads to generous acts of love. She’s a go-getter. She’s got moxie, spunk, pizazz, confidence…call it what you will – this young woman encapsulates a rare breed of the human spirit, and there is no one quite like her. Her name is Georgia, and I have the fortune of calling her my sister.

At the age of four, she rocked a bowl cut and asked Mama to have friends over for tea par-tays every day after  preschool. Now she usually buns up a waterfall of wavy curls, and her sociability has only grown with time. She was so popular by the end of high school, I was becoming highly suspicious of a cult following soon developing. Tea parties have been replaced with restaurant outings and movie nights, but Georgia is still, and will always be, 100% Georgia.

Today, she is headed back up to Furman to begin her second semester. She is worth writing about and, what's more, worth knowing. As she jumps back into both the fun friends and grueling work schedule, this is my little blessing to her. For the next week, I will post a lil' something about my dear Georgia. Stay tuned to learn a bit more about one of the coolest people around.

Day 1

Lucy

With the move to Mount Pleasant in 1996, we began visiting St. Andrews Church. One of our first Sundays there, a three-year old Georgia bounded down the church hall lobby in a corduroy jumper. She was stopped by a father headed the other way who introduced himself, concerned about this motherless tot.

When he asked Georgia’s name, she exclaimed, “I’m Lucy!”

The next Sunday, they saw each other again. This time Mama and I were with her.

“Hey Lucy!” he greeted.

“Lucy?” Mama asked. “Her name is Georgia.”

Somewhere in the move, it seems, we lost my sister and came back with an identical girl named Lucy. An imaginary best friend of sorts, the two had switched places.

Whenever people greeted Georgia, she quickly corrected them, retorting, “I’m not Georgia. My name is Lucy.”

“Well Lucy, what happened to Georgia?”
“She’s in college.”

“What is she doing there?”

“Going to parties and having fun. She’s waiting for me at The Citadel.”

Hell week must have woken Georgia up to the realities of knob year. After a few months, Georgia returned, bold and outgoing as ever. I hope Lucy isn't too disappointed that her twin never made it to The Citadel.

a) bowl cut  b) bangs  c) squinty eyes  d) toothy grins  e) sisterly love