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-taysevery 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
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


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