Skittles are foreign and scattered across my floor.

I haven't eaten Skittles in years, and in no way am I exaggerating. 

Years ago I saw Shrek (not sure which one) in theaters with my family. The full seats forced us to split up, with several of us sitting rows ahead of the others. One of my cousins, Lexi, who is now a freshman in high school, was eating Skittles. Early in the movie, she dumped her Skittles on the floor and the sounds of candy spilling reverberated off the walls. Sitting rows ahead of her, I managed to catch some Skittles by my feet.

I found a box of Skittles yesterday in my room. I just opened them. 

I just spilled them all over my floor.

I thought of Lexi.

Before the Skittles incident, I had planned on writing a blog about how foreign the life of a Christian is to someone who is not a Christian. I read over the last blog I posted about not pursuing Christ and about finding joy and hope in my messy life. It suddenly struck me that I might sound like a cheeseball sometimes when it comes to talking about my relationship with God. And then I wondered if anyone who reads my blog is not a Christian. 

You know those Christians you want to slap silly because they're so cheesy, so fake, so irritatingly happy, too smiley, and just plain annoying? I don't want to be Cheesy Christina the Christian. UGH. Cheesy Christina doesn't give an accurate portrayal of Christianity.

The way I talk about my faith and about God's grace and mercy might sound kind of... odd to someone who knows nothing of his perfect love. He is foreign to some people.

The same way Skittles have been foreign to me. But now they're not because I ate them and they were tasty.

And they are also scattered on my floor, and I don't think that I will pick them up.