I am tired of riding the roller coaster of hope and discouragement. I want to get off. Thanks.
I know that soon (in days or even hours) I will receive "unexpected" encouragement and I will feel strong enough to keep going. I will climb to the top and see beautiful things, and I'll suck in my breath like I've never seen anything more beautiful, I'll thank God, and I'll laugh at my shortcomings.
But right now, I'm in the valley, and it doesn't feel good. I know that some people don't like to hear this stuff from me. I'm the one that is "always happy," and cheers them on. But I'm not, and I don't mean to shatter anyone's world when I say that. But I'm entirely human with a full pallet of emotions, and I feel hope, anger, disappointment, joy, and dissatisfaction deeply. I identify with David when he waffles between "life is great!" and "I hate everything."
To those that think I am always happy, I show up looking like that because I am in love with the people I am with. That's love you see, not happiness. I suppose they look the same sometimes.
On a whim, I looked through my photos on facebook. It was a good idea, because I was reminded of so much that really matters to me in this world, which essentially amounts to people.
It has been said that the most discouraging thing about loving people is people, but the most rewarding thing about loving people is also people. I hang on to the that when I feel really low because it reminds me that all of this is worth it. Sometimes I am told that I should just relax and not let things effect me so much; I disagree. Because allowing my love for people to impact me as negatively as it does also opens the door the same "amount" of positive impact.
It's worth it. I feel better just being reminded of that.
Monday, December 15, 2008
Thursday, November 20, 2008
I am a Liar, but there is no Lying in Heaven.
I recently found out about a lie that was told about my husband in effort to proverbially save someone else's butt. I was sufficiently annoyed. I wanted to set the record straight.
My husband said no. After a short conversation, I realized that my annoyance was mostly related to pride.
Because I understand lying. I often lie when I am asked if I need help because I don't want to be a burden to someone else. I lie when Tim asks me what's wrong because I don't want to be a burden to him. (But I am a terrible liar, and he doesn't let me get away with it.) And lying always does the opposite of what I actually want- it works towards creating a wedge in the community I desire and encourages isolation- even when I "mean well."
The truth is, I desire community and true love, but those things are awkward. They look perfect and smooth in the books and the songs, but that is a false representation. I feel awkward when I accept help, I feel awkward when I am in the beginning (and middle!) stages of building relationships. I feel angry, disappointed, and sad to the point of (many) tears. But even while I am experiencing discouragement (which is often, because I desire to continue moving forward, and with new ground comes many unforeseen potholes, hills, and turns), I have the feeling that I am living in the middle of something beautiful. Just because I see beautiful things every day. Like the students that are thinking through the messages they are hearing for themselves and asking questions. Like the kids at the Community Center who, after nearly three months, are beginning to understand that I care about them and respond to that. Like the relationships with my kids and "Tim's" family (they're mine, too!) that are deepening. Like the encouragement that I periodically receive that maybe I'm doing ok, and I should just keep truckin'.
Things feel very bittersweet at the moment. But it's hard to imagine not always feeling that way to some degree. There are things that pull me down. Like the unloving actions of the church, the fact that orphans are treated as a last resort, the fact that people treat other people like objects. Like all the pain and suffering and misunderstanding and selfishness. But the sweet part comes because in the middle of it all, God still walks. He cares, he loves, and he is so much more heartbroken than I am. And it just.makes.me.long.for.heaven. Which is fine. Because it's such a reminder to put myself aside for a little while and live like I am part of the kingdom of God.
My husband said no. After a short conversation, I realized that my annoyance was mostly related to pride.
Because I understand lying. I often lie when I am asked if I need help because I don't want to be a burden to someone else. I lie when Tim asks me what's wrong because I don't want to be a burden to him. (But I am a terrible liar, and he doesn't let me get away with it.) And lying always does the opposite of what I actually want- it works towards creating a wedge in the community I desire and encourages isolation- even when I "mean well."
The truth is, I desire community and true love, but those things are awkward. They look perfect and smooth in the books and the songs, but that is a false representation. I feel awkward when I accept help, I feel awkward when I am in the beginning (and middle!) stages of building relationships. I feel angry, disappointed, and sad to the point of (many) tears. But even while I am experiencing discouragement (which is often, because I desire to continue moving forward, and with new ground comes many unforeseen potholes, hills, and turns), I have the feeling that I am living in the middle of something beautiful. Just because I see beautiful things every day. Like the students that are thinking through the messages they are hearing for themselves and asking questions. Like the kids at the Community Center who, after nearly three months, are beginning to understand that I care about them and respond to that. Like the relationships with my kids and "Tim's" family (they're mine, too!) that are deepening. Like the encouragement that I periodically receive that maybe I'm doing ok, and I should just keep truckin'.
Things feel very bittersweet at the moment. But it's hard to imagine not always feeling that way to some degree. There are things that pull me down. Like the unloving actions of the church, the fact that orphans are treated as a last resort, the fact that people treat other people like objects. Like all the pain and suffering and misunderstanding and selfishness. But the sweet part comes because in the middle of it all, God still walks. He cares, he loves, and he is so much more heartbroken than I am. And it just.makes.me.long.for.heaven. Which is fine. Because it's such a reminder to put myself aside for a little while and live like I am part of the kingdom of God.
Sunday, November 2, 2008
Lessons
Right now, I am wearing a shirt that has become one of my favorites in the last few hours. It formally belonged to Aymie, and it is beautiful. I feel good in it. Comfortable and a little stylish.
I put it on while getting ready for church this morning, took my time matching the "correct" color pants to it, accessorizing, and all the while feeling...romantic? That's not the right word, but it's the closest I can think of at the moment.
I'm a little bit symbolic. I wear a widow's mite to remind me what it really means to be generous and a wedding ring to symbolize my commitment to my husband and what a treasure he is in my life. And today I am wearing Aymie's shirt as a celebration of all of the things her family has given me. They have given me some of her clothes, which has been a gift in that act alone. The clothes came when all of my things seemed to be wearing out at the same time and I could not afford a new wardrobe. I have been given pies and pizzas...but even better are the intangible things.
My words will not adequately describe my joy when I think about Ann, Eric, Stacey, Kevin, and Alyssa. I feel a little bad about that, but I will feel worse if I do not say anything at all. I have a relationship with a little girl who squeals when she sees me, who jumps in my arms and wraps her own tiny arms around me and gives some of the best hugs I have ever had.
Yesterday, we spent the hour or so we had together running up and down hills, rolling playground balls up and down hills, throwing and catching, digging holes to bury rocks and acorns in, and exploring the grounds at my mother-in-law's house. It is so beautiful and energizing to live life with a 5-year-old. Alyssa just embraces it, finds wonder and joy in "small" things. I love that about her.
I love that I've been able to watch her grow things like thoughtfulness and patience. I love that she shares things about her mom with me, and am priviledged to watch her absolutely beam when I say good things about Aymie to her. I get to be a part of a child's growing up, and I really, really appreciate that. Appreciate isn't the right word. I absolutely treasure it.
I cry tears of joy sometimes when I think about Alyssa, this little girl who give me so much joy. About Ann, Eric, Stacey, and Kevin, who allow and encourage me to be a part of Alyssa's life. Who give me the physically close extended family that I have always wished for.
What's interesting to me is that part of the reason I am where I am right now is because I have worked to push past my fears to do what I thought was and is important for me to do.
I am afraid of *everything.* I am afraid that my actions will be misinterpreted, I am afraid that someone's feelings will get hurt when Alyssa runs for me instead of them, I am afraid of joining a conversation because I might not be wanted.
But I have realized that I cannot govern other people's ideas of who I am. I can't control whether they thing negative or positive thoughts, whether they understand who I really am, or why I do what I do. Because I desperately what to reach for the actions and the attitudes of loving God and loving others, I am often changing, and I am a different person every week. And because I am a different person every week, I cannot viably expect everyone who knows me to understand all of those changes, to know who I am inside and out. I don't even know that.
So I have stopped worrying so much if Alyssa hugs me before someone else. I have stopped worrying if I am unwanted in a conversation and started paying more attention to people instead of my own insecurities. I have stopped worrying so much if everyone else understands my motives, because I know most of them don't, and that's quite alright. I have stopped needing credit for all the things that most people don't see. I have reverted at times to my former habits, but I have still experienced an amazing growth of joy and satisfaction. And I am so exhuberant over that.
I put it on while getting ready for church this morning, took my time matching the "correct" color pants to it, accessorizing, and all the while feeling...romantic? That's not the right word, but it's the closest I can think of at the moment.
I'm a little bit symbolic. I wear a widow's mite to remind me what it really means to be generous and a wedding ring to symbolize my commitment to my husband and what a treasure he is in my life. And today I am wearing Aymie's shirt as a celebration of all of the things her family has given me. They have given me some of her clothes, which has been a gift in that act alone. The clothes came when all of my things seemed to be wearing out at the same time and I could not afford a new wardrobe. I have been given pies and pizzas...but even better are the intangible things.
My words will not adequately describe my joy when I think about Ann, Eric, Stacey, Kevin, and Alyssa. I feel a little bad about that, but I will feel worse if I do not say anything at all. I have a relationship with a little girl who squeals when she sees me, who jumps in my arms and wraps her own tiny arms around me and gives some of the best hugs I have ever had.
Yesterday, we spent the hour or so we had together running up and down hills, rolling playground balls up and down hills, throwing and catching, digging holes to bury rocks and acorns in, and exploring the grounds at my mother-in-law's house. It is so beautiful and energizing to live life with a 5-year-old. Alyssa just embraces it, finds wonder and joy in "small" things. I love that about her.
I love that I've been able to watch her grow things like thoughtfulness and patience. I love that she shares things about her mom with me, and am priviledged to watch her absolutely beam when I say good things about Aymie to her. I get to be a part of a child's growing up, and I really, really appreciate that. Appreciate isn't the right word. I absolutely treasure it.
I cry tears of joy sometimes when I think about Alyssa, this little girl who give me so much joy. About Ann, Eric, Stacey, and Kevin, who allow and encourage me to be a part of Alyssa's life. Who give me the physically close extended family that I have always wished for.
What's interesting to me is that part of the reason I am where I am right now is because I have worked to push past my fears to do what I thought was and is important for me to do.
I am afraid of *everything.* I am afraid that my actions will be misinterpreted, I am afraid that someone's feelings will get hurt when Alyssa runs for me instead of them, I am afraid of joining a conversation because I might not be wanted.
But I have realized that I cannot govern other people's ideas of who I am. I can't control whether they thing negative or positive thoughts, whether they understand who I really am, or why I do what I do. Because I desperately what to reach for the actions and the attitudes of loving God and loving others, I am often changing, and I am a different person every week. And because I am a different person every week, I cannot viably expect everyone who knows me to understand all of those changes, to know who I am inside and out. I don't even know that.
So I have stopped worrying so much if Alyssa hugs me before someone else. I have stopped worrying if I am unwanted in a conversation and started paying more attention to people instead of my own insecurities. I have stopped worrying so much if everyone else understands my motives, because I know most of them don't, and that's quite alright. I have stopped needing credit for all the things that most people don't see. I have reverted at times to my former habits, but I have still experienced an amazing growth of joy and satisfaction. And I am so exhuberant over that.
Monday, October 27, 2008
Today, I am a Human BE-ing
Last night, I realized that so much that has been bothering me has to do with the fact that I have been neglecting the things that nourish me. I have been trying to hand out cups of water from a well that has been drying up. I have been handing out less-than-exemplary water, and I have been exhausted from it.
Today, I am just trying to BE Sarah Marie (Lauterback) Koller. I am just trying to listen to what God wants, what is important to Him, and I am trying to pay less attention to what I believe will make me FEEL important.
I write lists every day. To get things done, to stay focused, to stay on top of things. And list are good; they are useful. But sometimes- sometimes, to be quite honest- I want to write my lists and check everything off so that later I can look back and read that I really did something worthwhile. It may be that I am a little too caught up in living life to the fullest, to make my life "count." Those are admirable goals, to be sure, but there are times that I get so caught up in the logistics of living a full life that I fail to do the very thing I was striving for.
How tricky.
So today, I will just be. I will write lists of what I believe to be important, but I will allow them to be secondary to the things that are important to God and the unforeseen circumstances that are a better plan than I would have chosen for myself.
Today, I am just trying to BE Sarah Marie (Lauterback) Koller. I am just trying to listen to what God wants, what is important to Him, and I am trying to pay less attention to what I believe will make me FEEL important.
I write lists every day. To get things done, to stay focused, to stay on top of things. And list are good; they are useful. But sometimes- sometimes, to be quite honest- I want to write my lists and check everything off so that later I can look back and read that I really did something worthwhile. It may be that I am a little too caught up in living life to the fullest, to make my life "count." Those are admirable goals, to be sure, but there are times that I get so caught up in the logistics of living a full life that I fail to do the very thing I was striving for.
How tricky.
So today, I will just be. I will write lists of what I believe to be important, but I will allow them to be secondary to the things that are important to God and the unforeseen circumstances that are a better plan than I would have chosen for myself.
Sunday, October 26, 2008
Thank God for the Ability to Write
I see writing as a gift from God to me. It is my best form of communication, it is how I often sort out my thoughts, it is how I stay organized. I am not a great speaker; I am a processor. Actually, my husband fell in love with me because of the letters I wrote and was initially a little disappointed that I don't speak as well as I write.
Writing is my best tool, and I am grateful, so grateful, that I live in a place that allows me pens, paper, and internet to record my thoughts. Often, when I write, I am calling in my God-given reinforcements and not really trying to bestow any knowledge or wisdom on anyone else. I'm just trying to be honest about who I am and what I'm learning. Donald Miller taught me the value of that kind of practice.
But I don't write enough. Sometimes it is because I have sorted things out through a conversation (with God or with a friend. Or with myself). But often, it is because I struggle with sitting down and taking time to do things that take time. Things that don't look good on a to-do list or a resume. Like reading, writing, cooking (for anyone, really), and taking some time to sit and reflect, do yoga, and thank God. But that's who I am.
One of my quests in life is just to find out who God created me to be, and then just be that person. And I do get frustrated by the fact that it is a process. Lately, I have feeling pretty weighed down, sad, and drained. And lately, I have been pretty busy. I've been trying to find a more permanent and stable job, packing, moving, working. But I haven't been taking enough time to do all of the things I need to do to be the person God made me to be. To be unhurried. To be refreshed and filled up.
That really took its toll.
Just last month, I wrote a similar post, related to what it feels like to veer away from who God created me to be. It seems I really have trouble staying on my own path. I constantly want to run over to someone else's, try it out, ask them if they think mine is pretty enough. I want to take whoever's path is easier and requires less map-reading.
I'm told that I will probably become more self-aware as I age. So it might be true that I will not be blogging about similar issues within a few years.
And I'm ok saying that I don't have it all together and my love is imperfect and I cannot answer all questions.
But. In practice, I am at least a little frustrated that I don't know what God had in mind, inside and out, when He created me. I'm a little frustrated that I don't see the obvious right away. I'm a little frustrated that life is a process, actually. I want to "have it all together" so I can know that I am living life to the fullest, which happens to be a passion of mine. I want to do this living thing well. I want to use my time wisely. I want to know what true love is, and I want to pass it on to others.I want God to be pleased with me, and more than that, I am afraid of disappointing Him.
I think that is really the bottom line. There is no ,"Sarah, this is what I expect from you," except "love God, and love others." And learning to do those things seems to take especially long for me because, as I have recently realized, it is part of my nature to take my time ( I was actually born 2 weeks late after over 24 hours of delivery, I'm a processor in thought and in conversation, I communicate better through writing than I do through speech, I love to cook when I have plenty of time, I prefer not to wear a watch...).
That bothers me.
I think I just want to know that God is pleased with me. And maybe that is what keeps me coming back to know Him better and to know His creations better.
It seems He's pretty clever.
Writing is my best tool, and I am grateful, so grateful, that I live in a place that allows me pens, paper, and internet to record my thoughts. Often, when I write, I am calling in my God-given reinforcements and not really trying to bestow any knowledge or wisdom on anyone else. I'm just trying to be honest about who I am and what I'm learning. Donald Miller taught me the value of that kind of practice.
But I don't write enough. Sometimes it is because I have sorted things out through a conversation (with God or with a friend. Or with myself). But often, it is because I struggle with sitting down and taking time to do things that take time. Things that don't look good on a to-do list or a resume. Like reading, writing, cooking (for anyone, really), and taking some time to sit and reflect, do yoga, and thank God. But that's who I am.
One of my quests in life is just to find out who God created me to be, and then just be that person. And I do get frustrated by the fact that it is a process. Lately, I have feeling pretty weighed down, sad, and drained. And lately, I have been pretty busy. I've been trying to find a more permanent and stable job, packing, moving, working. But I haven't been taking enough time to do all of the things I need to do to be the person God made me to be. To be unhurried. To be refreshed and filled up.
That really took its toll.
Just last month, I wrote a similar post, related to what it feels like to veer away from who God created me to be. It seems I really have trouble staying on my own path. I constantly want to run over to someone else's, try it out, ask them if they think mine is pretty enough. I want to take whoever's path is easier and requires less map-reading.
I'm told that I will probably become more self-aware as I age. So it might be true that I will not be blogging about similar issues within a few years.
And I'm ok saying that I don't have it all together and my love is imperfect and I cannot answer all questions.
But. In practice, I am at least a little frustrated that I don't know what God had in mind, inside and out, when He created me. I'm a little frustrated that I don't see the obvious right away. I'm a little frustrated that life is a process, actually. I want to "have it all together" so I can know that I am living life to the fullest, which happens to be a passion of mine. I want to do this living thing well. I want to use my time wisely. I want to know what true love is, and I want to pass it on to others.I want God to be pleased with me, and more than that, I am afraid of disappointing Him.
I think that is really the bottom line. There is no ,"Sarah, this is what I expect from you," except "love God, and love others." And learning to do those things seems to take especially long for me because, as I have recently realized, it is part of my nature to take my time ( I was actually born 2 weeks late after over 24 hours of delivery, I'm a processor in thought and in conversation, I communicate better through writing than I do through speech, I love to cook when I have plenty of time, I prefer not to wear a watch...).
That bothers me.
I think I just want to know that God is pleased with me. And maybe that is what keeps me coming back to know Him better and to know His creations better.
It seems He's pretty clever.
Sunday, October 5, 2008
Tis the Season for Comfort Food
I love the autumn season.
The crisp air, the red leaves, hot drinks on cold days, sitting bundled up on a couch and enjoying the afternoon with friends. Sweaters and jeans. And everything pumpkin, apple, or caramel.
'Tis the season for comfort food!
Right now, my list looks like this:
-Beef and Barley Soup- I've made this once before, and it is fan-TASTIC. Definitely my favorite on a cold day.
-Vegetarian Chili. And Spicy Jalapeno Cornbread.
-Turkey Meatloaf and potatoes served a variety of ways (I'm a particular fan of the roasted variety.)
-Baked Apples
-Pan-Seared Oatmeal with Warm Fruit Compote and Cider Syrup
-Chicken Corn Chowder
-Chocolate Chip Pumpkin Bread
And you know, if you wanted to join me in a few of those eating occasions, I certainly wouldn't mind:).
The crisp air, the red leaves, hot drinks on cold days, sitting bundled up on a couch and enjoying the afternoon with friends. Sweaters and jeans. And everything pumpkin, apple, or caramel.
'Tis the season for comfort food!
Right now, my list looks like this:
-Beef and Barley Soup- I've made this once before, and it is fan-TASTIC. Definitely my favorite on a cold day.
-Vegetarian Chili. And Spicy Jalapeno Cornbread.
-Turkey Meatloaf and potatoes served a variety of ways (I'm a particular fan of the roasted variety.)
-Baked Apples
-Pan-Seared Oatmeal with Warm Fruit Compote and Cider Syrup
-Chicken Corn Chowder
-Chocolate Chip Pumpkin Bread
And you know, if you wanted to join me in a few of those eating occasions, I certainly wouldn't mind:).
Monday, September 29, 2008
I've just been "off" lately.
In the beginning, I blamed it on a build-up of hormones (which I experienced due to the birth control I was currently on), which really messed me up mentally and physically.
But because I've been making efforts to correct the hormone problem, I'm realizing that something's off with me.
Previously in life, this sort of realization would set me off in to a tailspin. (Actually, yesterday I did not fare so well, either, but I am blaming that on a variety of factors, like a lack of sleep and lack of decompression time.) But I am beginning to embrace the fact that, as a human being, my role can be likened to that of an instrument. I live my life so that the teenagers I meet can have things like hope, encouragement, a forum for discussion and processing, and a lot of love. I live my life in support of my husband, in efforts to encourage and love the people I meet. That is what I would like to think.
But the truth is, nothing really gets accomplished on my own. I have an entire support system, and I would not be who I am without them. I am an instrument, and I live so that other people can receive beautiful music, which is essentially love.
That is my mission. That is my life.
But lately, I've been getting so caught up in little things. I've been getting caught up in "whatever hits me in the face" (to quote Norm Barker), and I've been missing most of the things that are really important. Relationships. Love. Time.
And I'm lucky enough to have some of those things built in my day, but some of those things I have to pursue actively. I have to visit people and call them to find out how they're doing and really learn who they are.
And I haven't been.
And I agree that part of my recent problem has been hormonal. But part of it is because this ingrained mission to love and encourage and invest time is part of who I am. It's how I was made. And when I veer away from who I am at the core, it just doesn't feel good at all.
In the beginning, I blamed it on a build-up of hormones (which I experienced due to the birth control I was currently on), which really messed me up mentally and physically.
But because I've been making efforts to correct the hormone problem, I'm realizing that something's off with me.
Previously in life, this sort of realization would set me off in to a tailspin. (Actually, yesterday I did not fare so well, either, but I am blaming that on a variety of factors, like a lack of sleep and lack of decompression time.) But I am beginning to embrace the fact that, as a human being, my role can be likened to that of an instrument. I live my life so that the teenagers I meet can have things like hope, encouragement, a forum for discussion and processing, and a lot of love. I live my life in support of my husband, in efforts to encourage and love the people I meet. That is what I would like to think.
But the truth is, nothing really gets accomplished on my own. I have an entire support system, and I would not be who I am without them. I am an instrument, and I live so that other people can receive beautiful music, which is essentially love.
That is my mission. That is my life.
But lately, I've been getting so caught up in little things. I've been getting caught up in "whatever hits me in the face" (to quote Norm Barker), and I've been missing most of the things that are really important. Relationships. Love. Time.
And I'm lucky enough to have some of those things built in my day, but some of those things I have to pursue actively. I have to visit people and call them to find out how they're doing and really learn who they are.
And I haven't been.
And I agree that part of my recent problem has been hormonal. But part of it is because this ingrained mission to love and encourage and invest time is part of who I am. It's how I was made. And when I veer away from who I am at the core, it just doesn't feel good at all.
Monday, August 4, 2008
A lot Going on: Abridged
Last week, I moved in to the upper level of the house of a friend. Right now, despite the fact that the electricity suddenly shut off and I am roasting just a little, I am pretty pleased with that.
Last week, several months of planning came together when two friends were married at 11 o'clock in the morning on a rainy day. It's said that rain is good luck, and that rain was heavy. I love that kind of weather. Tim officiated, but I didn't get to hear most of what he said; I was in my element, running around, and making sure everything went smoothly. At reception, I really let loose on the dance floor. Despite the fact that I was the wedding coordinator, I was allowed, because I was also a friend. And I think I needed that dancing because when I went out there, I really let loose. I let all the stress and the fatigue and the business of the week out, and it felt really good.
Last week, I started something new. I decided not to weigh myself for 6 months. Weighing in is a trivial matter for a lot of people. But I take it to heart. I let the scale say things that it shouldn't have power to say. After reading a great article called "Why the Scale Lies," several weeks of sleep deprivation, about two months of a lop-sided fitness regimen of cardio, cardio, cardio, I decided it was a time for a (healthy) change. I had previously had a habit of not weighing myself, but I was afraid to go back to it for fear "I might gain weight." This time, I'm aiming for health and not a tiny number. I'm including (a moderate amount of) cardio, strength training, yoga, plenty of water, rather healthy eating (I've already discovered that pizza makes me feel horribly unhealthy, but I "can't go without" a few treats, like chocolate), and I'm aiming for 8 hours of sleep a night. Today is my sixth day, and already I feel fantastic. Healthy, energized, fit. Yesterday, I had planned on hitting the gym. But I realized I really needed a nap much more than I needed a workout, so I slept. It felt really good to make a choice that I new was benefitting my body (and consequently, a fuller life) like that.
Last week, I realized that I will probably end up substitute teaching again. Embracing this is really an exercise in humility for me, but already I have seen how this could really work out for my family (when I say that, I mean Tim and I, but I also mean family as a whole. Friends, relatives, aquaintances.) It allows me to be available at the store, to watch a friend's grandchild who just happens to need childcare very soon, to cook, to keep up the house that everyone else who is living in is way to busy to be able to keep up, to offer my time to those who really need it.
Ah, humility. It is not something I have a good grasp on, but I am learning a lot along the way.
Last week, several months of planning came together when two friends were married at 11 o'clock in the morning on a rainy day. It's said that rain is good luck, and that rain was heavy. I love that kind of weather. Tim officiated, but I didn't get to hear most of what he said; I was in my element, running around, and making sure everything went smoothly. At reception, I really let loose on the dance floor. Despite the fact that I was the wedding coordinator, I was allowed, because I was also a friend. And I think I needed that dancing because when I went out there, I really let loose. I let all the stress and the fatigue and the business of the week out, and it felt really good.
Last week, I started something new. I decided not to weigh myself for 6 months. Weighing in is a trivial matter for a lot of people. But I take it to heart. I let the scale say things that it shouldn't have power to say. After reading a great article called "Why the Scale Lies," several weeks of sleep deprivation, about two months of a lop-sided fitness regimen of cardio, cardio, cardio, I decided it was a time for a (healthy) change. I had previously had a habit of not weighing myself, but I was afraid to go back to it for fear "I might gain weight." This time, I'm aiming for health and not a tiny number. I'm including (a moderate amount of) cardio, strength training, yoga, plenty of water, rather healthy eating (I've already discovered that pizza makes me feel horribly unhealthy, but I "can't go without" a few treats, like chocolate), and I'm aiming for 8 hours of sleep a night. Today is my sixth day, and already I feel fantastic. Healthy, energized, fit. Yesterday, I had planned on hitting the gym. But I realized I really needed a nap much more than I needed a workout, so I slept. It felt really good to make a choice that I new was benefitting my body (and consequently, a fuller life) like that.
Last week, I realized that I will probably end up substitute teaching again. Embracing this is really an exercise in humility for me, but already I have seen how this could really work out for my family (when I say that, I mean Tim and I, but I also mean family as a whole. Friends, relatives, aquaintances.) It allows me to be available at the store, to watch a friend's grandchild who just happens to need childcare very soon, to cook, to keep up the house that everyone else who is living in is way to busy to be able to keep up, to offer my time to those who really need it.
Ah, humility. It is not something I have a good grasp on, but I am learning a lot along the way.
Wednesday, July 23, 2008
Lessons in Marriage and Life
Tim and I are moving next week.
Actually, we are moving in with our friends (and adopted family) Rob and Cheryl.
I like to take in reactions when a previously uninformed person finds out about our new living arrangements. My favorite so far comes from the beloved Jeannie, and was relayed to me by my husband,"Oh, that is so you guys!"
It is.
Tim and I are free-spirited people. And I'm quite comfortable in that skin. But I do wish I would have been more aquainted with "us" as a couple a year ago. I didn't recognize the free-spiritedness. I didn't embrace it. I loathed explaining our decisions to well-meaning people ("no, I am not working full time this year," "no, we are not looking to buy a house in the near future," "no, we do not want to have kids right away, and when we do, at least one of them will be adopted (hopefully more)," "yes, we are moving in with our friends."
I often felt like I was under scrutiny, and I was uncomfortable with that.
But...I ache for big things, and with big things comes uncomfortable, unwelcome limelight.
This year, I feel as if I've broken in a just-a-bit-too-tight pair of jeans. I'm comfortable and unashamed of who Tim and Sarah: the couple are. We do things that seem strange to people (but I would argue that those things only seem strange because they are not part of the American dream). We love community and people. We don't live by a 40 hour work week. In fact, Tim works much more, and I often do, as well. The paycheck doesn't reflect that, and that is ok. We don't aspire to be financially wealthy. This is the truth- our wealth comes from all the times we were able to love someone. All the times our actions said, "you are infinitely valuable." All the times we were able to help heal wounds. We don't accept money for helping people out, but we will exchange things. We risk a lot and we make a lot of mistakes.
And because of those things, there might be times when we are eating rice and beans at every meal. There will be times when we mess up royally. But beginning with our friendship and then moving into dating, engagement, and marriage, we have embraced the words found in John 10:10. "The thief comes only to steal and kill and destroy. I came that they may have life and have it abundantly." Some of that fullness of life seems to be the recognition of the intricacies of who you are, embracing them, and then acting on them.
If I had really embraced what I embrace now a year ago, I wouldn't have let the scrutiny effect me like it did. I wouldn't have let it distract me. I would have been able to impact so many more people if I hadn't wasted so much time thinking I had to justify my actions to people that didn't have a particularly vested interest in me. But another lesson I've learned by now that dwelling on the mistakes I've made (it is a HUGE tendency of mine to dwell and beat myself up!) is just another distraction, often a spiritual distraction, from living life with fullness.
Actually, we are moving in with our friends (and adopted family) Rob and Cheryl.
I like to take in reactions when a previously uninformed person finds out about our new living arrangements. My favorite so far comes from the beloved Jeannie, and was relayed to me by my husband,"Oh, that is so you guys!"
It is.
Tim and I are free-spirited people. And I'm quite comfortable in that skin. But I do wish I would have been more aquainted with "us" as a couple a year ago. I didn't recognize the free-spiritedness. I didn't embrace it. I loathed explaining our decisions to well-meaning people ("no, I am not working full time this year," "no, we are not looking to buy a house in the near future," "no, we do not want to have kids right away, and when we do, at least one of them will be adopted (hopefully more)," "yes, we are moving in with our friends."
I often felt like I was under scrutiny, and I was uncomfortable with that.
But...I ache for big things, and with big things comes uncomfortable, unwelcome limelight.
This year, I feel as if I've broken in a just-a-bit-too-tight pair of jeans. I'm comfortable and unashamed of who Tim and Sarah: the couple are. We do things that seem strange to people (but I would argue that those things only seem strange because they are not part of the American dream). We love community and people. We don't live by a 40 hour work week. In fact, Tim works much more, and I often do, as well. The paycheck doesn't reflect that, and that is ok. We don't aspire to be financially wealthy. This is the truth- our wealth comes from all the times we were able to love someone. All the times our actions said, "you are infinitely valuable." All the times we were able to help heal wounds. We don't accept money for helping people out, but we will exchange things. We risk a lot and we make a lot of mistakes.
And because of those things, there might be times when we are eating rice and beans at every meal. There will be times when we mess up royally. But beginning with our friendship and then moving into dating, engagement, and marriage, we have embraced the words found in John 10:10. "The thief comes only to steal and kill and destroy. I came that they may have life and have it abundantly." Some of that fullness of life seems to be the recognition of the intricacies of who you are, embracing them, and then acting on them.
If I had really embraced what I embrace now a year ago, I wouldn't have let the scrutiny effect me like it did. I wouldn't have let it distract me. I would have been able to impact so many more people if I hadn't wasted so much time thinking I had to justify my actions to people that didn't have a particularly vested interest in me. But another lesson I've learned by now that dwelling on the mistakes I've made (it is a HUGE tendency of mine to dwell and beat myself up!) is just another distraction, often a spiritual distraction, from living life with fullness.
Saturday, June 21, 2008
I've discovered that, although I sing about all glory being for God, I sometimes really want the glory for me. I want to be acknowledged and thanked. I want someone to tell me that I'm doing a good job and praise me in public. (Is anyone else thinking about Pharisees right now? I am.) There was a moment last night when I knew I would ordinarily be upset because I couldn't share in the glory, but this time I wasn't upset. And it was wonderful. Fulfilling, even.
I've decided that "be quick to listen, slow to speak, and slow to become angry" is my current theme verse. There is a lot that could be said here. One of those things is that there were times when I needed to correct my girls while I was a Harvey Cedars this week. And the thing about correction is that it really needs to be done in love. Now, I know that love sometimes means giving out what people need instead of what they want, and I know that love means that sometimes I will not be liked. I am working to learn how to love people like that and not worry about being liked. BUT. There were times when I did not correct in love. I corrected out of annoyance, anger, feelings of injustice. And while my words might have been the same in love or in annoyance, the heart certainly would not have been. And life is found in the heart.
I am not sure how to write this next part. I'm a confessed "ideas girl." I come up with lots of ideas, spread them around, and many of them never come to fruition. But I'm going to risk being cliche and say "things are different this time." This time, my ideas come from what it means to be the church, what it means to love, and what is indicated as important in the Bible. I have spent a lot of time feeling like I was withering at my church. Unfed and mostly unencouraged (which I will quality as different that discouraged in that I am saying that I really did not feel very encouraged. It does seem the two are pretty close in definition). This may happen again, however, it is not enough to point out what is wrong and allow my energy and resources and emotions to be drained and then inadequately replenished. I want to do things that matter, so I need to do things that matter. I need to meet needs.
I have come up with a list of feasible ways to meet needs. I'm encouraged by that. I'm encouraged by the fact that my ideas were considered at my last Women's Ministry meeting. I'm encouraged by the fact that there are at least a few people who have some of the same desires I do. James 1:27 says, "Religion that God our Father accepts as pure and faultless is this: to look after orphans and widows in their distress and to keep oneself from being polluted by the world." Right now, I am a little fixated on the "orphans and widows" part. I am a little fixated on what I can do to "make a difference." That is another difference this time- I'm more focused on what I can do and not on what I would need a huge collaboration of like-minded people to accomplish. I am not at all against huge collaborations. But I'm not there right now.
And right now, at just before 10:00 pm, I am incredibly sleepy. So this is where I will have to end my written thoughts for the day.
Goodnight:).
I've decided that "be quick to listen, slow to speak, and slow to become angry" is my current theme verse. There is a lot that could be said here. One of those things is that there were times when I needed to correct my girls while I was a Harvey Cedars this week. And the thing about correction is that it really needs to be done in love. Now, I know that love sometimes means giving out what people need instead of what they want, and I know that love means that sometimes I will not be liked. I am working to learn how to love people like that and not worry about being liked. BUT. There were times when I did not correct in love. I corrected out of annoyance, anger, feelings of injustice. And while my words might have been the same in love or in annoyance, the heart certainly would not have been. And life is found in the heart.
I am not sure how to write this next part. I'm a confessed "ideas girl." I come up with lots of ideas, spread them around, and many of them never come to fruition. But I'm going to risk being cliche and say "things are different this time." This time, my ideas come from what it means to be the church, what it means to love, and what is indicated as important in the Bible. I have spent a lot of time feeling like I was withering at my church. Unfed and mostly unencouraged (which I will quality as different that discouraged in that I am saying that I really did not feel very encouraged. It does seem the two are pretty close in definition). This may happen again, however, it is not enough to point out what is wrong and allow my energy and resources and emotions to be drained and then inadequately replenished. I want to do things that matter, so I need to do things that matter. I need to meet needs.
I have come up with a list of feasible ways to meet needs. I'm encouraged by that. I'm encouraged by the fact that my ideas were considered at my last Women's Ministry meeting. I'm encouraged by the fact that there are at least a few people who have some of the same desires I do. James 1:27 says, "Religion that God our Father accepts as pure and faultless is this: to look after orphans and widows in their distress and to keep oneself from being polluted by the world." Right now, I am a little fixated on the "orphans and widows" part. I am a little fixated on what I can do to "make a difference." That is another difference this time- I'm more focused on what I can do and not on what I would need a huge collaboration of like-minded people to accomplish. I am not at all against huge collaborations. But I'm not there right now.
And right now, at just before 10:00 pm, I am incredibly sleepy. So this is where I will have to end my written thoughts for the day.
Goodnight:).
Thursday, June 5, 2008
Getting to Sleep
One day you will know so many strange facts about me that you will simply want to stop reading my blog in hopes of preserving your own normalcy.
Today's fact: I really have a hard time getting my butt into bed when Tim is not home. It doesn't matter that I'm tired. It doesn't matter that I have to get up early for work tomorrow. It doesn't matter that I've checked off everything on today's to-do list and I am no longer good for anything productive.
The truth is, if he came home NOW, I would get a hug and cuddle for approximately two minutes before I fell hard into dream world.
I'm thinking I have to grow out of this eventually, but it has been 1 1/2 years, and so far, no luck in that department. However, right now, I'm thinking I'll savor it. Because maybe one day, things will be different. Different can mean a lot of things, but I'm thinking that right now I'll savor the feeling that says I am enmeshed in someone else's life and things don't feel complete at this very moment. It reminds me that I am a part of something intricate and even breath-taking.
Today's fact: I really have a hard time getting my butt into bed when Tim is not home. It doesn't matter that I'm tired. It doesn't matter that I have to get up early for work tomorrow. It doesn't matter that I've checked off everything on today's to-do list and I am no longer good for anything productive.
The truth is, if he came home NOW, I would get a hug and cuddle for approximately two minutes before I fell hard into dream world.
I'm thinking I have to grow out of this eventually, but it has been 1 1/2 years, and so far, no luck in that department. However, right now, I'm thinking I'll savor it. Because maybe one day, things will be different. Different can mean a lot of things, but I'm thinking that right now I'll savor the feeling that says I am enmeshed in someone else's life and things don't feel complete at this very moment. It reminds me that I am a part of something intricate and even breath-taking.
Tuesday, June 3, 2008
An Attempt to Break Writer's Block
Sometimes I want to write, but I can't.
It seems my most journalistic moments occur when I am on a walk or alone in the car and far, far away from the possibility of writing anything down.
But, since this blog is kept more for the sake of honesty than journalistic endeavors, I am in luck.
Even though today is not one of my more poetic days, I feel the need to write. Because it is hard to write the first entry upon returning from a trip to Israel. Because the less-poetic days need to be recorded, too. Because if I don't write now, I just might fall out of the habit for far longer than I intended.
On some days, I seem to "wake up on the wrong side of the bed." The truth is, I almost always wake up on the same side, unless Tim has gotten up long enough before me that I've had time to unconsciously arrange my body diagonally across the entire queen-sized bed. But there are days when I am irritated almost upon waking. When I can't be pleased. I feel mean and dissatisfied and like picking a fight.
And it's nothing revolutionary, but my enjoyment in those days is the fact that I get another look at the parts of me that are Jesus and the parts that aren't. Grumpy you-can't-please-me-Sarah isn't Jesus. BUT, just like my husband (and actually on a greater scale), I know that my Savior loves me the same on my most difficult of days. It's freeing.
It seems my most journalistic moments occur when I am on a walk or alone in the car and far, far away from the possibility of writing anything down.
But, since this blog is kept more for the sake of honesty than journalistic endeavors, I am in luck.
Even though today is not one of my more poetic days, I feel the need to write. Because it is hard to write the first entry upon returning from a trip to Israel. Because the less-poetic days need to be recorded, too. Because if I don't write now, I just might fall out of the habit for far longer than I intended.
On some days, I seem to "wake up on the wrong side of the bed." The truth is, I almost always wake up on the same side, unless Tim has gotten up long enough before me that I've had time to unconsciously arrange my body diagonally across the entire queen-sized bed. But there are days when I am irritated almost upon waking. When I can't be pleased. I feel mean and dissatisfied and like picking a fight.
And it's nothing revolutionary, but my enjoyment in those days is the fact that I get another look at the parts of me that are Jesus and the parts that aren't. Grumpy you-can't-please-me-Sarah isn't Jesus. BUT, just like my husband (and actually on a greater scale), I know that my Savior loves me the same on my most difficult of days. It's freeing.
Monday, June 2, 2008
Friday, May 9, 2008
I need to be working.
I need to be working on an application for a job I really want, finishing and sending thank you cards for my birthday gifts that I received almost a month ago, sending "we're going to israel" cards, and finishing up a few last-minute details for Stacey's wedding.
But I have this writing itch that needs to be filled because here it is:
I have a hard time with the fact that I am not perfect.
The more that I examine that statement, the more obnoxious I find it. But the truth of it doesn't lessen.
I keep a blog in an attempt to be honest and work toward transparency. I find a lot of value in telling my girls at youth group stories that highlight my mistakes. I don't try to present myself as perfect because no one can stand next to that. I tell my girls that I would rather they be honest and tell me whatever it is they were afraid to tell me, instead of telling me they have it all together, because "I have it all together" is a lie, on some level.
But.
I know that my choices effect people besides myself, and that hits me. Hard. I try to make the best choices I know how to, but decisions are not always one or the other. The "right" decision is not always so obvious like show likes Full House used to make it look. The right decision doesn't always make me feel fantastic after I make it; sometimes, quite frankly, I feel absolutely awful. Sometimes I cry.
I am obnoxiously perfectionist.
What helps is to think that I can choose any moment, including this one, and make good choices now. I can make someone else's day better right now. I can do the best I can right now.
And maybe that is enough.
I need to be working on an application for a job I really want, finishing and sending thank you cards for my birthday gifts that I received almost a month ago, sending "we're going to israel" cards, and finishing up a few last-minute details for Stacey's wedding.
But I have this writing itch that needs to be filled because here it is:
I have a hard time with the fact that I am not perfect.
The more that I examine that statement, the more obnoxious I find it. But the truth of it doesn't lessen.
I keep a blog in an attempt to be honest and work toward transparency. I find a lot of value in telling my girls at youth group stories that highlight my mistakes. I don't try to present myself as perfect because no one can stand next to that. I tell my girls that I would rather they be honest and tell me whatever it is they were afraid to tell me, instead of telling me they have it all together, because "I have it all together" is a lie, on some level.
But.
I know that my choices effect people besides myself, and that hits me. Hard. I try to make the best choices I know how to, but decisions are not always one or the other. The "right" decision is not always so obvious like show likes Full House used to make it look. The right decision doesn't always make me feel fantastic after I make it; sometimes, quite frankly, I feel absolutely awful. Sometimes I cry.
I am obnoxiously perfectionist.
What helps is to think that I can choose any moment, including this one, and make good choices now. I can make someone else's day better right now. I can do the best I can right now.
And maybe that is enough.
Friday, April 25, 2008
Bed Time Thoughts
I'm craving a blog entry, but am not sure what to write about or even how to write it.
Right now, I feel like I am missing someone or something, but I really don't know what it is. I just have that "missing" feeling. I probably just need to go to bed. I have been a sleeping machine lately.
I've realized that I like to write most often when I am feeling challenged, when I feel tension, or am frustrated. I'm a processor, and writing out my thoughts is like therapy for me. So, for the few people that read my blog, I am a mostly dissatisfied woman. That's ok. It's ok for people to know "Blog Sarah." I've also realized I'm grateful for the tension, the dissatisfaction, the wrestling. I learn a lot through those times. I refine who I am. It's hard for me to point the correct words to it right now, when I "should" be sleeping. But. I think it goes somewhere along the lines of the idea that, if I were never faced with hardships, I might think that all of life was sweet. But I might never know what real love is, because I couldn't see what it was not. I might never be able to put my self in someone else's shoes, because I never would have been there. I might never build character because I would have little reason to.
Which is why I've become somewhat pleased with the aggravated feeling.
Right now, I feel like I am missing someone or something, but I really don't know what it is. I just have that "missing" feeling. I probably just need to go to bed. I have been a sleeping machine lately.
I've realized that I like to write most often when I am feeling challenged, when I feel tension, or am frustrated. I'm a processor, and writing out my thoughts is like therapy for me. So, for the few people that read my blog, I am a mostly dissatisfied woman. That's ok. It's ok for people to know "Blog Sarah." I've also realized I'm grateful for the tension, the dissatisfaction, the wrestling. I learn a lot through those times. I refine who I am. It's hard for me to point the correct words to it right now, when I "should" be sleeping. But. I think it goes somewhere along the lines of the idea that, if I were never faced with hardships, I might think that all of life was sweet. But I might never know what real love is, because I couldn't see what it was not. I might never be able to put my self in someone else's shoes, because I never would have been there. I might never build character because I would have little reason to.
Which is why I've become somewhat pleased with the aggravated feeling.
Saturday, April 19, 2008
We Don't Serve Cake Here
I am currently in the middle of a big pitty party for one, and there is no cake, no ice cream.
This sucks.
My thinking is that writing my thoughts down might make me realize just how Sarah-centered I am being and possibly add the benefit of shaking me out of it.
I wish that I had someone who would pour their wisdom and love into me. My whole life, it seems, I've wanted a mentor. I have known incredible women, to be sure, but I've never had a mentor. And God knows that all of those incredible relationships have not been enough for me, because I want more.
(This writing thing is working, by the way.)
Which is somewhat absurd, because I have often received encouragement at the most unexpected times. But not so absurd, because the problem isn't that I feel unloved. It's that I want someone to help me wade through what it means to be female, passionate, loving, servant-hearted. I want someone to show me how to love my kids. I want someone to show me how to more easily spot needs and then meet them.
I love life. I feel passionate about living, and I take it seriously.
It gets me in trouble sometimes because I get upset about things someone else might not deem as important. It gets me in trouble, because right now, I want someone to help me learn what it means to live well, and it seems I can't have that at the moment. And that kills me because I feel like I could be doing so much better if someone would help me decide whether to turn left or right once in awhile.
This sucks.
My thinking is that writing my thoughts down might make me realize just how Sarah-centered I am being and possibly add the benefit of shaking me out of it.
I wish that I had someone who would pour their wisdom and love into me. My whole life, it seems, I've wanted a mentor. I have known incredible women, to be sure, but I've never had a mentor. And God knows that all of those incredible relationships have not been enough for me, because I want more.
(This writing thing is working, by the way.)
Which is somewhat absurd, because I have often received encouragement at the most unexpected times. But not so absurd, because the problem isn't that I feel unloved. It's that I want someone to help me wade through what it means to be female, passionate, loving, servant-hearted. I want someone to show me how to love my kids. I want someone to show me how to more easily spot needs and then meet them.
I love life. I feel passionate about living, and I take it seriously.
It gets me in trouble sometimes because I get upset about things someone else might not deem as important. It gets me in trouble, because right now, I want someone to help me learn what it means to live well, and it seems I can't have that at the moment. And that kills me because I feel like I could be doing so much better if someone would help me decide whether to turn left or right once in awhile.
Thursday, April 17, 2008
Midnight Rendezvous
I need sleep.
But I need to write more.
Still, I am tired, so this will be an abridged method to holding me over in journalistic aspects for a little while. I might blog tomorrow during my free time.
I want to do everything. I mean that.
I want to be a fitness instructor. I want to write a book, start a volunteer organization, be an event planner, start a community kitchen, be a mom to 40 youth group kids. I want to be a mom want day. I want to cook meals for people who could use a hand up on that particular day. I want to be really involved in something that serves the needs of moms. I want to cook healthy, delicious meals, and get in about 5 hours of working out in a week. I want to hand out hope and encouragement. I want to travel and experience new places and cultures.
I used to think this wide-eyed "the world is my oyster" way of thinking was somewhat unique to me. I'm finding out that it is not. I am unique in the make up of who I am, but not in the fact that I am sometimes so overtaken by the bigness of the world and the handfuls and handfuls of good ideas that exist for what to do on the biggest playground called Planet Earth. I mean, there are people whose boo-boos need to be kissed, and fights that need to be broken up. There are people that need some love and attention, and there is food to be cooked. There are friends to be made and rides to be ridden.
One of the ideas that I've settled on to help me grasp the bigness of life, is that there is bigness in small things. Greatness doesn't depend on whether I carry out one of my big plans. It depends on the kind of attitude I carry when I serve my husband dinner. It depends on whether I am able to step away from myself to look for what the people around me really need.
So, if I want to open up a community kitchen, I'll start by cooking for people I know could use it. I'll start where I am.
Because life isn't about what I get paid for, or where I volunteer hours. It's so much more wholistic than that.
That's all I've got tonight.
It's bed time.
But I need to write more.
Still, I am tired, so this will be an abridged method to holding me over in journalistic aspects for a little while. I might blog tomorrow during my free time.
I want to do everything. I mean that.
I want to be a fitness instructor. I want to write a book, start a volunteer organization, be an event planner, start a community kitchen, be a mom to 40 youth group kids. I want to be a mom want day. I want to cook meals for people who could use a hand up on that particular day. I want to be really involved in something that serves the needs of moms. I want to cook healthy, delicious meals, and get in about 5 hours of working out in a week. I want to hand out hope and encouragement. I want to travel and experience new places and cultures.
I used to think this wide-eyed "the world is my oyster" way of thinking was somewhat unique to me. I'm finding out that it is not. I am unique in the make up of who I am, but not in the fact that I am sometimes so overtaken by the bigness of the world and the handfuls and handfuls of good ideas that exist for what to do on the biggest playground called Planet Earth. I mean, there are people whose boo-boos need to be kissed, and fights that need to be broken up. There are people that need some love and attention, and there is food to be cooked. There are friends to be made and rides to be ridden.
One of the ideas that I've settled on to help me grasp the bigness of life, is that there is bigness in small things. Greatness doesn't depend on whether I carry out one of my big plans. It depends on the kind of attitude I carry when I serve my husband dinner. It depends on whether I am able to step away from myself to look for what the people around me really need.
So, if I want to open up a community kitchen, I'll start by cooking for people I know could use it. I'll start where I am.
Because life isn't about what I get paid for, or where I volunteer hours. It's so much more wholistic than that.
That's all I've got tonight.
It's bed time.
Saturday, April 5, 2008
Healthy+Cookies= One Happy Sarah
I've been thinking about experimenting with some healthier forms of baking. I love sweets.
Do you hear me?! I LOVE them.
For a good portion of my life, I have been drinking diet coke and sprinkling equal, splenda, or (gasp!) that horrid stuff in the pink packet that just tastes like cancer on....everything.
But if you've read some of my previous posts, you know (or maybe you have an inkling because I didn't really say it) that I'm no longer deathly afraid of getting fat.
And with that, I've been considering using sweetening methods that actually involve calories but are healthier for me. And my husband. And everyone that I serve them to.
So, today, I tried out Healthy Baking Experiment #1: No Bake Cookies (because I've been craving the delicioius combination of oatmeal and chocolate. I'm also a peanut butter fiend.)
Sarah's Healthed-Up No Bake Cookies
1 cup agave nectar
1/2 cup 1% milk (but any kind of milk would work)
1/4 cup Sunsweet Lighter Bake (which is essentially fruit puree)
4 tablespoons unsweetened cocoa powder
1/2 cup natural peanut butter
3 cups rolled oats
1 teaspoon vanilla extract
In a medium saucepan, combine nectar, milk, fruit puree, and cocoa. Bring to a boil, and cook for 1 1/2 minutes. Remove from heat, and stir in peanut butter, oats, and vanilla. Drop by teaspoonfuls onto wax paper. Let cool until hardened.
I thought they were just a tad too sweet, but I'll have no problem eating more. Tim couldn't tell a difference and thought they tasted "like they are supposed to taste." I'm pretty excited that my first experiment went so well!
Do you hear me?! I LOVE them.
For a good portion of my life, I have been drinking diet coke and sprinkling equal, splenda, or (gasp!) that horrid stuff in the pink packet that just tastes like cancer on....everything.
But if you've read some of my previous posts, you know (or maybe you have an inkling because I didn't really say it) that I'm no longer deathly afraid of getting fat.
And with that, I've been considering using sweetening methods that actually involve calories but are healthier for me. And my husband. And everyone that I serve them to.
So, today, I tried out Healthy Baking Experiment #1: No Bake Cookies (because I've been craving the delicioius combination of oatmeal and chocolate. I'm also a peanut butter fiend.)
Sarah's Healthed-Up No Bake Cookies
1 cup agave nectar
1/2 cup 1% milk (but any kind of milk would work)
1/4 cup Sunsweet Lighter Bake (which is essentially fruit puree)
4 tablespoons unsweetened cocoa powder
1/2 cup natural peanut butter
3 cups rolled oats
1 teaspoon vanilla extract
In a medium saucepan, combine nectar, milk, fruit puree, and cocoa. Bring to a boil, and cook for 1 1/2 minutes. Remove from heat, and stir in peanut butter, oats, and vanilla. Drop by teaspoonfuls onto wax paper. Let cool until hardened.
I thought they were just a tad too sweet, but I'll have no problem eating more. Tim couldn't tell a difference and thought they tasted "like they are supposed to taste." I'm pretty excited that my first experiment went so well!
Thursday, April 3, 2008
Sarah the Sponge
I can never just go to bed as soon as I arrive home. I can't. Unless Tim does and turns off all the lights so I can't see anything AND I'm just really exhausted. But it just feels so unnatural to go to bed right after I get home. I want to let the evening (or the day) sink in.
So, I did that. I'm doing that. I grabbed a string cheese and an ice cream sandwich (because all I've craved since I got home from my run today has been dairy), briefly wondered why I didn't wear make-up today (this thought remained brief because I realized that I just did not want to take the time to color up my face and make me look just a little more awake than I actually am. I'm going for "honest and open" today, it seems).
And now, I'm just...savoring. It's a little bit like the way I treat a good piece of dark chocolate. I can make a truffle or a dark Dove Promise last a looooong time. To me, chocolate is something that should be savored and thoroughly enjoyed. The taste should just soak your taste buds. I don't usually need a lot of chocolate to be satisfied. (Ice cream is an exception here. I will take a lot of that, thank you.) Now I'm digressing and totally thinking about chocolate (which technically counts as dairy).
But the truth is that because I am a processor and because I am still soaking things in, I could not churn out a good post right now that could accurately portray my feeling and reflections and lessons learned. Maybe tomorrow. Right now, I'm just going to soak. And enjoy.
So, I did that. I'm doing that. I grabbed a string cheese and an ice cream sandwich (because all I've craved since I got home from my run today has been dairy), briefly wondered why I didn't wear make-up today (this thought remained brief because I realized that I just did not want to take the time to color up my face and make me look just a little more awake than I actually am. I'm going for "honest and open" today, it seems).
And now, I'm just...savoring. It's a little bit like the way I treat a good piece of dark chocolate. I can make a truffle or a dark Dove Promise last a looooong time. To me, chocolate is something that should be savored and thoroughly enjoyed. The taste should just soak your taste buds. I don't usually need a lot of chocolate to be satisfied. (Ice cream is an exception here. I will take a lot of that, thank you.) Now I'm digressing and totally thinking about chocolate (which technically counts as dairy).
But the truth is that because I am a processor and because I am still soaking things in, I could not churn out a good post right now that could accurately portray my feeling and reflections and lessons learned. Maybe tomorrow. Right now, I'm just going to soak. And enjoy.
Thursday, March 27, 2008
Why I Just Might Like Shopping
I went shopping today. Of my own free will.
I subbed today, and after the school day was over, I hopped (and "hopped" is almost literal in this case) in the car at the first available moment and pointed my car in the direction of Park City Mall. I was really excited to go.
I've recently shopped in the junior's department at Boscov's (because we had a gift card to use. I ended up with nothing because what I REALLY wanted was jeans. Every pair of jeans I founded seemed to be tainted with spandex) and with Katie on a consignment shop hunt in honor of her birthday (her birthday was actually in November). Both were really positive experiences.
This is why.
When I go shopping, I pick up everything that appeals to me and is also in my price range. This usually ends up being quite an upper body workout for me until I can unload my findings in the dressing room. I try everything on and only buy those things that I really feel good in. Usually this is only a few things, and sometimes it is nothing.
Somewhere along the way, I have learned that the pair of pants that I love and doesn't fit doesn't reflect whether my body is "ok" or not. There are many times that a pair of pants in one size looks like it is clinging to my thighs for dear life, but the next size up is reminiscent of a slimfast ad. Short legs and full thighs will do that. It could be frustrating, but...
My girls have taught me a lot.
I hear them say things about their bodies that I know are false. That I want them to know are false. But the truth is, I'm not very credible if I'm preaching the fact that all bodies are made differently and they are beautiful if I'm picking apart my own body and berating myself for the fact that I can't fit into the pair of pants I wanted to buy.
I am healthy, and I am strong. I haven't gotten any of the sickness that have been going around, and I can carry heavy things. I am comfortable in my skin.
Now, I don't let the cut of a piece of clothing determine how I feel. I feel good. So I find the clothes that fit my body, that I feel good in, that reflect me, and I wear those.
It's only a few things because my body is unique.
Everybody's body is unique. Did you know that your body is not completely symmetrical? Not even one side of your body is the same as the other. How much does that speak to the fact that we are all individually created by God? Different sets of everything.
Seeing God's creation in everyone, in me, lets me know that he wasn't being mean or thoughtless when he gave me bigger thighs than I might have wanted. I think he was thinking of the fact that I am more of an endurance type of girl, I'm a processor, I take my time. I was born two weeks late after over 24 hours of labor. It's who I am.
So I bought two dresses today that I feel pretty in. I bought a cute and dressy shirt that shows off my arms. I put most of the things that I tried on back.
And I thoroughly enjoyed myself.
I subbed today, and after the school day was over, I hopped (and "hopped" is almost literal in this case) in the car at the first available moment and pointed my car in the direction of Park City Mall. I was really excited to go.
I've recently shopped in the junior's department at Boscov's (because we had a gift card to use. I ended up with nothing because what I REALLY wanted was jeans. Every pair of jeans I founded seemed to be tainted with spandex) and with Katie on a consignment shop hunt in honor of her birthday (her birthday was actually in November). Both were really positive experiences.
This is why.
When I go shopping, I pick up everything that appeals to me and is also in my price range. This usually ends up being quite an upper body workout for me until I can unload my findings in the dressing room. I try everything on and only buy those things that I really feel good in. Usually this is only a few things, and sometimes it is nothing.
Somewhere along the way, I have learned that the pair of pants that I love and doesn't fit doesn't reflect whether my body is "ok" or not. There are many times that a pair of pants in one size looks like it is clinging to my thighs for dear life, but the next size up is reminiscent of a slimfast ad. Short legs and full thighs will do that. It could be frustrating, but...
My girls have taught me a lot.
I hear them say things about their bodies that I know are false. That I want them to know are false. But the truth is, I'm not very credible if I'm preaching the fact that all bodies are made differently and they are beautiful if I'm picking apart my own body and berating myself for the fact that I can't fit into the pair of pants I wanted to buy.
I am healthy, and I am strong. I haven't gotten any of the sickness that have been going around, and I can carry heavy things. I am comfortable in my skin.
Now, I don't let the cut of a piece of clothing determine how I feel. I feel good. So I find the clothes that fit my body, that I feel good in, that reflect me, and I wear those.
It's only a few things because my body is unique.
Everybody's body is unique. Did you know that your body is not completely symmetrical? Not even one side of your body is the same as the other. How much does that speak to the fact that we are all individually created by God? Different sets of everything.
Seeing God's creation in everyone, in me, lets me know that he wasn't being mean or thoughtless when he gave me bigger thighs than I might have wanted. I think he was thinking of the fact that I am more of an endurance type of girl, I'm a processor, I take my time. I was born two weeks late after over 24 hours of labor. It's who I am.
So I bought two dresses today that I feel pretty in. I bought a cute and dressy shirt that shows off my arms. I put most of the things that I tried on back.
And I thoroughly enjoyed myself.
Sunday, March 9, 2008
Tuesday, March 4, 2008
Haunting
[Sigh.]
I was going to write this in my little notebook. The one that goes with me everywhere and contains my lists. The one that no one else is every curious enough to ask me what it is or what I'm writing.
I love that freedom. I love the freedom of writing my thoughts down on paper, without fear of being judged by anyone else, and without the need to have my thoughts fully formed before I write.
However, a) I just proclaimed the need for Christians to be honest if we're going to be Christians at all to my girls two days ago, and b) this really is a low-risk endeavor because I'm pretty sure very few people read my blog.
Here it is.
Years ago, I went through the entire gamut of eat disorder-like behavior. I starved. I binged. I (sometimes) purged. The problem came in several forms. I was a chubby child (I much prefered the crazy adventures I had while reading books or playing imagination games to running around outside). I didn't know it until I was 11, my first year at a new school. I thinned out by the time I was 14, partly due to the regular exercise I got, and partly due to puberty's graces.
When you're chubby, people feel free to make comments about your body or the foods you are eating. "Look, Sarah, you can eat this!" Actually, it doesn't stop when you're no longer chubby. I felt uncomfortable when anyone referenced my new body shape. Like who I was was wrapped up in my pants size.
Somewhere along the way, I gained a couple of pounds. Probably because I was gaining hips. I'm 5'4" and have been since I was in sixth or seventh grade, and while my new looks got me attention then, I'm not quite sure I would look so good at 107-114 pounds at the age of 22.
I didn't get that. I didn't understand hips and curves, and that they're ok. They're good, even desirable.
And one day, I climbed on my Grandma's scale (one of the few times I was able to weigh myself because my family didn't own a scale), and the number was higher than expected.
I freaked out.
I was irrational.
I started counting calories, and then cutting down on them. Until I was eating too few calories to live on, to think on. But my legs didn't touch, and I felt skinny.
Skinny meant something to me. It said something about me. I had begun to believe the lies that my body shape was about who I was.
I was in my poetry phase at the time, and I remember writing about this terrible box and I created for myself, about the lock I put on it, and the trapped feeling that went with all of that.
And then one day, with some trepidation,I ate one of my favorite Christmas treats. I was so hungry, and they were sitting out. And it felt so good.
And before I knew it, I was stuffing them in my face, I was pushing open the box, jumping out, and sticking my chocolate-covered tongue out at it.
After that, I gave some effort to normalcy. But truth be told, I didn't know how to eat normally. For years, I had not eaten normally. I had eaten in fear of fat, I had eaten too few calories, I had eaten with somebody else's expectations in mind.
There I was, out of the box, without any clues as to where to go from there.
So I ate.
It didn't matter what or how much I liked it. I didn't feel any insecurity, any disappointments, I felt nothing bad while I was eating. But afterwards, I felt horrible. Stuffed. Disappointed and disgusted with myself.
It's been quite some time since my binging days.
I couldn't tell you exactly when I stopped or how.
I know the process vaguely, and it was painful.
And there was a time when I thought the urge to binge would NEVER come back. That I would not feel that desire to just fill my body with food, any food, but preferably peanut butter, sweets, or carbs. For no reason, other than the fact that I feel the emotional need for it.
Tonight I felt it.
[Ugh.]
I no longer hold the solo food-fests that I used to.
The urge came with a sugar craving, so I did indulge that. But I felt like I could just eat and eat and never feel satisfied.
Which is when I know it really wasn't the sugar I was craving.
For whatever reason, I was satisfied with putting pen to paper, either. Nothing would suffice, but a "hand" typed story, written for the "masses."
Here it is.
A little bit of Truth.
I was going to write this in my little notebook. The one that goes with me everywhere and contains my lists. The one that no one else is every curious enough to ask me what it is or what I'm writing.
I love that freedom. I love the freedom of writing my thoughts down on paper, without fear of being judged by anyone else, and without the need to have my thoughts fully formed before I write.
However, a) I just proclaimed the need for Christians to be honest if we're going to be Christians at all to my girls two days ago, and b) this really is a low-risk endeavor because I'm pretty sure very few people read my blog.
Here it is.
Years ago, I went through the entire gamut of eat disorder-like behavior. I starved. I binged. I (sometimes) purged. The problem came in several forms. I was a chubby child (I much prefered the crazy adventures I had while reading books or playing imagination games to running around outside). I didn't know it until I was 11, my first year at a new school. I thinned out by the time I was 14, partly due to the regular exercise I got, and partly due to puberty's graces.
When you're chubby, people feel free to make comments about your body or the foods you are eating. "Look, Sarah, you can eat this!" Actually, it doesn't stop when you're no longer chubby. I felt uncomfortable when anyone referenced my new body shape. Like who I was was wrapped up in my pants size.
Somewhere along the way, I gained a couple of pounds. Probably because I was gaining hips. I'm 5'4" and have been since I was in sixth or seventh grade, and while my new looks got me attention then, I'm not quite sure I would look so good at 107-114 pounds at the age of 22.
I didn't get that. I didn't understand hips and curves, and that they're ok. They're good, even desirable.
And one day, I climbed on my Grandma's scale (one of the few times I was able to weigh myself because my family didn't own a scale), and the number was higher than expected.
I freaked out.
I was irrational.
I started counting calories, and then cutting down on them. Until I was eating too few calories to live on, to think on. But my legs didn't touch, and I felt skinny.
Skinny meant something to me. It said something about me. I had begun to believe the lies that my body shape was about who I was.
I was in my poetry phase at the time, and I remember writing about this terrible box and I created for myself, about the lock I put on it, and the trapped feeling that went with all of that.
And then one day, with some trepidation,I ate one of my favorite Christmas treats. I was so hungry, and they were sitting out. And it felt so good.
And before I knew it, I was stuffing them in my face, I was pushing open the box, jumping out, and sticking my chocolate-covered tongue out at it.
After that, I gave some effort to normalcy. But truth be told, I didn't know how to eat normally. For years, I had not eaten normally. I had eaten in fear of fat, I had eaten too few calories, I had eaten with somebody else's expectations in mind.
There I was, out of the box, without any clues as to where to go from there.
So I ate.
It didn't matter what or how much I liked it. I didn't feel any insecurity, any disappointments, I felt nothing bad while I was eating. But afterwards, I felt horrible. Stuffed. Disappointed and disgusted with myself.
It's been quite some time since my binging days.
I couldn't tell you exactly when I stopped or how.
I know the process vaguely, and it was painful.
And there was a time when I thought the urge to binge would NEVER come back. That I would not feel that desire to just fill my body with food, any food, but preferably peanut butter, sweets, or carbs. For no reason, other than the fact that I feel the emotional need for it.
Tonight I felt it.
[Ugh.]
I no longer hold the solo food-fests that I used to.
The urge came with a sugar craving, so I did indulge that. But I felt like I could just eat and eat and never feel satisfied.
Which is when I know it really wasn't the sugar I was craving.
For whatever reason, I was satisfied with putting pen to paper, either. Nothing would suffice, but a "hand" typed story, written for the "masses."
Here it is.
A little bit of Truth.
Sunday, February 17, 2008
Love the Unlovely
It was a good weekend.
A little tainted by the actions of a family member. She was rather displeased with me and proceeded to show me by acting rudely and attempting to avoid physical contact and ignoring me whenever possible.
This is a regular routine whenever I veer outside the boundaries of what she deems "appropriate."
By the end of things, I was anxious to go home and feeling quite hurt. But after some time alone and imagination over what I might say in a conversation, I decided that what I really needed to do is to love her.
And then I realized something quite valuable: love that only accepts easy assignments is really of little value at all. Because real love is something that is both tough and gentle, able to comfort, and able to withstand. And while it may seem silly to point out that Jesus did not command me to "love the lovely, the charming, the gentle, and the sweet," it's true. He commanded me to love my "neighbor." Even the cranky neighbors who are stuck in their ways.
Especially them.
So I think that what I received tonight was not so much hurt feels as a lesson in love.
A little tainted by the actions of a family member. She was rather displeased with me and proceeded to show me by acting rudely and attempting to avoid physical contact and ignoring me whenever possible.
This is a regular routine whenever I veer outside the boundaries of what she deems "appropriate."
By the end of things, I was anxious to go home and feeling quite hurt. But after some time alone and imagination over what I might say in a conversation, I decided that what I really needed to do is to love her.
And then I realized something quite valuable: love that only accepts easy assignments is really of little value at all. Because real love is something that is both tough and gentle, able to comfort, and able to withstand. And while it may seem silly to point out that Jesus did not command me to "love the lovely, the charming, the gentle, and the sweet," it's true. He commanded me to love my "neighbor." Even the cranky neighbors who are stuck in their ways.
Especially them.
So I think that what I received tonight was not so much hurt feels as a lesson in love.
Friday, February 15, 2008
Let me just preface this by saying that a) this is going to be short because I have to change and leave within 20 minutes and b) I am a dreamer. I am aware my ideas sometimes seem absurd and far-fetched and maybe irrational. But....
Alyssa comes over tonight.
We have plans to make cookies. I've set out books full of stories and books full of activities, paper, colored pencils, and my ratatouille coloring book. I plan on swinging by my parents' house to pick up Disney movies. Alyssa will probably make up games for us to play. And we will laugh a lot.
I adore Alyssa. And Michelle.
I am in love with the whole Koller family.
This fall was terrible. Actually, I am crying right now just thinking about it.
And somewhere in the mess, in the tears and runny noses and cried-on sweatshirts, I saw that the Kollers are my family. I feel just as tied to them as I feel to the Lauterbacks or the Pulizzis. And I cried harder.
My desire to be close to the Kollers (to my family) is intensified. I crave time with Stacey and Kevin, Michelle, Ann and Eric, Alyssa, Krissy, Kathy, Debbie.....
And this crazy baby fever that it seems I always have is subsided because I have Michelle and Alyssa, and intensified because I want to bring new life into the world, because I want Michelle, Clint, and Alyssa to be close with my children.
I love the Kollers.
I am one.
And love is the most painful thing available on the planet and the most rewarding.
Alyssa comes over tonight.
We have plans to make cookies. I've set out books full of stories and books full of activities, paper, colored pencils, and my ratatouille coloring book. I plan on swinging by my parents' house to pick up Disney movies. Alyssa will probably make up games for us to play. And we will laugh a lot.
I adore Alyssa. And Michelle.
I am in love with the whole Koller family.
This fall was terrible. Actually, I am crying right now just thinking about it.
And somewhere in the mess, in the tears and runny noses and cried-on sweatshirts, I saw that the Kollers are my family. I feel just as tied to them as I feel to the Lauterbacks or the Pulizzis. And I cried harder.
My desire to be close to the Kollers (to my family) is intensified. I crave time with Stacey and Kevin, Michelle, Ann and Eric, Alyssa, Krissy, Kathy, Debbie.....
And this crazy baby fever that it seems I always have is subsided because I have Michelle and Alyssa, and intensified because I want to bring new life into the world, because I want Michelle, Clint, and Alyssa to be close with my children.
I love the Kollers.
I am one.
And love is the most painful thing available on the planet and the most rewarding.
Wednesday, February 13, 2008
My Mutt Blog
I'm have not decided what this blog will "be." 14 days ago, I intended it to be a place where I could work on my intended book. 14 days ago. Since then, I've revised my ideas. Already.
This is a thing with me. Last summer, I intended to build up a running club that would gain enough power to host charity races and turn all the money over to worthy causes. Last fall, I wanted to build up a service-oriented group of people that would effectively offer hours of their time to take care of needs. I imagined the group spear-heading a date night that would include a fancy dinner for parents and child care for the children and everyone beaming over the fact that the night just went so perfectly, they feel rested because of the framework of the evening or joy because they were able to offer time so that someone else could feel rested.
I have a lot of ideas, and I make a lot of plans, and there are quite a few things I want to do. I have a degree that will allow me to teach English classes to anyone within junior high or high school parameters. But I have also discovered a love for planning events, I want to eventually publish something, I'm hooked on the post-half marathon feeling, I love "my" kids at youth group. I love my husband, and I enjoy having people over, trying new recipes, reading, and someday, I really want to be a mom.
I admire really good teachers who stay at it for years (I don't admire those who don't love the students but stick around anyway). Good teachers don't seem to be all together common. But I don't think I will be one to stick around. Maybe I could be a good teacher, but I have this restless heart that just wants to explore. I love trying new food and going new places. I love reading about things I didn't know about and dreaming about the unknown.
For that reason, I can't put my finger on this blog. It is a mish-mash, a "mutt" blog. At times, "Save the Pineapple Juice" will be my cooking blog; at times it will chronicle my fitness attempts or the books I have read or the thoughts I am thinking when I just.want.to.be. alone and talk to my blog instead of people.
This is a thing with me. Last summer, I intended to build up a running club that would gain enough power to host charity races and turn all the money over to worthy causes. Last fall, I wanted to build up a service-oriented group of people that would effectively offer hours of their time to take care of needs. I imagined the group spear-heading a date night that would include a fancy dinner for parents and child care for the children and everyone beaming over the fact that the night just went so perfectly, they feel rested because of the framework of the evening or joy because they were able to offer time so that someone else could feel rested.
I have a lot of ideas, and I make a lot of plans, and there are quite a few things I want to do. I have a degree that will allow me to teach English classes to anyone within junior high or high school parameters. But I have also discovered a love for planning events, I want to eventually publish something, I'm hooked on the post-half marathon feeling, I love "my" kids at youth group. I love my husband, and I enjoy having people over, trying new recipes, reading, and someday, I really want to be a mom.
I admire really good teachers who stay at it for years (I don't admire those who don't love the students but stick around anyway). Good teachers don't seem to be all together common. But I don't think I will be one to stick around. Maybe I could be a good teacher, but I have this restless heart that just wants to explore. I love trying new food and going new places. I love reading about things I didn't know about and dreaming about the unknown.
For that reason, I can't put my finger on this blog. It is a mish-mash, a "mutt" blog. At times, "Save the Pineapple Juice" will be my cooking blog; at times it will chronicle my fitness attempts or the books I have read or the thoughts I am thinking when I just.want.to.be. alone and talk to my blog instead of people.
Thursday, January 31, 2008
I sometimes set aside days just for writing.
And then I sit. And I write. Usually just a few paragraphs. In a day.
Sometimes I cannot wait to write. I cannot engage in another activity, even sleep, until I've written.
When I was a little girl, canned pineapple was a popular food in our house. My mom loved it, and quite frankly, I was always a fan of anything sweet, so I loved it, too. Depending on who craved the pineapple first, one of us would retrieve a can, pull out the can opener, and split the fruit with whomever happened to be around and hungry. But the juice was always drained into a glass, and it was something special. Sometimes we'd share the glass, sometimes one of us would be gracious and bestow the entire glass on one particular person. The juice was a treat, the contents of a can of fruit that I would have otherwise thrown away. Writing is pineapple juice drained from a can. It is the ability to extract something lovely from the ordinary.
I want to be a writer. I want to publish a book. In order to be a writer, I am required to write. But to be quite honest, I am really not sure how to go about writing an entire book that someone might actually buy and then read. But it seems I have always wanted to write a book, which means I at least have to try. I at least have to try. Because I refuse to wait until I'm older to persue the things I want to do. I refuse to wait until I "feel" like an adult to do "adult things." I've asked around- no one who I see as an adult feels like one.
So here it is. An opportunity to witness by attempts at creating a book that people (other than my adoring family and friends) might want to read, set goals and reach them, and just be very honest about life.
Welcome.
And then I sit. And I write. Usually just a few paragraphs. In a day.
Sometimes I cannot wait to write. I cannot engage in another activity, even sleep, until I've written.
When I was a little girl, canned pineapple was a popular food in our house. My mom loved it, and quite frankly, I was always a fan of anything sweet, so I loved it, too. Depending on who craved the pineapple first, one of us would retrieve a can, pull out the can opener, and split the fruit with whomever happened to be around and hungry. But the juice was always drained into a glass, and it was something special. Sometimes we'd share the glass, sometimes one of us would be gracious and bestow the entire glass on one particular person. The juice was a treat, the contents of a can of fruit that I would have otherwise thrown away. Writing is pineapple juice drained from a can. It is the ability to extract something lovely from the ordinary.
I want to be a writer. I want to publish a book. In order to be a writer, I am required to write. But to be quite honest, I am really not sure how to go about writing an entire book that someone might actually buy and then read. But it seems I have always wanted to write a book, which means I at least have to try. I at least have to try. Because I refuse to wait until I'm older to persue the things I want to do. I refuse to wait until I "feel" like an adult to do "adult things." I've asked around- no one who I see as an adult feels like one.
So here it is. An opportunity to witness by attempts at creating a book that people (other than my adoring family and friends) might want to read, set goals and reach them, and just be very honest about life.
Welcome.
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