My 3-year-old was on the potty doing her business the other day and it was taking her a little while.
"You know Bethany, you could always flip through a magazine while you're sitting there," I suggested.
"Well Mommy," She explained, "I can't hold a magazine because if I let go of the toilet seat I'll fall in."
Good call, kiddo.
Monday, June 02, 2008
Sunday, May 18, 2008
I Have a Dream
“Writing has been difficult lately as time has been scarce, but I love it so much. It's only been the past year or so that I have been seriously pursuing professional songwriting although it's always been a dream of mine. I guess I just kept it to myself for a long time because I felt like a little kid who dreams of being an astronaut, and I didn't want to look foolish when it became clear that I didn't stand a chance. (Typical writer's self-deprecating thought patterns.) But now I've decided that true failure would be never trying at all, so here I am. I wouldn't necessarily say that God has flung open any doors, but He has left a few ajar. And it's been just enough to keep me going, keep me plugging away, hoping that one day I just may make it to the moon.”
-Posted by yours truly on a songwriter’s discussion board two years ago
Well, this is a big week for me. After signing my name on a dotted line I will officially become an astronaut. I’ve been working with a great guy from a small publishing company just outside of Nashville for a while now, doing single-song agreements and a few assignments here and there. It has been such a great outlet for my songs and a wonderful relationship and I have felt the providence of God through it all, as cliché as that sounds. A few weeks ago he called and offered to bring me on as their first staff writer, and, after much thought and prayer, I accepted! So here I sit, awaiting the paperwork, marveling at the goodness of God in my life.
It’s not that this is going to make me famous. And as my writer friends would attest to, it certainly isn’t going to make me rich. To the majority of the population, it’s probably not even something to aspire to above any other occupation. But for me it was a dream and even though not a whole lot will change because of this piece of paper, it’s a big deal in my book. A lot of that is probably because “Songwriter” is not exactly the kind of position that you get by answering a classified ad. There’s this great chasm that exists between unpublished writer and published writer that, try as one may, a writer simply can’t bridge on their own apart from some sort of spark from elsewhere in the universe. That’s what makes it feel a little like trying to become an astronaut or an athlete or a rock star. Those are my back-ups, by the way.
Like I mentioned in the excerpt above, I kept most of my grand ideas to myself lest I shared them and they be squashed shortly there after. It was a defense mechanism. Don’t try to hard and for goodness sakes, don’t let anyone know what you’re trying to do. That way if you fail, it won’t hurt so much. I wrote my first song at 14, then a few more after that, all of which were heard by a sum of probably 6 people. I began writing a lot more in high school, started some garage bands, and then put out some recordings for my local church and anyone else that liked the songs enough to shell out 10 bucks. I remember in high school my junior year they made us all take a computerized test that is supposed to tell you what job is the right fit for you so you can select a college and a major. I had already decided I wasn’t going to go to college, but I took it seriously just out of curiosity. After nearly an hour and over 100 questions, my occupation of choice popped up on the screen: Composer. Even though the title “Composer” meant more like Bach and Mozart to me, I still felt somewhat validated by the little computer program. After all, I did have a dream, I just wasn't ready to go making any speeches about it.
I’m realizing that at this rate, this already lengthy blog will become obscenely long, so let’s fast forward. Actually, I guess that’s a little old fashioned. Let’s Tivo and skip the commercials. Graduated in 2000, went right to corporate work and kept writing/recording on the side. Got married in 2001, kept working, kept writing/recording on the side. In 2003 I attended a little local songwriting event and was pleasantly surprised to discover the existence of a vast, underground Christian songwriting sub-culture, with t-shirts and everything. A little like Trekkies, but with a significantly lower weirdness factor. In the years that followed I slowly ventured deeper and deeper into this network of people that shared my passion and found not only a songwriting family, but also the courage and confidence to admit to myself and my world that I indeed had a dream to write songs on a professional level.
In 2004 I was offered a management deal from some random little firm that wanted to develop me as an artist-writer. That was a big fork in the road for me because it forced me to decide what exactly I wanted, and what sacrifices I was willing and not willing to make. With a new baby in my arms, I turned it down telling them thank you, but that I didn’t want to be an artist, I wanted to be a writer. It was a little scary to make that decision because I found myself asking “Was that it? Did I just pass up my only shot?” But while I probably could have squeezed my dream into that opportunity, it was clearly a square peg and a round hole. So, I waited. Then, a few years later, the spark came. Through a listening panel at a songwriting event, someone gave one of my songs to someone else who gave it to someone else and, three years later, presto! I’m a "professional songwriter".
I have no idea where God will take this from here. I may just keep writing music for church services and for print, I may get a big artist cut someday. Honestly, at this point I would be perfectly happy if things just continued as they are. I am a wife, I am a mom, I am deeply imbedded in ministry, and, I am a songwriter. God has been so gracious to our family, and for as long as He decides to let me have my cake and eat it too, I am going to enjoy every morsel.
-Posted by yours truly on a songwriter’s discussion board two years ago
Well, this is a big week for me. After signing my name on a dotted line I will officially become an astronaut. I’ve been working with a great guy from a small publishing company just outside of Nashville for a while now, doing single-song agreements and a few assignments here and there. It has been such a great outlet for my songs and a wonderful relationship and I have felt the providence of God through it all, as cliché as that sounds. A few weeks ago he called and offered to bring me on as their first staff writer, and, after much thought and prayer, I accepted! So here I sit, awaiting the paperwork, marveling at the goodness of God in my life.
It’s not that this is going to make me famous. And as my writer friends would attest to, it certainly isn’t going to make me rich. To the majority of the population, it’s probably not even something to aspire to above any other occupation. But for me it was a dream and even though not a whole lot will change because of this piece of paper, it’s a big deal in my book. A lot of that is probably because “Songwriter” is not exactly the kind of position that you get by answering a classified ad. There’s this great chasm that exists between unpublished writer and published writer that, try as one may, a writer simply can’t bridge on their own apart from some sort of spark from elsewhere in the universe. That’s what makes it feel a little like trying to become an astronaut or an athlete or a rock star. Those are my back-ups, by the way.
Like I mentioned in the excerpt above, I kept most of my grand ideas to myself lest I shared them and they be squashed shortly there after. It was a defense mechanism. Don’t try to hard and for goodness sakes, don’t let anyone know what you’re trying to do. That way if you fail, it won’t hurt so much. I wrote my first song at 14, then a few more after that, all of which were heard by a sum of probably 6 people. I began writing a lot more in high school, started some garage bands, and then put out some recordings for my local church and anyone else that liked the songs enough to shell out 10 bucks. I remember in high school my junior year they made us all take a computerized test that is supposed to tell you what job is the right fit for you so you can select a college and a major. I had already decided I wasn’t going to go to college, but I took it seriously just out of curiosity. After nearly an hour and over 100 questions, my occupation of choice popped up on the screen: Composer. Even though the title “Composer” meant more like Bach and Mozart to me, I still felt somewhat validated by the little computer program. After all, I did have a dream, I just wasn't ready to go making any speeches about it.
I’m realizing that at this rate, this already lengthy blog will become obscenely long, so let’s fast forward. Actually, I guess that’s a little old fashioned. Let’s Tivo and skip the commercials. Graduated in 2000, went right to corporate work and kept writing/recording on the side. Got married in 2001, kept working, kept writing/recording on the side. In 2003 I attended a little local songwriting event and was pleasantly surprised to discover the existence of a vast, underground Christian songwriting sub-culture, with t-shirts and everything. A little like Trekkies, but with a significantly lower weirdness factor. In the years that followed I slowly ventured deeper and deeper into this network of people that shared my passion and found not only a songwriting family, but also the courage and confidence to admit to myself and my world that I indeed had a dream to write songs on a professional level.
In 2004 I was offered a management deal from some random little firm that wanted to develop me as an artist-writer. That was a big fork in the road for me because it forced me to decide what exactly I wanted, and what sacrifices I was willing and not willing to make. With a new baby in my arms, I turned it down telling them thank you, but that I didn’t want to be an artist, I wanted to be a writer. It was a little scary to make that decision because I found myself asking “Was that it? Did I just pass up my only shot?” But while I probably could have squeezed my dream into that opportunity, it was clearly a square peg and a round hole. So, I waited. Then, a few years later, the spark came. Through a listening panel at a songwriting event, someone gave one of my songs to someone else who gave it to someone else and, three years later, presto! I’m a "professional songwriter".
I have no idea where God will take this from here. I may just keep writing music for church services and for print, I may get a big artist cut someday. Honestly, at this point I would be perfectly happy if things just continued as they are. I am a wife, I am a mom, I am deeply imbedded in ministry, and, I am a songwriter. God has been so gracious to our family, and for as long as He decides to let me have my cake and eat it too, I am going to enjoy every morsel.
Monday, March 24, 2008
One More Beautiful Reminder
Yesterday after church we all gathered at my mother-in-law’s beautiful home to celebrate Easter with our family. It was a sweet time, similar to last year, with good food and an egg hunt for the girls. I took this picture during the egg hunt moments before Bethany, as she so often does, provided me with yet another allegorical insight into my relationship with God.
My mother-in-law had filled each plastic egg with some sort of tiny treasure. Some held stickers, others plastic rings or fuzzy toy chicks. Bethany and Harper wandered around the yard picking up eggs, opening each one and peering expectantly inside. Several eggs into it, Bethany had come upon a purple plastic necklace. “A necklace!” She declared with delight. She couldn’t put it on fast enough and she smiled as she gazed at it hanging around her neck. Soon after she found another egg containing another necklace, this time with blue plastic beads. With equal excitement she adorned herself with it and continued picking up eggs.
After a few more eggs, she opened one egg and stopped, staring inside. Without saying anything, she rose to her feet and slowly lifted its contents into the light. It was a “real” necklace, made with a metal chain and a glass heart pendant. She stared at it for a moment as it glittered in the sun. “I don’t like these necklaces anymore,” she stated matter-of-factly, and she yanked the two plastic necklaces from her neck. She tossed them on the ground behind her, all the while never taking her eyes off the shining new necklace. She ran over to Daddy for help putting it on, and from that point forward all other plastic necklaces she found were promptly relegated to Harper.
Thomas Chalmers preached a famous sermon titled “The Expulsive Power of a New Affection”. Yesterday I saw that expulsive power at work in my three-year-old. Chalmers’ premise is that it takes more to quell a love for worldly things then simply to say “Bad, bad worldly things!” It takes a new and greater affection to replace the lesser one. And of course, that one great affection that expels all else is Jesus Christ.
When I take the time to truly behold Jesus, I want to respond as my daughter did. I want to be so dazzled by His glory that I find myself tearing from my neck the plastic imitations and refusing all lesser treasures in order that I might have the One great thing, the “real” thing, and so to be ruined for this world.
Thank you Bethany, for one more beautiful reminder.
My mother-in-law had filled each plastic egg with some sort of tiny treasure. Some held stickers, others plastic rings or fuzzy toy chicks. Bethany and Harper wandered around the yard picking up eggs, opening each one and peering expectantly inside. Several eggs into it, Bethany had come upon a purple plastic necklace. “A necklace!” She declared with delight. She couldn’t put it on fast enough and she smiled as she gazed at it hanging around her neck. Soon after she found another egg containing another necklace, this time with blue plastic beads. With equal excitement she adorned herself with it and continued picking up eggs.
After a few more eggs, she opened one egg and stopped, staring inside. Without saying anything, she rose to her feet and slowly lifted its contents into the light. It was a “real” necklace, made with a metal chain and a glass heart pendant. She stared at it for a moment as it glittered in the sun. “I don’t like these necklaces anymore,” she stated matter-of-factly, and she yanked the two plastic necklaces from her neck. She tossed them on the ground behind her, all the while never taking her eyes off the shining new necklace. She ran over to Daddy for help putting it on, and from that point forward all other plastic necklaces she found were promptly relegated to Harper.
Thomas Chalmers preached a famous sermon titled “The Expulsive Power of a New Affection”. Yesterday I saw that expulsive power at work in my three-year-old. Chalmers’ premise is that it takes more to quell a love for worldly things then simply to say “Bad, bad worldly things!” It takes a new and greater affection to replace the lesser one. And of course, that one great affection that expels all else is Jesus Christ.
When I take the time to truly behold Jesus, I want to respond as my daughter did. I want to be so dazzled by His glory that I find myself tearing from my neck the plastic imitations and refusing all lesser treasures in order that I might have the One great thing, the “real” thing, and so to be ruined for this world.
Thank you Bethany, for one more beautiful reminder.
Monday, February 25, 2008
No Photo for This One, Folks
(This is not a tale for the weak of stomach, nor for anyone who happens to be eating at the present time).
Everything happens to my side of the bed. Sippy cups left lying on their sides to drip a slow and steady wet spot into the mattress. Diapers seem to leak only when the child is playing on my side. Then there was the time Bethany shuffled into our room in the middle of the night complaining that her tongue hurt. I turned on the lamp and told her to open her mouth so I could examine her tongue. She opened wide and promptly threw up all over me and, yes, my side of the bed. So it really came as no surprise to me when the events of last night revolved around my half of the mattress.
The girls were playing together in the living room and Matthew and I were in our room talking and setting our alarm clocks. They has been playing out there for a while and we knew from past experience that eventually one of them would realize they hadn’t seen their parents in a while and come looking for us. So when we heard Harper call “Mommy?!” and the sound of little footsteps coming our direction, we thought we’d be funny and hide. We jumped into the bed and under the comforter and waited. We heard her come into the bathroom. “Where are you?” she asked, not seeing us at our sinks. We snickered loudly under the covers so she would be able to find us, and sure enough, she did. She laughed as she found our feet and patted down the comforter to find the rest of us. Still under the covers, we then learned the reason for her pursuit of us. “Mommy and Daddy, I went poo poo in my panties.”
We shot up like a couple of rockets to see our bare-butted two year old holding her panties in the air. “Harper,” I asked slowly. “Is the poo poo in there?”, pointing to the unfortunate pair of Curious George underwear. “Ya,” she replied. “I went poo poo in my panties.” I took the panties from her, handling them as I would an armed nuclear missile, and peered inside. There was evidence that poo poo had indeed been in these panties, but was there no longer. The situation had escalated.
We quickly moved into the living room, stepping lightly, and scanned the area. No poo poo. We didn’t know how long she had been walking around like that, or how much ground she had covered. All we knew was that somewhere in our home was an MIA piece of poop. While Matthew put Harper in the tub I continued to search the rooms but still found nothing. I rejoined Matthew in the master bathroom where Harper was playing happily in the tub.
“Did you find it?” Matthew asked, cringing hopefully.
“No!” I replied, throwing my hands up in disbelief. “Where could it be?” As possible answers to my own question flashed through my mind, I knew that we just had to find this poop. Remembering Harper had been at our bedside I grabbed the comforter and flipped it back. Intending to look under the covers, I was not expecting to see something launch off the comforter into the air and hit the floor with a thud.
Eureka. We’d found it.
And once again, on my side of the bed.
When Matthew leaves for work tomorrow, I’m rotating the mattress.
Everything happens to my side of the bed. Sippy cups left lying on their sides to drip a slow and steady wet spot into the mattress. Diapers seem to leak only when the child is playing on my side. Then there was the time Bethany shuffled into our room in the middle of the night complaining that her tongue hurt. I turned on the lamp and told her to open her mouth so I could examine her tongue. She opened wide and promptly threw up all over me and, yes, my side of the bed. So it really came as no surprise to me when the events of last night revolved around my half of the mattress.
The girls were playing together in the living room and Matthew and I were in our room talking and setting our alarm clocks. They has been playing out there for a while and we knew from past experience that eventually one of them would realize they hadn’t seen their parents in a while and come looking for us. So when we heard Harper call “Mommy?!” and the sound of little footsteps coming our direction, we thought we’d be funny and hide. We jumped into the bed and under the comforter and waited. We heard her come into the bathroom. “Where are you?” she asked, not seeing us at our sinks. We snickered loudly under the covers so she would be able to find us, and sure enough, she did. She laughed as she found our feet and patted down the comforter to find the rest of us. Still under the covers, we then learned the reason for her pursuit of us. “Mommy and Daddy, I went poo poo in my panties.”
We shot up like a couple of rockets to see our bare-butted two year old holding her panties in the air. “Harper,” I asked slowly. “Is the poo poo in there?”, pointing to the unfortunate pair of Curious George underwear. “Ya,” she replied. “I went poo poo in my panties.” I took the panties from her, handling them as I would an armed nuclear missile, and peered inside. There was evidence that poo poo had indeed been in these panties, but was there no longer. The situation had escalated.
We quickly moved into the living room, stepping lightly, and scanned the area. No poo poo. We didn’t know how long she had been walking around like that, or how much ground she had covered. All we knew was that somewhere in our home was an MIA piece of poop. While Matthew put Harper in the tub I continued to search the rooms but still found nothing. I rejoined Matthew in the master bathroom where Harper was playing happily in the tub.
“Did you find it?” Matthew asked, cringing hopefully.
“No!” I replied, throwing my hands up in disbelief. “Where could it be?” As possible answers to my own question flashed through my mind, I knew that we just had to find this poop. Remembering Harper had been at our bedside I grabbed the comforter and flipped it back. Intending to look under the covers, I was not expecting to see something launch off the comforter into the air and hit the floor with a thud.
Eureka. We’d found it.
And once again, on my side of the bed.
When Matthew leaves for work tomorrow, I’m rotating the mattress.
Tuesday, January 15, 2008
One... Two... Three...
There have been numerous times over the course of my life when I have tried the popularized method of counting sheep to get to sleep. I would close my eyes and picture a wooden fence with a bit of grass growing at the base of it, and one by one sheep would come into the picture, jump over the fence, and exit stage left. But it never got me to sleep.
Recently, however, I tried a new way of counting sheep. Instead of the sheep jumping over the fence, I pictured a whole herd of sheep standing close together and tried to count them as they moved around and smooshed into each other. I guess it was so difficult and frustrating that rather than continue such a tedious, pointless task, I just went to sleep.
Maybe you too have been fruitlessly counting your sheep jumping over a fence. Try the herd. It just might work for you too.
And maybe, just maybe, the rest of you have always counted the herd and I've just been somewhere out in left field with sheep jumping over fences. If that's the case, forget I ever mentioned it.
Friday, January 11, 2008
A Night Out On the Town
Matthew had to work late tonight so I told the girls that we would go out on the town, which basically means perusing our favorite outdoor shopping center. First we browsed through Tea and Trinkets, a princess store aimed directly at little girls like my Bethany who’s pulse quickens in the presence of anything pink or sparkly. Benjamin clearly felt a bit uncomfortable, but politely kept it to himself. After saying “no, honey” five or six hundred times we walked over to Pei Wei for some dinner. The waiter looked doubtful as he set our order down on the table- one plate of Mongolian beef with rice and a big bowl of chicken lo mein. I got the feeling he thought we had bitten off a little more than we could chew, but by the end we proved him wrong with 3 clean plates (save for the pile of carefully extracted vegetables on Bethany’s) and fortune cookies to boot. I always feel a little sorry for the unfortunate bus boy that comes to clean up the floor when Harper has just had her way with a plate full of noodles. But the way I figure it, if she means anything to him it’s job security.
As we left Pei Wei we stopped by one of the big fountains and the girls put it their two cents… and their hands… and then their forearms. When feet had clearly become the next objective I decided it was time to move on. We walked the 50 or so yards to Barnes and Noble, stopping along the way to take pictures and point out important things like ants and “pokey tactuses”. As we passed A.J.’s Fine Foods Harper asked to see the cakes, so we stopped by their bakery for a minute or two. With both of them poking and touching everything within reach, a few minutes was all I dared stay for fear of having to pay for a dropped box of twenty-five-dollar imported ruby-crusted muffins. Fortunately we made it out without incident.
Finally we reached Barnes and Noble and went straight to the children’s area, where we played the game where they take every book off the shelves and discard them on the floor and I follow behind them, desperately trying to put each book back even remotely near its original location. We looked at lots of books and I read them a few stories in a big comfy chair. After purchasing a new book of Bible Stories it was off to our final and most highly anticipated destination, Paradise Bakery to get a cookie. (In case there is any debate, fortune cookies do not count as cookies any more than Fig Newtons count as cake). Harper ate her cookie the way she eats lots of flat food items- by taking bites straight down the middle and disregarding the growing sides until she is literally smashing the food against her face to get to the bottom. She left with chocolate from ear to ear.
We piled back into the van, fat and happy, and headed for home. Nothing like a night out on the town.
As we left Pei Wei we stopped by one of the big fountains and the girls put it their two cents… and their hands… and then their forearms. When feet had clearly become the next objective I decided it was time to move on. We walked the 50 or so yards to Barnes and Noble, stopping along the way to take pictures and point out important things like ants and “pokey tactuses”. As we passed A.J.’s Fine Foods Harper asked to see the cakes, so we stopped by their bakery for a minute or two. With both of them poking and touching everything within reach, a few minutes was all I dared stay for fear of having to pay for a dropped box of twenty-five-dollar imported ruby-crusted muffins. Fortunately we made it out without incident.
Finally we reached Barnes and Noble and went straight to the children’s area, where we played the game where they take every book off the shelves and discard them on the floor and I follow behind them, desperately trying to put each book back even remotely near its original location. We looked at lots of books and I read them a few stories in a big comfy chair. After purchasing a new book of Bible Stories it was off to our final and most highly anticipated destination, Paradise Bakery to get a cookie. (In case there is any debate, fortune cookies do not count as cookies any more than Fig Newtons count as cake). Harper ate her cookie the way she eats lots of flat food items- by taking bites straight down the middle and disregarding the growing sides until she is literally smashing the food against her face to get to the bottom. She left with chocolate from ear to ear.
We piled back into the van, fat and happy, and headed for home. Nothing like a night out on the town.
Wednesday, January 09, 2008
Four Things
There is a "4 Things" survey email ricocheting through cyberspace and it hit my inbox last week. Everyone in my blogosphere is posting their answers and I'm having such a good time reading them that I think I'll post mine too.
Four jobs I have had in my life:
1. Journalist
2. Administrative Assistant for A.C. Green
3. Sound Technician
4. Florist
Four movies I would watch over and over.
1. Tommy Boy
2. Rudy
3. A League of Their Own
4. Any of the "Oceans"
Four places I have lived:
1. Mesa, Arizona (2 times)
2. Phoenix, Arizona (2 times)
3. Tempe, Arizona
4. Gilbert, Arizona
And I'm not planning on leaving. So there.
Four TV Shows that I Watch
1. The Office
2. Dora the Explorer
3. Sports Center
4. Re-runs of Cosby, Friends, and Raymond
Four places I have been:
1. Hong Kong
2. Mexico
3. Canada
4. Inside a dryer
Four of my favorite foods:
1. Anything deep fried dipped in ranch dressing
2. Great Sandwiches. Not just sandwiches. Great Sandwiches.
3. The spinach dip at Charlestons
4. Noodles in any way, shape, or form
Four places I would rather be right now:
1. Nashville (Those in want out, those out want in!)
2. The beach
3. On a horse
4. Disneyland (and in 2 weeks, I will be!)
Four jobs I have had in my life:
1. Journalist
2. Administrative Assistant for A.C. Green
3. Sound Technician
4. Florist
Four movies I would watch over and over.
1. Tommy Boy
2. Rudy
3. A League of Their Own
4. Any of the "Oceans"
Four places I have lived:
1. Mesa, Arizona (2 times)
2. Phoenix, Arizona (2 times)
3. Tempe, Arizona
4. Gilbert, Arizona
And I'm not planning on leaving. So there.
Four TV Shows that I Watch
1. The Office
2. Dora the Explorer
3. Sports Center
4. Re-runs of Cosby, Friends, and Raymond
Four places I have been:
1. Hong Kong
2. Mexico
3. Canada
4. Inside a dryer
Four of my favorite foods:
1. Anything deep fried dipped in ranch dressing
2. Great Sandwiches. Not just sandwiches. Great Sandwiches.
3. The spinach dip at Charlestons
4. Noodles in any way, shape, or form
Four places I would rather be right now:
1. Nashville (Those in want out, those out want in!)
2. The beach
3. On a horse
4. Disneyland (and in 2 weeks, I will be!)
Wednesday, January 02, 2008
My New Favorite Christmas Ornament
So, it’s the New Year and everyone is posting fantastic New Year’s entries on their blogs and I feel like a lump for not following suit. So here it is: my fantastic New Year’s post. I used to write in my journal without fail every first of the year, but that tradition comes to an end this year. I hardly journal at all anymore, especially with this blog for my creative writing outlet. I’m thinking for the blog this year I might start adding pictures. When I began I wanted to have a strictly textual blog, but as I read other blogs I realize that I really enjoy the pictures. It’s also a great way to post without actually having to say much. So look forward to a little more visual stimuli around here, and hopefully a little more frequency.
In fact, why not start off 2008 with a photo? That way I can get away without saying anything of real significance. Friends, I give you my new favorite Christmas ornament, created by my friend Kacey McGinty.
(To see her incredible work or book her as a photographer, go to http://www.kaceyluvi.com/.) Hey, why not plug a friend? It's the least I can do.
Happy 2008!
Wednesday, December 19, 2007
FYI
There is no such word as "nother".
The word "another" is broken down as "an-other". Should you wish to emphasize your point by inserting the word "whole" into "another", the correct format would be "an-whole-other". Because "whole" does not begin with the vowel sound, the "n" in "an" is rendered unecessary, and thus should be removed. Therefore, the correct phrase is "a whole other".
Thank you.
The word "another" is broken down as "an-other". Should you wish to emphasize your point by inserting the word "whole" into "another", the correct format would be "an-whole-other". Because "whole" does not begin with the vowel sound, the "n" in "an" is rendered unecessary, and thus should be removed. Therefore, the correct phrase is "a whole other".
Thank you.
Monday, December 10, 2007
What is That Smell?
I love Christmastime, and the weeks leading up to it. In the footsteps of my mother, I spend much of the advent season plastering the outside of my house with Christmas lights. This year, in spite of adding several new elements to the display, I finished a full day early just before the rain came. The lights fared surprisingly well in the deluge, each connection carefully protected in Saran wrap, so I thought that my lights had withstood the test and would now shine uninhibited for the rest of the Holiday season. Unfortunately, this has not been the case.
Each night I have gone to turn them on, something has gone wrong. Some nights I plug them in and nothing happens. Other times they come on but only momentarily, as if playing some cruel joke, and then go off again. Still other nights parts of the yard are aglow with luminous splendor while select trees and shrubbery remain stubbornly in darkness. Matthew and I spent about a week of this fiasco running extension cords to different outlets, hitting the reset buttons, and flipping breaker switches to no avail. But Saturday night was a turning point.
All of the outlets on the exterior of our house are what is called “GCI Protected”, which basically means if something goes wrong it automatically shuts off to prevent you from burning your house down. They are also connected to all the bathroom outlets, so whenever the Christmas lights go out, Matthew’s electric toothbrush doesn’t charge either. This, I believe, has been the added motivation needed to secure his assistance through it all.
Thinking that perhaps the rain had gotten into the exterior outlets, we tried running everything into indoor outlets without the GCI sticker on them. We plugged them in and viola! They worked! We had finally solved the mystery. It would be a hassle to have to unplug the washing machine every time we wanted to turn on the light display, but at that point I was just thrilled that they were on. Satisfied, I made a run to Wal-Mart and Matthew did some work at home. I returned about an hour later and regrouped with Matthew. As we chatted in the kitchen, we both stopped and looked around. “What is that smell?” Matthew asked, sniffing the air. We went to the outlet where one of the extension cords lay coiled around its plastic spool. The spool was melting. It wasn’t turning into a puddle of orange plastic, but it was warm and squishy to the touch. This was not good.
Needless to say, we have shut down the light display until further notice. Maybe it’s a faulty strand, or maybe it’s a bad connection. Maybe it’s electricity’s way of saying “Hey, crazy lady- scale it back a little!” In any event, we have a little more troubleshooting to do to solve this problem. Until then my house sits in Scroogely darkness, and the city of Phoenix power grid rejoices.
Each night I have gone to turn them on, something has gone wrong. Some nights I plug them in and nothing happens. Other times they come on but only momentarily, as if playing some cruel joke, and then go off again. Still other nights parts of the yard are aglow with luminous splendor while select trees and shrubbery remain stubbornly in darkness. Matthew and I spent about a week of this fiasco running extension cords to different outlets, hitting the reset buttons, and flipping breaker switches to no avail. But Saturday night was a turning point.
All of the outlets on the exterior of our house are what is called “GCI Protected”, which basically means if something goes wrong it automatically shuts off to prevent you from burning your house down. They are also connected to all the bathroom outlets, so whenever the Christmas lights go out, Matthew’s electric toothbrush doesn’t charge either. This, I believe, has been the added motivation needed to secure his assistance through it all.
Thinking that perhaps the rain had gotten into the exterior outlets, we tried running everything into indoor outlets without the GCI sticker on them. We plugged them in and viola! They worked! We had finally solved the mystery. It would be a hassle to have to unplug the washing machine every time we wanted to turn on the light display, but at that point I was just thrilled that they were on. Satisfied, I made a run to Wal-Mart and Matthew did some work at home. I returned about an hour later and regrouped with Matthew. As we chatted in the kitchen, we both stopped and looked around. “What is that smell?” Matthew asked, sniffing the air. We went to the outlet where one of the extension cords lay coiled around its plastic spool. The spool was melting. It wasn’t turning into a puddle of orange plastic, but it was warm and squishy to the touch. This was not good.
Needless to say, we have shut down the light display until further notice. Maybe it’s a faulty strand, or maybe it’s a bad connection. Maybe it’s electricity’s way of saying “Hey, crazy lady- scale it back a little!” In any event, we have a little more troubleshooting to do to solve this problem. Until then my house sits in Scroogely darkness, and the city of Phoenix power grid rejoices.
Thursday, November 22, 2007
A True American Thanksgiving
The Pilgrims set anchor at Plymouth Rock on December 11, 1620. The Mayflower was overbooked and the Midnight Buffet had been a bit of a disappointment, so everyone was a little edgy when they arrived. They hadn’t pre-purchased any land excursions and the shopping looked pretty slim, so they got right to work setting up the colony. Their first winter was extremely difficult, especially because their electric blankets were not compatible with American power outlets. It was a long and cold season, and only about half survived.
But the harvest of 1621 was a bountiful one. And the surviving colonists decided to celebrate with a feast-including 91 Indians who had helped the Pilgrims to survive their first year. The Pilgrims had barely made it through the winter because they had great difficulty working the land and growing adequate food in the cold weather. The Indians, on the other hand, had lived through many winters and assisted the Pilgrims with their agricultural knowledge, survival skills, and abundant gaming revenue.
The feast lasted three days and was quite extravagant. The menu included wild fowl, boiled pumpkin, fried corn fritters, fish, berries, watercress, lobster, dried fruit, clams, venison, and plums, all of which were also available in a low-carb wrap. They spent days in preparation, and took many precautions to ensure the survival of the remaining colonists. Everything was prepared with zero grams of trans fat and the turkey deep-fryer was placed outside so as not to burn down the already tenuous settlement.
The meal was a wonderful time of enjoyment and community for both the Pilgrims and the Indians. To keep the atmosphere festive, they were careful to avoid potentially awkward topics of conversation like religion, politics, and Christopher Columbus. After the meal, everyone was stuffed. The men headed back inside to catch the big match-up between the Redskins and the Patriots, and the women, delighted that Starbucks was open on Thanksgiving, went out for Gingerbread Lattes.
The first Thanksgiving was a wonderful time had by all, and a tradition we all do well to keep.
Happy Thanksgiving!
But the harvest of 1621 was a bountiful one. And the surviving colonists decided to celebrate with a feast-including 91 Indians who had helped the Pilgrims to survive their first year. The Pilgrims had barely made it through the winter because they had great difficulty working the land and growing adequate food in the cold weather. The Indians, on the other hand, had lived through many winters and assisted the Pilgrims with their agricultural knowledge, survival skills, and abundant gaming revenue.
The feast lasted three days and was quite extravagant. The menu included wild fowl, boiled pumpkin, fried corn fritters, fish, berries, watercress, lobster, dried fruit, clams, venison, and plums, all of which were also available in a low-carb wrap. They spent days in preparation, and took many precautions to ensure the survival of the remaining colonists. Everything was prepared with zero grams of trans fat and the turkey deep-fryer was placed outside so as not to burn down the already tenuous settlement.
The meal was a wonderful time of enjoyment and community for both the Pilgrims and the Indians. To keep the atmosphere festive, they were careful to avoid potentially awkward topics of conversation like religion, politics, and Christopher Columbus. After the meal, everyone was stuffed. The men headed back inside to catch the big match-up between the Redskins and the Patriots, and the women, delighted that Starbucks was open on Thanksgiving, went out for Gingerbread Lattes.
The first Thanksgiving was a wonderful time had by all, and a tradition we all do well to keep.
Happy Thanksgiving!
Monday, October 22, 2007
Write About Jesus 2007
A Couple Cool Moments from Write About Jesus
It was Saturday morning and we were having a praise and worship time after breakfast. We were all singing our guts out to “Here I Am to Worship”, which is a song I’ve sung a hundred times, but this time the Spirit applied it in a new way. As I was singing I was able to say to God “Here I am, in St. Louis, at Write About Jesus, to worship. To worship by using my talents, by writing songs, by building relationships, by serving others.” We always talk about how worship isn’t just singing, but it’s a lifestyle. So it was really cool to connect the singing and the living in that moment, as God reminded me why I was ultimately there: to worship.
I had a moment this weekend that was potentially head-swelling, and I realized that as soon as it began. I sensed that it was a moment that would reveal to me a lot about where I was with the Lord and songwriting, so I was very attentive to how I would respond- not in action, but in my heart before God. So while this moment was happening, I began to pray that I would be faithful and have a heart-response that was glorifying to God. I thought I’d try to turn this blessing back to Him, so I started to thank Him for allowing me to write songs and for giving me this particular song. He promptly interrupted and spoke as audibly as he ever has to me (which isn’t audibly at all, it's just in my head). He said “It’s not about you. It’s not about the song, or even that I gave you the song. It’s about what that song says about Me. It’s about the truth, and it’s about My glory.” Instantly my prayer expanded, like a camera lens focused on a single blade of grass pulling out to reveal a sprawling countryside. My thoughts shifted from what God had done for me or in me or through me and I just starting praising Him for who He was and for the truth about Him in the song that was playing on the CD player.
A Few Things I Love about Write About Jesus
I love how nobody there dresses to impress. We’re all in tee-shirts and jeans and whatever we feel like. I love it that I can wear the same pair of jeans all weekend and not feel judged for it!
I also love how you never know a songwriter by the looks of them. I’m continually surprised! We had a winner that was in high school and a winner that could have been my grandmother. That is way cool.
I love being around people who really get me. I forgot how much I enjoy the company of several of the people there.
I love being able to feel things again. Seems like at home with the way life is, I just go and do and try to keep my head above water. It wasn’t until maybe Friday afternoon, but I remembered what it’s like to feel and to drink it all in. I plan to change that about regular life if at all possible.
I love writing songs, and if I want to keep loving writing songs, I need to make sure I only write songs because I love to write songs. If that makes sense to you, than you are SUCH a songwriter. :)
It was Saturday morning and we were having a praise and worship time after breakfast. We were all singing our guts out to “Here I Am to Worship”, which is a song I’ve sung a hundred times, but this time the Spirit applied it in a new way. As I was singing I was able to say to God “Here I am, in St. Louis, at Write About Jesus, to worship. To worship by using my talents, by writing songs, by building relationships, by serving others.” We always talk about how worship isn’t just singing, but it’s a lifestyle. So it was really cool to connect the singing and the living in that moment, as God reminded me why I was ultimately there: to worship.
I had a moment this weekend that was potentially head-swelling, and I realized that as soon as it began. I sensed that it was a moment that would reveal to me a lot about where I was with the Lord and songwriting, so I was very attentive to how I would respond- not in action, but in my heart before God. So while this moment was happening, I began to pray that I would be faithful and have a heart-response that was glorifying to God. I thought I’d try to turn this blessing back to Him, so I started to thank Him for allowing me to write songs and for giving me this particular song. He promptly interrupted and spoke as audibly as he ever has to me (which isn’t audibly at all, it's just in my head). He said “It’s not about you. It’s not about the song, or even that I gave you the song. It’s about what that song says about Me. It’s about the truth, and it’s about My glory.” Instantly my prayer expanded, like a camera lens focused on a single blade of grass pulling out to reveal a sprawling countryside. My thoughts shifted from what God had done for me or in me or through me and I just starting praising Him for who He was and for the truth about Him in the song that was playing on the CD player.
A Few Things I Love about Write About Jesus
I love how nobody there dresses to impress. We’re all in tee-shirts and jeans and whatever we feel like. I love it that I can wear the same pair of jeans all weekend and not feel judged for it!
I also love how you never know a songwriter by the looks of them. I’m continually surprised! We had a winner that was in high school and a winner that could have been my grandmother. That is way cool.
I love being around people who really get me. I forgot how much I enjoy the company of several of the people there.
I love being able to feel things again. Seems like at home with the way life is, I just go and do and try to keep my head above water. It wasn’t until maybe Friday afternoon, but I remembered what it’s like to feel and to drink it all in. I plan to change that about regular life if at all possible.
I love writing songs, and if I want to keep loving writing songs, I need to make sure I only write songs because I love to write songs. If that makes sense to you, than you are SUCH a songwriter. :)
Tuesday, October 16, 2007
Amazing and Wonderful Matthew
Feeling very restless today. I get on a plane Thursday morning and head out to St. Louis for Write About Jesus, a songwriting workshop that I’ve attended for a couple years now (for more on that, check the archives. I think I wrote about it last summer). I don’t know if it’s having three kids this time around, or if it’s not having gone to Estes in August, but this year the thought of three and a half days away seems even more refreshing than in years past. I’m anticipating a great weekend of freedom and creativity and spending time with like-minded friends. Best of luck to the babysitting team that will be here at home, handling the three-ring circus while I’m gone.
I was talking to my friend Hayley on the phone a few minutes ago about the trip. She commented on how wonderful of a husband I have that he would enable me and encourage me to do things like this. I must say, she is quite right. Matthew is wonderful indeed.
A lot of folks have heard our crazy story of how we met and began dating, about how I ran and ran and ran and Matthew just pursued and pursued and pursued. It was pretty simple from my end. I didn’t want a boyfriend because I didn’t want a husband. From where I was standing at the time, seventeen years old and full of angst, getting married meant giving up your freedom, limiting your ministry, compromising your dreams, and possibly even losing your identity. Not interested, thanks.
A lot of that pursuing that Matthew had to do was actually convincing and proving. Convincing me that my view of marriage was perhaps a bit skewed, and proving his love for me was a love that would never want any of those things for my life. I was scared of losing myself, but he reassured me over and over again that he wouldn’t let that happen. He would protect me. He committed to support and even cultivate my passions and dreams, and he has more than lived up to that commitment ever since. Of course I gave up some freedom with marriage, and especially with having kids. But I know I’m more to this world than a dishwasher and diaper changer, and Matthew makes sure of it.
This weekend while I’m out basking in creative fellowship, he will be here, knee-deep in diapers, eating out of the freezer, and driven mad by toddler talk. He’ll have some help from the grandparents, but the majority of the burden will fall on him. So if you see him at church on Sunday and he looks a little frazzled, it’s because he is an amazing man and a wonderful husband who is fulfilling his promise to his bride. Feel free to tell him he is amazing and wonderful, and I will be sure to do the same.
I was talking to my friend Hayley on the phone a few minutes ago about the trip. She commented on how wonderful of a husband I have that he would enable me and encourage me to do things like this. I must say, she is quite right. Matthew is wonderful indeed.
A lot of folks have heard our crazy story of how we met and began dating, about how I ran and ran and ran and Matthew just pursued and pursued and pursued. It was pretty simple from my end. I didn’t want a boyfriend because I didn’t want a husband. From where I was standing at the time, seventeen years old and full of angst, getting married meant giving up your freedom, limiting your ministry, compromising your dreams, and possibly even losing your identity. Not interested, thanks.
A lot of that pursuing that Matthew had to do was actually convincing and proving. Convincing me that my view of marriage was perhaps a bit skewed, and proving his love for me was a love that would never want any of those things for my life. I was scared of losing myself, but he reassured me over and over again that he wouldn’t let that happen. He would protect me. He committed to support and even cultivate my passions and dreams, and he has more than lived up to that commitment ever since. Of course I gave up some freedom with marriage, and especially with having kids. But I know I’m more to this world than a dishwasher and diaper changer, and Matthew makes sure of it.
This weekend while I’m out basking in creative fellowship, he will be here, knee-deep in diapers, eating out of the freezer, and driven mad by toddler talk. He’ll have some help from the grandparents, but the majority of the burden will fall on him. So if you see him at church on Sunday and he looks a little frazzled, it’s because he is an amazing man and a wonderful husband who is fulfilling his promise to his bride. Feel free to tell him he is amazing and wonderful, and I will be sure to do the same.
Thursday, October 04, 2007
If This Were the Mob, They'd All Be Goners
In a couple of hours we’ll be heading out to game 2 of the National League Division Series to cheer on the Diamondbacks. It’s been a wild ride on the MLB train thus far, and we expect nothing less from the post season. Should be a great game.
The problem with baseball was in my first sentence. I had originally typed “our” Diamondbacks, but quickly changed it to “the”. I wish I could say they were my Diamondbacks, but honestly, it’s tough to get to that level in our relationship anymore. I have trouble attaching, trouble bonding, to my home team because every year they are an entirely different group of guys. Just when you spent all season getting to know every player on the roster and his strengths, weaknesses, and quirks, they pull the rug out from under you and trade those guys like they all have “Upper Deck” embossed on their foreheads.
I think this is particularly a problem for female fans as we tend to get more interested and involved as we get to know the players and their lives. Once we get to know them, we grow pretty fond of them, and soon, we want what every woman wants: commitment. I want to know that when I turn on a game, it’s going to be relatively the same bunch of players that I know and love. I want to know that they’ll be there, year after year, ready to make another run at a championship. But at the start of every season, I have to deal with a flood of betrayal when I turn on the TV and see my favorite players wearing other team’s uniforms. It cuts like a slider down and in, I tell ya.
I don’t want to root for a name or a logo or a mascot. I want to root for people. It used to be an identity, what team you were on. You were a Cub or you were a Brave. But it seems now that the only thing that makes you a team anymore is wearing the same color. So I find myself adapting, trying to get behind the team without getting too attached. I end up rooting for players on all kinds of teams because they were Diamondbacks once. So I guess it’s okay. Not ideal, but what can you do? Buy your ticket, eat your peanuts, and hope the jersey you just shelled out $75 bucks for will still be good next season.
Go D-Backs!
The problem with baseball was in my first sentence. I had originally typed “our” Diamondbacks, but quickly changed it to “the”. I wish I could say they were my Diamondbacks, but honestly, it’s tough to get to that level in our relationship anymore. I have trouble attaching, trouble bonding, to my home team because every year they are an entirely different group of guys. Just when you spent all season getting to know every player on the roster and his strengths, weaknesses, and quirks, they pull the rug out from under you and trade those guys like they all have “Upper Deck” embossed on their foreheads.
I think this is particularly a problem for female fans as we tend to get more interested and involved as we get to know the players and their lives. Once we get to know them, we grow pretty fond of them, and soon, we want what every woman wants: commitment. I want to know that when I turn on a game, it’s going to be relatively the same bunch of players that I know and love. I want to know that they’ll be there, year after year, ready to make another run at a championship. But at the start of every season, I have to deal with a flood of betrayal when I turn on the TV and see my favorite players wearing other team’s uniforms. It cuts like a slider down and in, I tell ya.
I don’t want to root for a name or a logo or a mascot. I want to root for people. It used to be an identity, what team you were on. You were a Cub or you were a Brave. But it seems now that the only thing that makes you a team anymore is wearing the same color. So I find myself adapting, trying to get behind the team without getting too attached. I end up rooting for players on all kinds of teams because they were Diamondbacks once. So I guess it’s okay. Not ideal, but what can you do? Buy your ticket, eat your peanuts, and hope the jersey you just shelled out $75 bucks for will still be good next season.
Go D-Backs!
Tuesday, September 25, 2007
A Little Laugh from Grandpa Lewis
This afternoon I spent some time on the Reader’s Digest website. I love Reader’s Digest, though I’m beginning to wonder if anyone else in their twenties subscribes to it. I just have a feeling that I’m not the target market for a magazine filled with ads for hemorrhoid creams and Medicaid. If you’ve spent any significant amount of time in a waiting room or sitting on your grandmother’s couch, you’ve probably at least picked up a copy of Reader’s Digest and maybe come across the monthly section they have dedicated to jokes submitted by readers. I went on the site today to submit some jokes for the section.
They weren’t my jokes. I’m terrible at jokes. They were jokes that Matthew’s late grandfather, Lewis, used to tell. Grandpa Lew died a little over a year ago back in Illinois. I didn’t get to know him very well because of the distance, but he was such a sweet, funny man. He had thick-rimmed black plastic glasses, bushy eyebrows, and one of those perma-grins that kind of says “I’m up to something”. I have to smile every time I see him in our wedding pictures, hunched over in his suit and tie and Sea World baseball cap. He was the kind of man that was always full of stories and music and of course, a timely joke.
I know Reader’s Digest is inundated with submissions so his jokes may or not be selected, but I think it would be so cool if his stuff were to be published. I’ll just have to wait to hear back from them, but in the meantime, here are a few clean selections from Grandpa Lew’s original jokes for your enjoyment.
-What kind of car would a missionary drive?
A convertible.
-Where do Tailors live?
On the outskirts of town.
Where should podiatrists live?
In the foothills.
- The wind was blowing so hard the other day that a hen laid the same egg 13 times.
-What expression must you never say when out hunting?
“I’m game.”
-This man worked for the circus and was shot out of a cannon. He went to the circus manager and said “I quit!” The manager replied, “You can’t quit. Where am I going to get someone of your caliber?”
-What do you call popcorn that has a lot of left over kernels?
Confederate popcorn
-What sound does a grape make when an elephant steps on it?
It whines.
-My wife was on a diet of coconut milk and bananas. She didn’t lose any weight but boy can she climb a tree!
They weren’t my jokes. I’m terrible at jokes. They were jokes that Matthew’s late grandfather, Lewis, used to tell. Grandpa Lew died a little over a year ago back in Illinois. I didn’t get to know him very well because of the distance, but he was such a sweet, funny man. He had thick-rimmed black plastic glasses, bushy eyebrows, and one of those perma-grins that kind of says “I’m up to something”. I have to smile every time I see him in our wedding pictures, hunched over in his suit and tie and Sea World baseball cap. He was the kind of man that was always full of stories and music and of course, a timely joke.
I know Reader’s Digest is inundated with submissions so his jokes may or not be selected, but I think it would be so cool if his stuff were to be published. I’ll just have to wait to hear back from them, but in the meantime, here are a few clean selections from Grandpa Lew’s original jokes for your enjoyment.
-What kind of car would a missionary drive?
A convertible.
-Where do Tailors live?
On the outskirts of town.
Where should podiatrists live?
In the foothills.
- The wind was blowing so hard the other day that a hen laid the same egg 13 times.
-What expression must you never say when out hunting?
“I’m game.”
-This man worked for the circus and was shot out of a cannon. He went to the circus manager and said “I quit!” The manager replied, “You can’t quit. Where am I going to get someone of your caliber?”
-What do you call popcorn that has a lot of left over kernels?
Confederate popcorn
-What sound does a grape make when an elephant steps on it?
It whines.
-My wife was on a diet of coconut milk and bananas. She didn’t lose any weight but boy can she climb a tree!
Monday, September 10, 2007
Herman and the Second Life
By now, most of you have probably heard of Second Life. For those of you who haven’t, it’s basically a website where you create a character and build it a life; a second life, if you will, complete with income, housing, friends, and yes, even church. It’s unbelievable how into this thing some people are and the amount of money they pour into a fake life, but I’m not going to go into it. I do have strong feelings about the site and its users and what I feel are the philosophical, sociological, and spiritual issues surrounding it, but I’m not a rant-blogger. I’m not a rant-blogger because I don’t like to read rant-bloggers because they make me feel angry inside. I’m plenty angry as it is, so if you need something to get angry about, go to the website, check it out, and write your own rant about it. http://www.secondlife.com/.
All that to say that Second Life got me thinking the other day about what I would do if I had a second life. Not an online life on a ridiculous website, but another real life to try anything or go an entirely different direction then the one I’m living now. Kind of like when I was a kid playing Jeopardy! on my computer (yeah, nerdy, I know). I would tell the computer that there were two people playing, when really it was only me. I would set up my player “Kristie” and I would buzz in on all the questions I was sure I knew the answer to, and then I’d set up another player “Herman” or something and use him for all those questions that I wasn’t sure about. Herman was my second life. I could roll the dice with Herman and not put my real self at risk. If Herman got a question wrong, it was no big deal. It wasn’t really me, after all. It was just Herman.
It’s one of my favorite questions to ask people: what would you do if you had another life? But you can’t take it too seriously or else it’s no fun. I ask some people and they think about it so carefully you’d think I could actually grant them one. My list is long and seemingly random, and probably impossible to do it one additional life. I would like to try being a missionary, especially aboard Mercy Ships or something of the like. I would like to get a degree and become a high school English teacher or maybe go into advertising and marketing. I could move to Nashville and try to make it in the music business. I’ve always wanted to open a sandwich shop, and maybe serve breakfast too. Maybe I’d get one of those crazy spiky haircuts that look so good on some girls. The possibilities are endless.
It’s crazy when you start playing Marty McFly on your life and asking “what if”? What if I never did this or did that, how it would completely alter the course or your life. My biggest one is what if I didn’t decide to learn to play the guitar? I wouldn’t have found a niche in the youth group by joining the worship band. I wouldn’t have been drawn out and given confidence by the band’s leader. I wouldn’t have started writing songs. And most significantly, I probably wouldn’t have been given the opportunity to get to know Matthew very well, and go on to marry him. Where would I be without my guitar? Perhaps an unmarried English teacher with a spiky haircut.
All that said, no second life could ever compare to my first life. I am incredibly blessed. Matthew and I always say that if we ever won the lottery (which would be astonishing since we never play), we wouldn’t change a thing. Well, we would probably get a hot tub, but other than that, life is perfect. After all, you only get one. So here’s to living without regrets.
If you don’t mind putting yourself out there on the world wide web, I’d love to hear what you would do with your second life.
All that to say that Second Life got me thinking the other day about what I would do if I had a second life. Not an online life on a ridiculous website, but another real life to try anything or go an entirely different direction then the one I’m living now. Kind of like when I was a kid playing Jeopardy! on my computer (yeah, nerdy, I know). I would tell the computer that there were two people playing, when really it was only me. I would set up my player “Kristie” and I would buzz in on all the questions I was sure I knew the answer to, and then I’d set up another player “Herman” or something and use him for all those questions that I wasn’t sure about. Herman was my second life. I could roll the dice with Herman and not put my real self at risk. If Herman got a question wrong, it was no big deal. It wasn’t really me, after all. It was just Herman.
It’s one of my favorite questions to ask people: what would you do if you had another life? But you can’t take it too seriously or else it’s no fun. I ask some people and they think about it so carefully you’d think I could actually grant them one. My list is long and seemingly random, and probably impossible to do it one additional life. I would like to try being a missionary, especially aboard Mercy Ships or something of the like. I would like to get a degree and become a high school English teacher or maybe go into advertising and marketing. I could move to Nashville and try to make it in the music business. I’ve always wanted to open a sandwich shop, and maybe serve breakfast too. Maybe I’d get one of those crazy spiky haircuts that look so good on some girls. The possibilities are endless.
It’s crazy when you start playing Marty McFly on your life and asking “what if”? What if I never did this or did that, how it would completely alter the course or your life. My biggest one is what if I didn’t decide to learn to play the guitar? I wouldn’t have found a niche in the youth group by joining the worship band. I wouldn’t have been drawn out and given confidence by the band’s leader. I wouldn’t have started writing songs. And most significantly, I probably wouldn’t have been given the opportunity to get to know Matthew very well, and go on to marry him. Where would I be without my guitar? Perhaps an unmarried English teacher with a spiky haircut.
All that said, no second life could ever compare to my first life. I am incredibly blessed. Matthew and I always say that if we ever won the lottery (which would be astonishing since we never play), we wouldn’t change a thing. Well, we would probably get a hot tub, but other than that, life is perfect. After all, you only get one. So here’s to living without regrets.
If you don’t mind putting yourself out there on the world wide web, I’d love to hear what you would do with your second life.
Friday, August 24, 2007
I Should Be Sleeping...
...but I just can't bring myself to spend the precious naptime hours asleep, no matter how tired I am. Not nearly as tired as last month before Benjamin started sleeping through the night. Wow, am I glad that part's over. Those first few weeks are killer, but soon the smiles come and the laughing and pretty soon you're just falling in love. There's that initial love that's present the moment he's born, holding him for the first time and looking into his eyes. But somewhere along the line, about a month into it I'd guess, it grows into a love that is fierce and overwhelming to the point that you can start crying just thinking about how much you love him. I hit that point a few weeks ago, and I'm just having such a great time with my little Benji-man.
Other than cuddling with the baby, just trying to keep up with the other two. Harper is on a ridiculous reading kick where she basically follows you around the house with a book in her hands chanting "Read, read, read". Bethany started preschool two days a week. Very strange feeling to drop my little girl off at her classroom and get in my car and drive away. But she has a blast, and I love the drive home when I get to hear all about her day. Apparently, Thursday was Peter's birthday. Happy Birthday, Peter. I've also been going to the gym most mornings, trying to get back into shape and my favorite old jeans. I actually can get into them, but it isn't pretty. So I guess my goal is not only to get them on, but to wear them in public again.
Been spending a little more time in prayer lately. It seems like God has been giving me a lot of things to deal with that are beyond my control so that I'll actually come to Him once in a while. Of course control is an illusion in the first place, but when we feel particularly helpless we tend to hit our knees. Just learning to make prayer a first resort rather than a last resort, I guess. I was also convicted at the gym a few weeks ago as I powered through my second set of crunches. I was feeling pretty good about myself and my ability to push myself even though it was hard and it hurt and that's when the Spirit whispered "Why aren't you this disciplined when it comes to being patient with your kids?" It's true. I give in so easily to sin. Just a little pressure and I cave, while at the gym I take pride in driving myself to my limit and then some. All of those athlete analogies in the Bible have been coming alive to me since then. If only I could channel that energy into my relationship with Christ. If only I could care as much about being holy as I do about being skinny.
Well, I've got to feed Benjamin now, otherwise the whole delicate schedule of our day will collapse. Hope to be back sooner then later.
Other than cuddling with the baby, just trying to keep up with the other two. Harper is on a ridiculous reading kick where she basically follows you around the house with a book in her hands chanting "Read, read, read". Bethany started preschool two days a week. Very strange feeling to drop my little girl off at her classroom and get in my car and drive away. But she has a blast, and I love the drive home when I get to hear all about her day. Apparently, Thursday was Peter's birthday. Happy Birthday, Peter. I've also been going to the gym most mornings, trying to get back into shape and my favorite old jeans. I actually can get into them, but it isn't pretty. So I guess my goal is not only to get them on, but to wear them in public again.
Been spending a little more time in prayer lately. It seems like God has been giving me a lot of things to deal with that are beyond my control so that I'll actually come to Him once in a while. Of course control is an illusion in the first place, but when we feel particularly helpless we tend to hit our knees. Just learning to make prayer a first resort rather than a last resort, I guess. I was also convicted at the gym a few weeks ago as I powered through my second set of crunches. I was feeling pretty good about myself and my ability to push myself even though it was hard and it hurt and that's when the Spirit whispered "Why aren't you this disciplined when it comes to being patient with your kids?" It's true. I give in so easily to sin. Just a little pressure and I cave, while at the gym I take pride in driving myself to my limit and then some. All of those athlete analogies in the Bible have been coming alive to me since then. If only I could channel that energy into my relationship with Christ. If only I could care as much about being holy as I do about being skinny.
Well, I've got to feed Benjamin now, otherwise the whole delicate schedule of our day will collapse. Hope to be back sooner then later.
Wednesday, August 01, 2007
Vacating Arizona
Monday evening we returned from our family vacation, or "holiday" for my one reader in Great Britain. We had a ton of fun. Thursday morning we loaded up the minivan with four duffle bags, three kids, two strollers, one grandparent, and a partridge in a pear tree and headed for the coast. Our goal was to make it to Yuma before Benjamin woke up and realized he hadn’t eaten in 4 hours, and by the grace of God and a pacifier we rolled into the Carl’s Jr. parking lot just before meltdown. The girls played on the playground and ate their lunch with dad and gram while I fed Benjamin, and we were off again without a hitch.
The next three hours were occupied by Mark Driscoll, Disney Princess Sing-Alongs, and a stop at a Subway located inside a gas station. We were a little hesitant about buying sandwiches and petroleum from the same establishment, but the people making the subs were wearing official Subway green polos, so we ordered some to go and headed out for the last leg of our journey. As we came through the mountains the trees became greener, the air grew heavier, and the surrounding cars got more expensive. We had made it to California.
Our hotel room was great. It was on the second floor and every time we came and went Bethany got to push the buttons on the elevator, which she got quite a kick out of. That afternoon we took naps and got settled in, then went swimming and had BBQ by the pool. (Author’s note: Wherever the concept of “naps” is mentioned, please note that it is always in reference to children and/or a combination of accompanying adults, but, unfortunately, never to the author herself). Friday morning two more grandparents flew in and met up with us at Sea World. We all had a blast touching bat rays, checking out the animals, and sitting in the second row of the “soak zone” at the dolphin show. We retreated to the hotel for naps in the afternoon, then returned in the evening to make sure we got our 50 bucks worth. We left after the Shamu show around 10:00 pm, exhausted but beaming from our marine adventures.
Saturday we headed for the beach, joined by still more family flying in; our sisters and their husbands. Matthew dropped us all off, along with about 200 pounds of beach gear, and we set up camp on the first available patch of sand. While Matthew circled the globe looking for a parking spot, I fed Benjamin and watched with great amusement as the three grandparents attempted to assemble a beach cabana that looked more like an oversized kite. It was only after Matthew arrived and took over that it began to resemble the picture on the box. Once base camp was set up, we spent the day throwing the football, frolicking in the waves, and trying to minimize the amount of sand that our children ingested. Once again, we returned to the hotel exhausted.
We spent Sunday at a park on the beach, having a picnic and playing games until the kids and the parking meter expired. After dinner, we hung out in the room and fell into bed for some much needed rest. The next morning, with a sense of victory, we packed everything up and took off for home. Our family vacation had been a success.
It’s tricky traveling with small children, but we were ready for it. Expectations were set low and patience was stored up for those inevitable difficult moments. We set out to have a chaotic, exhausting, fun-filled family adventure, and that’s exactly what we did. It wasn’t relaxing by any stretch of the imagination, but there’s just something about packing up your little populace and taking them to a new, exciting place and watching their world get a little bit bigger. Something well worth the trip.
The day after we got home, I asked Bethany what her favorite part of the vacation was. I wasn’t sure if she’d enjoyed Sea World more than the beach, or perhaps going out to dinner with family or playing at the sea-side park. She paused thoughtfully for a few moments before giving her definitive reply: Riding the elevator.
Next year, we're going all out: Downtown Phoenix Chase building. Thirty-eight floors ought to do the trick.
The next three hours were occupied by Mark Driscoll, Disney Princess Sing-Alongs, and a stop at a Subway located inside a gas station. We were a little hesitant about buying sandwiches and petroleum from the same establishment, but the people making the subs were wearing official Subway green polos, so we ordered some to go and headed out for the last leg of our journey. As we came through the mountains the trees became greener, the air grew heavier, and the surrounding cars got more expensive. We had made it to California.
Our hotel room was great. It was on the second floor and every time we came and went Bethany got to push the buttons on the elevator, which she got quite a kick out of. That afternoon we took naps and got settled in, then went swimming and had BBQ by the pool. (Author’s note: Wherever the concept of “naps” is mentioned, please note that it is always in reference to children and/or a combination of accompanying adults, but, unfortunately, never to the author herself). Friday morning two more grandparents flew in and met up with us at Sea World. We all had a blast touching bat rays, checking out the animals, and sitting in the second row of the “soak zone” at the dolphin show. We retreated to the hotel for naps in the afternoon, then returned in the evening to make sure we got our 50 bucks worth. We left after the Shamu show around 10:00 pm, exhausted but beaming from our marine adventures.
Saturday we headed for the beach, joined by still more family flying in; our sisters and their husbands. Matthew dropped us all off, along with about 200 pounds of beach gear, and we set up camp on the first available patch of sand. While Matthew circled the globe looking for a parking spot, I fed Benjamin and watched with great amusement as the three grandparents attempted to assemble a beach cabana that looked more like an oversized kite. It was only after Matthew arrived and took over that it began to resemble the picture on the box. Once base camp was set up, we spent the day throwing the football, frolicking in the waves, and trying to minimize the amount of sand that our children ingested. Once again, we returned to the hotel exhausted.
We spent Sunday at a park on the beach, having a picnic and playing games until the kids and the parking meter expired. After dinner, we hung out in the room and fell into bed for some much needed rest. The next morning, with a sense of victory, we packed everything up and took off for home. Our family vacation had been a success.
It’s tricky traveling with small children, but we were ready for it. Expectations were set low and patience was stored up for those inevitable difficult moments. We set out to have a chaotic, exhausting, fun-filled family adventure, and that’s exactly what we did. It wasn’t relaxing by any stretch of the imagination, but there’s just something about packing up your little populace and taking them to a new, exciting place and watching their world get a little bit bigger. Something well worth the trip.
The day after we got home, I asked Bethany what her favorite part of the vacation was. I wasn’t sure if she’d enjoyed Sea World more than the beach, or perhaps going out to dinner with family or playing at the sea-side park. She paused thoughtfully for a few moments before giving her definitive reply: Riding the elevator.
Next year, we're going all out: Downtown Phoenix Chase building. Thirty-eight floors ought to do the trick.
Wednesday, June 20, 2007
Welcome to the World
Benjamin James Braselton
Born Monday, June 18th at 1:30 pm
8 lbs, 2 ounces 21.5 inches long
"Behold, children are a blessing from the Lord, the fruit of the womb a reward. Like arrows in the hand of a warrior, so are the children of one's youth. Blessed is the man who's quiver is full of them!" -Psalm 127:3-5
Born Monday, June 18th at 1:30 pm
8 lbs, 2 ounces 21.5 inches long
"Behold, children are a blessing from the Lord, the fruit of the womb a reward. Like arrows in the hand of a warrior, so are the children of one's youth. Blessed is the man who's quiver is full of them!" -Psalm 127:3-5
Thursday, June 07, 2007
Waiting for Baby
So I figure I should blog now since it’s been well over a month. I don’t have anything profound or entertaining to expound on, but I can always just ramble on about my life. After all, isn’t that what blogs are for?
I spent Memorial Day weekend at a songwriting retreat in Indiana. It was an amazingly wonderful time, though constantly in the back of my mind was the thought that my son could be born thousands of miles from home. Happily, he hung in there and I made it home as pregnant as ever. Since I went through the whole “nesting” phase before I left, I’m now simply in the waiting period. Only 2 weeks left according to my doctor’s little date calculator thingy, but in light of its uncanny resemblance to a cereal box decoder ring, I don’t give it that much credence. I’m ready anytime, although Matthew is really pulling for me to make it past Sunday seeing as I’m scheduled to run sound for him for three services and there’s no one to fill in if I’m out of commission. I told him I’d do my best, but no promises.
Nesting was interesting this time around. It was mostly organizing things, like going through all the girls’ clothes and pulling out anything epicene (I subscribe to “Word of the Day”, and that was today’s. I’m so excited I get to use it). Then his cradle had to be cleaned out. Over the past year and a half it had somehow morphed into the gift-wrap storage center, so all of that had to be relocated, along with about an 1/8th of an inch of cat hair accumulation. Gross. Of course there was the cleaning. I had the carpet and the couches shampooed so they’d be ready for a fresh batch of spit-up. Double gross.
All the while my belly is just getting bigger and bigger. Either that or my clothes are getting smaller and smaller. It’s a minor inconvenience, but inconvenient none the less. I can no longer park next to a car that’s on the line, nor can I successfully look out the peephole in our front door (which is always a challenge for me anyway). I have to take extra care when spitting out my toothpaste and be sure to get a sufficient trajectory that will clear the protuberance, otherwise I end up changing my shirt before I even make it out of the bathroom. One of the particularly endearing things that Harper, our 18-month old, makes a habit of is following you around with her arms in the air imploring you to pick her up. It’s gotten to the point that if she gets too close to me, I lose sight of her completely in the shadow of the bulge and the only thing that notifies me of her presence is the sweet little voice incessantly chanting “Ahp! Ahp!” I find that pretty amusing.
Wow, this has been some captivating material. Positively riveting. Sorry to have to cut it off, but Dora the Explorer is over now so I should really get back to being a parent. We’re off to the park to soak up this rare day of double-digit temperatures. But take heart- odds are my next post will be very exciting indeed. Maybe it will even include my first photo post! I know you all wait with baited breath. Until then, I’ll be here like always… being mommy, waiting for baby, and trying not to spit on myself.
I spent Memorial Day weekend at a songwriting retreat in Indiana. It was an amazingly wonderful time, though constantly in the back of my mind was the thought that my son could be born thousands of miles from home. Happily, he hung in there and I made it home as pregnant as ever. Since I went through the whole “nesting” phase before I left, I’m now simply in the waiting period. Only 2 weeks left according to my doctor’s little date calculator thingy, but in light of its uncanny resemblance to a cereal box decoder ring, I don’t give it that much credence. I’m ready anytime, although Matthew is really pulling for me to make it past Sunday seeing as I’m scheduled to run sound for him for three services and there’s no one to fill in if I’m out of commission. I told him I’d do my best, but no promises.
Nesting was interesting this time around. It was mostly organizing things, like going through all the girls’ clothes and pulling out anything epicene (I subscribe to “Word of the Day”, and that was today’s. I’m so excited I get to use it). Then his cradle had to be cleaned out. Over the past year and a half it had somehow morphed into the gift-wrap storage center, so all of that had to be relocated, along with about an 1/8th of an inch of cat hair accumulation. Gross. Of course there was the cleaning. I had the carpet and the couches shampooed so they’d be ready for a fresh batch of spit-up. Double gross.
All the while my belly is just getting bigger and bigger. Either that or my clothes are getting smaller and smaller. It’s a minor inconvenience, but inconvenient none the less. I can no longer park next to a car that’s on the line, nor can I successfully look out the peephole in our front door (which is always a challenge for me anyway). I have to take extra care when spitting out my toothpaste and be sure to get a sufficient trajectory that will clear the protuberance, otherwise I end up changing my shirt before I even make it out of the bathroom. One of the particularly endearing things that Harper, our 18-month old, makes a habit of is following you around with her arms in the air imploring you to pick her up. It’s gotten to the point that if she gets too close to me, I lose sight of her completely in the shadow of the bulge and the only thing that notifies me of her presence is the sweet little voice incessantly chanting “Ahp! Ahp!” I find that pretty amusing.
Wow, this has been some captivating material. Positively riveting. Sorry to have to cut it off, but Dora the Explorer is over now so I should really get back to being a parent. We’re off to the park to soak up this rare day of double-digit temperatures. But take heart- odds are my next post will be very exciting indeed. Maybe it will even include my first photo post! I know you all wait with baited breath. Until then, I’ll be here like always… being mommy, waiting for baby, and trying not to spit on myself.
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