Human Again

I've always loved to read. When I was in pre-school, I sat on my bed, surrounded by books, crying because I couldn't read them. Eventually, my love of reading led me to major in English. However, the "read and analyze" part of literature classes was not usually my favorite part.

To me, reading is immensely personal. A good book takes you on a journey--but not one that is necessarily punctuated with literary devices and philosophical criticism. I find myself caught up in a book because I care about the characters, not because the author skillfully uses symbolism.

One of my classes that made the biggest impact on me was actually centered on dramatic literature (a.k.a. plays). The professor would ask us, "What does it mean to be human within the context of this play?" Then, he let us discuss. Even when talking about works such as the seemingly dry Greek tragedy "Antigone," I found myself connecting to the characters in a very real way.

That question still comes to me in unexpected ways. As an Adult Education teacher, I find myself face-to-face with people whose lives couldn't be more different from mine. Yet, if I pause and really ask myself where they are coming from, our humanity brings us onto common ground.

A good book should do just that. You should feel what the characters feel. You should learn what they learn. You take a glimpse inside their lives, and you learn what it means to be human.

Someone once told me that they only read nonfiction because it teaches, while fiction just entertains. I would have to argue that you can learn a great deal from fiction. Hopes, failures, love, and loss make up the pages of our lives as well as a books'. At some point or another, we ask ourselves what it means to be human. Reading books shows us that we're not alone.

Waffles & Spaghetti

Most Olivet alums around my age will remember the infamous "Waffles & Spaghetti" chapel. The theory is that men are like waffles--each part of their life is a square that does not touch another. The work waffle is separate from the family waffle, and so on. Women, on the other hand, are like a plate of spaghetti. Every incident somehow connects. We can start out worried about getting to work on time, and it can snowball into a total meltdown about the state of our marriage. As much as we joked about that topic, I really enjoyed that lesson on the differences between men and women--especially when I realized how perfectly Mike & I fit those stereotypes. It saved me a lot of grief in the early stages of our relationship.

When we first started dating, I would look for any "accidental" run-in with Mike I could manage on campus. Always, Mike would give me a smile and a hug, but I remember being hurt sometimes when he seemed to stop for only a minute and then rush on his way. In my typical "spaghetti" manner, I would take one short incident and weave it together until I'd convinced myself that he didn't like me anymore. Then, a light bulb went off--waffles. Mike was merely in his "class" waffle at the time, and he couldn't just switch to "girlfriend" waffle. That saved us petty fights and hurt feelings in a big way.

Since we've been married, I've noticed our food stereotypes in an even bigger way. Back at that chapel, the wife encouraged all of us ladies to actively take part in whatever our husbands' interest was. If he loves football, watch and learn about football. If he loves cars, go out into the garage with him. For me, that means video games, video games, and more video games.

Even though my generation grew up with game console after game console, I was never really into the XBOX and Playstation scene. In fact, when we got an XBOX, I tolerated it because of Netflix (with a little Guitar Hero thrown in). Then, Mike introduced me to the Legos games. First, came Indiana Jones; then, Harry Potter; followed quickly by Batman. I was hooked! Yes, I know it's a kid's game, but I had fun collecting pieces, punching things into oblivion, and most of all, spending time with my husband.

Mike's newest game acquisition has been Call of Duty: Black Ops. I've watched him play it with my brothers-in-law from both sides of the family, but I was absolutely not interested. First-person shooter/online multiplayer war games are not exactly my thing. Last Saturday, though, I decided to give it a shot.

I was not good. I am a horrible multitasker, so playing with two joysticks can be a little much (aka, I ran into a lot of walls and got stuck in a lot of corners). Somehow, though, I've managed to get it together enough to play on the easiest level. Sometimes, I actually have more kills than deaths! Even my brother-in-law, Matt, was willing to play with me, so I must not be totally awful!

The best part of the experience though? Spending time with my husband in one of his favorite "waffle squares." That makes every moment worthwhile.

Failures of the Dressing Room

Any woman who has ever tried on clothes in a dressing room knows that the harsh lighting often inspires us to buy less clothes than more clothes. There is something about that flourescent glow that makes you want to run and hide...or run to the nearest treadmill and keep running. When will stores learn that we need soft, flattering light if they want us to pay $50 for a sweater that we don't really need? Sometimes, we end up buying the sweater to make ourselves feel better, but more often than not, we end up leaving the store empty-handed and dejected. Failures of the dressing room.

Does anyone else out there ever feel like God turns on his harsh, dressing room-like light and makes you look in the mirror to see what your heart actually looks like? Because I know I've felt that way lately. Rather than walk away without my new, selfish sweater in hand and work on the flaws He shows me, I've been happily buying into the lie and convincing myself that it fits.

But God, I've been here before. I learned my lesson-I swear! Why can't I keep wearing this method of prayer? Why can't I expect it will fit just because it did a year ago?

"Wait for the LORD. Be strong and take heart and wait for the LORD." I repeat it like a mantra, and yet I can't seem to get it through my thick skull. I always want to do when I need to just wait. I think that I am doing something helpful and in God's will; in reality, I'm fooling myself. Checking off my to-do list does nothing towards getting me closer to the woman God wants me to be. Pouting and crying that things aren't quite progressing like I thought they should be just makes me a selfish whiner.

So, it's time for me to take another step into the dressing room and let God reveal my flaws-not to make me feel like a failure, but to remind me of His grace and where He wants to take me in the next year. Anybody with me?

Blahs, Revelations, and Love: A Sign of Spring

I know, I know. I’m a horrible blogger. There should be a little consistency on here. I choose to blame my lack of posts on the winter blahs rather than a lack of motivation or creativity.

Okay. So I really am lazy, but I think there is a grain of truth in there that winter has left me feeling, well, blah. But, the sun has emerged here in western Maryland over the past few days, and I took that as a sign that I need to get my butt in gear.

My dear friend Lauren and her husband came to visit last weekend. Of course, the first thing that Lauren and I did (after eating, of course) was have the wonderful, heartfelt conversation and introspective life-analysis that only true friends (and English majors) can have. I think I can safely speak for Lauren when I say that we both have felt a little lost over the past few months. Don’t get me wrong—we have wonderful marriages, and we’re enjoying the adventure of carving out lives with our husbands. But, for two women who always relied heavily on the ability to achieve, it’s difficult to no longer be meeting deadlines and succeeding at academic challenges daily. Basically, we miss the challenge and brain-strain that comes along with college life. Go figure, huh? Shouldn't we be relishing our ability to sit around in fat pants and do nothing all night long? I guess it just proves that stressed or bored, you can find yourself asking, What am I doing with my life?

Last summer, when I started this blog, I was searching long and hard for that Ah-hah! moment when God would plop my life’s purpose in my lap. Mind you, this was going to be something revolutionary. I was absolutely going to conquer the world, or at least some corner of the world. I would be useful. People would recognize my brilliance. I would be happy and content every single day.

I think you can guess what happened next:

God chuckled.

And then He was silent.

I ranted. I raved. Okay, so I sobbed a lot on my husband’s shoulder and to friends on the phone.

And God was still silent.

Over the last few months, in the midst of my winter blahs, I have slowly realized that whatever I do, whether insignificant or earth-shaking, should be done for God. At the end of the day, He doesn’t care what I accomplished with my own hands that day. He cares about the moments that I let Him use my hands for His glory. It hasn't been a lightening-bolt revelation of direction and purpose. It's been more like the slow melt of snow-packed ground that subtly reveals the hope of spring.

I in no way, shape, or form have this concept down on a daily basis. In fact, today is one of those early spring days when I’m itching to escape the day-to-day grind and look ahead to the “what-ifs” down the line. But, I’ve noticed a peace that is invading my heart and mind. It took God removing all things from my life that I think I’m good at to help me realize what my purpose is:

To love Him and love others as He loves me.

Adventures in Baking

With enough butter, anything is good. -Julia Child

I found that quote the other day, and I'm toying with putting it up on some shelves I have over my kitchen table. It just makes me laugh.

But, onto the main idea of this post:

I made buttercream icing this afternoon.

From scratch.

And I'll admit it, I'm pretty darn proud of myself. I definitely understood the need for an apron after totally covering myself in powdered sugar. And, I didn't use the clear vanilla that the recipe called for because I live in the boonies, and I couldn't find it anywhere. But, it tasted like buttercream, and it looks like buttercream to me, so hopefully it'll pass. Now, we'll just have to see how my first cake decorating class goes this week...

I have to say that I am so ridiculously excited about this class that I could just explode. I have wanted to learn how to decorate with all those fantastic tips for so long. Secretly, I wish I could open up some great bakery and do nothing but create yummyness with butter and sugar and flour all day long. Oh, and chocolate. That would be quite important, too.

Unfortunately, I'm not exactly the kind of baker that can just come up with amazing things on her own. So, my own shop with exquisite and unique creations probably won't happen anytime soon. I need to steal the genius of others that are more talented than I. But, there are so many wonderful things out there to make!

That's why combined with starting my class and anticipating this coming in the mail, my life will be happy and sugar-filled this week. I might just have to learn how to put pictures up here so that I can show you my creations once I know what I'm doing.

Now, I just need more people to bake for so that Mike and I don't eat it all. Any volunteers?

P.S. Sorry for the long lapse in posting (Lauren and Mike, you're the only ones who read this, so sorry to you specifically). I'll try to be better from now on. :)

Falling for You

I've written two semi-serious posts, so I think it's time for a total meaningless one. Let's pretend this post's subtitle is "An Ode to Fall."

Now, let's just get this out of the way. There are those naysayers out there (coughMichellecough) who will cynically tell me that fall only leads to winter, which is therefore depressing. But, I can't help it, I love fall.

You see, I associate fall with the start of something new rather than the beginning of the end. Maybe it's all those years in school. I don't know for sure. I do know, however, that I get butterflies and this gurgly (pretend it's a word, okay?) feeling in my stomach. I just get excited.

I love the colors of fall, especially now that we live in the mountains where I really get to experience it. The rich reds, the warm oranges, and the comforting golds make me giddy--yes, giddy--with delight. I can't wait to dig out my fall decorations, go buy pumpkins and mums (which I'm doing TOMORROW!), and deck out my little abode in autumnal happiness.

I love the smells of fall. You know what I mean, right? A mix of changing leaves and shifting winds that just plain old smells like fall. I suddenly feel like I can light my candles again, and enjoy my new one that's called "Autumn Wreath" (courtesy of a great mother-in-law who understands the integral need of all things Yankee Candle).

And, because, let's be honest, I think with my stomach, I also love the tastes of fall. Really, all I need to say is Pumpkin Spice Latte and the world is a better place. If I had more people to bake for besides my Handsome Husband and myself, I would currently be creating a never-ending mound of breads, pies, and other things that involve lots of butter and pumpkin.

See, now you want to come and visit me so I will bake for you. And you can because I plan on absolutely zero traveling the month of October.

Tripping and Stumbling

I tend to break things. Glasses, dishes, cell phones, myself. I'm just not always the most coordinated person in the world. Okay, I'm hardly ever coordinated or graceful. I've dropped spaghetti on my mom's new white carpet. I've broken 3 different cell phones in less than a year. In fact, while in college I managed to fall down four separate flights of stairs at one point or another. That doesn't even count all the times I fell up the stairs.

I don't always feel so coordinated when it comes to my spiritual life, either. I stumble. A lot (both literally and figuratively). It's easy to feel useless, unnoticed, and unloved. I find myself questioning how God could possibly want me when I mess up so often. And yet, I believe in a God who loves me and chooses to use me even in all of that brokenness.

Isn't the Bible full of such examples of broken people used to glorify God? Moses was a terrible public speaker, and yet God used him to deliver His people. King David made some awful decisions, and yet he was a man after God's heart. Peter went so far as to deny Jesus three times, and yet Jesus called him the rock on which he would build the church. I don't know about you, but it makes me feel better to know that those Biblical giants messed up big time, too.

It's been a long time since my last post because I've been out of town for two weddings (more posts to come on all of that), and then, this week, my papaw passed away. So, today I find myself back in Oklahoma for his memorial service. You might be asking, "How does this tie into brokenness?" Well, my papaw lived the last few years of his life with Alzheimer's. His mind steadily became more and more broken as the disease robbed him of his memory. When my family would discuss his illness, we would question why God would allow him to remain alive as his mind declined. He was not the same vivacious man that we had always known.

Then, my parents and sisters sat by my papaw during his last hours. They saw workers from the nursing home pouring in to say goodbye to a man who had never been harsh to them; who was always eager to read the Bible out loud or sing a hymn. He called everyone "Darlin" and always said, "Thank you." As my sister pointed out to all of us, Alzheimer's could not take away my papaw's love of Christ. Even though his mind was broken and he wasn't the wisecracking grandpa we knew anymore, he still radiated the Holy Spirit. He still brought glory to God even as his mind and body were failing him.

Today, we remember my papaw's life and what he brought to us while he was here on earth. But, I know that along with the jokes and sayings that my papaw left me with, he also passed on a legacy of faith that proved that even when all hope is gone--when we are at our most broken--God still uses us.

Thanks, Papaw, for that lesson.