White Walls

Comeback

2012-01-22T09:32:00.000-07:00

Today is January 22. That should be far enough past New Year's resolution time that you don't mistake this reappearance on the blog as a resolution. But I do hope it becomes a regular part of my life again. Going places and doing things entirely filled up the last few months and left little time for thinking, and even less time for writing. Pressure from friends -- not only to write again but to make it interesting... -- has made me want to blog and not want to blog. When it's been months, it's hard not to feel like your first time back has to be this epic thought or story. All that does is keep me away longer. Today is January 22 and I'm in the mountains for the second annual Grand Lake Getaway. My friend Lindsay's family owns a house right on the lake, and they're generous to let a couple handfuls of women stay for the weekend and cook, dance, consider jumping in the canal (but deciding against it) and meet our annual quota for lounging in front of the fire while snow falls outside. Today is January 22 and the year ahead is a blank slate. I can predict that I will stay happily with my company, that I will move sometime around April, that my social life will look a whole lot different than it did last year, and that... I don't know beyond that, and those are only predictions. One of the strongest and deepest women I've met in a long time has decided to befriend me and teach me more about Jesus Christ. No one has been in my face like she has about things in my heart that need to change. I'm excited for the upcoming months and what they hold. Unknown can be frightening but it is so filled with possibility. And I'm preparing myself to write about it here, and maybe even commit to making the blog a bit more personal -- including photos. Planning to be back here soon.

Mossy, Stony, and Jonny...in Scotland

2011-09-21T20:34:00.000-06:00

The wee Scottish lad dancing in the rain.

I was giddy to be in a beautiful English-speaking country.

The Royal Mile, as seen during the madness of Fringe Festival.

An American singer in Glasgow.
Nothing to write home about.

Jonny is studying here for the semester and probably getting an unfair advantage --
simply existing on this campus makes a person smarter.

You're looking at the fish that should have lemon juice on it,
but the lemon juice squirted everywhere but on the fish,
including the faces of people at three of my surrounding tables.

Happy to be eating gluten-free food without cutting into retirement savings.

Castle at Edinburgh! We didn't tour, we just stood outside
and took this picture so it would look like we toured.

The dark and mysterious Glasgow.

The lovely Scottish horse of my dreams. We're soulmates.
He saw me coming and stopped eating -- yes, stopped eating -- to come say hello.

Our luxurious accommodations for the week. I got the bed.

Jonny turned 21 in Glasgow, so I took him to the
Ubiquitous Chip for some out-of-this-world eats.

Ashton Lane, my favorite street in Glasgow,
full of fantastic restaurants.

Walking to Captain's Rest to see some good live music
and thought this was purty.

So did he, so he posed for a picture.

He was very bold this night, testing out the world of gluten.
It turned out okay for him.

I went nuts when I saw this SAIL-THRU restaurant.
On the other side of that little rail is a canal, and
I considered buying a boat just so I could sail thru
and order some fish and chips.

Most of our marathon bike ride was along this canal.

Pedaling.

This is the part of the bike ride where the flowers hide the canal.

These charming gents were having the time of their lives at the bowling club.

Biked 13 miles for this moment.

The view from our booth. This was at Grosvenor Cafe,
one of the restaurants on Ashton Lane.

The view of our booth from Grosvenor Cafe.

The view of our meal at Grosvenor Cafe.
I loved that they served everything on wooden cutting boards.
I had a delicious cottage pie and Jonny had slimy mussels.
I'm glad I can eat gluten.

Blending right in to his environment at University of Glasgow.

Angels were singing.

Shouldn't this door lead to Narnia or something?

The chapel on campus. Not too shabby.

Cool church, and Jonny had to sneak his face into the corner of my shot.

Basically I liked the modern building next to all the old ones.

We hadn't been there three days and he'd already purchased some vintage Euro shorts.
It's a shame there aren't many sunny days in Scotland, because his
American thighs aren't quite accustomed to being out in public.
Or is it the public that isn't accustomed to his American thighs?

As wonderful as he is, Jonny and I needed a little breather.
We spent an afternoon in separate cafes,
and as you can see, it was heavenly.

The best looking picnic table I've ever seen.
Ironically, it's also the one I'd least like to sit at.

Loch Lomond

Considering jumping into Loch Lomond
after the outrageous time we had getting there.

Moss looks a lot like carpet.

These are real-life taxis, and they make our
big yellow taxis seem so...well...ordinary.

All in all, Scotland was grand.

Picture-Perfect Switzerland

2011-09-19T22:06:00.001-06:00

I've posted a hefty amount of photos here, and this only captures our week in Switzerland (Scotland photos to come!). But after my boo-hoo post about everything that went wrong, I figured it was only right to show a piece of all the amazing things we were able to see and experience. Enjoy!

Calvin's Cathedral

A little corner of Geneva.

I like this umbrella.

We booked our lodging in Switzerland through airbnb and THIS was our view from the apartment in Lucerne.

First dinner in Lucerne: feet dangling over the wall, looking across the water at Old Town.

Dinner was simple: meat, cheese, bread, wine.

Swiss streetside cafe.

Pick me up for dinner at 7?

The view from the top of Mt. Pilatus. We boated across this lake and
took the cog railway up the mountain, past real mountain cows with real cowbells.

Yes, this is what you think it is. Sheets and sheets of Swiss chocolate.

Blue and blue and blue.

Inspired.

Alps!

Alps and Siblings!

Our best views were always when we were moving. The Swiss Travel system is
spectacular, so we trained and boated everywhere we went.

Mt. Pilatus, as seen from our boat.

Train window snap: steeple under the clouds.

Another from the train.

Switzerland = lakes and mountains.

It was at the moment of taking this picture that Jonny and I developed our Indian accents. An Indian family of four was our only company in the rail car, and the little boy and girl said all sorts of adorable quotable things.
The girl said to her mom, "You can take as many pictures of me as you want any time."

Interlaken.
We spent an afternoon here and swam in the chilly mountain water with the locals.
And saw a lot of speedos.

Walking. Because we missed the bus.

Train home from Interlaken. One of my favorite rides.

Deep breath.

Glacier water looks like milk! Who knew?

Deep in the mountains on our way to the Matterhorn.

This makes me want to explore.

First glacier I've ever seen. It was so barren and untouchable...
I may have hung my jaw open.

Is this not the most quintessential photo of Switzerland?

p.s. Lest you be duped into thinking Switzerland is budget-friendly, let me tell you the story of this coffee. This is not an espresso. This is a coffee. Jonny and I had 7.50 francs left (about $12.00) , and we were on our way to Scotland, so we figured we'd use our francs to buy breakfast. When I saw that all we could buy with it was two coffees, I ordered two coffees. I looked into the cup the barista handed me and saw exactly what you see in that photo: a cup of coffee one-quarter full. Right then and there I knew I belonged in America.

My Travel Nutshell

2011-09-14T19:02:00.000-06:00

Imagine boarding an airplane and discovering, upon reaching your seat, that the person next to you takes up his entire seat and half of yours. Then imagine being re-routed from Philadelphia to Pittsburgh because of foul weather and to re-fuel. Then imagine landing in Philadelphia 30 minutes after your connecting flight to Zurich has left the runway. Then imagine adjusting your flights with the US Airways Customer Service rep, only to board your flight to London and sit on the runway for an hour. Then landing at Heathrow 45 minutes before your flight to Geneva takes off, finding you have to go through customs and security again because you're an international traveler. Then imagine running on to your connecting flight as Swiss Air closes the jet door right behind you. Then when you arrive in Geneva, your bag is nowhere to be found and neither is the wi-fi you were depending on to find out where to meet your friends.

And you'll have a perfect picture of our first 24 hours on the road.

Or...of our entire trip, start to finish. I wish I could tell you it was fantastic, phenomenal, utterly inspiring and I'll never be content to stay home again. But I can't. Travel challenged and stretched us way beyond what we asked for. I was hoping for posts and posts worth of stories to tell, but what really stood out is what we learned from it all. We learned more about ourselves, each other, and how to make the best of things than we learned about any culture or language. And for that, it was worth it.

I learned that when you're wondering whether or not to hold your tongue, hold it. I also learned that European bus drivers won't wait for you, even when you're ten yards away and running. Run faster. And don't plan a rigid itinerary that will be ruined if you miss the bus (we had a very loose itinerary and still had to run. A lot.). I learned that people are still people no matter where you go. I learned that a government has a whole lot more to do with the personality of a nation than I realized, and it made me love my home in America and made me want to fight for it.

I could tell you stories about our boat ride across Lake Luzern, swimming in a cold mountain lake in Interlaken, biking 26 miles roundtrip to find some old Scottish castle ruins and to climb the famous boulders at Dumbarton. I could tell you about the one time Jonny and I had a fight. Or I could tell you about my first meal in Scotland, when I tried to sqeeze a little lemon on my fish and chips, and instead of landing on my fish, the lemon juice hit the lady's face at the table next to me...and at the table next to her...and at the table behind them. Yes. Even the lemons in Scotland are feisty. But those weren't the real highlights of our travels.

Despite all the mishaps, we will look back on our time together with a lot of joy. It was a sweet time. I was amazed at the sense of peace I had when everything went wrong, again and again. God was there with us, and every day He gave us reminders of His presence. Deuteronomy 31:8 says, "It is the Lord who goes before you. He will be with you; He will not leave you or forsake you. Do not fear or be dismayed." And that's true even when I'm lost in a tiny French village just outside Geneva, when nobody but Jonny knows where I am.

My next few posts will be pictures and/or videos of our journey. We saw some beautiful things and they're worth looking at. And Jonny is blogging his adventures over HERE!! Check it out.

Two Weeks Vacation

2011-08-31T03:35:00.001-06:00

Hi from Glasgow! I didn't think I'd be able to blog while I was away, so this is fun. My brother and I galavanted across Switzerland last week and are getting to know Glasgow this week. We've been to Edinburgh and caught the tail-end of the Fringe Festival, and today we have some biking adventures planned.

The two of us have learned a lot, even about communication. When we were in Switzerland, he was just about the only human being I could talk to or have any sort of meaningful conversation with. A week of this and you almost feel like Castaway. No, that's dramatic. But really, you learn to hold your tongue a lot and go with the flow a lot and choose to remember the adventure instead of the hassle.

Of the European countries I've spent any time in, I'd say that Italy (six years ago) is inspiring, Switzerland is breathtaking, and Scotland is great fun. The Scots are a dadgum fun people. I confess you'll be hearing much more about Scotland than about Switzerland. I had a difficult time connecting to the culture in Switzerland, and you can only write so much about beautiful mountains. The minute we arrived in Scotland though, we felt like part of it all.

Much more will be coming, so stay tuned. I'll tell you a story or two.

The Way You See It

2011-08-16T22:30:00.000-06:00

When life fills with change, I notice the way I see things. We all have our everyday routines and may not think much about how we look at life because it's so... ordinary. But perspective can make a gloomy day cozy or it can transform a friend's thoughtful gesture into an annoyance.

This has been on my mind since Sunday, when I sat next to a blind woman in church. My church likes their music loud, and they usually stick to contemporary songs. But these old lyrics were sung so we could hear the voices next to us: "Turn your eyes upon Jesus, look full in His wonderful face, and the things of Earth will grow strangely dim in the light of His glory and grace." When I heard her voice for the first time, she sang about looking at Jesus. I know what it's like to look someone full in the face while everything else fades away, but my idea of the face of Jesus is clouded with thousands of other images of faces. It's possible that the only face she knows intimately is Jesus' face. Perhaps people who can't see the world around them can most certainly see, but they see different things and in different ways. It's possible that they see more of what really matters.

I sit at a desk from 8:00 in the morning to 5:00 at night, every day. With two days left at my current desk, the way I think about my work is opposite of how I'll be thinking about it at my new desk. Here, all is coming to a close. There, all is just beginning.

I'm about to travel to new places and see people go about life in ways I've never seen, and I'm sure it will change my routine back here in Colorado.

Everyone needs a perk-up now and then -- a little jolt in the ol' daily grind. Sometimes we can't keep it from happening, and sometimes we have to nudge it along. I'm ready to freshen up a bit and take notice of how I see things.

What's New...

2011-08-11T12:52:00.000-06:00

Ever had a good friend grow distant, and when you see each other it's awkward because in the same moment you know them so well, but don't know them at all? Blog, let's make up and be friends again. This is awkward, and I've missed you.

We'll do a life update today, only because I've been on excitement overload for the last month and there's a lot to share. One week from today is my last day in the office. The non-profit world has taught me well. I've learned about people, the importance of strategy, problem solving and seen what goes on behind the scenes. I've also learned that when it comes to non-profits and me, I'm much better on the outside looking in than on the inside looking out. So off I go to a new workplace to learn an entirely new set of information. I'll be working at a small financial planning firm in downtown Colorado Springs (why, yes, the offices do face the mountains!) and studying financial terms and concepts. A whole new world, but one worth learning.

So I step out of my office for the last time and step onto a plane bound for Geneva just a few short days later. Jonny is studying in Scotland this fall, and we're going to explore some of Europe for two weeks before classes begin. You will most definitely hear about it. I'm hoping to take some video footage and perhaps my first vlog will come out of it. We'll have to see.

I return from Europe to start my new job and then board another plane with another man headed for another place I've never been. Boyfriend Matt is taking me to visit his Minnesota hometown. I thought I had an adventurous life, and then I dated Matt. My heart has nearly burst a dozen times from all the adventure we've had.

Needless to say, life is rich and full at present, and I'm reveling in the new. God is kind, and I'm as convinced as ever that He hears even our smallest, most insignificant prayers.

Livin' la Vida Colorado

2011-07-06T22:18:00.001-06:00

Fifty-three mountains over 14,000 feet in this square state of ours, and these Colorado people have it in their heads that climbing to the top is a great way to get a little recreation in on a weekend. After completing my fourth summit this Sunday, I'm wondering what all the rage is about.

Is it the soaring sense of accomplishment or the beautiful scenery? The adrenaline rush that comes with wondering just how long your brain can last with minimal oxygen? The physical workout? Or maybe it's being that much closer to heaven?

My feelings may have something to do with last September's climb, where I was literally wondering if I would open my eyes and see the pearly gates instead of the rocks I was sprawled on. Altitude sickness isn't one of the items I would choose from the list of things to experience on a free weekend, so I was shocked when I found myself asking my little brother if he wanted to hike Pikes Peak -- America's mountain -- on Independence Day weekend {aww...}.

there's the little champ now, taking it all in

We hiked The Crags on the back side of the mountain -- the shorter, slightly more beautiful trail -- and made it 13+ miles roundtrip in just over seven hours. We stopped often on the way up to gawk at the views and were, surprisingly, some of the only hikers on the trail.

Approaching the top, Jonny says, "I feel like there should be a crowd of fans up here cheering us on. I'm needing some recognition... something." He's right. This is how you feel, especially when you're climbing a tourist mountain. Everyone else up there either drove cars or rode the train and were there to buy magnets and high-altitude donuts. We felt proud of ourselves, so we had a tourist take this here picture:

Here's a tip for your next 14er: hike with people who aren't funny. Laughing hard above tree line gets dangerous...you go to catch your breath and find yourself with no breath to catch.

I know you hardcore backpackerettes will be ashamed when I admit to you that Jonny carried the pack most of the way, up and back. We brought one pack, so naturally, we both couldn't carry one the whole time. And because it was heavy on the way up and Jonny's a gentleman, he carried it. Because a storm was coming on the way back down and I was slowing the pace when I was carrying it, he was kind enough to take it back.

What I really have to say about climbing a 14er is this: if you have the urge to do it, you must. It is worth it. You won't ever forget what the world looks like from the top. If you don't have the urge to do it but think you'd like to be talked into it, I can refer you to a friend... Despite my feelings toward 14ers, not a day goes by that I'm not amazed by Colorado, and these mountains have everything to do with it.

Independence Day

2011-07-05T10:15:00.000-06:00

I know, it's July 5th and Independence Day was yesterday. But because thoughts on things happen before, during and after the moment, I'm writing about yesterday, today.

Americans love a party. We recognize trees on Arbor Day and celebrate the weather on Groundhog Day, and we even throw parties for other countries' holidays. But there's something different about the fourth of July. It's a holiday with no fuss, no gifts, no cards. Instead of sitting around a formal table with family members only, we fling open the doors and take the party outside with family, friends and neighbors. Paper plates, chips and salsa, burgers, hot dogs, and outdoor games are all part it. Something about this holiday lures everyone out. We're comrades, fellow countrymen, co-enjoyers of this wonderful home.

Beneath all the casual fun is something very significant. Deep inside, we have an immense sense of gratitude for all that was done to secure our independence. Standing amidst hundreds of other Americans with my hand over my heart while our national anthem plays is a tremendous privilege, and I did nothing to earn it. Given that, I have a responsibility to protect it and make it the best it can be for my fellow people. I was also reminded that we fought for independence from something so we could be dependent on something else. The people who founded this country weren't seeking anarchy -- they sought a government under God.

America is a gift, and I'm so glad to celebrate it with all who are proud to be American.

Why She Drives Crazy

2011-06-01T11:49:00.000-06:00

See previous post, Why She is Late.

Why She is Late

2011-06-01T11:48:00.000-06:00

What do we all know about women? We run late. We're late in the morning, we're late in the afternoon, and we're late at night.

Why?

Here's my explanation. I guarantee it's not true for all women, but I guarantee it's true for some.

Reason #1: She doesn't want to admit to herself it really takes her that long to get ready, so she only allows as much time as she wished it took her.

Reason #2: The outfit that looked perfectly fine last time she wore it is horrendous today, and for reasons she can't explain. Choosing another outfit could make her want to give up and crawl back under the covers.

Reason #3: Every day, she is faced with new dilemmas: a dull razor, a face that needs a lot more work than usual, unruly hair, or throwing a lunch together last-minute instead of making it in peace the night before. Thus, the time between stepping out of bed and stepping out the door is different every day.

Reason #4: She has an amazing view of the mountains out her back door and lingers there too long.

Reason #5: Once she is already out and about for the day and has to be somewhere, odds are she's enjoying where she is currently and doesn't want to leave. She may be talking to someone and is fully aware she should've left five minutes ago but couldn't or didn't, therefore she is now late.

What else do we all know about women? They're always worth the wait.

The Blob Revisited

2011-05-31T13:08:00.001-06:00

Almost exactly one year after writing about my Blob, a Blob member informed me last night that reading it had warped his mind. He refused to elaborate. This got me thinking about my dear ol' Blob and how it has evolved into more of a Holidays-and-Special Occasions-only Blob, hence yesterday's Memorial Day Cookout. The handy thing about holidays and special occasions is they are just that, occasional.

Let's face it: co-ed is complicated, especially when it's on an all-the-time basis. But I must admit, some things are more fun with men around. Cookouts, for example, and wallyball, and camping (who's going to scare the bears away?) and when doing hard things, like unbolting the satellite dish from your balcony in the dark.

I don't advocate segregation. Nope. I'm all for integration, just on the right terms. My Blob has done a great job of this (and is much of the reason we are no longer a blob). In the past year, many of them have started seriously dating or are married or engaged. The interesting part is that very few of them found someone inside the Blob. They looked outside and voila, there he was.

Our get-togethers now are full of fun and great conversations, and I can be at ease because I'm not hyperventilating over what I wonder might be happening behind the scenes. "He talked to me all night last weekend too...is he interested?!?" or "Why isn't he interested? Can't he tell I'm dropping hints, and can't he see that we get along famously?" See? Complicated. But from what I can tell, the occasional times we all come together are lower pressure and 100% enjoyable. And who knows -- maybe under those terms a little romance will actually have room to blossom and breathe.

I still can't support the Blob as I knew it before, but I can't deny how much joy a healthy, mixed group of friends can bring to life. I suppose Solomon was right when he suggested there is a time for everything.

Dogs and DTRs

2011-05-17T12:50:00.000-06:00

Two dogs accompanied my weekend. One big, one little, both perfectly charming. House/dog-sitting for a friend was risky business when I'm a selective dog-lover. But these two came with rave reviews, and they exceeded expectations. Except for one thing: they wanted too much love and cuddles. I'd never heard of such a problem.

Hero

Dolce

Night one: I felt like a million bucks. Everywhere I went, they went, and they wanted to snuggle. I'll take it!
Night two: ...Okay, my clean clothes are now dirty...haven't you loved enough? Alright fine, come here.
Night three: It was time for "the talk", especially with the larger than life German Shepherd, Hero. "Hero, I've really enjoyed meeting you. You're great. Fantastic, even. But...I think we're moving kinda fast. I need space and time to think through all this and I'm feeling a little, well, suffocated. See, I'm new to this whole thing and it's taking longer than I expected to be ready for it. Am I making any sense?"

He still didn't get it, but his persistence won me over. Dolce, or Little D, was an easy sell. He fit nicely in my lap and never thought our noses needed to touch. Oh, and he was cute as a button. I'm officially one step closer to saying I like dogs. For you dog-lovers out there, I understand. And I'm trying -- I really am. I'm confident that one day, with the right dog, I'll fall hard. Until then, I'm learning dogspeak for, "It's not you, it's me."

Routine Change

2011-05-11T13:59:00.000-06:00

My dad is a man of routine. Any time of day, I could tell you his exact location, what he was doing and maybe even what he was eating. After trying hard to live a more spontaneous life, I've lately begun to see the beauty of routine. Life around me changes so fast, everything familiar is now a friend of sorts.

The squirrel pattering his way across my roof just a few minutes after my alarm wakes me, the man on his smoke break waving at me as I drive past him on my way to work, that table against the wall where Kristin and I drink coffee together every Thursday morning, and my first peek out the window to see how beautiful Pikes Peak looks today. The content of today, its conversations, its highs and lows, will all be different than they were yesterday. These little things I used to think were boring and predictable and I tried so hard to avoid are now things I notice and savor every day. The same is true of the sunrise and the way the sunlight and shadows look on the mountains just before the sun goes down. They are faithful.

When I try to explain to myself why we human beings like routine, the best answer I can conjure is that it reminds us every day of our humanity. From the first day of life, we needed a constant, but we also needed change. We can't avoid routine. The clock moves by the minute, the birds sing, we wash our faces and brush our teeth...or at least I hope so. We can't avoid change. The traffic patterns are different, our energy is greater or less than yesterday, and the phone rings with news. Life needs both.

Is it possible that God designed the world just so, including our routines and changes, to help us better understand Him? The only things we know for certain, the routines, are that He is here with us now, He was there before we were, and He will be there at the end. Everything else changes. We're promised good and bad, difficult and easy, but the details remain a mystery. We're given just enough constant to endure the changes. That's all we need.

Home and Away

2011-05-08T20:33:00.000-06:00

Goodness me. I forgot about the blog for three weeks. April was a big month. I turned 26, decided on some important things, bought a classic black business suit and had it tailored (felt so grown-up), and took my first shot at watercolors. I just returned from a work trip to Washington DC, and the project that made me cry and inspired my last post turned out to be nothing at all. It went even more smoothly than last year, and I'm convinced prayer had everything to do with it. I was on my knees about that whole thing, and not a single person was lost in my records. It was a miracle.

DC taught me...

...how I really feel about home. We left Sunday morning, and by Sunday night I missed Colorado. Where are the mountains?! The sky?? A smile on the street? Help!!!

...that I'm accustomed to friendly downtown Colorado Springs, where it's only a little creepy to make eye contact on the street. In the big city, it's risking your life... or other important things.

...it's possible to feel like a month fit inside a week, and to be mentally present for the entire thing. I don't think I thought of anything but work for five days straight.

...I can fit a lot of good food in my belly.

...Newt Gingrich is just a normal guy.

...a joyful heart is good medicine.

...an early morning walk is brilliant, except when high heels are the shoe of choice today, tomorrow, the next day, and the next, for 12 hours minimum.

I couldn't be happier to come home to Colorado, to a day that beckons everyone outside and delivers blissful adventure with every step. It's the sort of place that gives room for thought and makes it very hard not to think of the majesty and grandeur of God. Maybe one day I'll get over my Colorado-love, but not today or tomorrow.

My 9 to 5 weep.

2011-04-14T13:25:00.000-06:00

Yesterday was my first on-the-job cry. It was bound to happen one of these days. Also noteworthy, my office wall is glass. This means I can run, but I can't hide. I quickly realized it's possible to care deeply about something without knowing it. And then when something threatens to ruin the whole kit and kaboodle -- my work baby -- I'm suddenly aware that I would work as long as it took to make it right.

Who knew I cared about data? It's not the data, really. It's the people the data represents. You see, their names will become faces and bodies in just a couple weeks, and my job is to 1.) know that they're coming to our event, and 2.) prepare in advance everything they will need for the week. So when our trial-phase online database decided to move over to real-phase and omit some very important information, I got queasy. Real queasy.

I don't think about this often enough, but what I do here (and everywhere, really) has a consequence. It reflects onto something. In this case, it reflects on my company. There are no actions without reactions. Months ago, I was debating whether or not to enter all the information in two different places, just for safe-keeping. I decided not to, and now I'm wishing I had. We humans have very little foresight. I don't know what will happen after I click "Publish Post" or what will happen at 5:30 this evening, or on my 26th birthday. But whatever I do will have a consequence. That little nauseous feeling in my stomach reminds me that my actions affect others, just like our software company's actions affected me.

Today I'm considering what and who I represent and what my life means because of it. And for now, I need to avert crisis and recover what's been lost. Adios.

The Cousins

2011-04-05T13:05:00.000-06:00

The cousins flew out from Los Angeles last weekend for a Colorado Getaway. This whole side of my family is a magnet for unusual circumstances. What would be highly unusual for most people is normal for them. KD fell through the library ceiling at school, Marcy and I crashed our bikes every ride because we were talking, and Susannah totaled the family friends' golf cart. Spending time with them is one big, delightful mess.

It was no surprise when the first story I heard after picking them up from the airport was that Aunt T's butcher knife had been confiscated at Security. Because she put it in her carry-on to bring as a gift to her sister.

On our way home after 11:00 p.m., the natural thing to do was stop by the Air Force Academy to visit cousin Ty who has to be back in his dorm by midnight. We pulled up to the guard house, rolled the windows down and stared (smiling) at the guard, who stared (not smiling) back at us. After a pause, Aunt T said, "We're here to see a cadet." Guard said, I need to see your military ID. I said, "How about a Colorado driver license?" He said, "I need to see your military ID." I don't have one of those. "Okay, I need you to pull over and get out of your vehicle after I check your trunk. The driver (that was me) will need to come inside." Great. After signing some papers, we took Ty out for ice cream and back to his dorm in 20 minutes flat.

Saturday morning, we were back at the Air Force Academy for a parade.

Need I say more?

On their way to my house Sunday night, they were interrogated at King Soopers after they took the next day's pastries, just delivered by Starbucks. They were on their way to the register when they were stopped by an employee, "Ma'am? Ma'am!! May I ask why you're taking tomorrow's pastries??" They bought coffee instead.

This was my life in college, when their house was where I spent most of my time. Always weird, always fantastic, always an adventure. I wish you could know them.

Clammy Clam

2011-03-25T13:17:00.000-06:00

Here's what I know about clams:
- On my tongue, clams feel like tongues.
- Clams are known for their happiness.
- That's all I know about clams.

Clams should not be famously happy. They should instead be famously stubborn, closed and taciturn. Years ago, little brother Jonny and I sat on the sun-soaked steps outside our room in Santa Barbara trying to open a clam. We made zero progress after a very, very concerted effort. Jonny even tried to pry it open with a knife (Sorry, PETA, we were curious children). Nothing except a chip out of the shell. The clam and its chip are now somewhere in the bushes outside Casa Del Mar, and may he (she?) rest in peace.

closed clam.

I sometimes share this clam-like quality, because it's easier to lock some parts away in a vault than to let people see. It's more comfortable to look to the side than to look someone in the eye. It can be frightening to think someone might be able to see my insecurities, my fears, my broken dreams. What would they do if they knew?!

Most of us have scars, big and little, left over from living openly in front of someone who made us never want to open up again. My natural reaction is to close up shop, call it a day, settle for "normal". But then we stumble upon Luke 4:18-19 and discover another option. "The Spirit of the Lord is upon me, because He anointed me to preach the Gospel to the poor. He has sent me to proclaim release to the captives, and recovery of sight to the blind, to set free those who are oppressed, to proclaim the favorable year of the Lord." Jesus Christ came to set free.

What response could a person have to incomprehensible love than total freedom? Jesus saw my worst. Dirty, ugly, dead. But He didn't turn away. He wanted me. And that's what His sacrifice on the cross means for all of us. I belong to Him, today, tomorrow and forever! Why would I want to close up and live in fear of being known? He knows everything to know and still loves.

open clam. As you can see, open can also be ugly.
But that's okay.

Responding to an offer of freedom doesn't come without risk. There is still huge risk of hurt. But think about the risk of never opening up. Ugh. The people I enjoy and admire most in life are open. They're not afraid to let me see their mistakes. I've seen them without makeup on, and we're still friends. Growth happens when we open up. We benefit, others benefit.

When you watch the blossoms open on trees the next few weeks, try to follow their lead and live a life of open beauty. We want to see you.

A Blessing and a Curse

2011-03-24T13:10:00.000-06:00

The Taurus and I were driving home the other day when it happened. I liked the song playing on the radio, and I actually reached out my hand to hit "Like". Where I thought my hand was going, I'm still not sure. It wasn't until I almost touched the dashboard that I realized my car has no "Like" button. That's only Pandora and Facebook.

On numerous occasions when I've needed a tool of some sort (a vacuum, hammer, bottle opener, etc.), my first thought is to see if my phone has an app for that. This is embarrassing! Am I dumb? Maybe. But I live in a world of electronics. People almost don't know how to experience life without an electronic device on or near their person at all times. My very first instinct when I encounter something I like, dislike, or need to solve, is to see how my gadgets can help me accomplish what I'm doing. I have a huge world out there. One so big it fits in the palm of my hand.

If I didn't have Yelp mobile, how would I ever decide where to eat?! If Pandora didn't create perfectly customized playlists, I might not even like music, or know half of what I listen to even existed. How would I ever have time to pay bills, get directions, and read the news if I couldn't do it on the go, when and where and how I wanted to?

This perfectly customizable life is the good life... right? We've arrived?

Party of One

2011-03-22T22:47:00.000-06:00

I try my darndest to avoid the "relationship" topic on the blog, mostly because I'm single, don't want to be single forever and don't want to talk about my good/bad/mediocre dates here, for all the world to see. A blog is not a diary, or at least this one's not.

Last Saturday, I celebrated an engagement for the 47th time this year. Okay, fifth time. Sixth. And it was the sweetest thing you've ever seen. He wrote a song for her, and in the last line asked her to marry him. A sweet little "yes!" squeaked out between sobs. It was also the first proposal I've ever been invited to eavesdrop on.

After the congratulations and hugs were all given, I plopped down on an oversized chair with my other single friend, looked at her and said, "We're it." We're all that's left of this massive, thriving, singleness that was our huge group of friends. Singleness in group form is fine. Great, even. Singleness in single form is, well... single. At my finest moment of drama later that evening, I felt as though all my friends and I were waiting at the station for the adventurous train of wonder. They all boarded and waved at me through the windows as they pulled away, smiling and cuddly. I sat there on the bench, forlorn, wondering what I'd just missed.

That lasted about a day. Because after I cry, I must laugh. And single ladies have a lot to laugh about. My roommate and I couldn't move the entertainment center. My entire weekly grocery purchase fits in the 15-item Express checkout line. Bridesmaid dresses have their own line in the budget. And then there's navigating the dating maze, which is a book all by itself.

I'm preparing for a bit more difficult and lonely road ahead, and I can smell the desert-like place I was in two years ago. I could never describe that time as fun, but it was perhaps the most meaningful time of my life. If I can say that about whatever lies ahead, I will be thankful for every moment no matter how hard it is. Remember that piece of art I wrote about earlier this month? What that lion symbolizes has taken center stage in my heart, and resting in the warm companionship of his protection and grace is the only place I'd like to be right now.

Buds!

2011-03-17T12:33:00.000-06:00

Windows open for the first time in months, flannel sheets return to the closet, boots and scarves switch places with the shorts and tees under the bed. It is 66 degrees at this moment, and the people love it. Ski dreams are done, and now we start to dream of gardens, concerts in the park, patio dinners, and bicycles.

I can't help but be excited for the new season, and confess that I will lose sleep due to anticipation. It's bad. But this is true of every season. I have the same thoughts four times a year, so forgive me if this post is a repeat.

There is a tinge of sadness as we say goodbye to winter for another year, but buds on trees and the warm breeze on my face make me smile. A new season is a delight for the senses. It brings a sense that this change is just how things should be. This is how the world works.

I can't deny the underlying surge of comfort and peace that come with this change, because my soul knows it's a sign of faithfulness. This may be why we find such pleasure in watching the sun rise or set. It's not because we fear we'll never see it again, but because we know we will, and comfort is in the beauty and the steadiness. In this God tangibly shows His presence, His steadfastness and His attention to detail. When a bud turns into a blossom, we know He lives, and that He's worthy of trust.

I hope you see peace and joy in this change, wherever you're enjoying Spring.

Chateau de Peveto

2011-03-14T22:43:00.000-06:00

Tucked back in the evergreens, around the bend in the road and across the creek is a little place I like to call Chateau de Peveto. I packed my overnight bag, grabbed my hat and drove an hour and a half northwest last Friday to visit my friends, Travis and Heidi. They left sidewalks and front lawns behind about six months ago to start a new life in the wild, with the pine trees, the animals and the mountain folk.

This is Chateau de Peveto.

This is Mr. and Mrs. Peveto, and this creek is in their front yard.

What does one do in a place like this?

First, you breathe. Literally. The air is as clean and fresh as it gets. You might even feel that you as a person are cleaner and smell nicer, unless you sit too long at the soup bar and smell like cafeteria for the rest of the day.

Second, you breathe. Figuratively. This life is the simple life, and it causes you to breathe slowly and deeply and to notice your surroundings. Most evenings are spent in front of a wood-burning fire with a good book, hot tea, two big dogs putting their noses in your ear (or maybe that was just my ear), and the peaceful company of the one you love. Saturday mornings are slow, with a delicious breakfast made in a sun-soaked kitchen. After the scrambled eggs, bacon and pastry, you could stroll around the property and discuss whether or not you should raise goats, what to do about the fence you want to remove or where to put the ziplines for when the mountain children come along.

Third, you wake up with the sun no matter how late you fell asleep. But you're excited because you know if you put your feet on the cold floor and walk to the window, the view will be worth it. You realize that silence is good for you, and that when you're hanging your legs over the barn loft door, everything in life is carefree and happy.

The whole place sings.

If you want the insider's perspective, read Heidi's thoughts on mountain life here.

Ignorance does not equal Bliss

2011-03-11T12:19:00.001-07:00

This morning was spent in a small room with older, wiser people who have spent years on their knees before God. They know Him well and they know His Word, and it was from that perspective that they talked about the current state of world affairs. It's a frightening thing and can be overwhelming if I lose sight of God's promises and stop talking with Him. I need to wake up. Life requires more than enjoying its beauty. It seems like a storm is coming, and according to Scripture, this is correct. I don't want to be blown over because of a weak faith.

*Travelfwd blog*

John 15

4 Abide in me, and I in you. As the branch cannot bear fruit by itself, unless it abides in the vine, neither can you, unless you abide in me. 5 I am the vine; you are the branches. Whoever abides in me and I in him, he it is that bears much fruit, for apart from me you can do nothing.

We are safe and fruitful only when we abide there. Nowhere else.

On Compliments

2011-03-09T21:13:00.000-07:00

EeeBee etsy shop

The girl behind the counter at the Post Office today was a natural beauty, the kind that looks photo-ready when she rolls out of bed after being sick for two days. She didn't believe this. I know because she did all sorts of things to herself that people do when they feel they wouldn't otherwise be noticed. My first thought was, "I should tell her she's pretty." Then my social filter kicked in, so I didn't. But the people who have eleven piercings on and around their face are often the very ones who need to hear a sincere compliment. I commented on her slender hands {this is a lot more awkward to type than I imagined} and got a hurried, flustered thank you. No eye contact. Not another word until good-bye, when I walked out wondering about compliments.

Was it my delivery? Or her acceptance?

Compliments come in every package imaginable. Insincere, sincere, inappropriate, the sort that make you blush, and then the ones you remember always. I've received some of each, and I've no doubt given some of each.

I've also had the privilege of meeting Chuck, whose compliment was the sort you remember always. Only this one was a compliment to himself. Gentlemen, watch and learn. I met Chuck in the parking lot at college. He was there for the baseball game, probably to watch his grandson. He roped me in with a question and then started talking about his bear-like physique. He held out his forearms and said, "Go 'head, give 'em a feel." Um. He also wanted to show me the scar on his chest and gave me his number on a napkin.

Compliments are gifts we can give without ever knowing their effect, but that's all the more reason to give them freely and happily. We never know how our words will affect someone. But you can probably still remember the day someone paid you a compliment that came at the perfect time and in the perfect way. You probably remember the shirt you were wearing. Maybe it was part of a radical change in you. And that person has no idea.

The two compliments I've received that I will never forget both came from older men I respect. The first was from my college writing professor, who was impossible on the outside but soft as cotton on the inside. He gave me a book for graduation and wrote on the inside cover, "You have all the hope in the world." If I ever write a book it will be dedicated to him. The second was from my old boss, and on my last day at work before moving to Colorado, he told me that if he had ever had a daughter, he'd want her to be just like me. I melt.

They don't have any idea what those words meant to me. They may never know. But I've learned that when you think someone is grand, it's always better when you say so.

All because of Stickers

2011-03-08T12:10:00.000-07:00

After a morning of sticking 500 labels on 500 envelopes, I wish I'd taken the day off and was instead paddling through piranha- and croc-infested waters to deliver a gallon of clean water to a remote tribe. Mundane repetition makes me imagine and wonder all sorts of things.

Like whether or not I will write a memoir of my happy childhood, and what I should title it.
Or why there is an urge inside me to create, why I'm afraid of it and what I'm going to do about it.
Or laugh at my idea to leave the car at home and take a pogo stick instead.
Or how to get over myself and make someone else's life beautiful.
Or Yikes!! Do I have a victim mentality?
Or what, exactly, is so wonderful about toast? Is it the endless possibilities? The texture? The perfect size?

Enough of that. One of these days, an imagination will come in handy. In the meantime, I'll do my darndest to be productive where I am.

The Lady and the Lion

2011-03-07T13:05:00.001-07:00

Here's a surprise for you: Colorado Springs has its own little First Friday Art Walk! It's charming and intimate, just like the west side itself. Last Friday, Roommate Andrea and I started downtown at the Modbo to see Shannon Dunn's Lady and the Lion exhibit. More on that later. From there, we went to Old Colorado City to find the treasure trove of artist's studios -- Second Floor Studios. I would be an artist just so I could have a studio there. I'd overlook the main street of historic Old Colorado City, become friends with all the other artists, and skip down the stairs for a steaming cuppa joe and live music at Jives. All the inspiration you need on one street corner.

We met several accomplished artists who travel the world in search of fascinating subject matter. We also met the painter of nudes who happens to offer lessons. We passed.

*Modbo postcard*

Back to the Lady and the Lion exhibit. It was because of this show I decided I must do the Art Walk, even if I had to go alone. The Modbo described the series like this, "...Dunn explores the characteristics of both God and humans in a body of work that is at once deeply personal and entirely accessible for the viewer." I admire and appreciate art, but rarely does it mean anything to me personally. This series, particularly her painting titled "Shelter", spoke to my soul. I stared at it, walked around the gallery and stared at it again. That painting was home.

This image is one of such rest, security and peace. God describes himself as the Lion of Judah throughout Scripture, mighty and powerful, gentle and graceful. The original painting is on a huge canvas, and the woman's face looks as though she knows something dangerous and frightening is out there, but she is calm, knowing she's safe as long as she stays there. The lion's look is confident, steadfast, sure. He is not rattled by what he sees, and he's aware of the girl sitting at his side. He will protect her. Nothing will get past him to harm her. I can't express how much this quiets my heart.

So...do you think she'd let me do her dishes for a year? Sweep her floors? Tell everyone I meet about her artwork? I could start eating Ramen Noodles and put everything else in a piggy bank. Even if it's never hanging on my wall, I will always remember the image and its meaning -- and that is priceless to me.

HA!

2011-03-06T18:51:00.000-07:00

Difficult conversations, heavy news and puzzling circumstances created a sluggish step and a grumpy frown on my face this week. It was pretty. Bottom line, I remembered what it felt like to have a broken spirit that dries up the bones.

According to Proverbs, the cure is a joyful heart. Translated: laughter. Today I found that when my heart is heavy, laughter is more contagious than a yawn. Discussing family matters over lunch with my parents, somebody made a joke and a week's worth of laughter burst out. The amazing thing about laughter is its cycle. Happiness produces laughter, producing happiness, producing laughter. It's a happy tornado that sucks in innocent bystanders, and soon everyone's laughing.

Laughter hijacks our control, perhaps the very source of our unhappiness. When you laugh, you can't even control your face. Some people throw their heads back and cackle with their mouths wide open. Some people hiss through their teeth. Others laugh silently, but their shoulders bob. Some snort. Some "ha!!" and are done, while others giggle on and on. Some look pained, or laugh until they cry. Some wet their pants. Some scrunch their noses. Some buckle over, slap their knees, or fall out of their chairs.

A good laugh brings a smile to your face for the rest of the day. I know it's old news, but if you feel grumpy, smile! Or call your funniest friend. The reason for your sadness may still be there, but it will suddenly feel bearable.

If you have a few minutes, watch this. It's impossible to watch without laughing.

Rice, Articles and a Song

2011-02-27T21:44:00.000-07:00

This is not a food blog. It's not. But because it is a life blog and food is a part of life, food is making another brief appearance. I desperately want to cook well, both because I enjoy eating good food and I know you do too. And because I might want to invite you to dinner one of these days, good food is a must for us both. They say practice makes perfect. Really? Because this is the third meal I've recently tried to make with long grain brown rice, and this is the third time I've eaten crunchy rice. Enough is enough! Just you wait, Rice.

Remember last post when I was procrastinating for my critique group? Turns out I was way over-prepared. I also discovered that my writing and editing abilities will receive a nice kick in the pants, making for more interesting and well-written blog posts. Hooray!

I talked about for women only a short while ago, and my mind has mulled. To add to the stack of thoughts, a friend sent me two articles that, combined with the book, make a girl's brain all but burst. Article One addresses why women are still single, and is interesting, abrasive and crass. Article Two is the most thorough explanation I've yet seen about men in their 20's. It is an excerpt from the book Manning Up: How the Rise of Women has Turned Men into Boys. The idea that feminism created much of this mess has fascinated me for a while, and I'm thrilled Kay Hymowitz decided to write a book on it. In many ways, feminism backfired, and I want to know what we can do about it.

After brainstorming all week, I came up with zero solutions (this is the same reason I read the news in moderate-to-low doses). I feel I owe my generation every ounce of effort I can muster because our issues run deep and are of monstrous proportion. What can a twiggy 25-year-old who doesn't read the news possibly do to help? My best bet is to pray. And then to live my life like I believe that both men and women are irreplaceable, worthwhile and necessary to each other. When change seems unlikely and I don't know that I will make a difference, it's tempting to either despair or become indifferent. But when I consider God and His promises to redeem mankind, His infinite knowledge and grace, I can breathe again and be content to live the best way I know how in my little corner of the world -- and let the results be up to Him.

The same friend that shared the articles shared this song. It's a beautiful song, and I'm resentful to it right now because I have to admit to being a closet sap. This song is sappy and dramatic, but I love it.

Rock People

2011-02-23T20:18:00.000-07:00

I'm procrastinating like you wouldn't believe. My first-ever writer's critique group is on Saturday, and it dawned on me earlier this week that I have to bring something to the group to have critiqued. Here I sit, wondering what could possibly come out of my head that will be worthy of this critique group's time. So I've talked on the phone, sorted through the mail, eaten a burrito, made a hot cup o' tea, and pondered whether I'd rather be sitting at Agia Sophia to write this masterpiece. And now I'm blogging.

What I'm really going to write about is what I wish I was doing right now instead of procrastinating: rock climbing. More specifically, tonight I'm going to tell you about the people of rock climbing, and my favorite characteristic of theirs. All rock people seem to have one thing in common. They're obstinate. What exactly does this mean? Dictionary.com defines it this way:

firmly or stubbornly adhering to one's purpose, opinion, etc.; not yielding to argument, persuasion, or entreaty.
characterized by inflexible persistence or an unyielding attitude.

That sounds about right. Most rock people come to the gym with a very specific purpose in mind. It could be an entire climb, it could be a portion of a climb, or it could even be one single move. They will climb, and more often than not, they will fail. But they'll rest, stare at the problem, talk to other climbers about it, and try it again. Climb, fail, repeat. Climb, fail, repeat. Climb, fail, ask for help, repeat. Climb, success!!!, next climb. That's how it works. And every single one of us loves it. The rock is both our rival and our teammate.

We are people with an insatiable desire to conquer challenges. But there's one thing I don't understand about them. After crazy amounts of effort, I don't see anyone celebrate when they actually achieve what they've been working for! When I finish what I've been working (especially if it's taken me several days), I want to backflip, pop the champagne, scream, something. But no, I have to get off the wall, act unaffected and then happily move on to the next climb.

I've never done anything else in my life with people who can be so frustrated with something yet continue to do it, and do it, and do it, until they get it. I've also never seen any of them angry about it. They are happy to be doing it, because they know it's making them better climbers. They're a peaceful, easygoing bunch. Remarkable.

I'm now 30 minutes closer to Saturday. Time for me to practice being obstinate and write something impossibly witty, intelligent, and wise beyond my years.

for women only. the book.

2011-02-20T17:01:00.001-07:00

At my small office, I am the only young single. When my good-hearted coworker handed me two relationship/dating books, I sighed, might have muttered something, and put the books on the bottom of the pile on my bookcase. After weeks of collecting dust and for reasons unbeknownst to me, I picked one up and started reading.

I couldn't put it down.

If you are a woman, you must read for women only by Shaunti Feldhahn. It's been a long time since I've been "in love" and quite frankly, I've avoided it. All the evidence seems to point to men only wanting women around for sex, and to women only wanting men around for free food and the chance to point out all the ways they are so not like the real men in romantic comedies. Not enticing. I'd rather be on my own, thank you very much.

If what I just read in this book is true, I have great reason to hope that two people can be in love because they deeply enjoy each other and have willingly committed to each other for life. Yes, I said willingly. I also discovered that there is a lot more depth and goodness to men than women like to admit. And that women are more responsible for our current complaints with men than women like to admit. I don't say that to put a guilt trip on women, and the author certainly doesn't approach it that way. But I closed the book feeling an immense (but exhilarating) responsibility to the man I marry and to men in general.

Women have the power to make or break a man, and I think we've misfired. Big time. I've decided that in my life, it's time to reboot. It's time to stop believing what other people say about men and women and start believing in men and respecting them for who they are. I need to get on my knees and ask God to help, because these preconceptions are years old and they run deep. But it is possible to change, and it must begin right here, in my own heart and mind. But by golly, it is worth every ounce of effort! I'm pumped.

Pulling It Off

2011-02-16T22:41:00.000-07:00

Style is a funny thing. Everyone has a style, because everyone has been told, "This is so you!" ...To which {through a pasted smile} we often think to ourselves, "Oh no, please no...what about that made you think of me?" But that's beside the point.

What is style, anyway? I think of it as the way someone goes about his life. Style is revealed in everything, from what a person decides to wear, to how she drives, to the way her mouth moves when she talks. And in how many times a day she decides to eat toast.

For today's post, let's stick to the most obvious form of style: our clothing. If we still lived in the Garden of Eden and didn't have clothes to worry about, what would you be known for? Would you be known for your humor, your wit, your reserved nature, your awkwardness? Would you be the drama queen, the guy who takes himself way too seriously, or the creative one? Think about your answer, then think about clothing combos that demonstrate those qualities. Fig leaves don't count.

Denslow's Animal Fair

The beauty of this approach is that you have the option to compare yourself to no one. When you offer a compliment, it can be honestly that: a compliment, with no strings attached. We must admit that most of us can't pull off any look we want. Every person has boundaries that he shouldn't cross, and when he recognizes that someone outside his boundaries has done well, he can say so without comparing himself. But this is where it's fun, because you can take something you admire and twist it so it works within your style. Creativity is, after all, a new twist on an old idea.

A small voice inside my head keeps repeating that this is really about being comfortable with how we've been created. And that small voice is right. It's not about clothing. When we're comfortable with how our Creator has made us, we don't need to worry about how we're being perceived or if people think we're "cool" or not. Because we're not. We can simply enjoy what's around us, enjoy the people right in front of us without being threatened by them.

What if Picasso had spent his whole life trying to be Van Gogh?

Or if Tolstoy decided he wanted to write just like Shakespeare?

Whoever you are, be comfortable. I don't know why it's so tempting to pretend sometimes, but let's not. Let's be restless until we've broken out of the claustrophobia-inducing walls of ourselves and seen the big, wide, beautiful world out there. And then we can laugh because of how utterly different the world is from each of us, but marvel at how we each bring something remarkable to it that is absolutely necessary. So be yourself, because we need you.

A Sweater and a Beard

2011-02-14T13:32:00.000-07:00

Steve met Dorothy when British Airways transferred him from Britain to Canada. Dorothy loved people and Steve was shy, but they fell in love. Steve returned to Britain and (*gasp*) said good-bye to Dorothy. Years and years went by, but neither of them moved on. When Steve returned to Canada, Dorothy was in her late thirties. He asked her to be his wife, and on Valentine's Day they were married. Later that year, 39-year-old Dorothy gave birth to her first child, David.

Thirty-two years later, a full-bearded David sat in a restaurant on Valentine's Day. His friend's wife knew Lorra Beth, a woman that Dave simply had to meet. They arranged to introduce them over a Valentine's dinner. Lorra Beth walked in wearing an ivory sweater, and Dave thought, "Wow." She thought, "Beard." Over dinner, the matchmakers did most of the talking, leaving very little room for David and Lorra Beth to get to know each other. He drove her home, they agreed to keep in touch, and then they fell in love.

Tonight, Dave and Lorra Beth are celebrating exactly thirty years since they met.

Most people think weddings and blind dates on Valentine's Day are cheesy, and they may be. But my Grandpa Steve and Grandma Dot, and my parents, Dave and Lorra Beth, may say otherwise. And for two couples who have stayed together through thick and thin and are still in love, I'd say a little bit of cheesy is allowed.

Happy Valentine's Day, Mom and Dad. Thirty more?

Questions from a Finger Painter

2011-02-08T21:22:00.000-07:00

Creativity has fascinated me since I was a little girl. I never had much success creating a piece of art beyond finger painting, but I so badly wanted to know what the world looked like to an artist. I was convinced it looked different. If I thought the world was beautiful, the world through an artist's eyes must be indescribable! Were colors more vibrant in their eyes? Did they see angles I missed? Did they feel more deeply than I did? Was every artist a heartbroken one? From where did this passion come, and where could I get it?

How did they do it? How did they start with a blank canvas and paint that? How did they put those notes together when they sat at the piano? How did they think of such a brilliant screenplay, or such an unusual color scheme? I wanted to know!!

I've been privileged to become close friends with several artists or otherwise creative people, and I was right in many ways. They do see the world beautifully. Many of them see a raw, real place, and they are uninhibited with how they live in it and make it their home. They have an ability to see beauty in pain and the courage to express life's highest and lowest moments.

This painting was done by a dear friend of mine, who painted it to symbolize something we've talked about many times: there are people that smell of the sea. It's a look in their eyes or something in their stride that tells us they've been to the edge of the world and back (literally or figuratively), spent time wrestling through difficult things and have reached a place where they're comfortable being their real, authentic person. We want to be those people.

Since my eyes were opened to who Jesus Christ really is, I see creativity in a whole new light. The luster of a consumer lifestyle is swallowed by the astounding beauty and hope in this world, followed by even greater beauty and hope in the next. This is where I find the motivation and courage to create something myself, and to grow an always deepening appreciation for art and creativity.

February: the Month of Hope

2011-02-07T17:25:00.000-07:00

Love is in the air. Several friends have changed their relationship status to "Engaged" over the last month (congrats to Jared&MC, Mike&Lexee, Eric&Kristin), and my woman's intuition tells me there are several more fellas sitting on some bling. It's fitting. Valentine's Day is Monday, the Superbowl was yesterday...

Yep. I find it ironic that America's largest sporting event is the weekend before Love Day. I suppose we had to even out the scales: sports, chips and beer for the guys... chocolate and googly-eyes for the ladies. Everyone can make it through February with full hearts, if everything works out.

It's a month of hope. Women hope that the man of their dreams will plan the perfect date, and those who don't have the man hope he arrives...and soon. Men hope their team makes it all the way to the big game, and if not, they root for the lesser of two evils.

I'm not stereotyping, am I?? I'm sitting in Barnes & Noble as I type this, and it's crowded. I'm nervous that people are reading over my shoulder, and that is one of my peeves. Last night I had a conversation (at a Super Bowl party, no less) that got me riled up -- a phenomenon that has not happened in a good while. There were severe generalizations made and I wasn't sure what to do except to write, including generalizations of my own. So here are my generalizations. Read, but please don't take me too seriously today.

Whatever your February hopes are, I hope they don't define you. Neither of these things are worth basing our lives on. Enjoy all that red and pink, hug a Pittsburgh fan, and excuse today's sarcasm. I'll be back to my normal self very soon.

Lady, I hope you made the Super Bowl fun for your Man, and Man, I hope you make Valentine's Day fun for your Lady. And if you don't have a Lady or a Man (or a winning team), then don't worry, be happy.

*til next time...

The Ogre Mediocre

2011-01-24T13:03:00.000-07:00

The dreaded Mediocre came to visit and is trying to stay. I will not allow this. We all know him, that pesky little attitude that drains the color from life, simply because he is so very status-quo. Life is not bad right now, just mediocre. The funniest part is, my circumstances have not changed, they've just become more ordinary and my live-life-to-the-fullest spirit prefers extraordinary and unusual.

What to do?

Dust settling is part of life. I'm in a season that has an unpredictable lifespan. There isn't a summer break to anticipate, no sparkling new job, home, or manly man. And I've decided on the things that are important to me, just a few significant things. The reality is, if those things are going to be as meaningful as I hope, dedication is required. This is where the nose meets the grindstone, where the decisions are made, where the stuff you're made of bubbles to the surface. This is not always pretty. In fact, it looks rather...mediocre.

I refuse to believe that life as it is has to be mediocre. Ordinary things can be rich and beautiful. It's a matter of perspective. Ordinary is life; life is ordinary. Could it be that how we see it makes it extraordinary? "But as for me, I am like a green olive tree in the house of God; I trust in the lovingkindness of God forever and ever (Psalm 52:8)." A green olive tree thrives. It's alive. It uses every drop of sunlight and so spreads its branches wide, its roots deep and gives olives that are delicious to look at and to taste. We can be like a green olive tree only because we trust in the lovingkindness of God...forever and ever. I like to flip the sentence so it says, "Because I trust in the lovingkindness of God, I am like a green olive tree in His house." That is the only constant in life: God and His lovingkindness. There's the Extraordinary.

And it sends Mediocre packing.

Kitch'n.

2011-01-11T20:15:00.000-07:00

There is a room in the house that is unmatched in its ability to produce pleasure and satisfaction. This same room is capable of producing intimidation and dread. Now get your mind out of the gutter; I'm talking about the kitchen.

Julia Child's "My Life in France" kept me company last week while I was home sick, and I quickly saw how inept my kitchen skills are...as if there was any doubt. Unlike me, Julia was passionate about food. The very science of it fascinated her. She would try a recipe for sole normande dozens of times until she got it just right. I don't see that being realistic for most American non-chefs. But why should we try dozens of times when the trying has already been done? (She happened to write a classic cookbook including only the perfected recipes. Badda-bing, badda-boom.)

I had a blowout.

It takes some of the pressure off when I remember that I'm cooking for one, and I tell myself that when I have people to cook for one day, I will pay lots of attention to cooking. It's hardly satisfying to sit down and savor a good meal by myself. And unless I want to go the market four times a week (which I don't), my fresh food options are limited. For example, I'm thrilled to pieces that I'll be able to eat all my fruits and veggies before they go bad this week. This is an accomplishment.

On the other hand, when lots of love and effort go into preparing something, and it TURNS OUT!!, there's hardly a more satisfying feeling. Watching someone eat it and go weak in the knees makes me smile like a fool. It's like watching someone's face when they open the perfect gift -- no words are needed.

Something funny has happened. I've noticed that I'm attached to my two stainless pots. These two cooking companions were there when I was eating crumbs in California and I still use them almost every day... twice. They are slowly but surely getting that used kitchen pot look. You know the one. It's delightful, and I don't like the thought of parting with them.

If I didn't have reason enough to learn to cook before, I certainly do now. My doctor recently told me that I can't eat wheat or corn for at least six months, but ideally not for a year. And thus I became high-maintenance overnight. Every processed food in America is no longer an option. What do you do when wheat and corn are out? You eat like an Asian. Rice, rice, rice. There are other grains too, like quinoa, kamut, spelt, and some other ones that I forgot. So in six months, the idea is to be a lean, mean, healthy cooking machine. At this point I'm just intimidated.

A soup recipe I read began with making chicken stock, so I turned to the chicken stock page. Once I saw the nonsense about buying a whole chicken (head and feet still attached) and using them to make the stock and letting the whole thing simmer for 6 or 12 hours, I stopped breathing and vowed never, ever again. I went out and bought chicken stock and the soup was just dandy.

Wherever you are on your cooking journey, take heart. Julia Child finished her book by saying that a person learns to cook, no one is born with the ability. Whew! There's hope for all of us. I'm starting small, and if that's all you can do, embrace it and celebrate the just-less-than-burnt until it comes easy.

The Career Question

2011-01-06T21:43:00.000-07:00

Do you ever wonder if every human being in the work force is supposed to be doing exactly what they're best suited for and what they love doing the most? Is that even possible? It can't be.

I ask because I started wondering before graduating college what I wanted to with my life. Duuhhhh.... I dunno. I took all kinds of career tests, strength assessments, and personality profiles to try to peg that perfect job that would line up best with my abilities and interests...oh, and provide a decent paycheck. The result? I'm one of those people that landed smack in the middle in every category. Not a bad place to be I suppose, but not a great one for finding career direction either. Consequently, I've played it safe in the admin world ever since, thinking about what I wish I would've done in college.

Here's my question today: what's wrong with starting now??? I'm only 25. Hardly too old to start in a new direction. But then the obvious next question is the same as above: what do I want to do? Phooey. I love interior and fashion design. I could be a stylist! But then I think I'd run out of ideas in four days. The list goes on. My other dream jobs include Art Curator, Ambassador, Editor, blah, blah, blah. And last, but not least, drumroll please...Writer.

Writing is the one I always come back to in the end. The reality is, as a writer, I think you get to be the best explorer of all! Look at it this way: By the end of an acting career, I think the actor has been just about everything in the book, from an expert horseman to a merman to an undercover agent. I think writers enjoy a similar life. Perhaps not as up-close and personal as an actor, but pretty darn close. And maybe I'm wrong -- maybe an established writer would read this and laugh. But the best writers I know are adventurous, observant, curious, determined and creative, all qualities I possess to some degree. So let's call this my 2011 New Year's Resolution: to become a writer. Even if it's part-time freelance for now, at least it'll be a start. Because who wants to spend their entire lives wishing they'd done something else?

The Great Cause

2011-01-03T13:24:00.000-07:00

New Year's Resolution chatter is everywhere. It's what we do on and around the start of a new year. We reflect, we project, we resolve to make changes and "do better." And then in February, only the chosen few can remember their resolutions. Most of us slump out of them and hope, in the back of our minds, that we'll have enough fortitude to follow through with it next year.

I recently finished Three Cups of Tea, a book about Greg Mortenson, the man who took a wrong turn on his descent from K2 and found himself in the small village of Korphe, Pakistan. He quickly realized the village had no school and the children, especially the girls, had little opportunity to be educated. Determined to help, he flew back to America to begin raising funds and making plans. One little school eventually turned into dozens as Mortenson was exposed to the magnitude of this problem. He turned indifferent bystanders into passionate advocates for this cause. Because of all these efforts, the children of Pakistan and Afghanistan now enjoy greater opportunity than ever to receive a balanced education and grow up to make a real difference in their country.

K2. Photo credit: http://himalman.wordpress.com

I doubt Greg Mortenson included "Korphe School" on his Resolutions list at the beginning of that year. He didn't know Korphe existed. The point is, he stumbled upon an opportunity. His eyes were open and his heart was willing, and he responded in action.

You and I stumble upon discoveries every day, every week, every year. Even if it's one person who needs something that you can provide for one moment. Acting on those things is seizing the day. And who knows what will happen when we have the courage to follow through and do something for someone?! Greg Mortenson certainly didn't realize how life-defining the act of building one simple schoolhouse would be.

So as we stand here, looking out into the great unknown of 2011, all we have are our beliefs and the choices we will make. Let's make a resolution to open our eyes and act.

Climbing Rocks.

2010-12-29T21:45:00.000-07:00

My fingers are very angry with me tonight. I've subjected them to unusual punishment because something has recently come over me that I can't quite describe. I've discovered rock climbing. I dabbled a little bit in college and then dropped it altogether for about four years. I went to a local climbing gym in October and the next thing I knew, I was buying rock shoes and a membership to Sport Climbing Center.

Climbing gets in your blood and once it's there, you're toast. Every day brings a new challenge, and it's hard. Mental discipline, the fear factor, and strengthening my stick arms have all been part of the package. And in the car on the way to climb, I select the right music and then start mentally going through the problem I'm currently working on. It's weird. And sometimes I don't sleep well because I'm climbing in my head. It's embarrassing... sort of.

The best part of all is that it's a sport surrounded by comrades. You have no enemies, only friends. I came in knowing nothing and looking like a fool. Now I know a lot more and have a dozen personal coaches who, once upon a time, started exactly where I started. And what's not to love about a place that pushes you forward while supporting and encouraging the whole way? Worth its weight in gold.

Gym chalk, sore fingers and toes, and the downtown Mountain Chalet have all become familiar over the last two months. And I happen to live in The Wild Colorado, home to some of the best climbing in the country. It's going to be a fun year.

Insane, Chris Sharma. Insane.

Almost more remarkable than the climbing is the life application, particularly to my Christianity. The most obvious would be the rock itself. Need I say more? All throughout Scripture, God is compared to a rock, a refuge, a fortress. He is solid, sure, and steady, able to support all my weight. When I approach the rock correctly and move the way I've been taught, I can finish the climb. Also, you climb the level at which you are able to climb. Beginning climbers generally can't complete or even start advanced climbs. But they can watch advanced climbers and learn by observation and by working on the climbs that are, to them, challenging but manageable. In the same way, we will never be asked to face something in life for which we are not capable of handling. And of course, there's the comradery. No one can do this alone. On a difficult climb, you need a spotter. On a first climb, you often need someone who's climbed it before to tell you how to do it and watch you as you go. It's the best way to improve.

And the last application to life: you can't always explain why. Someone asked me if I get bored climbing. I didn't know how to answer. Someone asked me what I like about climbing. I fumbled my way through an explanation. You can't force someone to get it, or to like it, but you know with everything in you that it's something you can't get enough of.

I confess, climbing has cut into my writing time. Seriously. I love both, so we're just going to have to work something out here.

An Island Debrief

2010-12-14T19:11:00.000-07:00

From my front door in Colorado Springs, travel 3,281 miles SouthWest and you'll land on Maui, a strange and wonderful land of tropical birds, fish, and all things green. Last Christmas my parents announced that this year's Christmas gift was a family trip to Maui, so I packed my little duffel bag and climbed aboard the tiny regional jet for the first leg to Los Angeles International Airport. I've never seen people so happy to be on a crowded jumbo jet as they boarded our full flight from L.A. to Kahului. I'd like to thank Zac Efron for our mid-flight entertainment. And the friendly travelers who gave a loud cheer when we hit the runway.

The moment you step off the plane, you can feel the balmy air and see your hair start to curl. Instead of walking, people meander (including the locals). We drove half an hour to our hotel and hit the beach. This is my third trip to Maui, and the clear, warm water astounds me every time. It is, in a word, perfect.

Remember those goals I mentioned? I did my best to meet them all, except the Hawaiian history part. Once I got there, I lost all motivation and instead found myself studying present-day Hawaii via people-watching.

My older brother, Matthew, is a snorkeling fiend and because he was so enthralled I decided to see what all the fuss was about. Last time I snorkeled, I freaked. All I could focus on was breathing through my mouth. I generally prefer my nose. And then there are fish -- schools of them -- that could attack at any moment. This time, I pushed through the awkwardness and now I could do the mouth breathe in my sleep...and I probably do. And as for the fish, they're rather friendly. One little striped guy followed me around like he was my tour guide and I saw creatures that looked more like baseball bats than animals. The reef was lime green, soft pink, and all sorts of shades in between, and the light reflecting through the water fancies everything up. With all the colors, creatures, shapes and light, it feels other-worldly and for a brief moment I lived in it.

Hawaiian food is fresh and tasty. Banana-Mac Nut French Toast, Macadamia-Encrusted Mahi Mahi, and Fish Tacos were some favorites. The food situation is as you would imagine, relaxed. Servers are in no hurry to get you out. On the contrary, many became friends. At the Kihei Caffe, owner Bunny Allison sat down at the patio tables with some of her guests and visited with us for most of our meal. She told us a couple jokes, about some miracles in her family, how she loves this cafe, and prayed for my brother and sister-in-law's new marriage. Braddah Hutts is on the other side of the island in Hana, and it's planted in the owner's front yard under a white tent. Three long folding tables, a few coolers, a grill and a homemade sign put them in business. And they're hoppin'.

The Road to Hana in an electric blue Mustang convertible was perhaps the most memorable of all. Hairpin turns, waterfalls, tunnels of trees, and cliffs plunging into the sea were all part of the 48 mile drive. We stopped often because you can hardly help yourself. It's so beautiful. Don't tell anyone that I told you, but when you go, look for Nahiku Road. It's a small, secret turn off that will take you down to the ocean, right to the place where the waters crash together from all directions. Black lava rock shoots out of the crystal, foaming water, in just the right place so the waves hit the rock and spray high in the air. That was the only place I really never wanted to leave.

It was all so wonderfully relaxing, and now it's time to come back and join everyday life again. Hello, mountains.

A joyful reunion {one of those "in the moment" photos I was hoping for}

Kihei Caffe

Bunny Allison, owner of Kihei Caffe

Makena Bay

View from the front door of our room

View from the balcony of our room

beach time

Scrumptious Banana-Macadamia nut French Toast

Pure beauty

Braddah Hutts menu: whiteboard and paper plates

Tunnel of trees

Clear water

Beach hats.

Away to Paradise We Go

2010-12-02T18:58:00.000-07:00

Try as I might, I can think of nothing else to write about than Maui. That's right -- that island paradise with perfect blue water and soft, sandy beaches. It's on my mind because I've just finished packing my bags and will be on a plane to Maui first thing tomorrow morning. My family is celebrating Christmas early and hoping to be there in between the holiday crowds.

The timing is perfect. Do you ever put thoughts "on hold" if you know you're going away soon and can process everything then? That's what I've done, and I have a large backlog of thoughts to sort through, and some killer books to read. Hopefully this will mean some good writing for me.

Some goals for the trip:

- Take good photos in the moment. Why good? Because mine generally aren't, and I'd like to get better. Why in the moment? Because those are often the best kind, and they're much more engaging to look at later than single file smiles.

- Take good video footage. Same reasons as above.

- Make an island friend or two. I've been to Maui twice before and have not made a local friend yet. That's a problem. One of the best parts of traveling is meeting locals and hearing their stories. And they usually tell you some insider secrets that guidebooks don't share.

- Run on the beach. A lot.

- Learn a little bit more about Hawaii's history.

- Get over my fear of snorkeling. Perhaps the fear is more the "nothing in-between" me and the strange sea creatures. It gives me the heebie-jeebies.

- Kayak in the sea.

- Write all these adventures down!

Come back in a week or so and I'll be posting about the trip. If I'm lucky, I'll get to blog some while I'm there, but I make no guarantees. Until then, take good care of the mainland!

Think about it.

2010-11-23T22:00:00.000-07:00

A design podcast I recently discovered has been keeping my mind occupied at work. The episode I listened to yesterday was an interview with Milton Glaser, the designer of the famous NY graphic. The discussion was about ethics, a topic I wasn't expecting for a design show. Glaser's passion for ethical design challenged many of the ideas I've adopted just because they're popular, not because I've actually thought through them and formed a conviction.

One of his life convictions is to avoid promoting or participating in things that harm a human being in any way. I think most of us would agree that this is good and right. And then he got practical. As a designer, he must decide what sorts of jobs he's willing to accept and which he's not. Can he in good conscience design a campaign to market a food product to children that is high in sugar and low in nutrients? Can he design for a dieting method he knows won't work? What about companies that in some way use child labor? Can he design ads for cigarettes, knowing the product does only harm to its consumers?

He asked a group of design students if they would work with a company that used child labor, and of course they immediately said no. He then asked if they would design a campaign for cigarettes, and many of them said they would. He presented the question another way: what if that child has no other way to make money, so although he makes a brutally unfair wage, is it better for him that he have no work, or work at little income? And then there's this unfriendly fact: according to the National Institute of Drug Abuse, tobacco is the leading preventable cause of disease, disability and death in the United States. It takes an estimated 400,000 American lives every year. That's tangible evidence. Why would we more readily support something that directly caused someone's death?

Milton Glaser believes it's the popularity factor. His point was that we like to appear to have compassion. We like to be trendy and appear to care about today's moral, ethical issues. But when you find someone who would refuse to design something for a company who uses child labor but would willingly design graphics to sell a product that would directly cause someone's death, a thinking person must realize that these don't match up. So then, how many of our so-called convictions are for appearance's sake? Do they really hold up when we stand back and look at them with a thoughtful, objective eye?

Social justice is a huge trend for young people, and I think this is an important thing to ask ourselves. Why do we want to be involved in social justice? Do we truly care about people? If I support a child who lives in Swaziland but don't think to give food to my neighbor who can't pay his bills this month, do I really care about people? Or do I just like having Swazi girl's picture on my refrigerator and patting myself on the back when I see it?

This has challenged me to look for pretense in my convictions and to replace it with substance. To be aware of what's really happening and not take pop culture's word for it. Glaser has written 12 Steps on the Road to Hell for Graphic Designers, and they're presented well in this video. Most of us aren't graphic designers, but all of us are faced with decisions that could help or harm someone else, so what are we all about, really? Think about it.

I'm in Love

2010-11-22T22:36:00.000-07:00

Something has come over me and I can't stop it. Colorado -- everything about it -- is suddenly irresistible. It's a place where the adventurous soul can find a home. I suppose life itself could be exhilarating anywhere if you're the "bloom where you're planted" type, but simply seeing, smelling, tasting, hearing, and touching Colorado is an experience unlike anywhere else I've been.

Two years ago, fresh out of Los Angeles, I considered myself a city girl and felt so out of place among the primitive mountain folk. I owned a lightweight J. Crew jacket, a few breezy tees and some heels. The most "Colorado" thing I owned was my pair of running shoes. Of course I still enjoy cultural things, of which Colorado happens to have plenty, but now, nine times out of ten, I'd rather climb rocks than go to a fancy dinner. Snow season is here and I'm excited beyond my wits to learn how to ski and/or snowboard. I'm even wearing my snow hat (with a puff on top) as I type this.

Colorado has been described to me as a state full of independent, individualist people who can never relax and just "be." First, please define 'relax', and second, there's something missing in that statement. We are a state full of independent, individualist people who like to do almost everything with other independent, individualist people. The active mountain lifestyle builds a community around the activities themselves, and that's what unites us. In L.A., you had to have the friends before you could do the stuff. Here, you do the stuff to find the friends, which then leads to doing more stuff...together. Voila.

And more than that, this is the place I am most often reminded of the beauty and intelligence of my Creator. Every single day when I open my front door and step outside, I'm astonished by what I see. It's unfathomable that the One who created such a magnificent place knows my name, let alone puts air in my lungs and gave His life so that I could live.

"The mountains melt like wax before the Lord, before the Lord of all the earth. The heavens proclaim his righteousness, and all the peoples see His glory." psalm 97

Bad Wheel

2010-11-14T21:34:00.000-07:00

To write often and to write well, one must be disciplined. Hence, the last post was over ten days ago. I've not been a disciplined writer lately. I've been a rockclimber instead. There are plenty of stories I could write about from the last two weeks, but whether or not I should -- for all the world to see -- is the question.

The truth is, the only writing worth reading is honest writing, and I haven't wanted to be raw and honest for the last little while. It's hard, dadgummit. That's a writer's job: to think about life, describe it in honest detail and try to make some sense of it all.

There are times that life seems more like an assembly line of perfectly synced parts and demands little reflection. Other times, one or two parts jump off their track or tucker out and require some attention, and sometimes the whole machine smokes, screeches, and shuts down for repair. Time to reboot.

You know the grocery cart with one bad wheel? That's life right now. But you know, it's times like these that really make you stop and ask yourself important questions. What am I doing? Why? I'm learning that quality relationships take a lot of maintenance. I'm learning that every interaction I have with someone sets the tone for our friendship. Every single interaction -- every word, every look, every action. I've felt a heavy weight of responsibility over this, because I'm aware of times I took this responsibility far too lightly and it will take hard work to recover.

I also don't recall ever being more aware of the reality that the only reason we love anything at all is because God first loved. The capacity to love comes from Him. That's why relationships matter. Were it not for God and the love, forgiveness, grace and mercy we have so abundantly in Him, I don't know where the motivation to work through difficulty would come from. He is a refuge in time of weakness. His joy is our strength.

He is my only hope, my anchor, and when we're weary, that's cause for rejoicing.

In other news, I've decided to allow comments again. I removed all comments because I read somewhere that you should hide comments until you have several hundred readers a day (because no one wants to read a blog that no one else thinks is worth commenting on). Oh my. My hair will be gray by then. Life is too short for that! It's no fun to write when friends can't comment. I don't write for the hundreds, I write for you and me. So feel free to comment, and feel free not to. But at least you have the choice.

First Local Pick: Word on the Street

2010-11-03T22:40:00.000-06:00

Alright, if I'm tired of writing "First Local Pick," you're certainly tired of reading it. Especially if you're not a local. This is my last post for the locals, but it's the post that keeps on giving. It's about a website (and no, that's not cheating). Colorado Springs folk: if you haven't perused peakradar.com, you must. It's the best source for everything cultural in town. Who knew Colorado Springs had a First Friday Art Walk? Peak Radar did. It will tell you when the Harlem Globetrotters will be in town, where to see the best local musicians, and has a good collection of free events.

If you're new to the "exploring your hometown" idea, peakradar is a great place to start. To bargain hunt your way around town, sign up for daily discounts at sites like livingsocial, groupon, and Gazette Deal of the Day.

Wherever you are, start exploring. If you think your town is boring and mediocre, I challenge you to make it different. We all contribute to the culture we live in, so find something to enjoy and enjoy it. If you're convinced there's nothing to enjoy, then plant a flower outside your front door and call it a day. The End.

First Local Pick: Treasure Hunting

2010-10-28T21:30:00.000-06:00

Just about everybody I know likes a house that feels like a home. That's a no-brainer. For me, this happens when a house feels lived in, tastefully nonchalant and layered with items that tell stories. Achieving this sometimes takes a lot of talent, a lot of time and a keen eye or two. Not you? I feel your pain. I tense up at the thought of sifting, shopping and hoping I'll stumble across the right thing.

Thrifting made a brief appearance on the blog this summer, and even with the tips I've received on doing it well, I'm still hesitant to try. Something about digging through a lot of junk to find that one good -- or sort of good -- thing doesn't sound like the best way to spend a Saturday. And then I stumbled upon the Treasure Shoppe on the downtown corner of E. Pikes Peak and Wahsatch. This is 18,000 square feet of pre-sifted treasures. The Treasure Shoppe rents space to 140 vendors, or mini shoppes, and almost has the feel of an organized, upscale flea market.

All kinds of styles are represented, so if you're looking for the perfect tea cozy to brighten up your Victorian-themed sunroom, you can probably find it there. If you want an original statement ring or necklace, there's plenty to go around. I've found a great retro chair and paired it with a delicate desk and stool, making my bedroom decoration almost complete. The shoppe is full of new, old, vintage and repurposed handbags, glassware, jewelry, artwork, furniture, and other weird, one-of-a-kind things.

If you're scared of thrift or antique stores, don't knock this one until you try it. It can be overwhelming, but you'll quickly realize whose shoppes suit your tastes and whose don't. I'd be surprised if even the biggest skeptic left empty-handed, given their variety and knockout bargains. And if you need help finding something specific, the employees love working there and know the merchandise and the vendors well, and give excellent recommendations.

I'd like to thank the Treasure Shoppe for making it possible to find charming things at great prices and be able to walk out the door in a good mood. It's now my top pick for both rookie and veteran thrifters.

Anonymous.

2010-10-21T22:31:00.000-06:00

A letter arrived here from Denver, addressed to the previous owner of this house. There was no return address, but the envelope was thin and we could see through to the paper inside. It said three words:

It's your time.

I don't know whether to scream, cry, laugh, or run.

First Local Pick: Java

2010-10-21T19:59:00.002-06:00

Planet Coffee

The place to see and be seen for young, middle-class white American trendies is apparently the coffee shop. Hey, it could be worse. Any coffee shop will do, but it's better if you know the best places to perch. I confess, this post is included in the mix because I thought a coffee shop had to be included in a "local's best of" series, not because there is a particular knockout shop in town. There are several good coffee shops, but I have yet to find the spot I can't wait to get back to. That said, I decided to include my top three.

Most likely place to have a conversation about the triumph and dangers of Arminianism: Agia Sophia. Operated by the Greek Orthodox Church and located in the historic building which used to be Colorado City's city hall, this is definitely the place to come when you want to study or read. For one thing, you're surrounded by books and often listening to Gregorian chant. For another, you get subtle {but dirty} looks from the other patrons if you blab too loudly. They have the best chai latte in town and the most comfortable atmosphere.

Most likely place to spot a hipster: Jives. This place has the potential to be head and shoulders above other coffee shops in town, but it's only a few months old and is still settling into its niche. With wingback chairs, checker boards and a warm warehouse-y vibe, it has an attractive quality about it resembling that certain "pulse" that made us adore coffee shops in the first place. Jives will become the go-to place to hear live music several nights a week, and to grace Colorado Springs with your own masterpieces on Open Mic Night. It also has a killer location, right in the heart of Old Colorado City, just off Bancroft Park. I'm excited about this one.

Most likely place to feel a tad more sophisticated: Poor Richard's, or Rico's, as the locals call it. It's technically named Rico's Coffee, Chocolate and Wine Bar at Poor Richard's. Why so complicated? Because Poor Richard started four different businesses -- a bookstore, a restaurant, a toy store, and a coffee/wine bar -- all next door to each other. And now he's Rich Richard. Your drink is ordered from an actual menu, and you might as well try one of their fine chocolates to enjoy while you sip. If you don't feel like sitting at the bar, reveling in the brick wall and dark wood, or browsing the bookstore for a used treasure, you can stroll downtown on Tejon Street and do a bit of window shopping with your hot cuppa' somethin' in hand.

So there you have it: my top picks for studying, jamming, and feeling cultured. I tend to judge a coffee shop's greatness based on whether or not I would travel from another town to go there. Denver has some places that meet this criteria, but I'm afraid Colorado Springs still has some growing to do. We're making great strides, and I have a lot of faith. These three are all worth a shot, and I'd love to hear your impressions!

First Local Pick: Threads

2010-10-20T22:22:00.001-06:00

Ladies, let's get one thing straight. We like to have fun. We also like the freedom to be original and stylish at the same time. And to eat the occasional piece of chocolate. My favorite local clothing boutique covers all the bases. Eve's Revolution not only has a fantastic staff who remember your name and your friends' names, but they are walking advertisements -- the kind that make you want to buy what they sell and listen to their style opinions. I'm not quite to the point where I'd say I feel like family, but I do feel like the girl next door.

Taste is a critical element when it comes to boutiques, and Eve, the shop owner, has winning taste and incorporates styles from current trendsetters. She regularly goes to market in Los Angeles and comes home with well-chosen new pieces that are put on the floor with high-quality consignment items. If you prefer subtle or bold, trendy or timeless, shoes or bags, coats or dresses, jewels or jeans, it's all there. And if it's not there this time, visit again soon.

Coming here from L.A., I was expecting sky-high prices. Everything in the store is fairly priced, and if you time it right, you'll find deals worth shouting from the rooftops.

Pampering her customers is a priority. She throws parties several times throughout the year and even hires a local catering company to bring food into the shop for the day. These days are always fun, a great way to meet other locals and see what's new for the season. Her next event, Rendezvous on the Avenue, is this Saturday from 10-6. Be prepared for a packed house, because word has traveled and people want the Revolution. Keep up to speed on events on their facebook page, or sign up to be on their email list.

One of the most attractive things about this shop is that it is constantly promoting other local businesses, even those similar to their own. It's all in the spirit of celebrating what local businesses collectively bring to a community, and because they believe in that, they promote others who work to give Colorado Springs a unique flavor.

The shop is a delicate old house with industrial flair on the inside thanks to Eve's husband, an industrial engineer extraordinaire. It's worth a poke, and while you're there, congratulate Eve on ten successful years in business!

First Local Pick: Eats

2010-10-14T21:51:00.001-06:00

How would you like your favorite breakfast, lunch, and dinner spot to be the very same place? Yes? Then pack your bags and head west...east...center!!... as long as the final destination is Adam's Mountain Cafe in Manitou Springs.

Adam, you've done it. You've single-handedly created the best food and ambience for all three meals and everything in between, right there in your little mountain cafe. Okay, so it wasn't Adam. It was Greg Adams who started this beautiful thing in 1984, the very year before I entered this great, wide world. The restaurant has moved around but is now planted {hopefully forevermore} in the historic Spa Building.

Adam's Mountain Cafe maintains the highest standards for every dish. As part of the Slow Food movement, you can count on a leisurely meal, local, original food with outstanding taste, and service that assumes you want to linger. These people take their restaurant seriously, and have even included the Slow Food International Manifesto on their homepage. They want you to eat like snails crawl. Sllloow. Savoring every bite.

My favorite meal there is the Fresh Pear and Pecan Salad, topped with a heaping portion of the best Colorado goat cheese to be found. To drink, a cold glass of fresh lemonade. On a summer evening, I prefer to eat on the patio next to the creek and watch the mountain shadows creep their way down Manitou Avenue. When it's too cold for the patio, the dining room vibe is just right. I wouldn't change a thing about it. Antique, mismatched chairs, high ceilings and Persian rugs all add to the style, and if you're there on a Tuesday or Thursday evening, you'll enjoy a tasteful serenade by local musicians.

The restaurant is in the heart of downtown Manitou, so a post-meal walk is always an interesting one. I often connect with my inner child at the Penny Arcade next door (yes! a good laugh for only a penny!), but there are art galleries, clothing and jewelry boutiques, shops just for chocolate, ice cream and coffee all along the Avenue. And did I mention that Manitou is at the base of a mountain? I don't know what more a person could want, really. Adam's is a great blend of city and mountain, so if you like both, you'll love it here.

First Local Pick: Home Sweet Home

2010-10-06T22:10:00.001-06:00

The first spot that makes a place feel like home is... well... home. So that's my first "locals" topic. I've moved again. Yep. This one's on the West side -- the best side -- and is perfectly quaint. I walk and bike places now, enjoy a peaceful pace, and catch myself gawking at the mountains when I should be driving to work.

I climb the creaky wooden stairs and open the front door, which is itself a black, geometric delight. The inside is light and airy with dark wood beams across the ceiling. My favorite part of the house is actually the outside: the porch and the tiny balcony. Both look out over the valley, covered in overgrown trees and speckled with old houses and slow cars. It's the valley of the eternal lazy afternoon. Beyond the valley is the ever-changing Pikes Peak, Garden of the Gods and Red Rocks Open Space. I can see it all from our little spot, and somehow never tire of looking at it.

It has become my writing nook and reading corner, and is just right for a cup of hot tea (tea kettle coming soon in the mail!). It's my new secret place. I know that's cheating because it's my house, but it's still my secret place. I'd tell you where it is and invite you for tea once my kettle arrives, but then it wouldn't be a secret.

The reason these four little walls made it onto this blog as a favorite local pick is that I feel alive and free here. Even though most people in my neighborhood are of the vintage stock, that means it's anything but "keeping up with the Joneses." It's a place you can simply be and appreciate what's around you for what it is, young or old, stylish or not. Personality abounds, and I breathe a deep sigh of relief when I arrive at this place and call it home.

Can Everywhere Be Home?

2010-10-05T20:31:00.002-06:00

For a country as individualist as America, we sure do labor and strive for "sameness." I've written about suburban housing, but here I want to ask questions about what we're giving up to support suburban businesses.

Over lunch a couple weeks ago, several friends announced that a favorite restaurant from back home was opening soon in Colorado. Their excitement was contagious, but as they described their favorite meals, I realized that this restaurant would no longer be associated only with home. Every time they eat there, it will be less a reminder of another place and more a part of their life here in Colorado.

I crave a piece of coconut cake from Aroma Cafe and fondly remember the originality and class at Gjelina, but I don't wish those places were also in Colorado Springs. They are some of the things I anticipate in a visit to California. They are some of the things that make the California experience what it is. If I could get the same things here, California wouldn't seem so special, and neither would those places.

Think of your favorite place to be and then think of all the reasons why. It's most likely your favorite place because it doesn't stir a single emotion in you and inspires you to do absolutely nothing. No?

When consistency and convenience are at the top of the list, the chain idea is a good one. When an unusual, memorable experience is at the top, chains are a bad idea. The second tends to be at the top of my list more frequently than the first. I'm not suggesting doing business only at local places, but when given the choice, wouldn't you rather have the experience over the convenience?

And I have to say, I've made friends at all my favorite local places. I have yet to make a friend at a chain store or restaurant. I don't snarl at chain employees (although maybe I should), but their employers have a different feel and purpose: Get 'em in, get 'em out, don't care who ya are, just don't hold up the line. I've never walked into Wal-Mart and been delighted to do so. Some people must prefer this method because big box stores keep showing up.

Chains have a way of sucking culture right out of a perfectly decent town. I don't want to get off the plane in Kalamazoo and wonder if I accidentally flew to Salem. People go bananas in a place that is void of expression. It's what we were made for.

For all you Colorado Springs dwellers, my next few posts will highlight some of my favorite spots around town, and maybe give the out-of-towners some motivation to visit!

Good Friends: A Cereal Review

2010-09-29T17:01:00.000-06:00

Cereal is that wondrous 24-hour food. There's never a bad time to pour yourself a bowl. Feeling especially adventurous and nutritious last time I went cereal shopping, I picked up my first-ever box of Kashi's Good Friends. This "Toasted Trio of Flakes, Twigs & Granola Cereal" was my kind of cereal... or so I thought.

After a few bites, I asked myself if I was eating fiber twigs or a spoonful of nails. Certainly doesn't fall into the category of "comfort food". I decided to let it soak, but to no avail. If soggy cereal is your worst nightmare, Good Friends is the one for you.

I don't know what kind of friends the namer of this cereal has, but if by Good Friends he means Two-Faced Back-Stabbers, I could do business with him. This doesn't remind me of good friends or even good times. It doesn't make me want to invite my good friends over for a bowl. The only thing it makes me want to do is count down the days until the box is empty. I'm happy to announce I have maybe a bowl or two left, and then I'm going to spend the weekend with my real friends.

If healthy cereal is your thing, always go with Kashi, but leave your Good Friends on the shelf. :)

A Hearty Analogy

2010-09-28T20:11:00.002-06:00

The other day, my friend Amanda the Sassy created an analogy, effortlessly, on the spot, that was so good I’m still thinking about it. In a conversation about dating, which...never...happens, she said something like this: “I’m in a place I don’t think I’ve been before. I think about dating like this --- a man is the hot tea after an entirely satisfying meal. Hot tea is delightful; not necessary for survival. The food, the nutrition, I need that.”

Hot tea. Brilliant.

When you’ve already eaten a hearty dinner, the tea is even more enjoyable. Its calming, settling effect are felt more dramatically on a full belly. If you neglected dinner and went straight for the tea, you’d be ravenous and malnourished, and the tea would help with neither. Tea would only make you realize that it’s not food. And all you need is food.

So what if we all ate food before we drank tea? Psycho girlfriends (I’ve had my weeks) would face extinction. Boyfriend wouldn’t fuel the fire for said girlfriend’s derangement. The gumption to end a bad romance would be there. The gumption to start and keep a good one would be there. A healthy soul makes a healthy romantic.

I’ve been telling Amanda for weeks that her life calling is to write children’s books. Who doesn’t agree with me after reading this genius analogy?

Jesus is the hearty dinner. Romance is the tea. Chew on that.

Calvary's Anthem

2010-09-22T22:42:00.001-06:00

The Valley of Vision may seem old, outdated; shoot -- it may even seem like Greek to you. But the folks whose prayers are recorded there had serious insight. They could speak in language that expressed the real Christian experience with honesty and accuracy. Oh, and they make me think things I've never thought before. Although my mind is full of things I could write, this particular prayer struck me this week and I hope you find value in it:

Heavenly Father,

Thou hast led me singing to the cross
where I fling down all my burdens
and see them vanish,
where my mountains of guilt are levelled
to a plain,
where my sins disappear, though they are
the greatest that exist,
and are more in number than the grains
of fine sand;

For there is power in the blood of Calvary
to destroy sins more than can be counted
even by one from the choir of heaven.
Thou hast given me a hill-side spring
that washes clear and white,
and I go as a sinner to its waters,
bathing without hindrance
in its crystal streams.

At the cross there is free forgiveness
for poor and meek ones,
and ample blessings that last forever;
The blood of the Lamb is like a great river
of infinite grace
with never any diminishing of its fullness
as thirsty ones without number drink of it.

O Lord, forever will thy free forgiveness live
that was gained on the mount of blood;
In the midst of a world of pain
it is a subject for praise in every place,
a song on earth, an anthem in heaven,
its love and virtue knowing no end.
I have a longing for the world above
where multitudes sing the great song,
for my soul was never created to love
the dust of earth.

Though here my spiritual state is frail and poor,
I shall go on singing Calvary's anthem.
May I always know
that a clean heart full of goodness
is more beautiful than the lily,
that only a clean heart can sing by night
and by day,
that such a heart is mine when I abide
at Calvary.

Does this not make you want to sing at the top of your lungs? To jump into that stream, dunk your head under and guzzle?? To stay always at the cross of Jesus? Even if the world crumbled around you, somehow everything would still be at peace, everything would still be okay, if settled at Calvary. I need more of this. The best part of all is that there's a lot of room at the foot of that cross. So hog all the space you want. Revel in it, get to know your neighbors. There's room for you, and you, and you. And you.

Encounters in the Wild

2010-09-18T17:04:00.002-06:00

{What you are about to read is true in its entirety, and most information was scored in an exclusive interview with the prey.}

My sister Emily bikes to work in the summertime. It's a lovely ride that winds through overgrown vines and trees and weaves between tall red rock towers to reach her destination: an 1800's castle. One particular day, Emily was crossing the bridge to reach the castle and noticed a legion of turkeys across the lawn. She looked again, and one crazy turk had bolted from the group and was running straight at her. Instinctively, she pedaled those little legs like lightning, out-sped the turkey and made it to work in one piece.

The Castle

The next day, Emily was biking to work and crossed the bridge to reach the castle. She noticed a legion of turkeys across the lawn, and looking again, the same crazy turk bolted from the group and ran straight for her, only this time it bolted sooner and ran faster. Emily jumped off her bike to use it as a shield and a weapon, and once the turkey was sufficiently frustrated it left her alone... and late for work.

The next time Emily was biking to work and crossing the bridge to reach the castle, she expected a legion of turkeys across the lawn, but instead, she saw something much bigger: a bear. Knowing her bike simply wouldn't be enough to protect her, she darted into the nearby carriage house and slipped into an open door. When she turned to close the door, the bear had followed and was just outside. After slamming the door in its face, she watched through the window and after several minutes it wandered into the woods. The coast was clear -- or so she thought -- so she got up to leave. As she rounded the corner to the carriage house, another bear was poking its head around the corner... and it might have been drooling a little bit. She left her bike for later and scooted herself up the back stairs to the kitchen, out of breath, panicked, and ready to find another form of transportation.

Who knew animals conspired?

I've had my own share of wild encounters since moving a few weeks ago. When I leave home in the mornings, a little gray rabbit is waiting by my car door at least twice a week. I only started to think it was weird when I found gray rabbits waiting by my car at other places around town. Oh, and did I ever mention this guy was on my balcony not too long ago?

On Behalf of the Women

2010-09-16T19:13:00.000-06:00

Dear Women's Fashion Designers,

I have a few bones to pick with you. Your job is to design clothes that flatter and beautify a woman, no? Then why, when shopping for a dress this summer, did I have to wonder whether the bottom half of almost every dress I tried on was sold separately? You know very well that thighs are something most of us try to conceal...or should try to conceal.

Also, which one of you decided that a bra should no longer be an undergarment, but an accessory? And who seconded that motion? I suggest we scratch that one and start over please. After all, we follow your lead...and you know that most of us will believe that what you tell us is beautiful really is beautiful.

I've always wondered why all clothes are made in all sizes. Wouldn't it be better art if certain styles were designed for and restricted to those it looked best on?

And for the good of all mankind, please start encouraging the ladies toward a bit more mystery and intrigue. This promotes self-respect, which promotes healthier relationships, which promotes happier lives, which results in less self-focus and a more joyful world. And wouldn't you agree, if you were honest, that true, lasting attraction develops from admiration and respect for the person, not the figure? Help a sister out.

a.e.f.

Running for Freedom

2010-09-07T21:34:00.001-06:00

Today’s downtown run led to some interesting thoughts. Running brings me joy and I hardly feel more alive inside than when I run. It is freedom. Think about the things people run for: People run for their lives, in war, from home, to safety. People run for help. We run to warn people of coming danger. We run to escape. We run to the arms of our beloved. We run for sport, to push ourselves, to do what we thought impossible, to conquer goals. We run angry, we run scared, we run ecstatic.

All of these reasons, in one way or another, lead to freedom. We either run so that we can be free or we run because we are free.

Back in the good ol’ days when I took running seriously, I would recite 1 Corinthians 9:24-27 in my head right before a race. It pumped me up better than techno. “Do you not know that in a race all the runners compete, but only one receives the prize? So run that you may obtain it. Every athlete exercises control in all things. They do it to receive a perishable wreath, but we an imperishable. So I do not run aimlessly; I do not box as one beating the air. But I discipline my body and keep it under control, lest after preaching to others I myself should be disqualified.”

At a glance, discipline appears to be the opposite of freedom. A closer look reveals that lack of self-control and being disqualified from the prize is bondage, meaning that discipline and its fruit lead to freedom. If we focus our running, decide we’re running for Christ, and go at it with all our might, we will know never-ending freedom when we see his face.

Proverbs 19:16 says, “Whoever keeps the commandment keeps his life; he who despises his ways will die.” We will all continue running, but those who run to obtain the prize will run for freedom, and they will receive it.

Men

2010-09-07T21:30:00.000-06:00

I found this poem I wrote in college on an especially feisty day and thought I'd share.

MEN

I know you know I’m here,

But me you will ignore.

Tomorrow you’ll be clear:

It’s me you just adore.

You take your time and say,

“I’m not quite sure. Please wait.

I must take time to pray.”

I’ll find another date.

You want to hold my hand

and hear that I’ll be there.

It’s this I cannot stand.

I’ll go pull out my hair.

And then I look at him,

So beautiful and kind.

This game is far too grim.

He’s in a different line.

Ray

2010-08-31T19:19:00.001-06:00

Moving to Colorado from Los Angeles and making necessary life changes meant that concerts are now a privilege, not a right. The one I've been to was last night, and it was better than all the shows before it... combined. Yes. Little Jonny and I got each other the same birthday present: tickets to a Ray LaMontagne concert at Red Rocks Amphitheatre.

You couldn't possibly change one thing about last night to make it better. Warm air, clear sky, seats high enough to see the city of Denver, towering red rocks on either side of us, and a shirtless gentleman two rows down with a centaur tattooed across his entire back {who's lucky he decided to stop dancing after the first song...}. Oh, and I was with little brother Jonny, one of my favorite people on the planet.

Ray LaMontagne has been one of my favorite musicians for about two years, and I felt it was risky business to see him in concert. You know when someone sounds so much better on the album than in real life, and you consider deleting all their music and hanging your head in shame when you return home? On the contrary, I wanted to bottle up his voice and wear it on a string.

Apparently a simple man, he worked in a shoe factory before making us weak in the knees with his voice and lyrics. His simple stage presence made him all the more appealing, and his music spoke for itself. He doesn't force emotions on his audience. Instead, he can summarize bits of life in a song and leave you speechless and dumbfounded without hardly trying. I think if you asked him why he sings, his answer would never be "to entertain the people." His music is soul music -- his songs mean something to you.

When he opened his mouth to sing, I stopped everything. I realized I forgot the defibrillator only after my heart stopped beating -- or maybe it flipped inside out. Either way, I wanted to explode. He possessed a refreshing humility like I've never seen before on stage. The whole thing was, in a word, unforgettable.

I Dream of Grocery

2010-08-25T20:21:00.000-06:00

I decided to write about something weird today, and that idea was confirmed as brilliant when I walked into the coffee shop just now. A musical group was seated inside the front door, playing instruments I have never seen. It was either Renaissance or Riverdance music. I'm not familiar with either to distinguish them, but all I know is I wanted to jig. I wanted to jig bad, and this is exactly the kind of place that I could start a jig and perhaps be joined by everyone else in line and it would be totally normal...but weird. Anyway, it got me in the perfect mood to write about my weird dream.

This dream was inspired by the name of a local grocery store. Some grocery stores have names that actually reveal what's inside: Food4Less, Whole Foods, and Farm Fresh. Others are just plain funny: HE Butt Grocery. Others leave you guessing: Jitney Jungle, Piggly-Wiggly, and the main character in my dream -- King Soopers.

King Soopers. What? It's a household name in Colorado. It's our local grocery store, founded by Lloyd King in 1947. I've shopped at King Soopers for years and think it's great. So great that I dreamed about it and will never forget it.

In my dream, I had just been hired by King Soopers and arrived for my first day of training, only to find all the employees dressed in Kung Fu fighting clothes. Startled, I stood off to the side until I realized why. Kung Fu was the newest effective method of cutting down on shoplifting and taking care of those unruly customers. I slipped into my fighting clothes and instead of learning the cash register, I learned Kung Fu. The result of all this? King Soopers was forever known as Kung Foopers.

Thrifting

2010-08-04T20:59:00.002-06:00

Think of this post as With Love, Jen: Part II. I scanned pages of her letter and put them here with her permission, both so you could see why I was so delighted and so you can add some of the best advice around to your thrifting repertoire. When Jen and I were together in Washington, I asked her how to successfully shop thrift stores. I want to learn this skill. Extraordinary items can be found there when one has the eye for it. Jen has the eye, and I asked her to tell me all she knew. I apologize that some of it is hard to read because of the scan quality, but I hope you enjoy her response as much as I do.

Talk to the Hand

2010-07-29T20:42:00.003-06:00

Remember when "talk to the hand, not to the face" was the ultimate insult? It appears that everyone took that to heart. I've found myself recently wanting to say "talk to the face, not to the hand!" It might be a few more years before we fully realize the effects of texting- and facebook-only relationships. We are more adept at expressing ourselves electronically than we are in person!

Does this alarm anyone else? I catch myself doing this. Awkward topics occasionally come up over video chat, and instead of responding verbally, I'll type it out! I never do this in person. I've never pulled out a piece of paper and written out what I was going to say because I couldn't explain it. That's absurd. Why is this normal as soon as a gadget is involved? I've met teenagers whose entire dating relationship was texted. They got together, they talked, and they broke up all via text.

Privacy, the 21st century's most endangered word, is thrown out the window with texting. It's no longer acceptable to respond when you want to. You are expected to respond to a text pronto, and there could be relational consequences if you don't. The next generation of phones will probably be waterproof so we can text in the shower, thus avoiding a friendship demise because of 15 minutes of silence.

I don't mean to sound anti-text. I'm all for it. I'm reluctantly learning to be more conversational and not so mission-accomplished. Texting is especially handy when I have a couple minutes of downtime in public and want to look important and popular... er... um... you get the idea. And thus ends my "technology may not always be the only solution" rant. The End.

Lone Ranger

2010-07-22T21:20:00.000-06:00

I'm housesitting for the summer...er, shall I say plantsitting. Why I agreed to keep plants alive for 3 months, I have no idea. I'm a notorious plant-killer. Grandma loves her plants. Bad combination. There was no interview, or I wouldn't be here writing this. So far, only a few have been lost but are making a surprise comeback!

Flying solo in the Rocky Mountains is decidedly less exciting than I hoped. I used to think I was an introvert with extrovert tendencies, but I'm thinking it's the other way around. It's definitely not as great to have fun by yourself as it is to do it with someone. Dinner is a joke. I stocked up the first week with all these grand plans to cook for myself, only to make it to Friday with a tub of wilted lettuce, some bad tomatoes and one lonely piece of leftover quiche. Eating across the table from Empty just doesn't have the same allure.

Living alone is wonderful for doing things at your own pace and with your own style. I can read, clean, groove, make coffee, come and go, whenever and however I like. It's terrible for laughter, interesting conversation, and spur of the moment bike rides. It's terrible if I choke. It's terrible if I break my legs. It's awesome if I just need to get away. It's perfect for enjoying the simple things.

In the end, living alone has its ups and downs, just like everything else. I am second-guessing my dream of getting my own apartment, and unless things improve, it will be awhile before I plant my own garden. And I continue to learn that the grass is green on the other side, but it's green here too.

With Love, Jen

2010-07-21T21:45:00.000-06:00

Take a deep breath and put your virtual personality aside for a moment. We are about to venture into a foreign place -- the land of handwritten letters. Three weeks ago, a letter dropped into my mailbox for the first time in years. Not a greeting card; a letter. Six pages of bliss. I read it four times in a row and laughed out loud to myself, not because it was funny, but because I was so delighted.

We write letters differently than any other way we communicate. Putting pen to paper feels more permanent. For one thing, you can't ever look back at it to see what you wrote. In a world that has an electronic record of almost everything, not knowing what you've said can be unsettling. Once it's in the mail, it's gone. It's almost as though your thoughtful side intuitively knows it's time to shine. We usually write about more meaningful things in letters than we do in texts or emails. We usually treasure letters more than texts or emails.

This letter was so captivating not only because of what it said, but because it was written by someone's hand. No one else in the world has this handwriting. I see charm and personality, not font. It is special because I know how long it takes to write a letter -- and I know it was sent only to me, not 755 facebook friends. I am closer with her simply because we exchanged one letter, the first of many.

Here is my idea for you: sit down with a blank piece of paper, a pen, and a person in mind. Start writing what flows to your fingers, and you may not be able to stop. Receiving a letter in return might be the highlight of your year. Seriously. It will at least be more memorable than the annual mass "Merry Christmas! I'm so thankful for your friendship!" text. Happy writing!

The Land of Corn and Fireflies

2010-07-07T20:38:00.005-06:00

Windblown and sticky, six of us pulled into the Eberspacher driveway after eight hours on the road. Eight hours without air conditioning, in the sultry heat of June, surrounded by cow farms and other unidentified odors.

Why would people choose to live in Nebraska? We didn’t know. Yet. Tumbling out of the car, we faced an expansive cornfield that gave me a fraction of the feeling I have standing at the edge of the sea. A train clunked on behind us and Lucy, the German Shepherd, sat by the front door as if this was her friendly queendom.

The family inside the farmhouse greeted us like we were the long-lost relatives. We were taken straight to our VIP sleeping quarters, to an air-conditioned basement full of soft air mattresses and a bathroom big enough for the entire Nebraska population.

Those of us not in the wedding explored around the farm while everyone went to rehearsal. There is a lot of open space between people in Nebraska, so our free spirits came out and we laughed long and loud, disturbing only Lucy. We walked along the corn-lined gravel road and felt surprisingly relaxed. I saw my first fireflies that night and was completely enchanted, as if I’d been invited to a spontaneous garden party.

It was Saturday afternoon when the radiant and relaxed Elisa slipped into her pretty white dress and hopped in the car. The only decorations in the chapel were candles and wildflowers. Nothing distracted from their vows to each other and it was the sweetest wedding I’ve ever been to. After a catered dinner, Krispy Kreme groom’s cake, and my first ever bouquet catch, they were off!

Allie took this awesome snap.

When we thought about going to celebrate afterward, we remembered we were in Milford and did the only thing we could do: we went back to the farm. We rode in the bed of the old pickup out to the pasture to watch the stars and the distant lightning. We soon found ourselves driving through corn, then running through corn until we got scared of the dark. I think I can speak for everyone: we had the times of our lives.

Thanks, Nebraska. I haven’t felt so free in a long, long time.

Verve

2010-06-23T20:47:00.000-06:00

Ever been parched for adventure? I can't seem to get it off my mind, and the more I crave it, the more I think you want it just as bad as I do. That's right, you. And me. We want adventure. We want to feel alive, vibrant, like we're on top of the world! Bear in mind that our levels of adventure may be different.

Your heart might skip a beat when you buy 2% milk instead of skim. Or when you turn off tom-tom and just drive. Or when you pack up and move to a place where the face in the mirror is the only one you recognize. Or when you jump off a rock 90 feet above the sparkling blue water of the Mediterranean Sea.

Whatever it is, we crave adventure. It makes my heart burst. Adventure is the rush that comes with knowing that something about this moment is out of your control and you absolutely love it.

I received Francis Chan's book crazy love yesterday. The foreword says this, "God put me in Simi Valley, California, to lead a church of comfortable people into lives of risk and adventure. I believe He wants us to love others so much that we go to extremes to help them." I have a funny feeling that if I keep reading I will be challenged beyond my wits and, should I choose to change, every day will be a crazy adventure.

I'm confident that you and I crave this because God made us to want passionate, vivacious lives. If jumping out of planes can become routine, then why were we created with this bottomless pit? Jesus -- God -- left a heavenly throne to come to our floating sphere of dirt and water to save us from the worst imaginable fate... eternal separation from him. He's given us rather adventurous guidelines to follow if we want to be part of his work here. Reckless abandon is all he asks...

Here's the bit that gives me confidence to jump: "...we are treated as impostors, and yet are true; as unknown, and yet well known; as dying, and behold, we live; as punished, and yet not killed; as sorrowful, yet always rejoicing; as poor , yet making many rich; as having nothing, yet possessing everything." 2 Cor 6.8-10

Surprise!

2010-06-17T22:48:00.004-06:00

The first thing I want to do after a sedentary day at the office is to run. Today was going to be adventurous: I was going to explore an unknown, new-to-me route at Garden of the Gods. Crazy, I know. About ten yards in I discovered my legs felt more like a Clydesdale’s than my own. After 43 minutes of running and stopping and backtracking and cutting through hillsides of baby cacti and shrubs, I found the trail I needed and walked the last mile back to the Taurus.

At the same moment I was blindfolded by a cobweb, I was asking myself a question. Why are certain character traits so much more revolting to me than others? Am I afraid that the one trait I despise most in other people is in fact true of me?

Take self-centeredness and self-promotion, for example. I get sarcastic and roll my eyes when I see it. Is it because I am more self-centered than I’d like to be? I rarely update my facebook status. I often consider it one of the biggest "who cares?" on the internet. Last week I posted a link to my blog on my facebook page, at the suggestion of one of my friends. After he posted his blog on facebook and told me how many people had visited five minutes later, I put on my pretend look of shock and told him it was shameless self-promotion. And then I did it and felt queasy about it. I might do it again today.

Here’s the catch: I think we all possess those traits we dislike in a style more pleasing to us. With self-centeredness, it’s not that I don’t want to be noticed; I do. We all do. But I prefer to be stumbled upon than force everyone within the sound of my voice to notice. Same with my blog: I’d rather it be found by accident and enjoyed as a pleasant surprise than to see that you visited because I told you it would be a pleasant surprise. See the difference? It’s not a surprise when I tell you it’s going to be a surprise. I think the moral of this story just became my love for surprises.

The End.

The Blob

2010-06-09T21:30:00.001-06:00

The 20-somethings of the world are establishing a trend. Instead of dating, they're blobbing. The older generation, happily married 25+ years, can't understand it. Grandparents certainly can't understand it. I don't even think 20-somethings understand it, but they surrender to it anyway.

The blob is a mass of people that intend to remain "just friends" until death do we part. Almost every one of those people, if cornered, would admit to wanting love and marriage {note: this does not make them desperate}. I call it 'the blob' because it follows you and sucks you in until you disappear inside it and make it just a bit bigger and more powerful than it was before.

It seems to me that most people want to be married but feel strange admitting it outright. Instead, we go in secret to the privacy of our computers and become one of 20 million people per month that try online dating in hopes of finding that special someone. After a date with Chainmail Guy and the dude in metallic spandex, Comb-over Man arrives wearing chinos and a tucked-in polo...only to reveal he's been in college for 12 years and lives with Mom. With no luck in love, we return to the blob so we can at the very least enjoy our weekends once more.

blob.

The blob is fun and easy. It requires very little of us, and everyone gets a half-hearted version of what they truly want. I guess that's worth it. Guys don't have to commit or risk rejection, and girls get companionship...sort of.

I promised myself I would not tell this story to anyone, but as it turns out, I've already told 342 people so I might as well make it available on the world wide web. It's a story about a gutsy guy who made me swoon in less than nine seconds. Why? Because he knew what he wanted and went and got it. That makes a woman out of a girl.

I had just finished working the registration table for an event we were holding in Washington DC. I was a bit frazzled and standing in between two of our Directors. Both men. This strapping young lad left the reception, walked right up to me and after looking at my nametag, asked if that was my real name. I was not in the mood for whatever this was. Of course it was my real name, and I told him so. Then he told me that he asked because he simply had to know my name. Call it cheesy, but how many of you fellas would actually have the guts to do it? Needless to say, my mood changed -- for the rest of the week. The following details are irrelevant to the topic, but whether or not I see him again, he will always remain an icon of sorts.

Now I know that men are capable of this. I'm quite certain I didn't dream that up. I was beginning to wonder if what everyone said was true: if I didn't give a guy googly eyes, bake him cookies twice a week and offer him my heart and soul on a silver platter, I'd be lucky to receive a nod in my general direction.

This post was not to draw any conclusions; it was simply to stir the pot. And to the dear friends in my own blob, I love each of you and can't wait to encourage every one of you to make your move.

Beastly Incline

2010-06-02T19:16:00.002-06:00

Colorado summers are some of the most spectacular summers in the world and also happen to be a large part of why I continue to live in Colorado Springs. That said, I'm thrilled that summer finally decided to show up. With summer comes outdoor adventure, prolonged daylight, warmth and open windows. It means breaking up with the treadmill for a few months and taking to the trail. It also means hoisting oneself up the Incline.

I wrote about the Incline last January, so I'll spare some of the details this time around. I climbed it Monday for the first time this season, and to my bewilderment, the Incline has become a wildly popular activity. A crossfit group from Denver drove over an hour -- on a holiday -- just to do the Incline. I suppose I should be happy for this, because it means people are challenging themselves to the point of excruciating pain instead of lazying around the pool. Does the word 'masochist' come to mind?

I don't truly hate many things. I hate the Incline. To be fair, I only hate a small section that is between the halfway point and the top. It's that part where you've exhausted your legs and your lungs, and it's just as painful to stop and rest as it is to keep going. Didn't know that was possible. It's irritating because on either side of the railroad ties is thick forest, loose gravel and an impossibly steep slope. No pleasant rest stop with a Gatorade stand. You look up and see railroad ties, you look down and see railroad ties, and that's when you make the decision: you're either going to sit down right there until you die, or you're going to put one foot in front of the other and keep climbing because you know you can. And that's the fun part. The sick, sick, fun part.

After the last step, I turn around and look at what I've just climbed and can almost only see the bottom where the cars are. It's that steep. Then I look around for someone to kiss and celebrate with. No I don't. To get back down, you have two options: back down the Incline, or four miles down Barr Trail. I usually take Barr Trail. It is so exhilarating that I often think my heart will burst if I don't jump off the side of the mountain and sprout wings.

About halfway up when asking myself why we do this to ourselves, the lesson from this video came to mind. This motivational speaker is so motivational that you have to watch to the end to learn the lesson in whole. {warning: i was laughing out loud to myself the entire day following my first viewing}. Inspiration at its finest.

You Can Do Anything

Lost? Never.

2010-05-27T22:01:00.001-06:00

Where would you go if you knew you could never get lost?

That question has run laps in my head all week. I wrote a bit about this a couple weeks ago, but it's gaining momentum in my life and there is a sense of urgency even as I write this. Psalm 139 speaks so plainly about God's guidance. He's leading me. Period. If Jesus Christ dictates my every step, I will absolutely not get lost. I won't fall through the cracks. I won't take a wrong turn, and neither will anyone else committed to following Him.

I will be led by still waters. I will be led through dark valleys. I will watch the sunrise. I will be led through fire. And I will be led home. He will lead, and I will follow.

Where would you go if you knew you could never get lost?

Would you move to the city? To the country? The burbs? Would you switch jobs? Would you ask her out? Would you stay put? Would you save or spend? Would you submit that article? Would you say you're sorry? Would you ...?

Goodness. When life surpasses the limits of my understanding, I am so comforted to know that nothing extends beyond God, for He has no boundaries. There is nowhere that He is not. Crazy.

Run for Their Lives

2010-05-20T21:42:00.002-06:00

Blonde Curly
Big Blue
Roly Poly
Sassy Red
Brilliant
Beautiful
Freckles
Average Joe
Chatterbox
Adventurer
Bookworm

These words describe children that have not yet taken their first breath -- and may never take their first breath. We can help them at least make it to that first moment. Life Network is doing everything they can to educate and equip mothers-to-be, and they've given all of us the privilege to help out! This organization is hosting a 5K fundraiser on June 5th to support the efforts of Life Network, and I need your help. In order to run, I need to raise $150 minimum. I've already raised $105, so I only have $45 to go!!

For every $150 raised, LN can provide services for three moms and their babies. These services include ultrasound appointments, housing, medical services, mentoring, counseling and too many more to list here.

With your help, I can run 3 miles and help 3 mothers choose life. I can't wait to run for these little boys and girls! Want to help? Click here to visit my sponsor page: 2010 Walk for Life

Thank you, thank you, thank you in advance for your heart and for your participation in this!

p.s. My co-worker is also in the race. He's going to beat me...maybe lap me. I want to win the only thing I have a shot at: the fundraiser! :)

An Old Melody

2010-05-17T20:54:00.000-06:00

An old tune was reintroduced to my little head recently. It was a simple melody with astonishing clarity...the kind that gets stuck in your head and follows you no matter how far you run, and no matter how many other songs you try to sing in its place.

I heard it in DC, faintly, as if it came from another room. I was learning the words when I returned home, and now I sing it every day. It's the song of Faith that isn't really a song at all, but it brings music to the soul anyway. It was time to be reminded to live by faith, not by sight. It's ironic that I become restless at the same moment I am reminded of faith. To follow Christ is to die to self, to surrender to His will. So...where do I go? What do I do? When? How? Who? I work into a mental tizzy and then remember who puts air in my lungs and who allows my pupils to see color, depth and movement. {I find it fascinating that when I wake up in the morning, my eyes open and I can see out of the two spheres planted in my head.}

The same Jesus who calmed the wind and waves is the same Jesus who called me and promises to guide me whether I ascend to the highest heavens or dive to the uttermost depths of the sea. If I'm in His boat, I'm safe. If I follow Him, He won't lead me astray. I hear about this everywhere I go, see it in everything I read, think about it in my spare time. I want to get this. When life gets claustrophobic because I'm so focused on ME, the only way to get out and see the big blue sky again is to realize who this God is and open myself to His way. His is the good way, and it's the only way that will get me home.

The chorus of my tune is this: faith equals action. I have to move! I have to step forward and follow. I have to be up for the ride. But really, when we know where we're going and who's driving, we can enjoy the crazy adventure for all it is...and bid our farewells to the boring life. I'm in.

The Good East

2010-05-12T20:13:00.002-06:00

I've learned not to plaster my forehead against airplane windows because you can always tell when someone does. The grease smear makes me lose my appetite and get real friendly with whoever shares my armrest. So I admired Washington DC through the window, not on the window. The view from the air prepared me for life on the ground. The stately lawns, aged trees and manicured drives all suggested established intelligence. In the fading sun, the monuments and government buildings seemed to sparkle. It was all over for me before I even hit the runway.

photo credit: playing in traffic

When I stepped into thick, warm air and saw boat shoes and driving moccasins everywhere I looked, I knew it would be a good week. Is it crazy to you that people live amongst so much history? The trail by the Potomac River was swarming with joggers and bikers, as though it was no big deal that the Jefferson Memorial was right there. I thought about moving just so I could run there. I was caught off guard that entire week. It was, after all, a work trip. Who would've thought it would change my life?

I arrived on a Sunday evening. Monday morning came, I set to work at 8:00 a.m. and didn't look up until Thursday afternoon at 4:00 p.m. Our events flew by and from all I could see, were fairly seamless. The week began with a dinner cruise on the Potomac River and ended with a morning meeting in the Cannon House Office Building. I met some incredible people, and after months of emails and phone chats, was finally able to put a face with a voice. There's something different about people who genuinely love the Lord, and there's an unforgettable dynamic when they get together in a big group.

To end the week, I spent Friday with JT doing all her favorite things. She's a film editor in DC, lives in a charming old house in Arlington and drives a zippy little city car. And she has an incredible soul. Yep, the whole kit and kaboodle, right in one spot. We ate sushi, explored old book stores, drank coffee and tea, and saw the Givers l-i-v-e at the Black Cat.

Some things I discovered:

Mussels are not for me. They feel more like I'm eating a tongue made of flab rather than muscle.

A hammock, even for 15 minutes, can almost be enough to cure all ails.

If I ever moved to DC, it would be to Georgetown. I need to start saving. Yesterday.

I'm still capable of being undone in one fell swoop.

God sometimes answers prayer in the most unexpected ways.

I like boats!

I hope to visit again. Soon.

The Secret Spot

2010-04-29T20:34:00.001-06:00

I snuck into the resource room at work yesterday on my lunch break to catch a few moments of silence. This is my secret spot. The resource room is a library and presentation room, but behind the wall of bookcases is a balcony that overlooks the auditorium and cafeteria. The only thing behind the bookcases is one square table and two or three office chairs. Hardly glamourous. The beauty of this place is that no one knows you're there. Fantastic people-watching would be available from that spot, but it feels too creepy to watch people from above when they really have no idea you're there. That's not fair. And I always ask myself what I would do if someone really did look up at the same moment I looked at them. I would die. And maybe get fired.

I wheeled a chair to the table and sat down. I looked up and jumped. There was Jim. He'd followed me in and told me that I was in his secret spot. Everyone understands that you don't join someone when they're in their secret spot unless invited, so we exchanged a few words and he left. I got settled into my book and a few minutes later, a woman I'd never met poked her head around the corner and jumped. I was in her secret spot, and she said so.

The only reason I know about this spot is because my friend invited me once to have lunch with her in her secret spot. That day, we were the only ones there for the entire hour, so I adopted it as my secret spot too. Either this building does not have many private areas, or we humans are far less original than I hoped.

This aspect of life humors me. Most of our originality has many similarities. During my brief retail stint last year, I saw that everyone had a different style or way of expressing the same thing. For example, you do not come between customers and their coupons. Some would present their coupons organized in a file folder. Others would shuffle through their purse and give me coupons from all types of stores, leaving it to me to sort. Some would leave everything at the register and go to the car to fetch that one coupon. One customer brought in a stack of soggy coupons in a Ziploc. She saw my puzzled look and explained how she dug them out of her trash can. Okay, that was original. But it was still going to dramatic lengths to save money. I respect that.

It's amazing to me how we are all so remarkably different, with different reasons for doing things but with the same desires. It's the differences that bind us. That's how we learn. Something Obama said that I actually liked was, "We find unity in our incredible diversity." I think even in that diversity, we are the same. We will always be human. You might be surprised at who you find in your secret spot.

Scary Lovin

2010-04-26T21:42:00.005-06:00

Fear is the enemy of love.

I don't often read novels, but The Shape of Mercy recently came highly recommended from a friend, so I'm reading. Last night, I read the above quote by St. Augustine on the dedication page and I paused to decide whether or not I agreed.

Enemies are, by definition, opposed. An enemy is an adversary, out to conquer the opponent. The only way to lose an enemy is to kill it or to befriend it. If you can't beat 'em, join 'em. When the enemies are ideas rather than people, friendship can't be possible. Fear and love...can they co-exist? I could end the argument right here with 1 John 4:18, "There is no fear in love, but perfect love casts out fear." True. So why is there still so much fear surrounding love? The key phrase there was perfect love. Perfection. Hardly how I describe my love.

Let's face it. If perfect love can't exist among humans, that leads to one conclusion: fear exists in love. But fear doesn't get comfortable, or love wouldn't survive. It's interesting. Fear can fight hard once and kill love for good, but love can fight hard once and win, but never completely kill fear. It lurks, and pounces when you least expect it. To love is to fight a constant battle with fear. BUT to fear is to never truly live at all. Living in fear is not really living because you never do anything with all your heart. We fear rejection, we fear failure, we fear giving everything we have for something that doesn't satisfy. Is that reason enough to forfeit? I would rather live a short life with all my heart then live a dreadfully safe life well into my 90s.

One of my best friends and I have had several battles with fear in our own friendship. I recall refusing to look at her, facing the corner opposite her in our hotel bathroom as she faced her corner. Two 14-year-old girls, on a school road-trip to California, fighting because we were scared of keeping the friendship the way it was. But we were more afraid of losing the friendship altogether. That's where love kicked in. We've made it through some bumps since and I dare say there's a good chance we'll make it all the way to the end.

What if we lived in a world where love never conquered fear, or was never willing to put up a good fight? What if good never defeated evil? What if life never conquered death? Spring never conquered winter?

I wouldn't have the little pink blossom tree to eat breakfast with every morning.

I would never be hanging off the back of a tricycle like this one.

Little Jonny wouldn't have to try to forget this haircut I once gave him.

This definitely wouldn't happen.

We wouldn't enjoy some of the world's very best music.

We wouldn't travel or explore.

We wouldn't smile.

We wouldn't hope.

We wouldn't have a Savior that offers life to the fullest.

What I'm trying to say is, St. Augustine, I never thought I would get so much out of reading the dedication page of a novel. But I agree with you. Fear is the enemy of love.

And fear is worth fighting if love is the prize.

twenty-five.

2010-04-18T20:34:00.001-06:00

Yep. I'm 25. Three more of these and I'll be 100. It's so dadgum painful to leave behind the carefree days of running barefoot in the grass and climbing trees whenever you please. Those ended a long time ago, but for some reason 25 says one thing to me: Adult. The good news is, 25 is still too young for mom-butt jeans and PTA meetings, and it's too old for prom and all-nighters before the final exam. It's perfect, really.

My birthday fell on a Saturday this year, so I played the whole day! Ate pancakes with the roomies and then brother Jonny and I walked around Old Colorado City and ended up at Agia Sophia for chai lattes. We met up with friends at Amanda's Fonda in Manitou for some Mexican eats. This place is one of a kind. To-die-for chips and salsa, burritos bigger than Chipotle...oh! and an entire staff that sings happy birthday. With a sombrero to boot. I got to wear this beauty for far too long.

Mom and Dad hosted a dessert party at their place, so we drove up the hill to laugh and eat some sweets. Triple layer chocolate cake was on the menu, along with carrot cake, berry pie, cream cheese tarts and cheesecake. Mom can throw a party.

25 candles.

I avoided the intense game of SET at risk of getting severely irritated at my lack of skill. My sister dominates every. single. time. Dominates. She's the one in the black. Notice that sly, cat-like look on her face. It's like she knows everything that's going on but isn't saying a word. I know that look and I avoid it, especially when it comes to games.

We all ended up playing "The Bowl Game" and laughing hysterically the rest of the night. My life is bursting with incredible people, and so many of them were at the party. I am so happy and blessed to know so many quality people in one place at one time. Thanks to everyone who came, and to MOM AND DAD for hosting! xo

I See You.

2010-03-21T22:54:00.003-06:00

Sunday nights are often my favorite part of the weekend. I'm fully relaxed from the last couple days and have most things in order for the coming week. It feels like a fresh start, like I'll soon step out with my best foot forward.

The calm of this weekend did wonders to a growing state of rush-hour. For two weeks I've sensed a sob session developing down deep. Ladies, you know what I mean. You just need to cry, and for no reason. No questions, please. After church today I kicked off my heels and plopped on the couch to read my church's magazine. The first article I opened to was the final crack in the dam. It was a short piece entitled "Invisible People" and it challenged me to notice and care about the everyday people that so often fly under our radar. Think about your neighbor, your grocer, your waitress. THEN the writer had to play this card: what about those people you see every day that have become so commonplace, you hardly pay any special attention to them? Your spouse, your little sister, your roommate, an old friend. Two specific people came to mind immediately, and then came the tears.

These people yearn for acknowledgement. They ache for your love, for your attention. They want to know that you think they are important. Why is this so hard to do? Perhaps we are looking for this very same thing ourselves. Perhaps we don't want to give what they crave for fear of not receiving it in return. Maybe you really don't care and you're just waiting for the world to finally realize that you've arrived so they can stop worrying about themselves and start worrying about you...

The writer included Matthew 20:26-28, which says this, "but whoever desires to become great among you, let him be your servant. And whoever desires to be first among you, let him be your slave -- just as the Son of Man did not come to be served, but to serve, and to give His life a ransom for many." My heart was paying attention now. I almost frantically turned to Philippians and read verse after verse of Paul's loving words for his readers. "...It is my prayer that your love may abound more and more...and so be pure and blameless for the day of Christ..." and "...I know that I will remain and continue with you all, for your progress and joy in the faith...", "Only let your manner of life be worthy of the gospel of Christ..." and our favorite humility verse, "In humility count others more significant than yourselves."

This is a strong case for an intentional life, because these selfless attitudes don't just happen. We all know that. Today was a milestone on my journey Home, and I'm a few tears lighter because of it.

She's a good friend.

2010-03-15T22:58:00.002-06:00

She runs to my car door first to give me a squeeze before loading her suitcase.

She smiles and asks questions despite an exhausting three days of a best friend's wedding and little sleep.

She doesn't try too hard. She's not forced. She is an old soul.

5am on the one morning per year we lose an hour, she's just the same as she always is.

A long car ride to the airport -- at 5am -- is delightful and full of bright conversation.

She's honest. She's gentle. She's a diamond.

She's a good friend.

Writing, Hunting, and a P.S.

2010-03-04T22:16:00.001-07:00

I'm here again, so soon, not because I have something pressing to write. I simply want to write. Well-said words delight me as does the company of a close friend. Writing behaves almost like a close friend in that it always seems to discover anything I try my darndest to hide. It's time I stopped giving it the silent treatment.

On another note, I've recently decided to hunt for a specific type of blog. A man-friend of mine refuses to start a blog because it's {insert politically incorrect word here}. He has a valid point: if a guy (or girl, really) tries to start a blog -- which typically requires a degree of creative introspection -- and doesn't fully commit or doesn't do it well, it can be risky business. I try to convince him that it doesn't matter how it starts, just start somewhere. No luck. I warned him that I would send him links to artistic, interesting blogs created by remarkable men. I tell you this because I'm enlisting the troops! If you know of one, or two or three, please pass them along...for the good of one who is about to discover the joy of writing.

The last item for this evening's post is a post-script to last night's post. Lest you think I live in a rickety old dumpster, I need to clarify that our townhouse is rather cozy. Hardwood floors, a fireplace, and couches that feel like your favorite pair of jeans welcome you just beyond the front door. Skip up the stairs and you'll see our brown and green polk-a-dot shower curtain on the way to my bedroom. Once there, I would blush as you complimented me on the healthy plant that gets a little bigger every day, and then I would show you the very tip of the mountains you can see from the balcony. It's a charming little place.

Now it's time to power up the fan and climb into bed. Goodnight.

Cock a doodle doo

2010-03-03T22:15:00.004-07:00

Remember those childhood days when the whole world was against you and the only person you had to turn to was your mother, who promptly told you that the world was not the problem, but your attitude was? And I was hoping for sympathy.

A change of perspective can be like Crest WhiteStrips, instantly brightening even the most obscure surface. Adjusting to new surroundings requires flexibility and a sense of humor...unless you'd rather be crotchety.

I wake up at 6:30. My housemate wakes up at 5:15, which really means that I wake up at 5:15 and she wakes up at 6:20. Yep, she's the one that sleeps through all four alarms. Okay, I laughed at first. Then I started missing that extra hour of sleep. Ear pressed to the pillow and head under the covers doesn't help. Breathing louder doesn't help. Screaming into your pillow doesn't help. We talked and agreed on some preventive measures we could both take. The first night I slept with a fan, I dreamt I was running into the end-zone during the Superbowl and woke with a start to the crowd roaring...er, the fan roaring. I'm learning to live on less sleep.

Rise and shine, then time to shower. I stumble into the bathroom, turn on the water and keep everything but my toe at a safe distance until it's bearable. In seconds, the water changes from bearable to scalding. No, really. The water cools just enough, and cools, and cools while I turn the knob to hot, hotter, hottest. In a mere ten minutes my teeth are knocking and I'm jittering, clamoring for a heater.

The pantry door fell off. The dryer always eats one sock. We thought we locked ourselves out of the house only to find the back door unlocked after six hours of waiting. There's that one spot on the drive to work where I can't see a thing because of glare and a dirty windshield and the discovery that I'm out of wiper fluid.

- a little bit of perspective -

Some days I am Irritable in her rarest form, and it's on those days I realize it's all about perspective. Nothing is different about that day, it's simply the way I look at it. And on those days, that realization doesn't help. But on days like yesterday, when everything seems laughable and the worst possible scenario somehow still contains humor, I realize that life truly is wonderful, and I could ask for nothing more than what I have. My life overflows with blessings from the Lord above. He has given us laughter, pure and sweet, in the knowledge that we have a place to rest our cares and ease our burdens. He truly is all the perspective we need.

Men and Women

2010-02-14T19:25:00.001-07:00

Goodness. I am well past the point of excuses, and it's a good thing because I don't have any. This past month and a half I've had surprisingly little to write, but have not forced myself to write anyway (like any self-respecting, diligent writer would). A lot of thoughts have run through my little head without conclusions, but I'll probably share them anyway...you are welcome to share your insights on anything written here.

Now that I live with two other young, single women, you can imagine what topic comes up...every now and then. Yes, boys and men. And BoyzIIMen. I mean boys becoming men. Or men acting like boys.

I'll just go ahead and say it. There is a startling lack of men out there, especially in their 20's. And before you roll your eyes and vow never to read this blog again, read this: this post is not about men. This one's for the ladies. What I'm about to write is a new thought for me, but the more I think about it, the more I think it's true. Women are largely responsible for the current state of manhood.

Men and women want to be attractive to each other, so we do what we think makes us attractive. Who tells men what is attractive? Women do. We tell them what we want through our words and actions, and they listen. So ladies, what are we telling them? What are we telling our friends, brothers, fathers, husbands, boyfriends about what we find attractive?

I talked this over with an older, wiser friend of mine who gave me a little history lesson. After WWII, men came home from war emotionally detached and power-hungry. Wives nagged and men got even more distant. When they finally abandoned home, women were left to raise the boys, and they babied them instead of raising them to be leaders. Girls saw their mothers in charge and acting like men because they had to. The next generation turned into manly women and weak men. They parented my generation, who grew up thinking childhood lasts forever, not knowing whether they're heterosexual, homosexual, bisexual, or indifferent. My friend's conclusion? There is no "solution."

Great.

So is the question "what came first, the chicken or the egg?" Who cares what came first? I believe it's a question of leadership. Who is going to be the first to draw the line? I don't think it's a lost cause. We can't despair, because we haven't begun fighting! Women must start acting like women and men must start acting like men, and we must require this of each other. Men won't step up to their responsibilities if women get there first, and women can't let go of the reins if no one is there to drive. This sounds old fashioned, and it is. Maybe the old-fashioned folks had something right.

I read an article written by a lawyer at one of the most sought-after law firms in America. He said that never before have they seen such a lack of leadership in their applicants. The three components of leadership that he looks for are Competence, Vision, and Integrity. Guess which one is hardest to find. Integrity and character are at the bottom of most new year's resolutions lists. Would that change if women communicated to men that they'd rather have their integrity than their muscles? Their honesty than their charm? I believe it would.

Consider this a challenge for your present, your future, and the future of our nation and world. Oh, one more thing. We can't do this without the help of people ahead of us who have more understanding and are farther down the path. We need them to guide us. And most importantly, we need the unchangeable truth of Scripture to bring character to light in our hearts and clarity to our minds. There is no other way.

More could be said, but I hope what is written is clear. Think about it.

Last Year in a Verse

2010-01-04T22:40:00.001-07:00

Landmarks and milestones are significant to life. They help us see where we've come from, and they mark the trail when we find ourselves in the same place again. They serve as reminders to what we learned and to the mercy and grace of God in each moment.

2009 was a big year in my heart; something inside me woke up. Colossians 1:11-14 describes it like this: "May you be strengthened with all power, according to his glorious might, for all endurance and patience with joy, giving thanks to the Father, who has qualified you to share in the inheritance of the saints in light. He has delivered us from the domain of darkness and transferred us to the kingdom of his beloved Son, in whom we have redemption, the forgiveness of sins."

May you and I open our eyes, awake to the new year, to the new day, to the wonder in the big and small. May we have the courage to create as a member of the created. May we have faith that God the Father is everything He says He is, and that Jesus Christ was, and is, and is to come. Halleluiah.

2009, meet 2010.

2009-12-31T18:01:00.003-07:00

Helloooo all of you who are on your computers right now as opposed to celebrating the collision of 2009/2010. I'll be out there shortly. Nap first. Then grocery store. Then celebration.

There are some grand plans in the works for life in general during 2010. New beginnings are so inspiring, no? New apartment, new job, new year!! It's good. If all goes well, I will be paying visits to some of our nation's more drool-worthy cities (yes! cities!) and of course, reporting all of it right here.

I am also brainstorming ways to make the blog more worthy of your time. It has somehow morphed into a public diary...which, quite frankly, is not ideal! We may experience growing pains, but bear with me. Hopefully it will be an interesting, inspiring little stop on the web.

I will leave you with this completely unrelated yet helpful hint: eat apples last. If you eat them first, they rot under the food you put on top of them, resulting in you and the innocent bystanders experiencing some level of discomfort. Two different sources have told me this in the past month! It must be true.

Wouldn't it be lovely to be in Paris for New Year's?

Merry Christmas!!

2009-12-24T22:45:00.000-07:00

Happy, Merry Christmas to you! Enjoy a rich celebration of God's abundant grace in granting us Immanuel, 'God with us.'

May your bellies be filled, your hearts warmed, and your lips smooched under the mistletoe.

Have an unforgettable holiday. xo

This Little Room

2009-12-23T23:38:00.001-07:00

The icy wind is howling against my window, and I'm huddled under the blanket trying to warm my toes. I look around my room at the piles of my belongings, all ready to move to their new home. This is one of my last nights here, and I'm noticing every detail of this room I love so much. It hardly seems possible that over a year ago I left my Los Angeles life behind and followed my few boxes out to my parents' Colorado home.

The life to which I bid farewell almost seems like the life of a close friend, not my own. Sometimes I don't want to remember any piece of it, but what I've come to realize is that I will never forget most of what happened. It was a life of wondering if I was literally going crazy; of being stuck between decisions that, in my mind, rivaled choosing between loss of sight or loss of hearing -- either one leaves you without something you don't want to live without; and of things getting only worse the harder I worked to make them better.

One of the lessons I've learned in this little room is that freedom and redemption are waiting if you'll only ask for it. My goal should not be to forget the hard things but to redeem every single one of them. Jesus is the only place to go for complete wholeness, and I'm still learning this. I still get nauseous sometimes when I sit down to speak with Jesus. He can rub you raw, but it's a healing rub. He promises never to leave us or forsake us, and that promise is stronger than anything.

Right before I left California, I was a skeleton in every sense. Mom and Dad offered a safe place where I could drag my weary bones and stay awhile, so I accepted the offer and moved in with nothing to give. Depleted to the core, I set about the task of recovering. There were times I longed to sense God's comforting presence. It had been so long since I'd acknowledged that, but He held me close to His chest just like a father. He rescued me, and everything has changed.

Colossians 1: 13-14 says, "He has delivered us from the domain of darkness and transferred us to the kingdom of His beloved Son, in whom we have redemption, the forgiveness of sins." Indeed He has. This room has been the spot for so many significant moments in my heart this past year, it's strange to leave. But the room I'm moving to will have a story all its own, and I can't wait to live it.

This blog was born during that first month home. Here are the words from the first post: White walls signal new beginnings. An empty room with white walls is the most welcome place for change as the only thing to do is to add color, design and function. The finished room depends entirely on the vision of the designer. This is where I am -- I've been emptied out, swept, painted white and primed for renovation. My architect and designer are One, and He will put His mastery on display as He completes the room according to His initial design. This designer is Jesus, the Redeemer, the only one who can create life out of death and make old things truly new. This blog will serve as the place I describe the color, the furniture, the artwork, and even the fresh flowers set on the table. It's time to start over.

Another chapter ends, a new one begins. The walls in this little room have a story from this year all their own. Maybe someday they'll talk, but today I'm one step closer to painted walls, the zebra rug put out on the floor and the furniture arranged with beautiful flowers on the table.

The Office

2009-12-17T22:29:00.000-07:00

They say the holidays will add ten pounds to your figure. That's all good and fine, if you don't mind a larger girth, but what about the brainwaves? Are they affected by massive sugar consumption? I ask because yesterday was my lifetime record intake of cookies and sweets, and today I was about as dumb as could be. Everything I touched turned to lead. The first thing I did this morning at work was brew coffee...without the coffee. I eagerly went to fill my mug only to find hot water, slightly browned by yesterday's grounds. Gross.

The whole day was like this. One thing after another: oops...woops...oh, uhh. To finish the day, I had a little visit from the computer man. At my desk, I sensed someone behind me and turned to see who it was. A man was there, holding foreign objects in his hand, silent and staring. And standing. And silent. "Hi...is...there something...?" "You called about your computer." "Oh? I don't remember..." "It's buzzing." "Oh YEAH! Yes, it is. But it hasn't. Not today." Silence. "So...do you need to look at my computer?" Computer man moves toward computer. I stand up and leave the cube. "You need to shut it down." "Mmmk." I about-face, fly through shutting down, take my work and leave, flustered.

Clearly not a good day for brainwork. And a good reminder to put brakes on the sugar-glut.

Goodnight.

Becoming Colorado

2009-12-10T22:15:00.002-07:00

In this drawn-out quest to transform from California girl to Colorado mountain woman, I've met with some obstacles -- the biggest of which is this Colorado winter. It's a bear. I may, on occasion, be prone to exaggerate...however, this is not one of those occasions. Yesterday morning I drove to work in -11F, not including windchill. That's eleven degrees below zero. My little pink coat simply doesn't cut it anywhere below 50F, and as it was the only coat I had, I was an ice sculpture by the time I reached the office door. That was when I decided it was time. Buying a winter coat was the only logical, adult thing to do (see previous post).

Guess what. Macy's had a one-day sale yesterday, which was honestly a gift from the Lord Jesus. I know because money is what has kept me from buying a coat and now that I'm on the Dave Ramsey budget, I am being extra careful. There was really only one coat I liked, and it had everything I was looking for: length, belt, pockets, neutral color. But it was $10 over my budget. Don't tell Dave, but I thought it was worth a shot. At the counter, it rang up at about HALF of what I thought it was going to be, and I almost kissed the clerk. On the way in I prayed for a coat within my budget, and this was far under!

You may be wondering why this is such a big deal. I'll tell you. You never realize how much you appreciate basics -- like a winter coat -- until you're without one on a very cold day. When I put that coat on to walk back out to my car, I finally understood why not having a coat is such a big deal, and why good-hearted people work so hard to provide coats to those who don't have one. It's not just uncomfortable to be out in the cold, in some cases it is life-threatening. Life's basics are not negotiable. I guess that's why they're called basics.

It was also a big deal because it has been a need of mine for a long time, and I've been unable to meet it. I can't tell you how happy I was to hand the coat over the counter and then pay for it with money I'd earned. Work is not just something we do to fill time and pay bills. I think it is a matter of survival, whether it's mental, emotional or physical survival. Being able to take care of yourself is fabulous!! I highly recommend it.

So that's my coat story. I'm the proud owner of a beautiful black coat with a big collar. With my bargain I got a whole lot more than I expected, and I'm thankful. God is in the little details, even the ones that keep us warm.

Churn

2009-12-07T20:03:00.000-07:00

The blog has been drowned out the last couple weeks, and my brain has been churning but unable to write. Call it brain hiccups. I don't even have a specific topic tonight, but I do need to write, so I hope whatever comes out makes sense.

I've been heavy with a new sense of responsibility that hit early November. I am suddenly aware of what an adult life requires, and am thus working hard to put things in place. I was terribly unlike myself for about a year after college, and for the past year have been rebuilding some of what was lost and deciding to leave some things completely out. It's a tortoise race, but progress is being made.

I believe some children spend their childhoods pretending to be adults, and end up being lousy playmates but very competent adults. I also believe that some adults spend their adulthoods pretending to be children, and end up being poor at both. I was a child that loved my childhood and remember so many moments filled with wonder and magic. I thought being an adult would come easily, but for some reason it's taking conscious effort. Budgeting, meal planning, furniture shopping, maintaining relationships, setting goals and achieving them, staying active, deciding what's really important and sticking to it, these are all moving parts that I can't always juggle. I want to be good at being grown-up, but I don't want to lose the magic of life. There must be a way to do both.

Maturity comes with making decisions, with deciding who you're going to be and why, and continuing on even if few others join you. That is the Christian life; it's narrow, it's often difficult, and it requires c-o-m-m-i-t-m-e-n-t of the purest kind.

I'll have to finish my thoughts later...heading to the gym (regretfully, as it's 4 degrees outside).

Holiday Tidings

2009-11-27T13:43:00.000-07:00

Christmas season is here!! It rarely feels like the holidays to me until Thanksgiving Day, regardless of the sparkle and fa-la-las everywhere you turn. Yesterday, 21 of us gathered around our kitchen for the feast. Smoked turkey, mashed potatoes that WILL change your life, fresh cranberry sauce, candied yams, green beans, pumpkin pie and trifle, apple pie and sparkling cider. Throw in some football, comedy, and the Bowl Game and that was a glorious Thanksgiving Day!

Embarrassments: The carrots I made were too hard to spear with a fork and almost too hard to cut with a knife (we used plastic cutlery...nice plastic cutlery...there were 21 of us!) But the glaze tasted good and everything else fully satisfied the little taste buds. After dinner we played games in front of the fire and then shared moments and people we were thankful for. Something has changed in my old age: I never -- I repeat, never -- would be caught crying in public in high school or even college. Last night, I said four words about my touching moment and that was all I could get out through my tears and the pesky lump in my throat. Please. I wanted to crawl under my chair.

The Lord is truly good, but it sometimes gets lost in the shuffle of striving after what we need or want, and it's so refreshing to take a day to reflect on His faithfulness and provision. He is and will always be the Potter, the Shepherd, and the Rock.

Just about everyone at our house under age 30 left at about 10pm to drive to the Castle Rock Outlets. I do confess to shopping at the first opportunity on Black Friday, but I had specific things in mind and brought cash. The place was a zoo. And a hoax. My brother was in a certain clothing store just a couple weeks ago looking at a $50 peacoat. Deciding to wait until it went on sale, he looked at the same peacoat last night, this time marked at an original price of $100, but on sale for 50% off. Creepy? Wrong? Ignorance is bliss?

I will close by wishing you a Merry Christmas season, and hearts filled with gratitude for the daily gifts we receive and the abundant life we have now and forever.

Jobs, Old and New

2009-11-21T19:47:00.000-07:00

Today was my third-to-last shift at Bed Bath & Beyond (not Bath & Body Works). That means I only have two left. Two. This is great news in every way except for two reasons: One, the book I was going to write entitled "I'm Just Browsing: Adventures in Big-Box Retail" may now only be a pamphlet. Two, the cookware set I ordered might not arrive before my last day...which means the employee discount won't apply, presenting a golden opportunity for sweet-talking.

The new job is lovely. I have a grey cube to decorate and new friends. The work itself seems to be right up my alley, and I'm chomping at the bit to get started. I've already been told that, if I didn't mind her saying, I look like I'm 16 ("oh! thank you..."). Can't wait for the day when that's a compliment. I've met several higher-ups and was -- I think -- able to pull myself together without saying something completely awkward. And, during my first company-wide chapel service I couldn't stop laughing at a most unfortunate moment. A military chaplain was talking about families left behind after the death of a soldier. Here's the catch: the chaplain was bald with a rather bulbous head and nose to match, and the first thing I thought when I saw him was, "oh no, he looks just like Bob the Tomato." I stared at the ground.

To my friends who are still searching, keep your chin up. Don't give up, don't look away, don't remain discouraged. What is so amazing about a job search is that, when you find a job, you realize how much the company needed a person like you and how much you needed a company like them. And when both sides were praying for whatever the new situation would be and it works out so well in the end, God receives the glory and it's beautiful.

Head in the Clouds

2009-11-10T23:10:00.002-07:00

Yesterday morning I went in for an interview (yes, an interview) -- actually two, back to back, for the same position. Whew. I was told I'd be updated on the status at least once every ten business days, so I came home still in job-hunt mode. 24 hours later, the phone rings. They offer me the job. I ask for time to think about it. I crunch numbers. I go for a celebratory run. I call back and accept. I call BB&B and put in my notice (praises). I text all my friends and run a useless errand. Before it's officially official, the background check has to go through. As long as the ring I stole from the Christian book store when I was four isn't on there, I should be okay.

It still won't hit me until I'm sitting at my new desk, relearning Microsoft programs (after falling head over heels for Mac) and slowly learning the ropes. This will be a time to embrace new challenges, new friendships, new life patterns, and new competencies. Fun fact: the job was offered one year and a week after moving here.

I've been in the clouds today, and it's a joy to sit and write this. This is the first time since starting this blog that I've been gainfully employed. Granted, I've had other jobs and done things to make money, but this is my first Bachelor's-degree-required job in Colorado. The Lord's timing is remarkable. Perfect to Him, not always to us. What's funny is, as soon as things start falling into place, I admit His perfect timing. I did not feel the same way just a couple weeks prior, when there may have been a pouty lip or two. All that to say, had this not happened now or very soon, I would be shuffling down the street in my bathrobe stealing crumbs from birds. Yes, His timing is perfect.

Did I mention that a requirement of this job is to travel to Washington, D.C. for a week? Or that a real interview question was whether or not I'd be okay with that bit of travel?

Please.

Eureka.

2009-11-07T22:15:00.000-07:00

Cast your worries aside. The location of my title dawned on me while I was brushing my teeth.

{This is where it gets embarrassing}

The pumpkin background was orange, so I changed the title font color to white. My normal background, sans pumpkin, is white. Thus, white background + white title = invisible title. My teachers were right: Math is practical!

Would you believe me if I told you I'm brunette-ish?

Goodnight.

Title?

2009-11-07T19:25:00.000-07:00

So...I removed the festive pumpkin from my header, and it ate the blog title. Where's White Walls? Does the fact that I don't know how to fix this disqualify me from the blogosphere? And is it only me that can't see the title? Heeeellllp!