Because mirrors should be nicer...

A few days ago, I posted about how, even though I try to do better, sometimes the mirror can best my self confidence.  As the band, SuperChic[k], put it, "Sometimes I have good days and it's good to be me. Sometimes I get the best of insecurity, and it's quite alright to be the one and only, but today I feel like the one and lonely."  I believe we all can understand that feeling from time to time.

I have been thinking about how many  battles I have had with the mirror, the goriest of which were done during my preteen and teenage years.  People often do not know about children's battles with the mirror, because the children fear that if they mention that something about themselves haunts them, someone might agree that it's true: they really are ugly, awkward, stupid, worthless.  We would all rather fear that it might be true than take the risk of asking, and having someone confirm our fears.

As many of you know, I sponsor some kids through Compassion International.  These kids are really important to me, and it may sound strange, being as I have never met them, but I love them.  When I first signed up to be a sponsor, I did not realize the opportunity I had been given, but it only took a short time for Liline to show me how much she looked up to me, just for choosing her.  I really don't deserve to be this considered  this cool, but for some reason, she places great import in everything I say.  Because of this, I try to see areas where I can encourage my kids where the people in their daily lives may not be able to.

With my sponsored kids, I can't be there to pick them up, and brush the dust off of their knees, or put the bandaids on broken hearts.  I don't know what is being said to them daily.  I can't know when they are having good days or dark days, but I try to make sure that when they are having their dark days, they have a full stock of letters and reminders to scare off those beasts that lurk in their darkness.

So, one day, as I was perusing that dangerous place known as Michaels craft store, I came across these paper mirrors for a dollar a piece.

A light bulb came on, and I bought three, and a 20 pack of markers.

I don't know about the rest of you, but I find that when I am most discouraged or disgusted with myself, I will at least once glance in my mirror, as if to see if it really is as bad as I feel. The problem with this is that the mirror often has a sharp tongue, and rarely disagrees with the dark feelings.  We use a mirror every day, before we leave the house.  I am going to take advantage of this fact.

Because, it's about time mirrors started showing people some love.  Alok Nath, being in India, writes in a script that I can't even figure out which side is up, so I will have to tell him that word means "Handsome" and that is why I chose to cover the rest of it in hearts, so instead of reading it, he might be able to get the gist of love. (There is a protective plastic to protect the mirror. For a paper mirror, it has quite a good reflection under that plastic)

This one goes to Abigail, who lives in Ghana and speaks some English.  This one is not as artistic, but I wanted her to look at this mirror and think nothing but good about herself!  Especially "Loved"   It is my theory that most of our insecurities, and self abusive choices we make stem from our fear that we are not lovable.  In my mind, it is most important that we let the people that we love know it...often!

This last one is for Liline, whose given name is Magarette. She will be 13 this summer, so I thought she might like something a little more elegant than playful. She speaks Creole and is learning French in school, so I looked up some French for her. "God loves you"  "I love you" "Beautiful" "Intelligent"  and "Precious"  are what I chose for her.

I am really pleased with how these little projects turned out, plus I enjoyed the opportunity to color again!  It delights me to think that when they look into these and see themselves, they will also see things like "Beautiful"  "Smart"  and "Loved" and hopefully they will associate those things with themselves more often. I hope that they will be cheerful little candles for my "kids" on their dark days.

Because, quite frankly, it is about time for mirrors to learn their manners, and for us to stand up to them.  It is also time for those of us who are older, and have already seen the reflective battlefield too often to step in, help our younger loved ones to develop positive habits when looking at themselves, and show them how to put that reflector in its place.  It starts by us filling their reservoirs up with love, so that when they are feeling low and they turn to look at their reservoir, they see a lake and not a puddle.

Happy Birthday, Dad

Today, my dad is 50.

There is a lot that can be said about him.

I'll start with one of the most obvious: he is a horrible person to try to find a recent picture of. This is because he is constantly dodging the camera, insisting on being the one to take the picture, or he is moving (he never stops moving unless he is sleeping...and that's not really an attractive picture), or if he catches you focusing a camera on him, he gives you the "If you take that picture, I'll ground you for the rest of your life." glare(which fails more and more, as the majority of his kids have moved out).

Dad is 50 and I am 25. Weird.  What is even weirder for me is to think that 25 years ago, Dad was holding his 1 month old first born, thinking about what kind of parent he would be.

Well, 25 years later, let me tell you about the man who raised me.  He is the dad who started with nothing, and scratched out a living at every odd job available to provide for his family.  For the sake of his family, he did something that likely scared him into needing a change of pants: he went back to school.

He has provided an existence for his kids where they rarely knew they were lacking.  If he couldn't buy it at full price, he found it in a yard sale and then fixed it, or if that option wasn't available, he often made toys for us.  The toys he made were by far the best toys we have owned.

Deny it as he might, he is a mechanical genius.  He looks at something and understands how it works. If anything breaks, Dad can fix it.  One of the first phrases learned by the toddlers in our family was "Fik it, daddy."  And that rings true not only for dolls whose heads fell off, and action figures who no longer said their phrases, but it continues to ring true for heater cores in a certain vehicle that would have otherwise cost $800 to repair (twice), trucks that need new speakers and engine work, and more.

He took us on the adventures our hearts thrived for: sleeping on a bluff that turned island every time the tide rose, petting the galapagos tortoise at the zoo(if anybody asks, that never happened), deep sea fishing, swinging on the rope chair over the stream.

He drove us hard to match his work ethic when we were working with him.  We cursed him for it as teenagers, but learned quickly when we got into the working world that we were ahead of the curve. Because of dad, we tend to earn good reputations within our jobs. 

To work with Dad you must learn to be hungry. Dad sees no point in wasting the 15-30 minutes it would take to stop and eat lunch. He has offered to take me out to breakfast, and decided to make a quick stop at the apartments to look at something that needed a repair.  Each time we finished one thing, he would see another "small" job that needed to be done.  That day, we finally got breakfast at 6 pm.  Beware of the breakfast offer!

He loves a good pun....and a bad one.  He's a candy monger who loves to share (both his and yours).  He loves to scuba dive, especially if he can bring up lobster with him.  He and I share the same joy of standing the breeze and pretending we can fly. He loves to give presents, and is the hardest person ever to buy presents for.  He is insanely artistic, though he also denies this.

And this blog has reached a point in length that he would probably decide not the waste the time reading it, so I could technically start adding insults in and get away with it, but as today is his birthday, I won't.

Happy Birthday, Dad!

Love,
  -Caitlin

Favorite Joke Thursday

We're all much too mature to tell them any more, but it has been so long, maybe we can start telling them again.

Okay, so I don't remember telling this one earlier than 14, but it tickled me for quite a few years.

The richest man in the world is getting old. He has no heirs. He decides to throw a party.  When the guests all get there, packed in tight he takes the microphone and he announces to his guests that down in the garden of his mansion he has a swimming pool with two great white sharks in it. 'I will give anything they desire of mine, to the person who swims across that pool.'
So the party continues.  Everyone is just standing around staring at the pool, until suddenly, there is a huge splash.
In the pool is a man and he is swimming as hard as he can, and the fins come out of the water and the jaws are snapping and this guy just keeps on going and the sharks are gaining on him and this guy reaches the end and he gets out of the pool, tired and soaked.
The millionaire grabs the microphone and says, 'I am a man of my word, anything of mine I will give, my Ferraris, my house, absolutely anything, for you are the bravest man I have ever seen. So sir what will it be?' the millionaire asks.
The guy grabs the microphone and says, 'Why don't we start with the name of the jerk that pushed me in!'


I hope it tickled your funny bone. Got a better one? E-mail it to me.

An aptly spoken word...

I work really hard to make sure I am not repeating negative things to myself when I look in the mirror. This is a habit I have been working on for many years.  There was a point in my life that God made it clear to me that he didn't appreciate me insulting his creations, and that I am one of his creations.  Sometimes, however, it is a hard habit to enforce.  Sometimes, I get up in the morning and I have only negative and whiny things to mutter at the mirror. Sometimes, I look in the mirror and see that awkward teenager again, with ears that stick out, an overbite, freckles, an overly long neck, and a dash of orange hair to call attention to it all. On those days, I content myself with either silence, rehearsed words, or sometimes a song that was on a cassette we listened to often throughout childhood, "God made me like I am, a special God design. Everything God made is good, I'm really very fine..."

Yesterday was one of those mornings.  I especially struggle with thinking nice thoughts about myself on days where I'm suffering from an onslaught of acne.  Ten years ago, I thought this battle would be over, and it is really quite disheartening at times to realized it's almost as bad as it was then.  To add to this, i wasn't feeling well. This morning, I contented myself with silence(a common occurrence the earlier in the morning it is), put on mascara and sunscreen, got ready for church, and left.  I am new at church, so I still cringe a little when the leader says, "Go ahead and stand and greet those around you."  Usually, I march in and find an empty spot, and ask if they mind my sitting there, because I hate to sit alone. Feeling lurkish, I had chosen a seat on an empty aisle, in the last row of the section, on the far side of the church. So, upon the order to greet people, I did the necessary standing up, intending to wait a few seconds and sit down to simmer in the funk again.  It didn't work.

One of the older women who first welcomed me into the church saw me, and crossed the room to give me a hug. That felt good.  Then, the woman who really was the first person to welcome me, hurried over shortly afterwards to give me a hug.  That felt good too. I started thinking maybe, in spite of my bad attitude, I might just surface for some of this cheerful air.  Then, she placed her hand on my face, and leaned in as if to tell me a secret, and whispered, "You're so pretty!" She smiled and looked me directly in the eyes, and then it was time to sit down.

It was a good thing it was time to sit down, because the compliment caught me so off guard, a slight breeze might have knocked me over.  Were I the crying sort, I might have done so.  Instead, I just marveled.  All of a sudden, I felt pretty again.  It was as if she had reached into the mud pit, and pulled me out by my scruff, sprayed me down, and left me in the warm summer sun to drip dry. It felt blissfully good.  And realizing the fact that God loved me enough to put that on her agenda, felt equally good.

Compliments are strange things in our culture.  Usually, we brush them off, because we are pretty sure it was just the polite thing to say, or something a person had to say to fulfill their duty as friend, mother, or some other relative.  When good manners do not call for a compliment and we truly feel that it is genuine, it is amazing the impact a compliment can make.  It can make a day.  Often we think good things about each other, but don't say them, because it would feel awkward.  The compliment that pulled me out of my pit was a good wholesome reminder that I should also be on the look out for opportunities to encourage others.  After all, I'll never know just how much a person might need it at that moment.

"A word aptly spoken is like apples of gold in settings of silver."  Proverbs 25:11

I don't know if this situation is what Solomon meant this verse for, but I feel like maybe I needed an apple yesterday, and someone was kind enough to provide it.

Why make bread?

For many complex and logical reasons... but mainly,

because I wanted some toast with my hashbrowns and eggs! 

If you want some of this complete breakfast, bummer for you. You'll have to be quicker on the draw next time! (Did you really think I was going to make hashbrowns and eggs, and then sit down an blog about it before I ate them?)

Whole grain, gluten-free happiness, with sunflower seeds!

I've been raised on whole grain bread. That's right, the brown stuff. My mom was just hippie enough to insist on me developing a taste for the breads with grain-crunch in them.  Last time I made gluten-free bread, it was definitely much closer to wonderbread than quality grown-up bread.  This time, out of lack of preparation, I mixed together 2 recipes from the gluten-free section of King Arthurs Flour website, added a little extra, and crossed my fingers.  The whole grain gluten free recipe called for a flour mix not available in stores (online order only), so I mixed up the flour blend I used last loaf, and added flaxseed meal and chopped sunflower seeds.  Then followed the directions from the new recipe.  There are a lot of variables this time, so there were high possibilities of this try ending in a disappointing brick.  I took a lot of pictures of the process, so brace yourself for several "thousand words."


The dry ingredients



Can I just say that the earthy look of this flour mix delights me?

The dry mix is then added to the wet mix one cup at a time...strange, but it worked.

Before the first rise

First rise is finished, now to scrape it and beat it(Again, it sounded strange to me!)

This is my self-appoint sous chef. She realized that occasionally, I drop things that should be devoured quickly.  Any time I stood still, she laid on my feet.  This complimentary foot warming was between risings, as I was copying down the recipe and the alterations I made, for the sake not having to make repeat mistakes in the future.

I didn't realize until reaching the point of needing a pan that my bread pan was actually larger than the recipe called for(10"x4.5" instead of 8.5"x4")...so, the dough didn't reach the rim like it was supposed to. No big deal, I hope. It will likely just be a bit wider than it is deep.

Into the oven it goes!

I am convinced heaven will smell like baking bread.

Okay, so even if this stuff winds up tasting like a brick, you have to admit, it sure looks pretty!

It is quite sliceable. It is a little squat because I used a larger pan, but I'm thinking I might like to try increasing the recipe and using the larger pan. I might just get a real sized sandwich.

Because, I'm thinking that bread this size might require multiple sandwiches to be made to equal one meal...

But hey, check out my pores!

And just look at that spreadability!  That butter, ladies and gents, was pulled straight from the fridge for this spreading.

So, all in all, I'm going to chalk this one up as a mostly success.  At the moment, it tastes great! Is that because it's still warm and wonderful, and the baker may have held off lunch so she could have bread with(...or for...) her lunch?  That is quite possible, but I have to say, I love the happy, gentle crunch of sunflower seeds, and the rough texture of the bread in general, thanks to the flax seed, and oh, it is moist!  The bread, I will admit, scared me before I cut into it, because the loaf is a bit on the heavy side...which means later, it will probably feel a little dense, but, as with all gluten free food, that can be fixed by toasting it, smothering it in cheese, or dipping it in something.  I was thrilled when I sliced it to find normal sized pores!  My last bread had huge pores that made the bread a little too spongy, and often gluten free bread has too small or no pores at all.

Changes for next time? Either more bread, or less pan!  And I might also increase the quantity of sunflower seed a little, or experiment with tossing other seeds/grains in.  For those of you who eat nasty things like raisins, this might be a very good recipe to defile with those things.  I haven't typed the recipe up yet, so let me know if you would like a copy of this recipe, and I will pass it along, when I get a copy ready.

The cul-de-sac...

When I was younger, I lived on a cul-de-sac. In my opinion, a cul-de-sac is one of the best places for a child to grow up, especially if it has many children on the street, and multiple sturdy climbing trees.  A cul-de-sac has very little traffic, and the traffic it does have has to slow down.  The bulb is a wide open space, perfect for baseball, basket ball, hockey, and tag.  Children only have to glance down the road, and if they see a car turn onto the street while a game is going on, there is a resounding a chorus of young voices calling out, "Car!" and the game pauses as everyone clears off the street for a moment.  We used to spend hours every day outside, running, climbing, and riding our bikes. 

One of the best feelings of childhood is to play so hard you can feel your lungs, your face, your throat, and your legs burning. Your whole body tells you to quit, but your spirit, in the name of laughter, fun and competition, won't let you, because "IT" is right on your heels, and the last thing you want is to be "IT" next. You race for the designated tree, wrap your arms around it and cry, "Safe!"  And at that age, you are both naive enough and faithful enough to truly feel safe.  Finally, collapsing onto the grass, and rolling onto your back,  you gasp for air as you listen to your heart beat out the dance of endorphins, and watch the sky spin in response.  Air has never felt so crisp before. Cold water becomes sweeter than soda, and this time, the breeze really could pick you up and fly you away, and you would be delighted.  Everything throbs, your diaphragm aches like it might just quit this time, and there is sweat streaking down your face like a broken sprinkler, and yet you are having a blast. And being young, tomorrow you won't feel the consquences at all. 

We used to play until the sky darkened.  The smells of each household's dinner would creep out and mingle and, wrap itself around us. We would eek out those last streams of light. Some times we couldn't even see the puck during the last stretch of the game, but we had to get a few more goals in before the street light came on.  Then, sadly, the street light would switch on just as the residual glow of the sun began to fade, and we would tumble into our respective houses, and wonder why Mom insisted we needed baths. We felt great, why wash it off?  Later, we would drop into bed, and sleep a sleep so restful our adult selves should be jealous about it now.

Maybe adults should play tag more often. We might end up less stressed, sleep better, and be happier to see our neighbors.

I miss my cul-de-sac: the squealing, chasing, laughing, gasping, running, climbing, flying. I miss the unshakable belief in safety.  I miss the unconquerable confidence that allowed me to climb far too high on branches far too thin.  I miss the lack of long-term consequences. I miss gazing up at the sky and the security of truly feeling that when I talked to God, he heard me, every time.  The sky felt so close and immense, and so did God.  I miss the faith that if anything should ever go wrong, all I had to do was send Mom and Dad in, and they would talk it over with the offender and fix it, and then the problem would then dissolve into nothingness. I keep those times close at hand, because the memories are so good, and the feelings so comforting.

I'm glad I was one of the kids who got to grow up on a cul-de-sac. I am also glad that I grew up, even if growing up means having to eventually leave the cul-de-sac, face the traffic, lose the "safe" tree, learn that there is no "pausing the game" to let the traffic fly by, understand there are some things parents can't fix, stop climbing nearly as precariously, and occasionally feel like my prayers are going no where. 

There are growth spurts that you can't have in a cul-de-sac world, joys that you can't get from running, depths that cannot be gained before the street light comes on, stains that cannot be scrubbed away in baths, and heights that you can't reach by way of trees. There are adventures in the grown-up world that are much too big to fit in my cul-de-sac, and I'll take the lumps in exchange for those adventures.  Every once in a while, however, it's still nice to run until you can't breathe, and then keep running until all you can do is collapse, to pretend for a moment, that the cul-de-sac is back, and there really is a "safe" tree, and you really can fly, and to remember that God really is that immense and close, and he really is listening, no matter how grown-up you think you are.

Bits and pieces...

Sometimes, there really is very little to blog about within the variety life of the mundane. 

I am still hanging out with two stir crazy, missin'-my-masters pups, who have now taken to running to the front door any time they hear a car drive down the street, just in case.  Yeah, I'm the cool, fun one, but they are tired of disneyland. They want their regular routine back. 

I made blackberry poptarts on Sunday in order to fulfill the valentine's tradition I have with my two youngest siblings, Melody and James, and my almost-sibling(and fellow bridesmaid), Sarah.  Of course, I kept the leftovers for myself, and the leftovers were the lion's share of the poptarts.

The pups and I had some floor quality time as I watched my all time favorite show, Chuck, and my new "got potential" show, Harry's Law, yesterday.  They were so cute and pathetic, all curled up against me, heads draped over my legs.  That Zoe is a blanket thief... and a pillow thief... and a warmth thief, and a snack thief... basically she's got uncontrollably sticky paws! But she's so gosh darned cute.

I need to get to the post office today, and mail off my letter packets to my Compassion kids.  I have had a hard time staying on schedule for the past 3 months. I try to send their packets off in the first week of the month, and I try to send them letters once a month (The theory is that this way pretty much guarantees that whenever there is a letter day, my kids won't leave empty handed).  As it is only the 15th, and not the end of the month, I am slowly but surely working my way back up to the beginning of the month1 Maybe I should start on next month's packet right now.

I need to decide which games we are playing at jr. high night tonight, and make sure I have the proper supplies for it.

Charlie, the Christmas tree, is looking more dead than usual, but maybe there's still some spirit hidden in there somewhere.

The literacy challenge is continuing on track.  However, since I decided to try and knock off my hover book (a Tale of Two Cities) it is going rather slowly...but I will be overjoyed to get rid of it, so that it is no longer haunting me, and then I can read a fun book!

And that, blogfriends, is the collection of bits and pieces of my week so far.

One question:

WHY?!!??!?
I may have lost some faith in my friends' decision making skills. ;-)  This is what happens when you have me house sit: I go through your cupboards and find you dirty little secrets.  Anchovy paste?  So very dirty....shudder...

A journey

It starts with a pair of eyes that drill into your soul and ask, "Do you love me?"


And so, you say "Yes."  And click that button and start writing this child.  And she writes back!



And you begin to fall in love with this kid you've never met.

Whose eyes and little shoulders tell of the weight of the world


You pray for her, and continue to write to her, and really start to appreciate her for the person she is.

And you watch her grow.



And just about the time you think you can't possibly love her any more than you do now...



...She smiles!


 

And you plummet even deeper in love with this little child God created.   You marvel at how this child can affect your life from across the ocean, and treasure how fortunate it is that it is you who gets to be a part of her life!

(Note: I wrote this a few months ago, but I liked this post, and this kid so much, and since it's Sunday, I thought I'd repost it here.  I sponsor Abigail through Compassion International. She is 9, and lives in Ghana. The pictures span in chronlogical order from 7-9.)

Quality time with the energizer puppies

Everyone is quite alive!  Whenever I house sit, I tend to always have this unreasonable fear that the moment I turn my back on one of the critters, it will immediately do something crazy, like swallow a refrigerator and die! Then I'll be left to face the consequences of having to explain to the owners that I killed their pet and they need to buy a new refrigerator, all in one sitting.  So, I am quite happy to report that every one is still alive.

My friends are off in Thailand having an awesome adventure, working with a church there.  Part of their group will be meeting up with their Compassion child as well. I think that sounds like a wonderful time!  I hope they are having a wonderful time. In the mean time, I get to hang out in their beautiful house, with their energetic pups.

Meet the dastardly duo:



Riley and Zoe

They are always sweet, innocent angels like this, as long as you are looking directly at them with a pup-eroni treat in your hand.  I am starting to wonder however, if they have phantom-like superpowers.  For example, I let them out in the yard, and glance in on them every 10 or so minutes, and they behaved just fine. See:

I let them in, and notice something:



I'll give you a hint: There is not usually any brown coloration on either of their noses!  They have been out there digging some time between the times I've been glancing out the window.  Phantom-powers, I tell you!

All in all they are good dogs. I had to laugh though when I scolded Zoe for eating out of the wrong dish, and directly after I said, "No." I heard Riley jerk his head, where I turn to find that he had been getting guiltily close to helping me unpack my backpack, which smells so deliciously of cats. Then he realized that he hadn't actually been caught yet, but now I'm looking at him, and so he slinks off with a "Whaaaaat? I wasn't doin' nothin'!"  face.

We're having a good time together, and things seem to be going well. We've had a few walks, shared a few naps.  Everybody's eating, no one is vomiting, all refrigerators are present and accounted for, and everyone is where they ought to be (unless you ask Thunder's opinion of the situation).  The pups do, however, notice certain important people have been gone an awfully long time.( A whole 2 days, in fact)

Sometimes temptation is the same thing as hunger

So, I was driving by the shopping center that just so happens to contain Red Brick Pizza, that mythical place I have heard about that also serves gluten-free pizza.

Danny, the youth pastor, just did a lesson about temptation at Junior High last night. I am ashamed to admit that I have failed in resistance.  Temptation always starts the same way: I'll just swing by to see where the place is located...  I'll just go inside to check the prices... I'll just ask which toppings are also gluten free... Say for example, what would a gluten free, 9 inch, supreme vegetarian pizza cost me? Eight dollars? Oh... how long does that take to make? ...Do you take credit cards?

Yes, blogfriends, I succumbed.  Let me tell you this: it was for a very important reason! I just so happen to really, really like pizza...especially pizza with artichokes on it.

So, here it is:

Looks good.

Smells good!

Tastes ...mmmmgooooooood.

For the sake of science, I should have saved some of the pizza as leftovers, to find out what it's like as breakfast pizza.  However, science is rarely very kind to me, and I was hungry...so to heck with science!  Plus, you keep gluten free leftovers like that, and soon the celiacs of Bakersfield start swarming the refrigerator like buzzards...and there is not enough space in my kitchen for that many people.

For all of you curious non gluten eaters, here is my review.
Price: Well, a little steep, but that is my own fault, because I like a pizza with serious toppings. However, as far as gluten free pizza goes, it is still about 5 dollars cheaper than BJ's pizza with equal toppings.
Taste: Better than BJs... oh so much better than BJs.  I think BJs might not be my favorite because it is sweet, and I'm not a fan of the sweetness.  However, I also felt the toppings(which I ordered pretty much the same thing in both places) were of better quality at Red Bricks
Crust: As usual, it was a thin crust pizza, but it had some umph in its thinness. I picked up each slice, and none required a fork.  It had a good crunchy tone on the outside, not too soggy on the inside, and the texture did not hint of a lack of gluten.
Note: Just some common sense here, make sure to check that the toppings you choose are gluten free. The chicken is not, but I do believe he said the other meats were.  You are responsible for your own demise, and eating adventures, however. Don't take my word on these things, ask for yourself!

It took 20 minutes to prepare in a non busy restaurant, the manager admitted that part of that wait is because it takes longer to prepare gluten free.  I think perhaps I will take the majority of the blame about that, though, because I walked in on a whim. It would probably be better to call the order in ahead of time in the future.

I'll definitely go back sometime, and it is likely to become a favorite.  And that, my friends, is the conclusion of this particular eatery adventure!

A hunting we will go...

     I work with the junior high youth group at the church that raised me.  Lately, I have been put in charge of the games. This years games have been...difficult. There are usually only 4-5 five kids present, and they are usually quite opinionated girls.  Their favorite line is "We always play that game! Why can't we just play hide and go seek?"  So, I have been trying to come up with games that catch them off guard.

     I had a vague memory that the DollarTree was good about putting holiday stuff way before anyone else.  While out running errands with my friend Morgan, I asked if she minded stopping by the DollarTree.  Jackpot!  They have Easter eggs!  So I bought them, and Morgan helped me stash candy in them.  I went to church earlier, and hid them around the church grounds.

     As the kids walked in, I handed them paper bags and told them to put their names on them. They were itching to know what the game was, however I have figured out two things. First, a general rule about this group, and maybe all junior high groups: the more time they know about a game before it starts, the more time they have to figure why it is not a good game.  And Second: You never tell a kid there are Easter eggs hidden somewhere until you are ready to let them run out immediately to find them!

     I told them the rules, without letting on to what the game was yet.  You must put your basket in one spot and never move it.  There are ping pong balls, the ping pongs are snake eggs, if someone puts them in your "basket" they are negative points. You may "steal" from other people's baskets, but if you are caught by them, you must hand over everything.  And finally, there are over 37 Easter eggs hi- EEEEEeeEeeeeEeeeeEEeEEeeeEEeEeeEEeeeEeeeeeEE!!!!!!! EASTER EGGS????!!!!  WHERE!!!!!!!???  Yes, there are Easter eggs. Sit down! I'm not done explaining yet. Daisy, I see you. Each one counts as different points. The big ones count as fi-OHHHHHH!!!! IS THERE CANDY?!!!??!?!? Yes, but- EEEEeEEeEEEEeeEEe!!

     The rules sort of continued like that for the remainder of the rule telling. Fortunately, I only had to tell them the point values before releasing them.  All in all, we had fun.  The kids strategized on where to hide their baskets, and whether it was better to hunt eggs or stay near baskets and steal eggs.  Mostly, I enjoyed the fact that you can say "Easter egg hunt" to a bunch of 12-14 year olds, and they still get as giddy as 6 year olds.  And I enjoyed the fact that for the entire game, nobody said, "This game is stupid. Can we play hide and go seek now?" (That's a first time for this group)  As a kid, I liked hide and go seek. As a leader, I have learned to despise hide and go seek.

     One thing I did not think about was that by the time the kids got there, it would be pretty seriously dark.  Good. They're teenagers, they should have to work for their candy.  It was really challenging though, because even the "easy" eggs that I stashed in obvious places were really difficult to find.  As it turns out, all bright colors go to a black or dark gray when there is no sunlight...and finding a dark gray egg in the midst of a dark gray bush is much more challenging than finding a bright yellow egg in a dark green bush! 36 eggs came back, which I believe means that there are 7 eggs left out there, if any of you RBCers care to know.  I don't know how they'll fare after the sprinklers come on, but you are more than welcome to them if you find them. Just tell me you found one...I'd like to know.

    I think I kind of like this youth group....usually. Now... what on earth are we going to play next week?

Do we really love?

This, my friends, is more of a question that I have been asking myself than an accusation or a sermon. I am just sorting out the ponderings that tag along with the initial question.  Do I really love? 

I catch myself wondering this often, lately.  In my lifestyle, I think it is much easier to be selfish without as many obvious tell-tale signs.  I have no spouse, or children to demand selflessness of me, and thus, when I choose not to be selfless, it is not nearly as obvious. Case and point: I have never picked up my kids from school, and CPS has yet to be called on me for such negligence, and I get no dirty looks from other parents, either. 

Maybe that is just how it appears from my own perspective. Maybe people see directly through my supposedly camouflaged “me” time and “me” choices.  I have been working on reading through the Bible for the past six months or so. It is slow at times, and some times hard to digest. I think, though, that this is what keeps bringing me back to the question: do we really love?   

We definitely have knee jerk reactions.  For example: ask me if I love Jesus, and no matter how I am behaving or feeling at the time, you will get an immediate yes from me.  Now, it is true, I do love Jesus, even and especially in the darkest hours of my life. What bothers me about my response is not that I say “yes” every time, but that I do not always behave “yes” during all those other times, those other times when nobody is asking.  Ask me to provide a verse about love, and you will normally hear, “Love the Lord your God, and love your neighbor as yourself.” fall out of my mouth before I realize that I still can’t remember the verse numbers.  

 These are not necessarily bad habits, except that I catch myself slipping into only words and training. I suspect that most people do.  Often I show people love because it is a knee jerk reaction, or I feel good when I do, or because I know I should, or because I know someone is watching. Often I don’t show love because it would be uncomfortable, nobody would know that I didn't, I don’t know how, or I just failed notice the opportunity. 

I hold the door for strangers, and often cut off the same strangers on the road, safely tucked inside the anonymity and oblivion of my car.  I see someone who needs a friend, and my fears of clumsiness and rejection can overpower the initial impulse of love.  I want to be an international missionary. I have often been alerted to the fact that I should be a missionary wherever I am, that we all technically are.  We are supposed to be missionaries “here”…and after that is said, it is rare that anyone, including myself, actually takes action for those here-people.  Do we really love? 

I don’t write this to cause guilt. I certainly do not write this because I am so sufficient in this subject. I think of all the subjects of my life, I fail the most in real love.  Honestly, it is just a reflection that seems to have taken a liking to me lately.   Kicking it away has clearly failed, and so I challenge myself instead to try.  Try to be more aware of love, of that fact that love is not always, nor is it usually, a warm, fuzzy feeling. It does not always get rewarded with gratitude. It should not depend on gratitude, because love should never be for sale.  

I write this because I want to love. I want to really love; not just use the cute word that looks so pretty on greeting cards and rhymes so cheesily well with “above” and “dove". I want to truly and immensely love, to really love, for the sake of love: The love that loves when irritated, uncomfortable, injured, spurned, lost, and even abused. With that summary, immense love becomes immensely intimidating, and I remember why I often fail. While I fail, I have already been given this sort of immense love.  I really like being on the receiving end of it, actually.  How is it that a simple 4 letter word stumps me so easily when I try to think of it beyond noun properties? I don’t know, but I think I'll keep trying.

“And you shall love the Lord your God with all your heart and with all your soul and with all your mind and with all your strength.’ The second is this: ‘You shall love your neighbor as yourself.’ There is no other commandment greater than these.”

Mark 12:30-31 

Thanks for letting me ponder.

"Is this your tilapia, hon?"

I like fish.

No, really, I do.

They're especially great in fish tanks.

My favorite kind of fish are the ones found in huge reef aquariums

I like entertaining songs about fish that aren't really fish

I like sardines in a bowl

Dead fish are awesome for feeding penguins(especially if I'm the penguin on the WiiFit and I'm beating the snot out of Melody's top score)

Beyond these scenarios, however, I really detest fish.  I don't even like the goldfish crackers, let alone fish tacos, fish sticks, tuna, salmon, gafilka, or tilapia. Basically, if it spends a majority of its lifetime swimming, I don't want to eat it.

So, when my friend, who so very kindly allows me to live in a room in her house, looks in the refrigerator and asks, "Is this your tilapia, hun?" it really isn't my fault that I could not stop the shudder fast enough! 

So why this ridiculously long post over the simple fact that I loathe eating fish?  First, because I thought the question was quite entertaining... and second, because I really just wanted some more chances to experiment with posting media in blogs, and I happen have an insane amount of fish pictures on this computer.

Thanks for tolerating my experiments, blogfriends! I'm sure future blogs will be of better quality, maybe.

My Forcast Forest Failure

I bought a live potted pine tree for Grandma a few months ago.  Melody, James, Dad and I took it to Grandma's with an assortment of decorations, so that she could have a Christmas tree in her room. We had a good time decorating it, and when it was done, it looked like Vegas had thrown up on it. Bright colors and glitz, an aluminum angel ornament as the topper, with so much tinsel, it looked like it needed a haircut.  After Christmas, I thought maybe I would take it home and let it live the life of a normal potted evergreen tree.  But as weeks went on, I forgot about it, until Dad brought it home, looking worse for wear, after so long without sunlight and water.  There was a little green left in it.  I took it to my home, repotted it, gave it nice soil, an egg and some Pepsi(Every evergreen's favorite meal, right?), and set it outside to catch some rays.  Now... I'm not throwing in the towel yet, however.......

it's not looking very promising. But it's an evergreen tree... it can't really die, can it?!  That's like killing a cactus!  (No, I don't truly believe that's impossible... I may have the anti-gift when it comes to plants)  I'm not ready to give up, though.  We all need a pointless endeavor or two in our lives.  I have to admit, I am sort of hoping that when spring comes around, it will decide (along with the rest of us) that life is worth living after all.  Until then, I'm calling it Charlie. Maybe, I just need to wrap a fuzzy, baby blue blanket around its "trunk", and tell it a Bible story...

The Literacy Challenge

I love to read. More specifically, I love to read non-assigned, good books.  I have  friends who pick up books and read them to the end, whether they like them or not.  I have friends that, during the height of finals in senior year which all textbooks try to kill a soul, still managed to read at least one extra-curricular book a month.  I am a little more fickle than that, I am afraid.  I have a tendency to put a book down and leave it unfinished if it dares to bore me. In fact, up until high school, I devoured books like they were my only source of oxygen. That slowed down a bit when in high school, I found myself bogged down by keeping up with school reading assignments. When I got to college, this sad pattern continued. When I graduated and started working in the ambulance, my available time for reading increased, and so for a moment, my demands for books went up again, and then I got switched to the office, where reading books is generally frowned upon during office hours.  All of this to say, I really have missed reading. So I am trying something new this year, and I know I may not succeed every month, but it's a plan that I like.

Read at least one book a month. 

A majority of my friends just started laughing hysterically at me, because they are closer to reading a book/week, but that's okay, I'm okay with being their comic relief, occasionally.  To be more specific with my plan, I want to read at least two books a month, but I will consider a month a success if at least one book is read.  And by "read" I mean an actual paper book. (Some of you may know, that I love a good audiobook...those I usually do two a month only because my finances limit me from doing more).  The requirements for the monthly books are these: Must be a paper book, at least one book/month must be new to me.  Beyond that, it really doesn't matter what the book is, how thick it is, who it was written for, or the topic. The majority of the books will be selected by my meandering through the Goodwill Book store(A wonderful place where a blender mix of books are available for $0.25-$1.50/each...these books will be denoted by GWB in the future), but I'm also open to gifts, loans, and suggestions.  And so my meandering lit adventure has begun!

So far, I must say that I am into the second month of year with a good starting success rate. For January, I finished When She Was Good by Norma Fox Mazer(GWB), Who Moved My Cheese?: An Amazing Way to Deal with Change in Your Work and in Your Life by Spencer Johnson and Kenneth Blanchard (GWB)(Quite a small book, considering it has two authors) suggested to me by my college friend, Peter, and Gathering Blue by Lois Lowry (The author of The Giver.... Thanks, Morgan!).  I'm feeling smarter already.

Now it is February.  I have a bigger task at hand, because I have a variety of books I am reading right now, and I know I need to choose at least one to actually finish this month! I also just received Unshaken: Rising from the Ruins of Haiti's Hotel Montana in the mail.  So many choices!  As my challenge goes forward, I may start giving updates and recommendations on books, but mostly, I'm just using this blog as accountability ;-), thanks for being there for the sake of my intelligence, blogfriends!

So far, this month's range of books are:

• The Adventures and The Memoirs of Sherlock Holmes(Another hearty thanks to Morgan!)
• A Tale of Two Cities(This is one of my hover books... I've been reading it off and on for years, depending ony my tolerance level for boredom)
• Rebecca by Daphne Du Maurier (Technically my car book, which is there for reading when stuck at appointments, but I'm thinking it may be time to end this particular road trip)
• My Friend, Flicka (I've read it multiple times, however, I have not read it since I was 11)
• Unshaken

We shall see which books turn up finished this month!  

No matter where you go...

I have been toying with the idea of starting a blog for years now. I never did, because I never had anything exciting to write about. I still don't.  I have decided to give this blog thing a try anyway. I have followed several blogs about specific things: Homeschooling, recipes, devotions, soap making, knitting, traveling, sponsorship, parenting, allergies, pets, crafting, photography, and so on.  I do not do enough of one thing often enough or well enough to create a specialty blog worth following. So, for those of you who are curious about the variety life of the mundane, please feel free to follow along. 

The name of the blog comes from something simple in which I always felt a certain comfort: Maps. Especially big, overly simple, cartoon maps with symbols identifying important stops, such as eateries, restrooms, entrances, first aid, lost child land, and fun.  Often found in malls and amusement parks, the maps have a big red arrow or star pointing to the place I am standing, clarifying "YOU ARE HERE!" (How is it that they always know?) Ever since I first discovered one of these monster maps, when the map itself was 3 times taller than me and I had to tip toe to reach the red star, I have felt a certain life application in them.  They especially apply to life when I am standing still, stumped, staring at the figurative wall, and I have ascertained only one main thing for certain: I am here. Isn't that comforting?  Although it is a small, and often obvious, discovery, it is good.  It is the first thing a person has to learn before scanning the rest of the destinations and deciding where she is going next.  My Uncle John has been known to say "No matter where you go, there you are." 

And so it is.  No matter what I am doing with my life, where ever I am doing it, I will always be right here, where I am, trying to figure out where I am going.