Daily Scribbles :: That first Christmas

Just A Note:


If you're wondering why I started this project, you can read more about it here. I hope today's inspiration inspires you to scribble, too. If it does, I hope you'll share it with me.

Happy scribbling!

Bean

I.

Inspiration:  I found this gem on Mike’s old MySpace page.

December 19, 2005

i need you so much closer

i'm already privy to the best christmas gift i'll be getting this year, and i didn't have to dig through the den closet to find out.  christmas come quickly, especially the evening half.  today i walked around target and it wasn't so fun.  i didn't even make it to the toy section.  i can't wait to come home.

so come on.

II.

Six years have passed since Mike wrote those words, but reading them takes me back to that first Christmas. I was love-drunk over him, afraid that that if I blinked he'd change his mind, decide he'd made a mistake and wanted someone else. Like all the others. 

I tried not to think about him, tried not to let my missing-him show.

I’m sure it did, especially when I opened the door and saw him standing outside.

He left home early and drove six hours to say, “Merry Christmas”.  

I knew then that he wasn't like the others. I knew he wanted to stay.

Best. Gift. Ever.

III.

Let's talk about your first Christmas. It doesn't have to be the very first one you remember, though it can be. It doesn't have to be a good memory, because not all of them are good. Some are really hard. Others are really painful. You don't have to share, but if you do, don't feel like you have to edit. Or polish it up. Or sprinkle it with glitter. 

Let it be what it is. 

It's yours, and that's what counts.

Change is gonna come. In a few days.

I.

[Condensed Version]

I'm going to change it up on this blog next year by adding two more features*:

*I don't think "features" is the right word but I can't think of anything else. Forgive me. "Features" sounds like I'm providing you with something of value, and I can't say for certain that what I'm adding will be of any value to you. :)

• Book Reviews: informal. not serious. my solution to a book club, without the commitment and inevitable shame spiral that I fall into when I don't finish the reading.
• Daily Scribbles: 100 words or less in response to a writing prompt. It could be anything--a poem, a song, a picture, an experience. Anything. 

The book reviews and daily scribbles are for me--to keep me constantly engaged in creative pursuits--but I hope you'll join in, too. I would love to hear/read/see your responses to the book reviews and daily scribbles. 

II.

[Long-winded Version]

I'm not good at playing most games--except for one.

I am the master of the compare game. 

You know what I'm talking about right? When you compare [insert variable] with yourself? It often looks like this:

I just saw on Facebook that [insert person] got her hair cut. Maybe I should get my hair cut...

[insert person] has such a nice car! It's nicer than my car...

Mike, did you know that [insert person] writes a blog? She has way more followers than me...

If it were a good game to play, you'd want me on your team. For life. 

Unfortunately, it's not. It's a very bad game, and I know it. So does everyone else. 

Playing the compare game doesn't make me feel good. It keeps me from being happy for other people when really good things happen to them. It keeps me from believing that who I am, at this moment, is enough. And good. And lovely. Just like God says.

It keeps me from swimming in a glorious sea of contentment. 

I don't want to live like this--play a game I cannot win--forever. I'm pretty sure God doesn't want me to spend time playing it. Besides, playing the compare game is always a slippery slope. It starts out as an observation, but before I know it, I'm coveting, comparing and grumbling. It leaves me with a bad taste in my mouth.

This year, I want to play a new game--live a new life--that's steeped in gratitude and courage and love. I want to do, not just say. Aside from the spirit-enriching, character-stretching benefits of quitting the compare game, I want to play this new game because I'm not getting any younger. If Jesus comes back tomorrow, I won't have very much to talk about. 

I want to have a LOT to talk about. I want to tell Him I didn't squander the gifts He gave me. 

So, in 2012, I am going to stop listening to the voices in my head, the ones that are raspy and croaky and tinny. They say things like, 

Don't kid yourself--she has enough friends. She's just being nice.

But that [insert new thing] is shinier/faster/lighter/prettier!

I wish I had [fill in the blank].

Your writing is just okay.

Your grammar is a little rusty...

The amount of followers and comments you have directly reflect your coolness/popularity/worth.

They're probably not going to like this post as much as the last one.

I know these voices don't say true things, but they are awfully loud. And convincing. Sometimes I mumble the things they say to Mike Fox, my sister, Sarah, and my friend, Nannette. (Thanks for listening to me, guys.) Sarah always knows how to drown out the noise with truth:

"Bean, write for you. Don't write for everyone else. Write because it makes you happy. Remember those stories you used to write in junior high? About the guy with the beautifully tanned skin and the black-as-night hair that was wild and tousled? And the girl with the sad grey eyes?" 

She actually remembers more details and always keeps going, but I am blushing as I type this because those stories, and the writing in those stories, were terrible. TERRIBLE. But, Sarah always says, "Bean, that's not the point. The point is, you had fun then. And you wrote a lot. Your insecurities are keeping you from writing. You need to write!" 

So, that's what I'm going to do. 

I'll also be adding book reviews to this blog. Not serious book reviews--just some thoughts about what I've read, what I'm reading and what I'd like to read. I like the idea of a book club but am wary about committing. What if I don't like the book that's chosen? What if I don't finish my reading before the meeting? Then I can't participate and will feel like I'm hindering the group's discussion. And then I will just stop attending...Anyway, I will be sharing what I'm currently reading (or would like to read) here. I hope you'll share your reading lists with me, too. I'm always looking for another great read!

I'm most excited about starting a daily scribble post. Each day, I will write 100 words or less in response to a prompt. It could be anything--a color, a word, a quote, a song, a picture...(you get the idea). It will probably be really terrible writing--I'm sorry about that!--but if I try to edit myself too much, I will get caught up in the compare game. Or I'll just do what I normally do and wait for inspiration to come to me, which could take forever. (Actual timespan.) So, I'm going to spit out the words and let it be bad. Who knows? I might find something worth saving. 

I'm forcing myself to write on this blog to keep me accountable. I could be writing to no one, but at least my words will exist outside of my body. Please don't hesitate to share what you're reading, respond to a daily scribble, or share something that inspired you. I hope that the book reviews and daily scribbles will be the beginning of a conversation, a creative collaboration. 

As your friend, I have to warn you that there will be a lot of awful writing. You can stop reading and following me if you like. That's okay. I just have to keep writing. I can't die with words inside of me simply because I'm afraid they're not enough.

They're all I have, really.

i might need to take sex ed again

I.

I'm not sure how I made it to 28 without knowing much about the reproductive system, but I will be the first to admit that a fourth grader probably knows more than I do. I'm sure I'd benefit from watching that video they show to girls in elementary school to teach them about their changing bodies. I think it was called "The New You". I remember it being strange and alienating. (Changes? What changes?) It was foreign to me but there were some girls in my class who already had new bodies. Those girls used to huddle on the playground during recess to talk about their new, grown-up bodies while the rest of us with ordinary kid-bodies played kid-games and dug holes in the sand box that smelled of cat pee. These new girls were modest enough not to talk about the most obvious change, but they did allude to new hair and smells and aching chests. It sounded horrifying and fascinating. I searched my body for signs of change every night to no avail. Until one day.

One day, I noticed a new hair.

I ran to where "the new girls" were huddled at recess and said, "YOU GUYS! I have a hair. You know--a haaaaaaaaaaaaaaiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiir."

(Obviously, my desire to fit in outweighed any shame a normal person with any decency might have felt from yelling about pubic hair in public.)

I directed their attention to the tiny eyelash growing out of the mole on my right forearm and waited for them to tell me I was finally welcome to join their new-body club. They smiled at me. It was a pity-smile.

"Lina, that isn't a pubic hair. You'll know when you get one. And if you're not sure, you should ask your mom."

I was so disappointed.

I know about as much now as I did when I was in fourth grade. (Well, maybe a little bit more.) This is inconvenient (to say the least) when you're trying to have a baby. You're probably wondering how I could be so ignorant. Didn't I take Biology and Health? Yes and Yes, but I didn't retain anything. When my doctor said I was healthy enough to start trying to have a baby, I just stared at her and said, "So now what?" I almost started laughing when she said, "Take prenatal vitamins and have lots of intercourse." I immediately called Mike to tell him the good news:

Me: The doctor said I'm healthy! She said we can start trying.
Mike: That's great news, Bean! I'm so excited!
Me: She told me to have lots of intercourse. HAHAHAHA! She said "intercourse". Who says "intercourse"?!
Mike: Doctors do.
Me: Oh. Right. That's true.
Mike: Real mature, Bean.

II.

I was worried about being healthy enough to have a baby for a really long time. There's still a chance the hole in my heart could re-open as a result of the strain of childbirth, and my Graves Disease could flare up and make me sick all over again during pregnancy. And then there's conception. Honestly, I just read about it a few weeks ago, and it felt like I was learning it for the first time. (What if the sperm picks the wrong Fallopian tube?! What if the sperm and egg barely miss each other?!) Despite these odds, I am constantly reminded that God is bigger than these "what ifs", that there's no detail He has overlooked.

He has surrounded us with an amazing community of friends and family members to love, encourage and advise us during this pre-baby season. I am surprised and humbled by the prayers, advice and encouragement we've already received. I even got an instant message from a co-worker that said, "Am I allowed to ask if you've gotten your period? Because I really hope not!" They've lent books, shared their own stories, and directed me to informative websites. One friend gave me all of her prenatal vitamins because she and her husband are taking a different route to building their family. Another almost took a picture of her cervical fluid to show me what I should be looking for! (I'm relieved she didn't but I appreciated the thought.)

III.

Dear Future-Babies:

You are blessed to be so loved and prayed for by such remarkable men and women. I hope we meet you soon! There are a lot of people who are excited to meet you.

There are a lot of people we want you to meet.

Love,

Mama Bean (And your dad. And Crosby and Gemma, too.)

Thankful for firsts. Sort of.

I remember a lot of firsts.


I remember the first time I ate cottage cheese. It was Grandparents Day at school, and since my grandpa didn't speak much English (and I didn't speak much Lao), I ate lunch with a classmate and her grandparents at Sizzler.


I remember the first time time I slapped a girl. It was impulsive, and I immediately regretted it after I did it. I was in 5th grade. (I have never slapped anyone since.)


I remember my first kiss. It was exhilarating and hungry and wet. I was 19. He smelled like crisp air and clean laundry.


And even though it hasn't happened yet, I know I will always remember this Thanksgiving. Because this Thanksgiving, I'm going to host my first Thanksgiving dinner. For my family. In my home.


I. AM. ANXIOUS. (Understatement.)


I didn't think I'd be in this position for a few years! Yet, in too few days, I will be frantically cleaning my house, bathing my dogs, peeling potatoes and trying to figure out how to seat nine people in my dining room. (Our table comfortably seats four.) I have to think positively. Otherwise, my mind begins spiraling out of control. 


How will I cook an entire Thanksgiving feast in my tiny kitchen? Can I even fit an entire turkey in my oven? Do I have place settings and seating for nine adults? Do I need to decorate?! Am responsible for creating traditions?! Will they like what I cook? What if they're disappointed? Look at my cuticles. My skin looks terrible. I look haggard. My spider veins look more pronounced today. I feel bloated. I want to eat cake and watch a Harry Potter marathon.

In addition to worrying about Thanksgiving dinner, my body has decided to shut down. I feel like a five-year-old is sitting on my head (and is hitting me in the face), and every time I cough, which is often, I feel like I might pop a lung.

I'm freaking out now, and I'll probably freak out on Thanksgiving day, but I know I'm missing the point. 

I have many reasons to give thanks. 

I am thankful for Mike Fox.
I am thankful for our home.

I am thankful that I get to prepare a meal for my family.

I am thankful for my tiny kitchen and too-small oven and table that only seats four. 

I am thankful for my family and friends.


I hope I have good news to share after Thanksgiving, but if not good news, at least hilarious stories about how I botched the whole dinner and ended up feeding everyone fried rice.


What are you doing for Thanksgiving? If you're cooking, what are you making? Do you have any advice on how not to botch Thanksgiving dinner? If so, please share!

a safe place

After months of constant motion, financially crippling surprises and work crises, I think we’re finally slowing down.

I think we’re finally entering a safe place.

I feel like I’ve been clinging for dear life to a leaky vessel with one oar and torn sails for months. My spirit feels as haggard as I look. I bet I have scurvy. But the clouds are just starting to part, and the sea is pushing my leaky vessel toward the shore. Ahh rest. At least for now.

Without going into too much detail about the misadventures we’ve had because of Gemma, I will say that she is responsible for our debt, exhaustion and weight gain. Her curiosity landed her in the pet hospital and vet’s office several times over the course of a few weeks. There were lots of tears (sometimes cuss words) and late nights caring for her. Thousands of dollars later, we are still grateful she is alive. Life  feels like it’s getting a little easier.

I know God is throwing us a bone by giving us a breather. I think He’s preparing us for what’s next. For now, I am marinating in His blessings because, as always, they are surprising and good. Really good. He provided me with an opportunity to telecommute full-time so I no longer have to spend two hours in traffic. He also preserved my job during a massive “restructure” at work. He also sent someone to buy Mike’s motorcycle so we could pay off the debt we accrued from Gemma’s medical bills. And He continues to surround us with people who love us.

What’s next?

We want to meet our future-babies. A lot of people are really private about this but I can’t help but be excited. And scared. And overwhelmed. I have to remind myself that God is bigger than my sewed-up heart and wonky thyroid. (I had heart surgery when I was 14 to repair a hole, and I have Graves Disease--hyperthyroidism--though it has been in remission for two years.) I know my future-babies are hanging out with God in heaven, and that they're having a blast. I tell myself this every time I get a negative test result. It makes me a little less disappointed. Just a little. I don't want to neglect the good things in our lives just because God is saying, "Not yet."

For now, we are enjoying the quiet of this safe place. And every day, we ask, "Maybe Baby, are you in there?" 

I've put it off long enough

I've wanted to write something clever and/or witty for months now to make up for my embarrassingly long absence from the blog but I am officially giving up. It was too much pressure. Seriously. Every time I sat down to write, I'd be able to focus for 10 minutes before falling asleep or chasing Gemma down and grabbing trash out of her mouth.

(Don't be alarmed: Gemma is the newest addition to the Fox den. She's a 7-month-old Dogo Argentino/American Bulldog mix, not my neighbor or some random kid.)

There have been a lot more distractions that have kept me from writing, distractions that looked like

-A romp in a rain forest
-Weddings
-Beach days
-Getting rear-ended on my way to work
-Adopting Gemma from a rescue
-Taking Gemma to the vet/pet hospital/emergency clinic for eating things she shouldn't be eating, such as chocolate, gallon-sized freezer bags, Mike's glasses and a pair of my underwear
-Becoming a full-time telecommuter

Anyway, I'm back now. Sorry for being gone so long. What have you been up to?

Can't wait to catch up. For real.

Here are pictures of my biggest distractions. :)

Talk to you soon!

Bean

I need a prayer sub

Life has been full of more hardships than good things lately. I am fine weathering storms but lately I feel as though I've been trying to swim in a riptide. Wearing jeans. And boots. Instead of going to God to say, "Unholy expletive! HELP!" I've kept kicking and paddling along--which is silly and futile, of course, as anyone who has ever swum in jeans and boots can attest to.


Instead, I have rescheduled appointments with God. I have tried to keep myself together with a lot of coffee and cheese.

This seemed like a plausible solution at the time. I now know it's dumb. And it makes my mouth taste really, really bad.

I finally cried. On Crosby. I buried my face into his warm side and cried, and then I apologized to him for getting his fur wet because it must’ve been annoying. Then I ate a piece of strawberry pie and too much Chipotle. When I say “piece”, I should clarify because “piece” is misleading: I ate through a quarter of the pie. By myself. In one sitting.

I felt a little better afterwards.

The relief was temporal because all of the things that made me feel sad/angry/frustrated/overwhelmed are still the same. Without going into too much detail, I will share that I have the heartbreaking privilege of standing beside some friends and family members who are in their darkest places right now. I have the honor of hearing about secret fears and tremendous sorrows—about cancer

and failing hearts
and dying family members
and crumbling marriages
and financial crises
and unhealthy work environments
and bodies that don't work like they should
and degenerative autoimmune diseases
and terrible side effects of medicines that might buy time
      but demand too much of health and quality of life and dreams of future-babies
            to be helpful.

But at the same time, I've also been invited to celebrate new beginnings--marriage, babies, jobs, adventures.
I am having a difficult time juggling joy and sorrow. I haven't figured out how to mourn and celebrate in the same breath. I feel numb and parched and achy all at the same time.

I don't know what to say.

(Is there anything left to say?)

I am trying to pray about all of these things but I don't know where to start.

I just can't stop crying.

Living the dream

I took a mental health day today.

(I really needed it.)

But instead of relaxing, I am working on those freelance writing projects I mentioned in my previous post.
Know what I realized?

It doesn't feel like work when you're doing what you love.

(What a concept!)

Now that I've gotten a taste, I want more. (Uh oh...)

More later. Back to work!

Well, for me anyway. Crosby, on the other hand, gets to live his dream life all the time.

I am jealous. :)

Published with Blogger-droid v1.6.8

Daring to Dream

“You are never too old to set another goal or to dream a new dream.” –C.S. Lewis

I.

I only know three people who love their jobs:

1. My old roommate, who is a police officer for the Santa Ana Police Department.
2. My optometrist
3. ...

Maybe I only know two people who love their jobs.

My old roommate LOVES her job. She works nights over the weekend.

Let me repeat that: she works the graveyard shift. OVER THE WEEKEND.

Yes, she loves her job. She is passionate about her work. She uses words like “thrilling” and “awesome” to describe her job. She also interacts with drug dealers, gang members and prostitutes in her line of work. Who else can say that? (I guess drug dealers, gang members and prostitutes can also say that…)

My optometrist also loves her job. I asked her if she liked staring at eyeballs all day, and she said yes. She said it was fascinating to her.

You know what?

I believed her.

And then I thought—just for a second—that perhaps I should’ve pursued a similar career path so I could kindly tell a patient she has astigmatism, and that her tear film is “spotty”, which is why she suffers from such severe dry eye. But that thought quickly evaporated (just like my tear film).

I couldn’t be a police officer like my old roommate because I typically don’t run toward danger. Also, I couldn’t do one pull-up to save my life. My old roommate had to do a lot of pull-ups when she was in boot camp. I mean, she had to do a lot of other things but I was most impressed by the fact that she could do pull-ups.

I couldn’t be an optometrist because I would never get into optometry school. Even though I think eyeballs are amazing, I don’t think I could force myself to know EVERYTHING about them. Besides, mine don’t work well at all. You should see me walk Crosby when I’m not wearing contacts or glasses. I make angry, squinting faces at my neighbors and wave in their general direction just in case they waved.

The only thing I could ever be is a writer.

So, I pursued writing.

II.

I had glamorous ideas about being a starving writer. It just seemed so sexy!

Working three jobs just to pay the bills? OF COURSE! That will add to my credibility!

Single? You bet your butt I will be!

A billion tattoos? Uhh YES.

Cigarettes, coffee and wine? All day, every day!

I had those ideas when I was in my early twenties. They changed when I met Mike.

Here’s what happened after that:

• We graduated and moved to Orange County to be close to my family.
• Mike proposed.
• I got a writing job at a big company.
• We got married.
• We bought a house.
• We adopted our dog, Crosby, from the animal shelter.

·       All that occurred over the course of five years. Sometimes I think, where has the time gone? Am I really at this place in my life now?

Yes. What I once thought was the distant future is my present. I am living it now.

And boy, does it look different:

• I'm happily married.
• I'm building a nice home with Mike.
• I have a mortgage.
• I have a great dog!
• I spend Saturday mornings cleaning my whole house instead of sleeping in till 1:00 p.m. and detoxing before the next wild night out. 
• Even my body is different. It's wobblier.

You know what else looks different? I spend all day writing non-creative things. By the time I get home, I’m too tired to write anything else. In fact, after a 12-hour day, all I have time to do is cook a quick dinner, hold hands with Mike, and pet Crosby before going to bed.

I’ve done this for four years now. Somehow, I thought this year would be different. I thought I would learn to set boundaries to protect my home life—my writing life—but I was wrong. Instead of learning to set boundaries, I learned that I am terrible at setting boundaries.

I learned that I am bad at saying no. Instead of saying, “No, I can’t do this”, I say, “Okay, I’ll get it done”—and I sacrifice my life, my marriage, my relationships, and my true self instead. This rhythm of all non-creative-work and no life made me sad. For months, I thought—this is it. This is my life. I’m 28. I’m officially OLD. It’s too late to try something new, to dream a new dream (or revive an old one).

(I know those were my fears talking but in my defense, they talk really, really loudly.)

My prayers looked like this:

What the cuss, God?! Is this it? Will this job be the measure of my life? I can barely nurture, love and support my husband right now. How will I sustain a family? Can I even conceive? I’m so stressed out all the time I don’t know if it’s even possible. And God, one more thing: I never thought I’d want to be a stay-at-home mom but I’ve changed my mind. Is that okay? Is that even possible in Southern California? Do we have to move out of state? Hello? Are You still listening? WHAT DO I DO?

I don’t have any answers yet. (And that’s okay.)

I know God has heard me wail, moan, cuss, complain and weep bitter tears over my job and what my life was becoming.

But He has also said, Bean—I’ve got this. Just wait—you’ll see.

So I’ve waited. I’m still waiting. And from what I can tell, I think His surprise is going to blow my mind.

(I just pictured brain matter flying out of my ears like popcorn. Did you?)

III.

While I’m waiting, I have decided that I must write, and not just because I can’t be a police officer or an optometrist.

I must write because that is the only thing God made me remotely good at.

I think He is saying that, too. Right now, I have the privilege of working on two freelance writing projects at the same time. Yes, I am now working three jobs, which is why I’m writing this blog entry past midnight.

For the first time in years, I AM HAPPY WITH MY JOB(S).

I feel like I’m just starting to live.

I feel like these writing opportunities are just the beginning—of what, I don’t know.

I’ll wait and see.

IV.

A lot of my friends work their behinds off at jobs they don’t like. I think it’s more common than uncommon. But friends—don’t get lost. Don’t throw yourself and your dreams away. Work hard—yes—but live well.

Let’s fight to reclaim our lives, to live lives worth talking about. As Mary Oliver says, 

"Tell me, what is it you plan to do with your one wild and precious life?" 

Yes—tell me.                                                 

Unraveling

I can't go to sleep.

My heart and mind are too full of wonderings and unanswered questions and secret hopes and joy and sadness and fatigue and

Secret fears.

All of these things that are normally kept bottled up are leaking out of my eyes, tracing salty messages on my face. Does God send someone to collect the unspoken prayers that collect in shallow pools in my ears?

I hope so.

Because I have a lot of messages to send him. I have a lot of stuff to send him

About work
And believing in myself and the beauty of my dreams
And my future-babies
And friends whose dreams continue to be deferred
And finances
And what it looks like to be a good friend to other girls
And what I'm supposed to do when people I love are being betrayed by their bodies and are slowly crumbling to dust.

I want to write a million words and cry a bottomless lake of tears but I am so tired right now. I don't know where to begin. I am afraid that if I start, I'll unravel in a matter of seconds and all that will be left of me is a few fillings and some lint.

Published with Blogger-droid v1.6.8

Dear God: How do You speak so loudly without saying anything aloud?

My ears are ringing, my heart is throbbing and my brain is abuzz.

Because God has been talking to me a lot about

G R A C E

Loving people

Weird, not-nice, difficult people. Mostly-nice people who have great hearts but don't know they can be not-nice with their words and actions. Really nice people who just need patience and prayer and grace from me. Grumpy people. Jealous people. Spiteful people. Lazy people. People who don't know God. People who do know God but are mad at Him. People who do know God but are "taking a break" at the moment. People who do know God but haven't heard from Him in awhile. Or ever.

The beauty of our dreams.

Change.

Hope.

Stories.

Every cell in my body is saturated with thoughts and whispers and questions about these things. I would say God is practically yelling at me but I don't think that would be accurate. I think He has been talking to me for awhile about these things.

I just wasn't ready to hear them.

I just wasn't ready to hear Him.

I just wasn't willing to hear Him.

Because I was too busy listening to my voice.

Because I was too busy listening to other people's advice.

Because I was too afraid to hear what He'd say.

Because I was too unwilling to change.

Because I was too afraid of trying to change

And failing.

Because I was too afraid of failing.

This is a lot of things to hear and feel at once, I know. I often won't write when I'm mentally and emotionally constipated with thoughts upon thoughts but this time, I felt I had to share.

Because I don't think I'm alone.

I hope you know I'm more like you than you might think.

• I didn't go to a Christian college.
• I didn't study theology.
• I'm not well-read on Christian-ANYTHING.
• I majored in Literature and Writing.
• I know more about William Faulkner and the appropriate use of semi-colons than exegesis of the bible. (I'm sure I didn't really use "exegesis" properly in that sentence. Please don't judge me too harshly.)
• I pursued what I thought was a meaningful existence instead of pursuing a relationship with God. Thankfully, He allowed me to survive my pursuit of "the good life" so I could get to know Him.
• I have a hard time flossing regularly.
• I don't return my library books on time.
• I like cheese. A lot.
• I have spider veins and cellulite.
• I don't wash my face before bed.
• Although I once told my now-husband I wasn't like other girls in this area, I do like purses and shoes. A lot.
• I have a mustache. My husband, Mike, calls it a "catfish mustache".
• I find shaving my legs to be a laborious chore.
• For the most part, I want people to like me. I get sad when I find out they don't.
• I cuss sometimes.
• I'm not always kind, although I'd like to change this about myself because I really value kindness.
• I sing aloud loudly and off-key, and I typically get lyrics wrong. Really wrong. When I heard, "Dirty Deeds Done Dirt Cheap" by AC/DC, I thought it was, "Dirty deeds and the thunder chiefs." I didn't know the song wasn't about Indians until Mike told me I was wrong. He laughed at me for a really, really long time.

I'm not an expert on anything. I'm just a girl who wants to know God before she meets Him face-to-face.

SO. That being said, I think there will be more questions and conversations with God on this blog this year. To be honest, I'm a little scared because I'm bad at the things He's talking to me about—you know, loving people and showing grace to them. (No big deal.)

(Just kidding.)

But I will be as honest as I can in case you're going through the same stuff.

Know you're not alone.

Published with Blogger-droid v1.6.5