stop poking!

I have this theory. I believe that people want to be taken more seriously. Humans are fascinating creatures. God created us to yearn for more than this earth can provide. He placed a desire in our hearts that cannot be satiated with what our eyes can see. Many of us will seek after what is satisfying us today. It is a human tendency and one that every person has fallen victim to. If you have not, I have to believe that you have suffocated your heart and denied it of it's God-given desire to desire. The object of our desire is where the fault is.

When I say that people want to be taken seriously, I mean that people want to be heard. And people need to be heard, cared for, and nurtured. While lighthearted quips may not hurt immediately, they eventually add up. It's like getting poked. Nobody likes to get poked. We don't mind poking other people, but it's annoying to be poked. After a while, the pokes turn into bruises and before you know it you are black and blue. A bruise is painful and it can be damaged further by someone else. I hate bruises. They are ugly and irritating and noticeable. Sometimes they take a long time to heal and are completely visible until the healing is complete. It's a long process from just a small poke.

Encouragement and affirmation build much stronger relationships that last longer. My closest friends are the best listeners. They are the ones who don't just hear, but listen to my heart. They ask me about my feelings, my emotions, and what my deepest desires are. They want to know me. Is this not a parallel to God's desire for us? Are we not chasing after his heart? The Bible shows us His character and nature. We see it throughout the history that is told in the Old and New Testaments. It's not an easy story. There's tragedy and struggle and violence. But the end is knowing our Creator. That is what we were created for.

[We live our lives before] the wild, dangerous, unfettered and free character of the living God. - Walter Bruggemann

My work is in people. My nemesis is numbers and words are my friends. But my job and my life revolves around relationships. If I'm not certified to be an expert in anything, I will at least be a professional in knowing people (qualified by my years of experience). I enjoy this, and honestly I feel I am in the best line of work.

Thank you for allowing me to share a piece of my heart. This blog is more personal than I intended, but I can find no other way to say it.

Cheers to autumn!

My favorite time of year has just arrived. The first day of fall was officially September 22. Maybe the season of fall came a couple weeks ago, but for me autumn has just graced us with her presence today. The last couple weeks I've watched the leaves begin to turn. Yellows and reds have slowly appeared around the city. The tree outside my bedroom window only has a few more green leaves on it. More leaves are on the ground around town, and the roads are beginning to accumulate piles. Soon homeowners will have to buy leaf bags and begin to rake their lawns. As a child, I never understood the reason for raking leaves. In fact, I never really thought there was any reason at all. I guess I figured that because our garage had rakes, we had to use them when we could. Apparently my childhood logic was a little weak.

For me as a child, autumn was a season of putting on coats and buying outdoor decorations. This is the first time of the year where I remember people putting things on their patios and doors. Hay bales and pumpkins and gourds appeared. Leaves were cleaned up and stuffed into big orange bags that looked like jack-o-lanterns and left on the lawn for Halloween. I remember the trees in my neighborhood would be bare and naked. That's when it first occurred to me that most of the trees in neighborhood really had gray bark, not brown. I realize that may be an odd (and pointless) conclusion, but to a child, it is groundbreaking.

The next thing that I associate with autumn is smell. Perhaps it is the cold weather that draws everyone into the kitchen to cook and bake more. Maybe it is the season of Thanksgiving that first boosts a baking spree. The end of a school year and saying good-bye for the holidays could also cause more people to cook farewell dinners. Either way, hot meals and warm cookies, cakes and pies are an integral part autumn- mostly the ones that come from my mother's oven. My mother cooks with the most motherly culinary talent ever. If a person ever knew how to please a child's taste buds, it was my mother. And she didn't feed us junk food. We never had store bought cookies, cakes or pies. She never allowed us to buy cereals with too much sugar and we hardly ever had soft drinks in the house. Perhaps she was starving our palate to preserve it for her own cooking. I guess it worked because she knew what she was doing. When my mother bakes, she never skips or substitutes sugar, butter or cream. My mom knows the key to a great recipe is the part that holds the most fat (sugar, butter, cream). She bakes miraculous apple and pumpkin pies with a homemade crust every time. And she knows how to handle chocolate: brownies, cakes, caramel cake cookie bars. Cookies!- I had no idea how good she was at this simple sweet until I started baking. You know it takes a real baker to know that the exact oven temperature, placement on the cookie sheet and position in the oven, as well as an accurate cooking time are enormously important factors in the taste of a cookie. She would cook coffee cakes or monkey bread in the mornings. The smell would come through a vent that fed into my bedroom. These days when I'm home, it's the smell of coffee that seeps through the vent and pulls my lazy body out of bed. My father was wise to marry a woman that could not only cook, but cook well. The smells of my autumn come from my mother's kitchen, through the vent to my bedroom and eventually onto the dinner table.

Autumn is my favorite season for many reasons (one being my birthday, of course). But one year, I missed autumn. Seriously, I never experienced the fall in 2005. At the time, I was very aware that I would be missing the season, but it was something I surrendered willingly, though it wasn't really a disputable part of the bargain. I flew to Sydney, Australia in July 2005. When I arrived, it was the middle of spring and a very rainy season. Summer came in October and by December, we were laying on the beach. I was sad that I missed fall, but there's nothing quite like laying on the beach in the middle of December on the other side of the world. I'm not sure if I could ever make up this lost season of 2005, but if I have the opportunity to double up on autumn, I'd take it!

It's cold outside tonight. It's been very windy and trees are shivering. Tomorrow, there will be even more leaves on the ground. And I'm quite sure people will soon be figuring out why there have been rakes in their garages all year long.

Here is where I worship:

Campsite church. I loved Bonham State park. Our family would go up for a weekend to camp out with our church. We had a pop-up tent trailer that we always brought. All of the kids brought bikes and we rode the trails around the lake every day until sunset. I knew it all so well, just like a child knows the taste of sugar, extremely well and always gratifying. I liked going with our church because it was nice to know our "neighbors" at a campground. We could go from site to site and visit our friends in different tents or trailers. On Sunday mornings, we'd gather around as a group and have a church service. After breakfast, everyone would grab their chairs from the around the fire pits and gather in one spot for a service. Sometimes we'd sing and then have a devotion. As a child, I felt like the service was too long, especially since I was ready to run around the park before we had to pack up camp and leave. I didn't know it at the time, but those weekends were important and quite pivotal in my view of church.

Campfire church. In middle school and high school, I attended several mission trips with the youth group. Sometimes we'd stay in Texas, other times we ventured outside the state to Colorado or Georgia. On the way to the city where we were doing mission work, we'd stop to camp out. Either our youth leaders were trying to save money or they wanted us to work as a team (setting up camp, cooking food, etc), but either way I am grateful these times we camped as a youth group. One of my favorite parts about stopping to camp was at night. I loved meeting as a group at night around the fire to worship. There was something serene yet powerful about meeting under the stars around a campfire. I felt connected to the group when we all met there. I've always loved nature, so being outside at night was spectacular. It was remote and distant from any hustle of a city.

Desert church. Mexico was even more memorable. For four years, I went with the youth group to build homes in Juarez. We'd work from eight in the morning until the sun went down. It was such a relief when the Mexican sun finally dropped below the horizon. You never know true heat until you work under the sun for eight hours. At night, we literally camped in the desert. We set up our tents the first night we got there and spent a week going back and forth from the work site in the city to the campground. We gather at night around the campfire. Everyone was sunburned, windburned, hungry, sweaty and sleepy from the day. Camp food never tasted so good and sitting never seemed like such a luxury. When the sun set in Juarez, everything was dark. I have never seen darkness as black as this, but it made the stars shine even brighter. My youth pastor would play the guitar around the fire and we'd all sing together. Sometimes we'd sing with other camps and sometimes the pastors of churches we worked with joined us. Tired voices, foreign voices, young and old voices came together. It is astounding and saddening to look at the city of Juarez in the news today. My church has not been able to go there to build homes since the violence began three years ago. It pains me to think about where the families are today whose homes we built years ago. Pray for Juarez. The people there will always have a place in my heart.

City church. One of my favorite venues for worship was in Sydney, Australia. Mostly it was because of the circumstances that led up to finding the worship center. I had arrived in Sydney less than 72 hours before walking into Hillsong Church. The great city of Sydney greeted me with a drizzling rain and dark skies. I had anticipated a hot and sunny city, but my flight that landed in July 2006 reflected none of this. I came to study for a semester in Sydney with a couple friends from Hardin-Simmons. My roommate Kmy had come to Australia to go to Hillsong Church. We were all studying at a university there through our home university in Abilene, but she had specifically chosen the location in Australia for Hillsong. At this time I did not know the extent of Hillsong's worldwide ministry and fame, but I was excited to find a church in my new residence. When she suggested that we visit the church right away and explore the city in the process, I was game. After (finally) connecting to the internet in our apartment, we mapped out the service location. The week we choose to go happened to have a service at an off-site location, a race horse track. It didn't matter to us since we were new to the city and anywhere was just as far as anywhere else. Sunday morning came and we dressed up, packed up and found our way to the bus stop. The city in a nutshell: vast and huge with an intricate bus system. We walked a lot. Thankfully we found nice bus drivers and helpful pedestrians. To this day, I cannot forget the overwhelming feeling that I had the minute Kmy and I walked through the doors of Hillsong in the City. The place was full of people. Daily churchgoers and Hillsong staff filled the hallways, seats and entire auditorium. Although it was all foreign to me, I felt I had arrived at home. The place was packed and it almost felt like a concert. When the music began, I felt even more familiarity. At a single point in the worship service, I vividly remember stopping to look around at everyone. People from every nation and of every age had gathered at this one place. I took in every minute of that day. My heart was so full: worship, joy, freedom.


Movie theater church. Eventually I plugged into a local extension service of Hillsong that was closer to our apartment. It was just a couple blocks from us and we walked there on Sunday mornings. The service was held at the Macquarie Center, a huge multilevel shopping mall. The service was in the movie theater. I had never been to a movie theater on a Sunday morning, but that semester it became my church home. We had service in one of the theaters, and there was a welcome lounge right outside the theater. Some of my first friends in Sydney came from the Hillsong Macquarie service.


Japanese church. Another venue of worship that I found in Sydney was at a country club in Chatswood. I attended this service for sole reason of bringing a friend to church. One of our good friends in the apartment complex wanted to come to church with us. He came with us to the Hillsong Macquarie service. When we discovered an extension service in Japanese, we asked Kez if he'd like to try it since he would probably feel more comfortable talking to people in his own language. He agreed and our adventure of getting to Chatswood began that Sunday. While we definitely got lost and walked in the rain for a good distance, we made it to the service. The Japanese service was so alive and active and friendly! It was enjoyable to meet everyone. I even learned a couple Hillsong songs in Japanese. I love worshiping in another language and it was powerful to hear a sermon in Japanese even if I don't speak the language. It was not just Hillsong or the Japanese service, but my friend became a Christian that year and to this day he serves at his church in Tokyo.

Gazebo church. Another precious moment of worship that I truly treasure was when I was in Spain. I studied for one month in Salamanca during college. On the weekends, I would take trips around the country. I immensely enjoy traveling, and on this particular weekend I traveled north to the border of France with a couple of friends. We stayed at the coastal town of San Sebastian. Since it was only us girls, we spent the weekend exploring the beaches and shopping. On Sunday, we had a train scheduled to take us back to Salamanca in the afternoon. That morning, we woke up and checked out of our hostel. We walked toward the bus station and stopped for breakfast at a street cafe. We filled our small table with perfect cappuccinos and buttery pastries. Yum. I remember the weather was perfect that morning, unlike every other cloudy day that weekend. After breakfast we walked over to a beautiful gazebo in the middle of the square. We sat in a circle under the stained glass top of the gazebo and that's where we worshiped. We opened our Bibles, shared the Word of God, encouraged each other and prayed.


Theater church. My brief trips to London have always given me the impression of a busy but stylish and hip city. I love being there and I always want to stay just a little longer. For some reason I get the impression that everyone is going somewhere important and everyone knows someone famous. I may be wrong, but for the sake of this post please join me in my assumption. Our return trip from Spain took us on a short three day lay over in London. We arrived on a Sunday afternoon, and I was more than determined to make it to Hillsong London. I dragged a couple my friends down to the tube station and through the crowded streets of London to make it to the Sunday night service. Although we missed most of the worship music, we arrived on a crowded street to find the church right in the middle of the busy city. Hillsong London was functioning out of a theater in the city. It was masterful. We sat in the balcony. If you have ever been in a theater in London, you know that they expand the seating vertically and therefore our seats were almost on top of the stage. I enjoyed this experience so much and it brought back wonderful memories of my time in Sydney. What I remember most about this service was the lights. It had theater lighting and everything glowed, even the audience.


Amusement park church. As I think back to all the places I've attended church and to the ones I've called home, I have a strong and personal connection to each. They have all played a role in my spiritual growth. By no means have I covered all the places I've ever worshiped, but I believe I've draw enough of a picture for you to see how vast worship venues and experiences can be. The commonality in each place is the presence of God's people. Part of my history is in each of these places. I know that God never changes and no matter how we come to worship or where we are He is the same, yet some how I get this feeling that I am knowing Him in a new and different way each time I gather with other believers. I remember my home church, my college church and my "after college" church. Now I have a new home church. Today I attend church in an amusement park. I walk past carnival rides and a mini train to reach the worship center. The building is rented from the amusement park, but the venue is not an issue to the churchgoers. Although it has moved twice since it's inception a couple years ago, attendance is rising. The heart of the church is huge, and they are rapidly expanding. I have only been attending for a couple months, but for now I call it home.



"All the ends of the earth shall remember and turn to the Lord, and all the families of the nations shall worship before you. " Psalm 22:27

go team!

"So if there is any encouragement in Christ, any comfort from love, any participation in the Spirit, any affection and sympathy, complete my joy by being of the same mind, having the same love, being in full accord and of one mind. Do nothing from rivalry or conceit, but in humility count others more significant than yourselves. Let each of you look not only to his own interests, but also to the interests of others. Have this mind among yourselves, which is yours in Christ Jesus, who, though he was in the form of God did not count equality with God a thing to be grasped, but made himself nothing, taking the form of a servant, being born in the likeness of men." Philippians 2:1-7

Paul's writings are inspiring and encouraging. Even when he was in pain and far away from the church, he was able to encourage the body. He clung to the cross and encouraged them to live as followers of Christ- as one. This is the benefit of being a believer in Christ. We are not alone. I have to realize this every week. As part of the body, I am called to encourage and uplift those around me. Are we not all in this fight together?


I grew up playing sports- volleyball, basketball and softball. I enjoyed working out and training my body. I enjoyed moving as a team. It was powerful to have people behind me, pressing me on and believing in me. I learned a lot about what it is to be apart of a team working toward one goal- winning. If you were to ask me if I was competitive, I'd say yes because I'd worked so hard and I was determined not to settle for second. But as far as individual competitiveness, I'm not so sure that I would have told you that I was competitive. (I'm not saying that competition is a bad thing, it just wasn't in my blood). I was concerned with perfecting my game and working hard and learning new things, but at the end of the day, I knew wasn't going to be recruited to play in college or offered any sort of scholarship, so for me it was about seeing the team succeed. Competition is everywhere in our culture and I believe that it can be healthy. More importantly though, during my years on the team I learned what it is to excel in my own talent. I was a slightly versatile player in softball and my coach sometimes moved me to different positions, but in volleyball my position was pretty clear. At 5'5", it was clear that they weren't calling me in to block at the net. I was a setter in junior high and by the time the game became more competitive, my skill was in a defensive back row position. Honestly, I was pretty good at it. I could get lower, move fast and cover my hitters. I focused on moving my feet and knowing the court and picking up the short tips off the front row. When my coach first moved me to the position, she taught me the things to focus on and encouraged me to work the position. I knew I could do it and so did she. My team knew I could do it. When I would come in for other players to take over their back row position, they had confidence in me. I had skill back there and it's where my talent was. I excelled. I stopped trying to jump higher or perfect my block. It's not that it didn't matter to the game, but it was not my role on the team. I was satisfied and the team succeeded.

This is not only true in sports. It can happen wherever natural talent is found and encouraged. When you know what you are good at, you can focus your time and energy. More importantly, when you know what someone else is good at you can encourage them. I would not have been as disciplined in my game, if I did not have teammates and my coach and my parents telling me I could do it. I thrive off encouragement. If you want to see me raise my game, tell me I can do it. True, selfless encouragement is powerful. For the sake of the body of Christ, encourage your friends! Find what they do well, whether it is smiling, sorting bottle caps or selling cars, and speak encouragement to them. Grow their talent, show them where they work well, tell them what they do best, and make an effort to let them know how you value their gifts.

Last week I finished a book that exemplified this idea. Though it was not Biblical, the principle applies. Our Creator has given us unique gifts that feed our spirit. I believe that through these we are able to know our God in a deeper, more personal way. The book I read was a biography of a young boy and his family living with his diagnosis of Tourette's syndrome. This changed his life and from that day forward, the family was searching for an explanation and cure for the disease that interfered with their son's mind and body. Cory Friedman began seeing doctors at age five. The different medications that he took further confused him and his family. One day a few years after his diagnosis, Cory runs out of the house in frustration and begins to climb a tree. It is dangerous because his tics cause uncontrollable body movements, but he climbs. He slips a couple times but when he reaches the top of the tree, he feels free. He feels enlightened. He engaged in an activity that not only stimulated and challenged his body, but it fed his soul. He felt alive and real. The description in the book says that years later this memory would prove to be a small part of what he used in overcoming his fight.

I believe that when we know our Creator, know what we were made for (God's glory) and know where we find our biggest victories, we are able to do the work of the kingdom. Be encouraged! We are one body of the same mind, having the same love and living life in full accord. Please find your friends and tell them what they do well. Show them the gifts God has given them and encourage them in it. I know that part of who I am today is because of the loving friends I have who know how to encourage my gifts, and sometimes discourage my non-gifts!

For the sake of the body, love each other well.

Everything's on Wads

The week was hot. Denver broke a record this week and hit 102 degrees. I really do enjoy summer. I cannot imagine what it would be like if we did not experience some excruciating heat for a couple months of the year. Seasons truly become seasons when we live in the weather for more than one day. As I make my way around town, I try to take note of where certain shops are so that when I have the need for something, I know where to find it. For instance, car repair shops, post offices, Target, my bank, different grocery stores, etc. I recently discovered that there is a Jimmy Johns not too far from my apartment (Yay!!). Inevitably, if I do not write it down I will forget where I saw a certain shop. The closest and longest thoroughfare to me is a wonderful street called Wadsworth. The street runs through the city as well as the surrounding suburbs so I can use it to get to different cities. And for the sake of not getting lost, I've found that everything is on Wadsworth. If in doubt, I go looking on Wads. North or south, I'm bound to find it.

This week was exciting because I was able to have dinner with my mother's sister and later, my dad's brother. I have never been within dinner distance of my relatives. I greatly enjoyed being able to dine with both of them- and in the same week! My aunt and uncle live in Denver and I was able to easily meet up with them at this wonderful restaurant called Racines. My cousin (daughter of my dad's brother) had a baby four months ago, and she and her husband came down from Wyoming to visit. I was the first one in my family to meet beautiful Megan. It was truly a gift to be able to see this perfect little baby. She is quite active and expressive. I was amazed how attentive she was at such a young age. I loved being able to hold her. She lives in Wyoming, but I volunteered to babysit so I just may be able to see her more often. And did I mention she has dark blue eyes, tiny toes and soft, soft baby skin? Absolutely precious!

Another new thing this week: I rode a bike. It's been about ten years since I've truly been on a bike ride, but I did it! I used to ride with my brother and sister all the time when we went camping. I'd love exploring the campground on a bike. You could go so fast down hills and ride almost anywhere faster than you could run. We'd go on trails that were way to dangerous for us, but if there was a trail or a lake to get to we'd do it. Sometimes my sister and I would ride on the same bike. One of us would stand up and pedal while the other would sit on the seat and swing their legs to create momentum. I had seen other people doing it, and therefore I must be able to do it so I grabbed my younger sister and told her to get on. After a couple of tries, we mastered it and were able to ride anywhere just as fast as before. I'm not sure what the advantage of one bike was...but we could do it! This week's bike ride was not through a quiet campground on dirt trails around a lake. This ride was through the streets of Denver to a park where an outdoor movie was showing-The Goonies! While most people that bike in Denver ride on the streets of the city, I had never done such a thing because in Dallas that is risky. Thankfully I was riding with my friend, an everyday cyclist who knew the area and traffic, but it was still a thrill. I tend to get quiet when I'm anxious about something. So most of the ride I was quietly but tightly gripping the handlebars. The 1.2 mile ride was very enjoyable, and I was trying to take in the neighborhood with all the older houses without getting hit by a car or anther biker, or clipped by someone opening their car door. It was just after 8:00 and the heat of the day had relented. There was even a cool breeze through the park as we were leaving. I was a little proud of myself I did not crash my first go at biking in the city.

Perhaps my favorite new thing this week was the used book store I discovered, West Side Books. The owner told be it had been there 10 years, and it definitely looks like it. The shelves are tall and literally stocked floor to ceiling with books. Handwritten signs direct shoppers to the different sections and the small displays marked the popular or 'new' items. There are sections for autographed books, first editions, local authors, and screenplays. They sell postcards, posters, and encyclopedias. My appreciation for authors, writers, literature and their readers grew a bit more when I found this shop.

The landscape I live in is spectacular. I am blessed to live in such green and vibrant state. Here's something I found from the shop:

"O Maker of sweet poets, dear delight
Of this fair world, and all its gentle livers;
Spangler of clouds, halo of crystal rivers,
Mingler with leaves, and dew and tumbling streams,
Closer of lovely eyes to lovely dreams,
Lover of loneliness, and wandering,
Of upcast eye, and tender pondering!
Thee must I praise above all other glories
That smile us on to tell delightful stories.
For what what made the sage or poet write
But the fair paradise of Nature's light?"

-excerpt from John Keats, "I stood tip-toe upon a little hill"


God Bless!
-s

week one yoga: booty to the mountains

New as been the theme of my life for the past couple weeks. Everyday I inevitably end up doing something new. Some days it is simply getting lost and ending up in a new part of town. As long as I can figure out north from south, I'm okay. Usually I get to have a conversation with a delightful stranger. Most the time it is nonchalant and harmless as I explain my new arrival to the city and inquire about something I have yet to find (a used bookstore), but occasionally I have to be wary about broadcasting my status, for instance announcing my recent move to the entire line at the Post Office. I have found that speaking with strangers does help me feel a little more connected to the town, or in other words: I have a voice to be recognized* in this town- and hello! Denver, you better recognize!

To fill some of my time between work and church and weekends with friends in the mountains, I have decided to seek out a yoga studio. My TNT coach recommended that I add yoga to my running training. I have always enjoyed yoga! Not a regular yogi but still a BIG fan, I have decided to approach this in the most economical matter possible (read= FREE). Using my trusty EcoMetro coupon book, I have narrowed down all the yoga studios in the area that offer a week long pass. The closest one is located in Golden which is about 15 minutes from my apartment. Let me tell you about the town of Golden. It is one sweet town. From Denver, you just drive straight toward the mountains. The Colorado School of Mines is a prestigious engineering university that is in Golden. As you drive along the highway with the mountains to the west, a giant "M" rests on the mountain, representing the Mines. I find it simply lovely that the town is nestled next to such a peaceful range. I could never tire of watching the sun set over mountains. On the clear evenings, they glow a soft, brilliant iris-blue. A drive up to Lookout Mountain, one of the mountains over Golden, during sunset (or sunrise) would be magnificent.

So here is where my search for yoga has landed me. By nature, I am uncomfortable when I am late, and yoga class is one place I did not want to arrive late. After circling a couple blocks, I give up at the brink of sweating and call the studio. I am trying to use the mountains as a reference point since I know for sure which direction is west (mountains are in the west...mountains are in the west..), but the lady on the phone isn't as compass-minded. Nevertheless, I find the entrance in a back alley close to a public parking lot. I make my way up the stairs to the second floor of the building. The studio is located in a strip center and there are many tenants in the one complex. As I come to the top of the stairs and open the door, I enter a hallway with more doors. Glancing in the first one, I see a stage and auditorium where an usher is escorting incoming theater members. Anxious to find the studio, I step toward the door but quickly sidestep left down the hallway. Rounding the corner, I find another door with the studio's name. I've made it. Inside I find a sweet, young instructor eager to introduce me to all the classes available. Just three minutes before class, I enter the small studio. Silence is observed in the studio. It's full class. But there is one place for one more mat. Thankfully it's in the second row. And between two men. Nice. The one to my left is probably a model or at least an athlete-of-year somewhere. Perfect. Did I mention our mats are about 15 inches apart? Yep, nice and comfy.

Enter instructor. "Hello everyone, I'm just going to adjust the temperature to 92 degrees for this class so it is more comfortable." Excellent. I've been in a hot yoga before and my last memory of it involved buckets of sweat coming from every crevice and non-crevice of my body. This studio is long with mirrors along the front and along one of the short sides. The opposite short side has two large windows. From here the mountains can peer through as if to monitor our practice. The focus of this class is alignment and each posture is focused on maintaining the original balance in our shoulders, spine and hips. Our instructor encourages us to keep our shoulders back and to push our booty to the mountains. Ahhh, yoga not found in Texas. The class is challenging but enjoyable. I am able to safely follow the instructor, and though flexibility is significantly lacking in my practice, I leave satisfied and tired.

After class, I head toward the stairs and almost bump into a small, mustached Johnny Cash. (Just an actor about to enter the playhouse, almost forgot about that.) Downstairs I meet Chuck, one of the newcomers to the yoga class. Sitting on his motorcycle, he is ready for a conversation. Tired, definitely sweaty, and not exactly ready for a convo-with-a-stranger, I quickly nod and continue to walk. Too late. The questions start coming and I can't help but be friendly. He's nice and innocently talkative. Somehow the conversation turns to me and why I am in yoga class. I explain honestly how I am adding it to my running routine, which in turn prompts an observant comment from Chuck, "O yes, I see that you do have thick thighs."

Maybe yoga is supposed to be about myself as a lot of it teaches, but for me it is never about myself. I push and challenge myself because I can. I strive to lead a healthy life and be aware of the way I treat my body. But at the end of the day it is not my own but created for the glory of Christ. I seek to honor Him in everything I do (thick thighs or not). This week I also discovered a new kind of yoga. Holy Yoga is taught by a woman at my church. Last night I attended it for the first time with a friend. The class involves some of the traditional yoga moves along with worship music. The instructor read from the Bible at the beginning and the end. It felt like worship instead of just a workout. I also enjoyed doing it with a room full of people I knew loved Christ. It was more powerful to be a part of the church community. I'll definitely be returning.

That's all I've got for now on my yoga search. We'll see what the next coupon offers.

love,
-s



*Recognized maybe. I constantly duck by the lady camping out in front of the library collecting signatures for something political. Ugh...don't talk to me.

and to the mountains i go!

Every trip took more than sixteen hours. It was never about the drive time though, especially has a young girl. At that age it was not in my mind to question the way, route or time it took to get to Colorado. All I knew was that we had a map, a station wagon, sometimes a dog, and plenty of road. All three of us kids rode together in the middle seat because that's where we all fit and the back seat faced backwards which would make us car sick, or that was the assumption. We brought things to entertain us along the way. I had my Nancy Drew books. Julie slept. Garrett chewed sunflower seeds with Dad. Mom checked the map. At each gas station, we choose a snack and a drink. Water, the nicely labeled kind, was my pick. I never had a thing for soda. Occasionally in the mornings I would get chocolate milk. Mom never bought chocolate milk at home, but on car trips we could choose what we wanted.

The drive to Colorado was a long trek. We'd usually go through New Mexico, but occasionally we would head north through Oklahoma and Kansas. Either way, once we entered Colorado the air changed. You could actually smell the trees outside. It was as if once we explored the northern climate and found the dry air that so many more smells appeared. Traveling northward was an adventure. It was a far away place that I was privileged to vacation to every summer. Texas was always home, after all it was where we left the dogs when we left for vacation. Denver was always the last stop before the mountains. From there we would drive northwest through the canyon to Estes Park. Dad would open the windows. He would drive slower and brake more, plus there were lots of turns. Julie would get car sick, but I loved the drive. I would lean my head against the partially open window and gaze up at the steep rock walls that surrounded the road we drove on. Mom would play Amy Grant. No more maps, we were close. After coming over the last ridge, the city lights of Estes were visible from the road. I remember arriving at night most of the time after the sun had gone down. Four more turns and we were on the road that led up to my grandparents house.

The cabin was built on the mountainside among the trees. A cabin is too simple a description for my grandparents house. It is huge and has it's own driveway from the road. As a child, my grandparents house was a resort. A wrap around deck with hot tub. Two stories tall and a loft over the living room. Two fireplaces. Large windows throughout the house with no curtains to block heat or sunlight, not that either are bothersome when your residence is in the mountains. Standing in the kitchen, one can see the city from the sky and the mountain ranges that surround it. Long's Peak in the far distance serves as the masterpiece of the whole house. The house was positioned to frame the view of the great Fourteener. For me, each summer day in Estes had a mood that was dictated by the great mountain. Some days it would be bright and clear. The snow left on the peak showed the strength of the previous year's winter. There's always snow, but it varied slightly every once in a while. Some days the clouds would cling to the top and you could not see the peak. When the clouds are thick, they sink down to the tree line and the city is not visible. You can stand out on the deck and be in clouds. Once I saw a rainbow that was below me just down the hillside.

Colorado was once a distant destination reserved for the summertime. As a child, I loved every memory I made with cousins, aunts and uncles and my Mor Mor and Gramps in the mountains. Now my adventures are different. I've traveled and seen more of the world and grown up a little. The mountains found a place in my heart and now I'm grateful that I've found my way back. At 24, I call it home. Don't let my maturity fool you though, I'm still up for exploring.

More than a comic book

Life is peachy. I have beautiful friends, as I was reminded of that this past weekend when I was part of a wonderful celebration. One of my most lovely and faithful friends was married last weekend. She asked me to be in her bridal party, and I spent the weekend around some close friends. Be thankful for your friends! Beautiful friends are committed and faithful in encouragement. They are consistent and excited about the victories in my life. Allow me to be a bit boastful- I have an abundance of beautiful friends, despite how geographically scattered they may be.

I made the move to Colorado over one month ago. Already I am learning more about myself. When I was speaking with a friend about the excitement and fear of this new part of my life, he compared this time as standing on the edge of a precipice. At first thought, this image is terrifying. What can come next but a fall? It is the top of a ridge, a tall mountain or a steep slope. At the bottom could be a valley or a river full of boulders and sharp rocks. Scary and unknown. Or scary because it is unknown. This is also a beautiful step. It's a phase or a season. And that is thrilling.

This season is a chapter in my book. Every chapter is crucial to the storyline. A missing chapter would leave the story lacking and incomplete. It would make certain details and characters empty. Perhaps the book would not even make sense. The reader may be confused and question the integrity of the novel, even the authorship. Not every chapter can contain the "inciting incident" yet each piece is key to the completion of the story. Whether my book is a novel, a thriller, a comic book or just a short story, every line is worth reading. In the end, it's not meant to be biography but a first-hand account of a life glorifying our Creator.

So this is it- month one of residency in Colorado complete. Some highlights of June include: a trip and tasting at Coors Brewery in Golden and Celestial Seasonings (the tea company!) in Boulder and a lovely freshman tour of the campus at Colorado State University in Fort Collins. I met a couple of friends in Estes Park to take a night hike up Twin Sisters on the Fourth of July. We had planned to make it to the top to watch the fireworks, but it was too cloudy to see below the mountain. It was all worth it though because time with good friends in the mountains is always enjoyable. Exploring Denver has led to a couple of wrong turns which led to the discovery of interesting neighborhoods which led to getting lost a number of times. I've become well acquainted with my pop-up map of Denver! The city is fairly basic and has fewer highways and only one toll road (DFW, take note!). Another practical thing is how the streets are named. Some one was wise and decided it would be simple to number the streets: 1st, 2nd, 3rd, etc. Genius! It's helpful and for the most part, I know when I'm going north/ south rather than east/ west. It is slightly overwhelming though when your destination is 54th street and you live at 1st, but so far my reliable Civic has embraced the hilly terrain and put up distances. For the record, the drive from Denver to Estes has been better received by both car and driver.

Adventuring well and still introducing myself as a Texan,

-s

The Luck of a Texan

I have known the great land of Texas since I was four years old. I've proudly called it my home and shared in all its luxuries: the heat, humidity, huge sunsets, miles of open land, dust, boots, cowboy hats and a rich, proud history. Bordering Mexico and the Gulf, Texas was a coveted land that many peoples and countries fought for. I find pride in knowing the history of Texas and what the men and women of this land fought for. Many came to the land to live, work, farm and raise their families. They chose the south, they chose Texas.



The history of a place gives its inhabitants a story to tell, perhaps even memories, and a sense of belonging. Stories create attachment and ownership. They tie one family to another and honor the past. Knowing where you came from makes you no longer a stranger but a resident and citizen. Texas is large and proud. We are the second largest in land size and population. Our major industries are cattle and oil, both which are quite lucrative. Bordered by four states, one country and the Gulf of Mexico, Texan culture is a big part of the Southern United States. Six flags have flown over the land, representing the six different entities that ruled the area. We like our fried food, but we love our football. And the place would not be the same if it weren't for country music and its famous natives like Pat Green, Robert Earl Keen and Clint Black. Texas is big. Texas is loud. Texas is red, white and blue. It is bold and serious. Don't Mess with Texas.

This is what I'll miss about Texas. I've known it for so long. I've grown to love Texans- their big hearts, their big hats, their big trucks...everything is bigger in Texas.

My first love, my loyal friend, I'll miss you dearly. I've had just the luck to know you like I do.

For you:

The Luck of a Texan

We have the wide blue skies with the heavy hot sun whose longevity is infamous.

And the colors of our spring have long dried and drowned with the sweeping of summer.

And each corner and curve is filled with the invading heat, yet with this weighty season upon us, we find a respite here:

For it is the luck of a Texan

to be under a tall shade tree

and to breathe in the breeze of the evening

and to know that the drops of sweat that form on the skin of our brows

come from a pulse in our hearts

that is loud and vibrant and resounding.

It is the luck of a Texan to endure,

but not only for a season

but for the day and the night,

and the minutes, and seconds,

and forever through this vast land.

But more, it is the luck of a Texan

to be close to the hearts of Texans

here in this glorious homeland known by many—

but claimed only by the lucky.

Two hands better than one?

Someday I'd like to be ambidextrous. I'd like to know what it's like to throw your elbow way to the left just to get your arm on the table and in position to write. And I wonder what it is like to make backwards check marks. And what percentage of left handers were bothered by being singled out in class to sit in the left-handed desk? Perhaps they enjoyed being different, or maybe they didn't care at all and just saw it as a necessity? And how many of us would have been left handed if a strong-willed elementary teacher had not corrected the natural tendency?

Is it at all bothersome to be in the minority? Or is it unique, possibly empowering, to know that you are mostly "opposite most everyone else"? Would my balance be better if I could do things with my left hand as well as my right? Would I be more attentive to my body movements? I envied the left handers on the volleyball court. They had the advantage because they attacked the ball from a different direction. Their whole approach and swing was different. I was never tall enough to block a hitter on the net, but I definitely learned to spot them from the back row to anticipate their hit.

Including our current president, nine past US presidents were left-handed. But were any of them ambidextrous? I'm curious. Surely those in the minority have the advantage to learn right-handedness and become proficient faster since it seems the world has catered to right handers. This just means it would take that much more discipline to learn lefthandedness.

when it all comes down to this

This is my big step of faith. I have never in my life had to trust in God so much as I do now. I have always wanted to be in God's will and tried to trust him in all things, but never before have I had to rely on Him as much as I am now.

It would be easy for me to stay in my job and be comfortable with the things that I have right now. It would be easy for me to wish that things would change. It would be easy to live a mediocre life. But I do not believe this is how I was called to live. I believe in a great God who calls us to a full life in Him. He calls us to live in faith (Hebrews 10:19-23). I want the kind of faith that Abraham had when he left his homeland and listened to God to take him to the place he would receive his inheritance.

I'm going to have to trust God every step of the way. I'm stepping out on my own and depending completely on Him. I'm moving to Colorado to go back to school. I'm going to study what I've always loved and live in a place that I've always loved. I'm going to spend as much time outside, most likely in the mountains. For the first time since I was 4, I will be living in the same state as my grandparents and aunts and uncles and cousins.

I'm not sure why it took me until now to decide to go, but I'm going. I'm not sure what the future holds for me. I'm not even sure what tomorrow has, but I want it. I want the joy and hope that comes from Him. We are certain of NOTHING in this life. We are guaranteed NOTHING. It is by absolute grace and mercy that we are alive.

When I first decided to move to Colorado and pursue another degree, I felt like I was taking on an adventure. In a way, I am. I am making my own decisions and taking each day as it comes. I am grateful for what I have and I do not want to waste it. I feel called to something greater than I am able to know right now. I'm not sure what it is- but I have hope. I began to think that this new decision in my life would be a way for me to grow up and discover who I am. I began to pray that God would show me who I am in Him. Then...it occurred to me that this plan may not be about myself. My prayer now is that I may be able to know Him deeper. I pray that my faith may increase. I pray that I would draw into Him and truly treasure the people He puts in my life. I pray that my talents and skills and education would glorify Him. I pray that I may never lose track of Him as my Creator.

Thank you for reading my blogs. More than anything, I would appreciate your prayers. This is a giant step for me, and I am anxious excited about everything that is to come. I'll keep writing with notes on the transition!
Much love,
S

(You) write it down!

Pens. One of my most favorite gifts I've received is an Acme pen from my brother for my college graduation. He actually gave me a catalog and let me choose the one I wanted. It was a hard decision. I am a slightly indecisive person as it is, and making the decision on a writing tool that has been designed by professional artists was a task for me! The range of styles, themes and designs is extraordinary. The quality of the pens is exquisite. After perusing the catalog, and then studying the catalog, and then reading about the designers, I chose the pen "Colori" by Marcel Wanders. He has his own studio in Amsterdam and does work for many big name clients including British Airways, Droog Design, Flos, Habitat, Mandarina Duck, Rosenthal, Swatch and Virgin Atlantic Airways. I was impressed with his design, and the bright colors are, for lack of a better word, "artsy". And I love it!

Writing. It is expression, craft and design coming through in words. It's not just communication, but it is art. It's creativity in words- many, few, concise, verboise, repetitive, broken, made-up, foreign, linked, or jumbled. This is why I love words. And yes, I LOVE words. Words come from people. People are unique and convey themselves through their language. Language is more than just verbal or written words, but it is also in the tone, inflection, or gestures. Ahh...but I like the words on paper, specifically the ones by hand.

So this is where pen meets paper. Handwriting is fascinating to me. It seems to be linked to personality. Have you ever found a note and tried to figure out who wrote it based on the handwriting? Or maybe you've tried to read someone's handwriting that was really messy? Were they in a hurry when they wrote it or do they actually have sloppy penmanship? And how were they taught to write? Did some people have better elementary teachers who wrote on the board neater than others? One of my favorite things to learn in elementary school (besides art class) was cursive. I was so anxious to learn all the letters in cursive. I remember being jealous that my teacher could read and write in cursive! I thought it was exciting when I learned the captial and lowercase cursive letters. My dad would encourage me to keep up my cursive writing all the way through high school. Some teachers didn't care if we wrote in cursive or print; they just wanted it to be legible. Cursive penmanship is faster and easier when you are writing a lot. It is easier to take notes or write a letter in cursive because you don't have to pick up your pen as much and you can continue your thoughts with more fluidity.

Signature. A person's signed name has always been important in contracts, bills, certificates, letters and other documents. It is an official and undisputed way of authorizing a document. It is an personal yet professional way of stating, "This is me and I agree!" Nobody really teaches a signature. I would say it is kind of a scrawl that you develop as you discover how you like to see your name written. Sure, you may practice and perfect it so that it does not actually look like just a scrawl, but ultimately it's your mark. It becomes recognizable and memorable.

When President Obama signed the recent health care bill (H.R. 3590 Patient Protection and Affordable Care Act) into law this week, he used 22 pens. That's 22 different pens to write his name. So he wrote ten letters: B-a-r-a-k O-b-a-m-a. Can you imagine trying to write a signature with that many pens? He couldn't even use one pen per letter, but he had to make parts of letters for each pen. (He practiced.) This has been a tradition for presidents since Franklin Roosevelt. They give the pens to people who have worked on the bill being signed into law. A couple of the pens are also placed in the archives. So I wonder...do they leave the ink in the pens to be preserved? If so, why? I do not see the significance in that if it will not be used again. I say keep the same pen and use it over and over again for each bill signed into law. Wouldn't that be more historical? How cool would it be if he signed with the same pen Franklin Roosevelt used to sign bills in 1930s-40s? There's my vote. Hmmm...if they ever come up on eBay, let me know.

I can think faster with a keyboard under my fingers. I can think more freely with a pencil in my hand. I work more creatively with a marker in my hand. But, I believe I can compose much better with an ink pen between my fingers. There is something about the permanence of a pen. It's the smooth roller ball on paper encouraging me to "be brilliant!" I can choose a simple Paper mate for speed over accuracy or I can summon a Uni-ball for precision and quality. I do realize it is a little contradicting to promote handwriting through an online blog, but that is the way the world likes to communicate these days. Although chances are that if you are reading this online, you have, at one point, received a handwritten note from me. At least I hope so, as that is my favorite way to communicate. Enjoy words, and if you're bored, write me some!

The first 24

I was in the gym the other day when a sudden thought came to me. "How did I get to this point in my life?" As in, 'here I am at 24 years of age and this is what I am!?' Growing up, I always pictured my mid-twenties as a cool place in life where I would be someday. All of the good looking celebrities and successful people seemed to be in their 20s. It was just this time in life that I saw as far off. But here I am. It wasn't really a good or a bad thought. I didn't feel any regret or guilt. Perhaps it was the endorphins my body was generously releasing, but my mind was spinning and I experienced a moment of reflection.

I tried to recall the names of all the friends I've ever had. I went back to elementary and middle school and thought about people that I hadn't thought of in ten years. It's interesting to think about those people and how they were a part of your life at one point. When I was in elementary school, I was a part of a club called Odyssey of the Mind (at least I'm pretty sure that's what it was called). My mom could probably tell you what we did or were supposed to do, but all I can picture are the people in my group. I cannot even tell you all their names, but I do remember Allyson, David, Portia, Michelle, and Noah. I was definitely the shy girl, but I remember watching how outgoing and "brave" these kids seemed to me. I remember my friend Renn in middle school. She was probably the one who helped me get past my shyness. Not that it completely dissolved, but I came out of my shell a little bit more. Sports consumed most of my high school years and a lot of my friends were athletes with me. I learned a lot about friendships. Thanks to my good friend Leila, I also learned the art of sarcasm. We had a lot in common, but she was definitely the one with the witty comebacks. I'll always appreciate that about her. I went to college and met a whole new plethora of people. I lived in Australia for half a year and found out there are some great souls south of the Equator. It's one of my favorite things ever: to watch people from all over the world converge in one place. It's comical and amusing, extremely interesting and relatively easy, yet frustrating all at the same time. Beautiful.

Many people have come and gone in my life of 24 years. As everyone knows, people come and go in life. Some friendships form quickly and then dissipate as the seasons change. Others are solid and unrelenting no matter where each story leads. But I did not write this to regret the friendships I no longer have. What has become clear to me is that I wasn't just suddenly 24. Life happened. People came into my life. That is what matters to me. The friends and memories I have from elementary school until now are what I cherish. These people that cared for me taught me how to share life. I learned the ups and downs that are involved in relationships. Not that I'm done learning, but I was blessed. By only God's grace, I am who I am today. I cannot help but believe that He orchestrated every single person who walked into my life. Whether you were there for a week, a semester, four years or all my life, I cherish you. Your friendship- deep, casual or simple- impacted my life. I laugh at certain things because of you. I sketch hands because of you. I apply mascara a certain way because of you. I see sunsets a new way because of you. I expect great things because of your optimism. I love books because of you. I know what it's like to be lost because of you (or maybe that was me). I know what it's like to laugh so hard my jaw hurts.

You, my friend, are part of my twenty four years. I am grateful and blessed by your friendship.

"I have perceived that to be with those I like is
enough... I do not ask any more delight, I swim in it, as in
a sea." - Walt Whitman

It's a race, it's a race!

I will spend the next couple months preparing for a half marathon. I will be training with a team and learning how to properly prepare my body to run 13.1 miles. This will be my first endurance event ever. I'm quite excited and challenged by this! It will require lots of commitment and dedication. But running is really only part of what I am doing.

I will be raising funds to support The Leukemia & Lymphoma Society (LLS). The mission is to cure leukemia, lymphoma, Hodgkin lymphoma and myeloma, and improve the quality of life of patients and their families. LLS is a nonprofit organization that relies on the generosity of individual, corporate and foundation contributions to advance its mission.

The money I raise will go to the society and their research in stopping this disease. A small portion of it will cover the costs of my entry fee into the North Trails Half Marathon in May.

Here are some facts about blood cancers:

• An estimated 912,938 people in the United States are living with, or are in remission from, leukemia, Hodgkin lymphoma, NHL or myeloma.
• Leukemia causes more deaths than any other cancer among children and young adults under the age of 20.
• Since its founding in 1949, LLS has invested more than $600 million in leukemia, lymphoma, myeloma and myelodsplastic syndromes research. LLS-funded research has led to key advances in understanding blood cancers and has helped produce new treatments to enhance and prolong lives.
  

This cause is important to me. God has given me the ability to run. I have the opportunity, choice and ability to train and compete. It will be difficult at times, and I am sure there will be days that I will not feel like training. But I will. I will do it because I know there are people who fight this disease everyday and have not been given the choice whether or not they want to face it.

I will share the stories of the Honorees that I meet through Team In Training. These are people who have fought and are fighting blood cancer.

Your donation is very important to me. It will help me reach my fundraising goal.

Please visit my page and join me in supporting LLS. I appreciate your donation and encouragement!

“I was a little girl alone in my little world who dreamed of a little home for me.”

What makes us dream? What is it deep inside that compels us toward something else, something greater? Often a dream begins with an inspiration. We see a person do something impressive, talented or unusual. We witness nature: rain, a thunderstorm, animals, or the land around us. Nature has always impressed and inspired me. The weather is one thing that man is unable to manipulate or control. No human has the power to call up a storm, dictate where the wind will blow, or place a rainbow in the sky. Man will always be out to conquer nature. We will climb mountains, ride waves, hike deserts and swim through oceans just to get a taste of something distant, new and undiscovered. It’s in our very nature to desire more.

Sometimes there are times in my life when certain themes resurface and repeat. I’ll read about one subject in one book, just to hear someone else talking about the same subject, and then I’ll hear a song with the same ideas. I don’t really believe in coincidences since I believe that our lives are more than just mere happenings. When themes like this begin to surface, I try to pay close attention. While I believe that God will make Himself known however He chooses, I should use the abilities I’ve been given to seek after Him. If such repetitive subjects should arise in my life, is it not an ideal time to draw into Him and ask, why?

The theme of dreams has been surfacing through a number of facets recently. I keep hearing it come up in songs mainly. But, a couple weeks ago, it was Martin Luther King Jr. Day. Martin Luther King famously pegged the words, "I have a dream..." He was a civil rights leader who stood up for freedom and spoke these words in a speech at the Lincoln Memorial in 1963. Today, these words are famous because they were revolutionary at the time, and his dreams have become a reality. It would not be an exaggeration to say that Luther's speech, leadership, and life were inspiring. His dream was big. His dream was purposeful. His dream was noble. His dream was not personal, but it was for all. This is an important part of a dream.

How many times a day do you hear the word dream? Listen today. You will hear it in TV commercials, radio spots, SONGS, brand names, titles, etc. You will probably say it yourself. But what measures the weight of dream? And how much should you dream?

Okay, so we all dream. We all have thoughts of a better future. It's a hope of something beyond what we are living right now. I believe it is healthy and natural. Here are some of my dreams, large and small. I dream of traveling all over the world. I dream of meeting people from different places and hearing about their life and culture. I dream of running a marathon (soon, I hope). I dream of writing a book. I dream of marrying and raising a family. I dream of witnessing a real-life miracle (God willing). Besides these personal dreams, I have more beyond my own world. I dream that there would be peace. I dream of living in a place where people are concerned for the lives of others above themselves. I dream of a world without war. I dream of beauty, not death or pain or suffering. Yes, these dreams may be beyond our human abilities, but that doesn't mean I will not fight for them. If not on this earth, I will see them in heaven.

What are your own dreams? What are your talents? What is stopping you from going after your dreams? (and how dumb is that excuse?)

I actually began writing this post a month ago, and it was way before I started training with TNT. But I took on this challenge because I had wanted to do it for so long and was tired of hearing myself talk about it. I wanted to do it because it was something that I could be a part of that was not for myself. The world is SO much bigger than myself. I love to run and having a purpose for running makes it actually worthwhile (plus I really like to tell people about it). I have dreams just like all the patients, survivors and families that I run for. They have places they want to go and things they want to do it life. Cancer is ugly, and it will be a fight to defeat it. But I'm going to be a part of that fight.

Next time you have a dream, think of some else who has a dream. It may be someone you know or a stranger. Could they be fighting cancer for their dream?