The Days of Yester.

If you read my sister's blog NATural Fun--you would know that she recently wrote a post about our past as siblings growing up with our dad. She writes honestly and realistically about life as we know it. About life as it is now. But most of all, she always incorporates how our God is all loving, all powerful and always in control of our ridiculous and "busy" lives that we busy ourselves with. That and you can guarantee that it is the MOST grammatically correct  blog you will probably find. Me on the other hand, I'm the uncouth one. (Nat, I hope you find that as a complement).


So, being the baby sister that I am--I'm going to piggy back off that post. You will see the picture below is a wonderful depiction of us as kids. You will see that my sister is taller and older. I am trying to put my arm OVER her shoulders and stand as tall as her. Something I always tried to do, I was her shadow.

I'm the reminiscent kind. I'm a wanderer and a dreamer. Sometimes I would say I invest too much time focusing on the future or trying so hard to cherish sweet memories of the past that I do not like to salvage the present. However, I think taking moments to reflect on that sweet nostalgia is quite alright and needed on certain days at those certain moments the remind you to savor every day that you don't deserve.

I love my sister more than I can explain. She is right there with me in this journey. She is my prayer warrior and humble encourager. I look back on those early summer days where it all began and all we did was play games, eat grilled cheeses and be sisters. Those grew into the more fun moments of sitting outside of our house with golf clubs in hand when we were home alone because we thought someone was in our ceiling--- to driving around in my jeep with the top down while sunny and raining--to running in the rain to the end of our street and back because we could.

Even though the days of catching June bugs and finding "wooden frogs" may not occur as much--they are still patched to quilt of our memories.

So, dear friends, of course I encourage to live today--but do not forget those special moments or people that were in your past that are still holding your hand today. We call those "ToYester" friends. And by we, I mean I do. I call them that. If you don't get that--it's cool.

Sing loud. Remember well. Love more. Bear lasting fruit.

SM

Get Your Pen Ready

I have a challenge for you. I am a reflective person. I think a lot. I probably think more than I do. Not always the best thing. However, I have a little exercise that I would like you to do with me.

If you have a pen and piece of paper that would be ideal. Now I am going to mention a series of words. I would like you to write down the first that thing comes to your mind when you see these words. Go one by one. See below:

Happiness
Smile
Life
Anger
Sadness
Stress
Freedom
Laughter
Stupid

Look at what you wrote down. Those words that you wrote down on that paper. Do you see some of the same things more than once?  A correlation at all? Or is everything scattered and different? I did this myself to see if any of these things were linked. Anger, stress and stupid were all the same answer for me. Which I found interesting. And I was kind of bothered by that. It is a reflection of my heart.

 Once at church, we had a guest speaker and I remember something that he said:
"What you think about is what you care about and what you care about you will chase."

Our days are numbered. So before we kick the bucket let's give the world a reason to try to start a riot. Let's turn things upside down and share some joy. Temporary things are temporary things. I sit looking in my closet at clothes that I used to love that now hold no beauty in my eyes. I am a silly and stupid being with silly and stupid wants sometimes. But thank God for His grace and redeeming me. I am a work in progress. Aren't we all?

So, look at the words you wrote down and think about it. Reflect and please, dear friends, comment back and share with others. I would love to hear some feedback.

Live today.

-SM

Let Her Sing.

I have a guitar. I play it sporadically. I love to sing. I do that often.

I sing in public. I sing in quiet. I sing in the shower. I sing at my desk. I sing in the bathroom.

I won't hide it--it is not that I don't even care, it is that I do not even know how to care.

So, I sing. 

Enter: A Very Sad/Comical Anecdote from My Life (the wannabe singer)

For 5 summers of my life I worked out a summer camp. I loved it. Everything about it. About camp. About kids. About the activities. But mostly what camp was.

My last 2 summers I served on the leadership staff where I was able to oversee and run all of the night events for the junior high and high school kids. If you are a first-time reader of my blogging endeavors, to fill you in, this camp is a Christian summer camp. Each night we had something that was called "Lodge." It was where we would do fun, interactive skits and games and then lead into a discussion about Jesus and life application and we would finish it up with some worship music. The same person would normally lead worship every week. Well, on a particular week, the guy who normally sang was gone on a week vacation. I was asked if I could lead worship about 30 minutes before. (They knew I had a past history of leading worship...but it had been about 4 years and I had played and sang in a group, very different than being alone).

Enter: Sweaty palms, dry mouth and anxiety. My answer: "Sure, why not?"

"Sure. Why not?" Put me up in front of a crowd and tell me to be ridiculous. Done. Tell me to act stupid. Done. Tell me to dance around. Done. Tell me to stand alone and sing: give me some time. Please?

So, I googled two songs and the chords and had to print them off. There was no way I would remember that quickly. I am not a natural talent. (There was a period of time when I would pray and ask the Lord to bless me with the voice like that of Alicia Keys when I woke up in the morning. But there are some things that are just not meant to be. But that does not mean I can't enjoy Garage Band and pretend I have my own recording studio. I know, I'm almost 25 and clearly in a good place in my life.) "I believe the word we looking for here is...anyway..."

To understand what happens next, I want to invite you into the room. Come right in. Enter into the room full of 100 or so high school kids. All are sitting on the cold hard cement and staring up at you. The lights go dim. The PowerPoint goes up with the words to the song that if you're leading...you should have memorized. That is my cue to begin. First song, entitled, "Our God is Greater," begins to a little bit of a rocky start. I feel my heart begin to pound. My voice begins to forget how to produce sounds. The cheat sheet falls off the stool, I try to keep going. (At this point I am praying that I would and could go Alex Mac style and disappear and slip away as goo). Second song, I am now just praying for divine intervention. Truly. The back of my neck is sweating and my heart is anxious. My co-worker/leadership counterpart begins to run up from the back of the room. I being to think in my head, "Yes, Max is going to help me. He is a great singer. He is going to take the mic from me and make this all better." What really happens: he plugs the amp in the guitar that I forgot to plug in at the very beginning. This only makes the sound louder. And worse. I skipped over most of the song and my voice cracked and was described by one of my co-workers as "a young 12 year old boy going through puberty."After what seemed like the longest 7 minutes of humiliation in my life, I took off my guitar, handed it off to someone else and asked her to play for the next group of kids. How I managed to ask her to do this without breaking into tears, I am not so sure. Since I could not get in my car and drive west bound on 20 all the way home, I fled to my cabin. Yes, I live in a cabin for a sweet little period of my life.

At the age of 23, I curled into a ball and wept like a baby in my bunk bed. (Clearly I have let all walls down at this point to be vulnerable enough to confess to all that this really happened). After the 2 other girls on leadership made me unlock the door and let them in, I still cried like a 4 year old who lost her toy and said I would never show my face in public. I was mortified. To both of those girls, Kelsey and Dana, I still say: bless your hearts for comforting me in that moment and somehow being able to handle my melodramatic breakdown. They got me out of my bed (after quite some time of self-pity), made me laugh about it and told me to grow up, that life would go on and to get up.

I tell this story for 2 reasons: #1. To remind you that at any moment, at any age---you will feel like an idiot at some point. We all need to be humbled. #2: This is the other reason: In the middle of all my squeaky pre-teen singing, I look up to see one, small junior high girl amidst all of the chuckling high-schoolers with her eyes closed and her hand lifted to the sky as she softly sang and praised God.

I am not saying that to truly worship you need to close your eyes and lift your hands up. But it is about the heart behind it. And from knowing what her counselors had told me about her, that girl loved the Lord and was singing out to him. Regardless of how I felt in that moment, my heart goes out to that girl. The one who sang beyond what she heard. The one who did not care if the slides were off. The one who did not notice that the girl up in front could not sing. It did not matter to her. She knew that her God is bigger.

Every time I hear that first song that I sang that night, I smile and am reminded of that moment. That awful moment that I thought was horrible and now count it is a sweet memory. And a blessing. It's funny how things change.

So here is what I say to that girl: Sing your heart out.


-S

Something for a Someday.

I would like to believe I am an optimist. Not necessarily "half-glass-full" mentality--but I seem to find joy in the little things. I think that a room in midday is always better with the lights off and the blinds open with the sun shining through. I think that teddy bears are a precious treasure. I think that yellow butterflies in the Spring are just delightful. Cookie dough will always trump the actual baked cookies. I look forward to Fridays after work so I can take a nap. I think that little kids in overalls will always be the cutest outfit ever. When I hit 60 I will be that woman in the mu mu every day. I think that elbow skin is one of the coolest things. I am in love with coasters and my heart leaps when I can avoid condensation rings.

And most of all I  find that very fat cats somehow create a sweet little box of happiness in my heart--I really don't know why. But how can you not feel the same way? Think about it: a really fat cat. Try not to smile right now. Fat cats. Lots of them. Just see below. If that does not bring giggles then I am sorry, we differ in humor.

All that to say: some days go better than others. Sometimes the little things matter. But most of all, we live. We breathe. And there is purpose in all that we say and do. And God is bigger than an overweight cat rolling around money.

He brings us the little joys in the day. That piece of chocolate. That voicemail from friend that made you laugh hysterically. That song on the radio that makes you strain your voice till its lost. That encouragement from someone that you didn't expect that turned your day completely around. That pillow that catches your heavy head after what felt like the longest day of your life. That picture of you and your best friends that hangs on your wall. That breathtaking sunset after a painfully hot Texas summer afternoon. That hand that reaches out for yours to remind you that you are not alone in this journey. He brings us simple joys because He is joy. He is all things good. He makes all things work together for our good. He is before all things and in Him all things hold together. Truth is truth. And He is truth.

So breathe in and remember, you got another day. If you're reading this, you have another chance this side of eternity. Find joy in the little and the big. Because He is in it all and the more we realize it is never really about us, the more your heart will be rattled, shaken and moved to more.


Fat Cats, Peace and Truth,

SM

The Chronicles of Silliness

I am on the cusp of entering a new era of my time spent here on earth. I am soon going to be able to check the 25+ box on the survey of life. So with that mentioned, I would like to share some quite memorable moments with you dear friends of instances that will forever live in the shoebox labeled "Something Close to Normal" of my life. (see previous blog). 

Thus, commence the highlighted yearbook pages of SRM:

1992: Mrs. Annas' Class: K-5: Age 6

Big blonde, unbrushed hair. Aboy by the name of Ali and I were the last ones left sitting at a table. The inability to write down the description of a plastic spider was my demise. I wanted to cry, but didn't know how to develop tears at that moment. I was overwhelmed knowing that every one else was already playing in centers and Ali and I sat staring at this spider. A plastic Halloween decoration. To spare details of the heartbreaking humiliation that I fell subject to, the story ends with a note home to Mom that said I was a "bump on a log in class." Yes, that is correct. A BUMP ON A LOG. Clearly it did not affect me. I was only 6. How would I ever remember that?

1995: The Release of the Movie Clueless: Age 9

Upon the introduction of this movie into my sister's life and mine, we felt the need to have shirts with graphics to support the best motion picture of the year. Her shirt was blue and said, "As If." Mine was green and said "Whatever." Clearly, I was already a prodigy by this point. My goals were aimed high. Also the year of the mini-back packs. 

1996-1998: A Special Era: Age 10-12

Umbro shorts. Sambas. First name Tom. Last name Boy. 

2000: 8th Grade Talent Show Auditions: Age 14

On this day I auditioned for two different roles in hopes to make it to perform in the annual talent show. I went 0 for 2 that day. The first audition was with 2 other girls and we had made up a dance to Britney Spears, "Stronger." The second I flew solo. I had hand written all of the lyrics to Leanne Rimes, "Light in Your Eyes," on a torn sheet of notebook paper. I was literally laughed at by the judges. And the judges were teachers. At least I got to help host the show to boost my spirits, but the singing and dancing were not my strong points. Which is why I can now resort to a second best, karaoke.

2002: Jenn and Michael Begin: Age 15

To brief you on the wonderful story that begin some of the greatest friendships I have, it all began with a curly-haired girl named Jenn and a fun-loving guy name Mike. She was in the band. He was in choir. His guy friends and her girl friends conjoined together to become known as what I did not find out until college from a friend that referred to us as the "God Squad."But in the early stages of their relationship it begin with Jenn accumulating multiple school play programs (as she went to every one) and Mike purchasing copious amounts of stuffed animals as gifts. Oh high school. 

2003: High School Cross Country: Age 16

I learned that the hand off wand is not a "paton."In case you did not know either, it is a "baton."

2005: FRIENDS Ends: Age 18

It was a rough day. The end of an era. Enough said.

2005-2009: College: Age 18-22

I became a Frog. Made some good friends. Made some mistakes, ie: took a swim class for a semester and Astronomy. I helped raise Bullet Strudwick, one of the best dogs in the world. And I learned that cutting off all of your hair (especially if you are naturally curly) will only leave you happy for one day. Then you wear it curly and you cry. Cha-cha-cha Chia!

Post Grad: Give me another 25 years: Then we will talk.

-SRM

Shoe Boxes and Paper Hearts

Dear Friends,

Some say I'm loud. Some say I can't make up my mind. Some say that I move at my own speed. Some say I analyze too much. Some say I don't think things through. Some say I need to be more motivated. Some say I need to calm down. Some say a lot of things.

Welcome to the world baby, if you let sum of the some affect how you live, you might as well just throw in the towel now and never leave your room.

Life as we know it is just that, life as we know it. And this age of being 24 really bugs me sometimes. If you have read any of my past blog posts you may have caught on to the trend that this era of my life is an interesting one. I am an emotional roller-coaster of ridiculousness and sometimes when I blink I wish that I could open my eyes to a newer time in my life, a fresher one with more stability. Yet we all know that is not how it goes. And you know what? I'm cool with that. I don't feel this way every day, but that's what makes me human.

And I am sure if you and I were having this conversation face-to-face you would agree with me that you feel this or have been through this same time. And something that I think makes these days more encouraging: shoe boxes and paper hearts.


Tell me facts and numbers and I will not remember. You tell me a story and it will plant itself in the garden of my memory. I am an awful photo taker and I am not good at giving gifts. But I harbor memories and stories.

We all cherish sweet times in our lives while at the same time still carrying the pain of moments that we wish we knew how to forget. So what do we do with the good times? Shoebox them. A shoebox can translate to photography, journals, blogs, scrapbooks or something that captures the memories of that time in your life. It makes the moments tangible and palpable while reminding you that life is good and that you are blessed--even in a season of uncertainty and cloudiness.

And paper hearts are what we put in these shoe boxes. Whatever it might be, wherever you might be--shoebox it for later. Memory is a treasure and we never know when we could lose it.

This is life. I say, live it with an open shoe box.

Completely Crazy,
SM

Crossing Streets

You remember your favorite color when you were 6?

What about 12?

Now 16?

21?

Now?

For some it stays the same. Forever. For some it changes over the years. For some, it alters contingent upon mood, age, fashion, etc.

When I was 6 it was purple. Anything purple. I had a purple Disney matching warm-up set that I wore all the time even though it was probably a little too tight for my stout build.

When I was 12 it was blue. I liked the way it made my eyes pop out, and made me look like less of a Tom-boy and more like a girl...If only I really knew--blue was not going to avert anyone's attention from the mess of a nest that I wore on top of my head and Samba shoes. I know, total babe. 

When I was 16, I did not have a favorite color because I thought it was unfair to all of the other colors. Might I also add that I wore about 10 different bracelets on each arm, while sporting Vans shoes that were two sizes too large and I carried a JanSport backpack with a spot for a skateboard but had no skateboard. And I had changed my hair color from blonde to maroon. It was my own personal rebellion. I know, I really let myself walk over the edge with this one.

When I was 21, I tried to claim the same belief as when I was 16, but it was secretly yellow. I wanted to pretend I was still like I was when I was younger and that I did not really care and why does that really matter. But in all honesty, I just really liked yellow.

And now at 24 it is purple. Just color me irony.

I guess it's similar to the way that I feel about crossing large intersections. I wish I could say that I did not care, that it is not a big deal. But it gives me every kind of anxiety unless I have the "walk" sign or if the street is dead and there are no cars in sight. To me, that is comforting.

I used to run across them (the streets) without any hesitations. No fear in mind. As a child I practically lived on the street in front of my house...as far as I was concerned the cars were a second to how much time I spent and ran and played on that pavement...on those yellow lines.

And now these streets that used to be an adventure to me, hold no treasure any more. They went from purple to gray.

The girl with the red bandana in the black Jeep is no longer there. She sits at a cubicle and drives a Soul. 24 has never been so flattering. These are the seasons of seasoning. We get salt put on our wounds of experiences and pepper to flavor the dull parts---and then we hold hands with those dear to us, or we go alone. But every day we cross the street. Even if your favorite color is still the same, the lights on the street will not stay red forever.

-S

Bright. Fight. Live On.

And these trees they dance in seasons.

Let the leaves fall once or twice,
And the ground gets softer.

"But these trees...these trees," she pleads.
For something more of something less.
And in it all, the lucid hope will blind.

Baby girl, get your sword. It's time to battle a forest.

My Sister, My Friend

If you know me or if you do not know me, one thing that you will walk away knowing after talking to me for a short period of time is that I cherish all of the relationships in my life. Especially my friends and my family.

My family. Oh what a joy they bring me. My dad he is a whole blog for another day. My mother, well you have read about her--she is quite a character. My brother, the "Golden Child" as we younger ones have always called him, is growing to be another one of my favorite people to spend time with.

And then there is my older sister. Natalie. Nattie. Nami. Older Sister. Scooter. Pinky. Nitzi. Red. Now I can truly say, she is the best sister that I could ever ask for. (and yes Nat, I ended a sentence with a preposition, we'll let this one slide).

There is so much about her that I do not tell her enough. I do not tell her how thankful I am for her. For who she is. For what she does. For the kind of sister that she is to me.

But if you know her or spend any time around her...or if you have never met her, here is what you need to know:

She knows more sports stats than any woman or man you will ever meet (she is my sports dictionary when I try to pretend I know anything at all)

She is determined beyond belief. Hands down, gives her all in anything and everything.

She is loyal without fail. She is prompt and she follows through with her commitments.

She loves her family more than she will every know how to show, especially her dad.

She is a genius. Seriously, I somehow wonder if she is really a Merrill.

She does not care about what anyone thinks. Ever. She is who she is, through and through.

She loves her friends. She encourages them by words, quality time and gifts. 

She loves to run. It is her passion. 

She loves her job. She inspires students, brings life to a classroom and reminds them that dreams are real, that can be reached.

She has great red hair. Natural.

She loves Jesus and she dragged her younger sister to a summer camp 10 years ago knowing that the Lord would captivate her heart there, just like He did hers. 

Those are just a few things about my sister. I could write forever about who she is and why she is incredible. But I admire her and for everything that she is. She evens me out. I don't know what my life would be like without her. I don't think I would have survived my last 2 years of high school without her rooting me on and speaking life to me. She has always been on my team. She never quits on me even though I can not say I have been the best to her. She knows how to take care of me and remind that the world does not always revolve around me--because sometimes I have younger child syndrome.

Nat, this time my be a difficult one, and we don't always get it. Maybe we never will. But one day there will be a peace that will come. We can rest in that. And when all we want to do is cry, remember these words:

You're my sister

You're my friend

You're my beginning and my end

You're all when the world just turns and walks away

You're my sunshine on a cloudy day

You're the rain that washes my blues away

And I can always count on you

'Cause you're my sister

And you're my friend

And there is always the infamous Leanne Rimes song that will always hold a special place in our hearts. Get out the flash light kid. Don't ever lose that light in your eyes.

BAM.

-S

Just Passing Through

I don't know if it's the fact that I had to park in a parking garage to just get coffee today or that I got stuck in traffic trying to get out of the gas station or that everywhere is Dallas on the weekends is crowded; I get frustrated. I sometimes think that it's because "that's just Dallas." But it is not. I know that. Other cities are busy this way. But I don't like "busy." I have trouble in large crowds. Yes, I worked at a summer camp for 5 years where I was surrounded by a high volume of people...but those people were kids. I loved those kids. I got to lead those kids.

Maybe there is my issue---I have no control over these crowds. I have no specified place. So, I get lost in a shuffle, pushed aside in the restaurant when the other group is trying to get to their dinner reservation they made last week, I get honked at if I do not accelerate within the very first second that the light turns green, and I have to go down two more streets if I took the wrong turn just to get back to where I was because every road is a one-way street.

As one of my good friends once sang, originally by Frank Sinatra, "That's life." Yeah, I know that too. But let me just be throw-up guts honest: I am still not OK with it. Maybe the reason is the constant "itch." The constant discomfort of where I am. Because why?

I am a sojourner, just passing through onto the unseen. And there my heart is reminded that I do have a purpose in this city. In this place. Yeah, so I don't like crowds...but Jesus preached to crowds large ones, small ones. Now, I am no preacher...but I am an ambassador of the gospel. And by that---I must live where I am, love those around me, serve those around me--to glorify my God. Those who might not know me well might not believe that about me---but it's not about me. It's about Him. I can't let what others think infiltrate my thoughts. Because sometimes I get overwhelmed with mistakes I have made that are not reflective of the gospel.

He has been doing something very interesting in my life these last couple of months and my heart is being softened from a bitterness that I did not know was there. I have been blessed to be a part of a Bible study group with some of the coolest women. The way they love the Lord is more than encouraging, it's refreshing and most of all---life giving.

I have defined my life these last couple of years as having "Girl of Two Worlds" syndrome--meaning wanting to live this pleasing and glorifying life for the Lord and then just wanting to run far and be free of it all. But the latter is not freeing at all, it is confining, dangerous and lonely.
I had let my life get watered down and cold for reasons that we all do: shame, pride, selfishness...the list is long...but praise God for His grace. He has been captivating me in this season and showering me with blessings and palpable testaments of His love for me.

So, to the girl I was, to the girl I am, and to the girl I want to be--we are all the same: We desperately need Jesus. In 1Peter, he refers to believers as sojourners and exiles and in John 17, Jesus prays for his disciples who are not of the world.

Let me just tell you: I don't hate Dallas. There is a need in this city, as there is a need everywhere--for the love of Jesus to be made known. And that is through even the small moments of the day: like getting coffee after walking from the parking garage.

And so my brothers and sisters, if you do believe in the richness of our God and are a part of his royal priesthood--then you too are a sojourner passing through. Hopefully I will see you at the coffee shop, walking on the street, sharing the gospel with homeless man who stands at the corner of 75, spending quality time with your friends, spreading joy in a lifeless office at work...Regardless, keep marchin' on.

And to you all: You are loved.


-S

Legally Blonde, Legally Mom

Tomorrow is my mother's birthday.

If you have met my mother, you have met my reflection in 30 years. And by that I mean: we look the same and in some regards we act the same. However, my mother is more of a woman than I feel I will ever be and if I ever come close to the woman she is, I will be thankful.

My ever increasing blonde-curly haired mother is a riot. But there is more to her than just her hair. She has a smile that can make any circumstance or problem crumble and break...because she stands in the hope of knowing that life is bigger. She inhales the fears of those around her and breathes out a comfort that makes those in her radius rest in a blanket of peace. She is goofy and out there, but sincere and honest as a child. She loves her family more than life itself and would keep all of her children at home forever if they would actually agree to it.

She is the kind of woman that feels bad for the lonely teddy bear on the shelf at the grocery store, so she purchases it...only to add to her collection, so it will no longer be the only bear on the shelf.

She is determined and grounded. She has taught me that when people tell you no or that you can not do it...you absolutely will do it and you absolutely can do it. She inspires by living. She is tender and humble, yet her love is severe and courageously loud.

But most of all, my mother is a funny woman. She will always be the first to remind you that it is Dr. Seuss' birthday. She lives life knowing that it is fleeting and if you let all of the trivial matters  cloud your sight...you'll always be living in the storm. Rather, she smiles at what comes and shares her joy with those around.

My mom is one of my best friends whether she knows it or not. So, Mom, if you ever read this--Happy Birthday. You are one of a kind. I cherish you more than you will ever know. Thanks for always taking me off the shelf of the lonely teddy bears and loving me regardless. You are a woman to be admired. Thanks for being you.

-The Runt

Blessings in Numbers

I have never been good with statistics, geometry, algebra, or anything to do with math and numbers. However, if there are numbers that make sense to me--they are the ones that God has intricately added in to my life only to multiply the joy that I find during different moments.

5- the number of people that make up the sweet little nucleus that I like to call my family. My mom, dad, brother and sister. Our family is much closer than I used to understand and there is something about the persistence of our parents' love that remind each of us that love has no bounds, no rules and there is always a nest to come back to and remember why we are the way we are. 

6- the number of girls that I talk to and consistently live my life with and who have seen me through the silly days, crazytown, and have been a soft place to land over the past 10 years.

8- the guys JSLAMMN grew up with, spent time with, threw pillows at, got in fights with, had dance parties with, dated, went to prom with, and still talk to and love.

2557- the address of the SHAK--a sweet place I called my home for 2 years with 3 other friends in college. Those days, that house, that red door..behind it, so many rich moments...ridiculous moments and times that will never be forgotten-- viva Mexico, being "birthed" from a tall-T, LaFonda and Lieutenant Dan (just to name a few).

2- A husband and wife that lives right across the street from us now, have been friends with one since junior high and the other was my roommate my first year in college. They never cease to open their hearts, time and home--for good conversation and an infamous game of Taboo.

443- The county road Sky Ranch is on--a place where I first came to know the Lord when I was 13...a place where I was able to be a mentor, friend and counselor to many young girls and teach them about Jesus...a place where I saw the Lord move and captivate His children. A place that is forever in my heart.

Life is but a breath. And although I said I do not do math well; I count.

Count your blessings.

-S

RR:254

Hello, my name is Simple. Nice to meet you.
Who are you?
Where are you from?
So tell me what you do?

Please sit on down. I hope that my average lifestyle will not take away from your Wednesday night of TV watching.

Oh no way! That is my favorite show too. So funny!

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Enters: Reality Rambling #254

I will confess now and ask for forgiveness up front.  Everything that I am about to express is probably going to get convoluted somewhere in my dialogue for "hopeful change" and "inspiration," in conjunction with my cynical view of my own world and that I am guilty of much that I am saying. So take what you want.

You know that dream you always have every 4 months where you are trying to sprint or at least run at some pace, yet your legs are immobile? Frozen. Deathly lethargic. But there is too much behind you following. You have become the turtle in your very own subconscious. No? Just me?

Regardless, I find myself standing too often and staring. At things. At present circumstances. At people. And I feel absent. Please do not misconstrue my inconsistent blabber with something I am not saying. I am not saying that I am lost and confused. Or maybe I am. But in a different way.

I am lost in the middle of the middle. And I am confused by the middle. And by this there is also a clarity that only makes sense for one reason.

Let me backtrack for just a moment.

It reminds me of when I was in high school. Who am I kidding? It was not just high school...it is the continuum of the life cycle. It is an ongoing event that happens often in some way or the other. I will let fear paralyze my thoughts and ambitions by common realities: time, money, friends, failure, disappointment...and the list is rather extensive, and the weight is heavy...if we let our hearts absorb it. And we find ourselves in the middle.

The middle. What a place to be. I do not like the middle. The middle sucks. It is painful. You feel too young but you feel too old. You know, a "happy medium."

Seasons are seasons. And somewhere in and out of them the process does and will start with beginning proceed to the infamous middle and resolute to an end. But sometimes before we saw the beginning or even realized it, we are passed the end and on to a new beginning.

Simply incredible. Extremely interesting.

God is timeless. And that is what is even better. 

So back the part about how in the confusing middle there is a clarity that makes it make sense. Knowing that there is a timeless Father that will guide and protect me through the silly seasons that I find myself dancing in, puts my soul at rest.

Even in a time where I feel too ordinary for my own good. That I feel like I am not where I want to be. I am humbled in knowing that it was never about what I thought.

It is about how I live in the moments of the day. In the "middle" times. And whom I am living for.

And so, how about it? Dance to something a little different.

-S

Tell Me Story?

I'm a storyteller. It's how I was created. Through and through, I will tell you a story that you probably have already heard, that you've never heard and you might think that it is too long, or one with much detail and it will usually reference my family.

I remember too much. It is friend and foe, however. Let me explain.

I work in an office. I sit at a desk and work with numerous different accounts, in the avenue of work, I have to write everything down or I will forget.

But in the avenue of my personal life, my memory writes things down and does not seem to let them escape. 

In some ways, I find it to be a gift. In others, I don't. 

Remembering helps me write. It helps me recreate vivid pictures in mind that I can lock down on paper and return to when one day my memory might be something that is taken from me. You see, I find memory to be a very deep and precious treasure that we do not always seem to appreciate until we find it running in the other direction.

And then we remember. To a fault. I also do this. Forgiveness, is key to living this life the way that I know Lord desires of me. Which, praise be to Him that I am forgiven. But my human mind can not always forget certain instances, occasions or mistakes in my life that I want to completely erase.

Regardless, what do I do with it? Turn it into a story. 

So my friends, if you have the time, take a sip of water, kick your feet back and let me tell you a comical story about when I was a child. It involves a book, my kindergarten teacher, and winning an award that I may have not deserved. I will let you be the judge. Please take creativity into account for me.

When I was 6, In K-5, Mrs. Annas' class (I will let you decide how to pronounce the last name) we had "Reading Time" where we would all have a book that we picked out from the library and we would all try to sound out the letters and sentences and make sense of the words in front of us.

I was overzealous at a young age, so I had picked out a book that was far beyond the reading comprehension of an average kindergarten child. All I remember is that it has Santa on the cover of it and a young little girl with presents. It looked promising.

We had begun reading time. Mrs. Annas was walking around the class observing all the students to see how they were doing. Now let me let you in on a secret that I have kept for quite some time: I could not read this book. However, I thought that if you didn't understand books you could just make up your own story. So that's what I did. I read out loud as flipped from page to page, I got rather into it. Reading out loud, making up a story about how the little girl was going to become one of Santa's elves because she was an orphan and never knew her parents. I know right?

To brief you on it all, Mrs. Annas saw me "reading" and gave me a prize to take to the library. The story ends with me being awarded a puzzle, a Snoopy pencil and bragging rights against my smart best friend who ended up being the Valedictorian of our high school class.

I still have the Snoopy pencil. And hey, a story from it too.

Cheers.

-S

So-Journaler

Another year down.

I'm a journaler. I love to write. Yes, blogging is fun, innovative and another outlet for people to share and post their thoughts online. But call me primitive, call me old-fashioned (because in a lot of ways I am and will always be) but there is something different when you put a pen in your hand and let it dance across open pages. And the best thing is, no one ever has to read it but you. Or you never  have to read those thoughts and fears again; you just had to get them on something and paste them to some tangible item that will hold merit and proof to that time in your life.

I recently was talking with one of my best friends about journaling. She was not too keen on me talking about it so much. Maybe it is because I get all worked up about it. But I love it. I think every one should journal. When I was in college I wrote to stay sane. Those were some precious but completely fruitful and dark years all coiled into 4 years of confusion, redemption and hope.Those journals that I wrote in are a testament to those times. Every now and then, when I need to be reminded of how God loves his children, I voyage back through those journals. Not they hold a candle to the Bible, which is really where you can find every thing you need--but for me, in my life--those journals are just another proof.

Sometimes when I read back through them, I find myself in tears. Happy tears. Sad tears. Memories that it takes me back to. They are books of my life. Different chapters. Different stories. But the same heart.

All my journals look different. The pages are different. The sizes are different. They are all special in their own way. Now I know I might sound crazy, but I should never have to preface things with that because we all know that I am. I know that these journals are inanimate objects--but they still speak to me. Louder than you would think.

And so another as another year begins, I journal. Page by page, something new.

Farwell for now my friends. Happy journaling.

-S