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
Sunday, March 27, 2011
Tuesday, March 15, 2011
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
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
Thursday, February 24, 2011
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.
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
Count your blessings.
-S
Tuesday, February 15, 2011
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!
----
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
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!
----
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
Tuesday, February 1, 2011
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
Sunday, January 16, 2011
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
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
Tuesday, December 21, 2010
Bird Church
I have a habit.
A strange one to say in the least. I have never been one of those girls that you see snapping photos every two seconds when I am out with my friends and then looking at them to make sure they are cute enough to post on facebook.
If anything, I pose so the turnout is the opposite. Don't believe me? Well, then do not take photos with me. However, I have developed an affinity of taking a specific kind of photo.
Have you even been at a stop light only to look up and see a massive crowd of birds lined from end to end on a telephone wire?
If you say no then you don't live around the city, and I'm sorry--or jealous. I'm not sure. Anyway, I had a roommate in college who used to call this scene: Bird Church.
And the more that I witness this event, the more I am in amazement. I apologize that I did not partake in viewing the lunar eclipse last night, however, I did sit in awe this morning at the line of birds above my car.
And it makes you wonder, doesn't it? Stare at this congregation long enough and you realize you're either on that line... or you're in the sky.
Why my friend called this bird church, I am not really certain, but it seems fitting. Think about it. A large community of flyers sitting and waiting on something bigger to come. Sitting as a coffle.
Boomba.
-S
A strange one to say in the least. I have never been one of those girls that you see snapping photos every two seconds when I am out with my friends and then looking at them to make sure they are cute enough to post on facebook.
If anything, I pose so the turnout is the opposite. Don't believe me? Well, then do not take photos with me. However, I have developed an affinity of taking a specific kind of photo.
Have you even been at a stop light only to look up and see a massive crowd of birds lined from end to end on a telephone wire?
If you say no then you don't live around the city, and I'm sorry--or jealous. I'm not sure. Anyway, I had a roommate in college who used to call this scene: Bird Church.
And the more that I witness this event, the more I am in amazement. I apologize that I did not partake in viewing the lunar eclipse last night, however, I did sit in awe this morning at the line of birds above my car.
And it makes you wonder, doesn't it? Stare at this congregation long enough and you realize you're either on that line... or you're in the sky.
Why my friend called this bird church, I am not really certain, but it seems fitting. Think about it. A large community of flyers sitting and waiting on something bigger to come. Sitting as a coffle.
Boomba.
-S
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