Mrs. Dash

I have a new friend. I read her writing, correct grammar, make revision suggestions, ruminate on the tricks of the English language, and we talk. We talk about her life in India, her family, her cancer treatments. We talk about dreams that we have for the time that we have on this earth. In some ways, she's my new gig. My first freelance client. In other ways she's a new purpose in my life. I can't help but imagine that God knew we should meet. I wonder what our friendship could produce?

Acts 17:26-28

"From one man he made every nation of men,

that they should inhabit the whole earth;

and he determined the times set for them

and the exact places where they should live.

God did this so that men would seek him

and perhaps reach out and find him,

though he is not far from each one of us.

For in him we live and move and have our being.

As some of your own poets have said,

"We are his offspring."

I have a new friend. I read her writing, correct grammar, make revision suggestions, ruminate on the tricks of the English language, and we talk. We talk about her life in India, her family, her cancer treatments. We talk about dreams that we have for the time that we have on this earth. In some ways, she's my new gig. My first freelance client. In other ways she's a new purpose in my life. I can't help but imagine that God knew we should meet. I wonder what our friendship could produce?

Acts 17:26-28

"From one man he made every nation of men,

that they should inhabit the whole earth;

and he determined the times set for them

and the exact places where they should live.

God did this so that men would seek him

and perhaps reach out and find him,

though he is not far from each one of us.

For in him we live and move and have our being.

As some of your own poets have said,

"We are his offspring."

The Glass Half Empties [turned upside down]

Sometimes it is easier to write about life experiences when you are through it... on the other side... over the hump... Sometimes it is cathartic to write in the thick of it... I don't really know what this is... but it is my streams of consciousness...

It has been one of those weeks (shoot, couple of weeks if I am being totally honest). I have felt "off," worry and anxiety have crept in, and I have been swimming in a sea of worst case scenarios. Ever feel that way?

During one of my bouts of insomnia, I picked up this read (picture below... Still dont know how to manipulate picture with the iphone app) from close to the bottom of my nightstand selection, and was wowed by its truth. While the week has remained a struggle, this book has helped me slowly convert to seeing my glass as half-full.

In it author Ann Voskamp explores some of the theological ideas that trouble me the most. I know that my God is loving and merciful and GOOD, yet there are so many things I fail to grasp. Sometimes I delight in the mystery, and other times I feel swallowed by it.

Ann laments my sentiments so eloquently. Her answer to God's mystery is in living a life of thankfulness, celebrating the Eucharist ideals daily, intentionally, simply, even--at times-- reluctantly.

In college my friend Jesse gave me a journal that was dedicated to recording "blessings." I loved spending the following year practicing that discipline of thankfulness, and I love looking back at what I recorded there.

In the midst of trials and rough patches, acknowledging our blessings can help us from slipping into despair. Sometimes it works better than others... :)

That's one of the reasons I love social media outlets. Sharing pictures and stories that highlight what I am most thankful for--and, likewise, seeing how friends' blessing unfold--keeps me encouraged and inspired.

But that can be "dangerous" too--can't it? A friend recently--and very thoughtfully--posted about these social media dangers in the world of moms. I agree with so many of her points, and there are times when I go on blog reading hiatuses-- when feelings of inadequacy seep in, and my "behind the scenes" don't measure up to others' "highlight reels." I also believe that transparency is better than any pretense.

That said, I still plan to post the highlight reel blessings in our family's lives. In practicing the discipline of thankfulness, I want to intentionally share the good. I want to celebrate my friends and families and cyber friends and families' blessings as well.

At the same time, I am ever thankful for those friends who encourage me in those hard times, when the blessings are harder to see, when hope feels lost--even when it is not. Sometimes-- for whatever reason--it is easier to share those vulnerabilities with a smaller audience, and I am thankful for that groups that celebrates, shares, encourage, comforts our empty glasses and our overflowing ones...

Here's to living this precious life with thankfulness.

Sometimes it is easier to write about life experiences when you are through it... on the other side... over the hump... Sometimes it is cathartic to write in the thick of it... I don't really know what this is... but it is my streams of consciousness...

It has been one of those weeks (shoot, couple of weeks if I am being totally honest). I have felt "off," worry and anxiety have crept in, and I have been swimming in a sea of worst case scenarios. Ever feel that way?

During one of my bouts of insomnia, I picked up this read (picture below... Still dont know how to manipulate picture with the iphone app) from close to the bottom of my nightstand selection, and was wowed by its truth. While the week has remained a struggle, this book has helped me slowly convert to seeing my glass as half-full.

In it author Ann Voskamp explores some of the theological ideas that trouble me the most. I know that my God is loving and merciful and GOOD, yet there are so many things I fail to grasp. Sometimes I delight in the mystery, and other times I feel swallowed by it.

Ann laments my sentiments so eloquently. Her answer to God's mystery is in living a life of thankfulness, celebrating the Eucharist ideals daily, intentionally, simply, even--at times-- reluctantly.

In college my friend Jesse gave me a journal that was dedicated to recording "blessings." I loved spending the following year practicing that discipline of thankfulness, and I love looking back at what I recorded there.

In the midst of trials and rough patches, acknowledging our blessings can help us from slipping into despair. Sometimes it works better than others... :)

That's one of the reasons I love social media outlets. Sharing pictures and stories that highlight what I am most thankful for--and, likewise, seeing how friends' blessing unfold--keeps me encouraged and inspired.

But that can be "dangerous" too--can't it? A friend recently--and very thoughtfully--posted about these social media dangers in the world of moms. I agree with so many of her points, and there are times when I go on blog reading hiatuses-- when feelings of inadequacy seep in, and my "behind the scenes" don't measure up to others' "highlight reels." I also believe that transparency is better than any pretense.

That said, I still plan to post the highlight reel blessings in our family's lives. In practicing the discipline of thankfulness, I want to intentionally share the good. I want to celebrate my friends and families and cyber friends and families' blessings as well.

At the same time, I am ever thankful for those friends who encourage me in those hard times, when the blessings are harder to see, when hope feels lost--even when it is not. Sometimes-- for whatever reason--it is easier to share those vulnerabilities with a smaller audience, and I am thankful for that groups that celebrates, shares, encourage, comforts our empty glasses and our overflowing ones...

Here's to living this precious life with thankfulness.

Creating Art

"The object isn't to make art, it's to be in that wonderful state which makes art inevitable." ~Robert Henri

Last Saturday night, we were sitting in our living room (that we've dubbed "the cove") watching the Alabama game--Patrick, whole-heartedly, me, distractedly (I was working on addressing Save-the-Dates for a friend's upcoming wedding).

Alabama did something good, and Patrick tried to get my attention to watch the replay. I ignored him. Sort of on principle, but I was also in the zone. He called me out on my non-reply, and I said this:

1. I don't even watch MY game's replays... and

2. I am creating art.

I held up these:

(This "art" may be a stretch for some, but it is my creative outlet for sure.)

He laughed and said, "Good point. You're right. I don't even have an argument."

It was a great Saturday night.

"The object isn't to make art, it's to be in that wonderful state which makes art inevitable." ~Robert Henri

Last Saturday night, we were sitting in our living room (that we've dubbed "the cove") watching the Alabama game--Patrick, whole-heartedly, me, distractedly (I was working on addressing Save-the-Dates for a friend's upcoming wedding).

Alabama did something good, and Patrick tried to get my attention to watch the replay. I ignored him. Sort of on principle, but I was also in the zone. He called me out on my non-reply, and I said this:

1. I don't even watch MY game's replays... and

2. I am creating art.

I held up these:

(This "art" may be a stretch for some, but it is my creative outlet for sure.)

He laughed and said, "Good point. You're right. I don't even have an argument."

It was a great Saturday night.

Right on Time...

[via Tumblr.]

When I read these words, I can't help but just take a deep breath and say to myself, "Ok, Kristy. Stop over thinking. God's got this."

I am a perfectionist, and it makes me be not-so-gentle with myself. Sometimes instead of living in the now, I worry about if what I'm doing in the now isn't what I'm supposed to be doing in the now... Am I wasting precious time that I won't get back chasing the wind? Am I giving everything that I have of myself to people and things that need my time right now?

It is a never-ending vicious cycle if I let paralyze me.

Thankfully, the Lord is gentle with me.

He knows that while we all have just one shot at this life on earth, that every path for our greater good is just leading us to a closer walk with him.

And, and this is the tough one for me, HIS timing is perfect. Perfect. Without flaw. Unblemished. Unquestionable.

Even when I feel like my prayers are going unanswered, even when I feel like doors keep closing, even when I fear that I am missing something meant for me to see, God's ways and thoughts are so much higher than mine, and I rest there. Confused, I rest.

But I keep asking and seeking and knocking, and the right door will open at the right time in the right place that God has prepared.

RIGHT. ON. TIME.

In the meantime, I take joy in the journey and thank the Lord for His new mercies, His blessings, and the peace in being His.

Acts 17:26-27

New International Version (NIV)

²⁶ From one man he made all the nations, that they should inhabit the whole earth; and he marked out their appointed times in history and the boundaries of their lands. ²⁷ God did this so that they would seek him and perhaps reach out for him and find him, though he is not far from any one of us.

[via Tumblr.]

When I read these words, I can't help but just take a deep breath and say to myself, "Ok, Kristy. Stop over thinking. God's got this."

I am a perfectionist, and it makes me be not-so-gentle with myself. Sometimes instead of living in the now, I worry about if what I'm doing in the now isn't what I'm supposed to be doing in the now... Am I wasting precious time that I won't get back chasing the wind? Am I giving everything that I have of myself to people and things that need my time right now?

It is a never-ending vicious cycle if I let paralyze me.

Thankfully, the Lord is gentle with me.

He knows that while we all have just one shot at this life on earth, that every path for our greater good is just leading us to a closer walk with him.

And, and this is the tough one for me, HIS timing is perfect. Perfect. Without flaw. Unblemished. Unquestionable.

Even when I feel like my prayers are going unanswered, even when I feel like doors keep closing, even when I fear that I am missing something meant for me to see, God's ways and thoughts are so much higher than mine, and I rest there. Confused, I rest.

But I keep asking and seeking and knocking, and the right door will open at the right time in the right place that God has prepared.

RIGHT. ON. TIME.

In the meantime, I take joy in the journey and thank the Lord for His new mercies, His blessings, and the peace in being His.

Acts 17:26-27

New International Version (NIV)

²⁶ From one man he made all the nations, that they should inhabit the whole earth; and he marked out their appointed times in history and the boundaries of their lands. ²⁷ God did this so that they would seek him and perhaps reach out for him and find him, though he is not far from any one of us.

Her anatomical antics

Yesterday, when Addison woke up from her nap, she seemed sheepish.

Under bashful eyes, she said, " Mom, I need to tell you the truth..." Uh-oh.

I knew something was up. Addison has been telling a few lies lately to get out of trouble, and we have been trying to tell her that if she tells the truth, her consequences will be less severe. I knew she had calculated this risk because she immediately followed with, "Will I get in trouble?"

I can't remember how exactly I responded, but she eventually told me that she got out of her bed during her nap. I asked her why, and she said, " to get the purple marker..." Then she said, "you know how we are only supposed to write on paper?... Well, I forgot that rule, and I wrote on Dora."

I said, "why?"

She lifted Dora's shirt and replied, "because she needed a belly button and 2 boobs."

And there were 3 purple anatomically and proportionately correct circles on Dora's chest.

Ii thought, "What in the world? This is so hilarious...and yet so wrong. How do I discipline this child?"

I flashed back to when I was her age and drew eyelashes on my collector Raggedy Ann doll and when I got caught, I tried to blame it on my 6 month old baby sister. And I thought, she does have a point. At least she told the truth.

Yesterday, when Addison woke up from her nap, she seemed sheepish.

Under bashful eyes, she said, " Mom, I need to tell you the truth..." Uh-oh.

I knew something was up. Addison has been telling a few lies lately to get out of trouble, and we have been trying to tell her that if she tells the truth, her consequences will be less severe. I knew she had calculated this risk because she immediately followed with, "Will I get in trouble?"

I can't remember how exactly I responded, but she eventually told me that she got out of her bed during her nap. I asked her why, and she said, " to get the purple marker..." Then she said, "you know how we are only supposed to write on paper?... Well, I forgot that rule, and I wrote on Dora."

I said, "why?"

She lifted Dora's shirt and replied, "because she needed a belly button and 2 boobs."

And there were 3 purple anatomically and proportionately correct circles on Dora's chest.

Ii thought, "What in the world? This is so hilarious...and yet so wrong. How do I discipline this child?"

I flashed back to when I was her age and drew eyelashes on my collector Raggedy Ann doll and when I got caught, I tried to blame it on my 6 month old baby sister. And I thought, she does have a point. At least she told the truth.

I like to play it safe.

My life isn't turning out like I thought it would.

And yet I have everything I ever thought I always wanted: a loving husband, two sweet daughters, a family pet, a nice house, a good job, wonderful friends, family nearby.

Something is missing.

I have recently been so convicted that I am not living out my faith like I had idealistically in college thought I would be doing. Going to Auburn was the first time I didn't play it safe. I didn't even consider it a choice until February of my Senior year of high school when all of my safe choices were annoying me to no end, and then I chose to go to a place where I knew no one. (What was I thinking?) Going there opened my eyes to taking risks and being radical. Of course I made my mistakes, but I also fell in love with the Lord. I learned about discipleship, and I felt the cost of it. My goal was to help people find the Lord and find Salvation. My college experience lead me into ministry. So idealistically bright-eyed and wonder-filled, I leapt against the grain and dove into making a difference in the lives of college students at my rival campus.

While I loved and cherished many of my ministry experiences, I also was met with the greatest disappointment I have ever experienced in my Christian life. I have never been more discouraged that when church elders, ministers, members turned blind eyes to the corruption of one of its beloved leaders, and in turn, their backs on me and another colleague.

Even though my family and friends enveloped me in love and support, I ran. Thankfully, I ran to Patrick. If anything good came from my heartbreak, it was that I ended up in the same town as my husband who had been waiting so patiently for me to choose him. We married shortly after, and I healed... sort of.

Patrick experienced his own disappointments in ministry, and two broken spirits prayed and asked God to take us out of it. We moved to Nashville, got great new jobs, and started our family. We tried out churches, briefly settled at one, and after other disappointments and discouragements, sought refuge at my home church. Along the way, the corruption that I thought had ruined me during my ministry stint was brought to light, but I found no satisfaction, no redemption, in that either. I just kept going through the motions of playing church and living *mostly* right.

I like to have a plan for my life. I like to keep a budget and really adhere to it. I like to have goals and meet them. I like to save money for something special. I like that my daughters are 2 years apart. I like that Patrick and I moved back to Nashville. I like that we go to the church I was raised in.

However, that all brings me to where I--discontentedly--sit now.

I am not discontent in my marriage, with my children, in the other wonderful things that fill my life, but I am discontent because I don't know that I am living sacrificially.

It's not about me.

It's not. I always get annoyed at people's facebook profiles where in the about me section, they write "it's not." But really... It's not. I pray about so many specific things in MY life, but the only significance about MY life is that it should glorify MY God. So, it's not about my wounds or my goals or my possessions. It is about living in such a way that reflects my overwhelming love for my Creator. For nothing being as important as my desire to serve Him.

I know that my human flaws are real, and they are there so that God's grace can cover me. I am not aiming for perfection, and I even acknowledge the things in my life that have spiritual value--teaching my daughters about God's love for them and how to love others, working on my marriage so that my daughters can see what imperfect but God-honoring marital love can look like, worshipping God in community. But I even want those things to be more glorifying to Him than satisfying to me.

Somewhere along the way, my disappointments with church, with people who I thought were good, with ministry made me put my guards back up. It made me want to play it safe again. I let my guard completely down and got burned, and I wasn't going to let that happen again. So I played it safe. I play at church. I play at being a Christian. I am not being a true disciple. I've made it about me.

I once wrote an article about the cost of discipleship; I really thought I "got" it, and right now, I am not sure what my discipleship is costing me. How is my life different because I am a Christian? Am I living an obedient life? Am I willing to not play it safe again... to go where God calls me, to minister as He urges me, to invest, to purge?

Where I am feels scary. It feels desperate. But for the first time in a LONG time, it feels freeing. For the first time in a long time, I am asking God, What do you want my life to be? And I'm ready to play it not-so-safe.

"I listen carefully to what God the Lord is saying, for he speaks peace to his people, his faithful ones." ~Psalm 85:8

My life isn't turning out like I thought it would.

And yet I have everything I ever thought I always wanted: a loving husband, two sweet daughters, a family pet, a nice house, a good job, wonderful friends, family nearby.

Something is missing.

I have recently been so convicted that I am not living out my faith like I had idealistically in college thought I would be doing. Going to Auburn was the first time I didn't play it safe. I didn't even consider it a choice until February of my Senior year of high school when all of my safe choices were annoying me to no end, and then I chose to go to a place where I knew no one. (What was I thinking?) Going there opened my eyes to taking risks and being radical. Of course I made my mistakes, but I also fell in love with the Lord. I learned about discipleship, and I felt the cost of it. My goal was to help people find the Lord and find Salvation. My college experience lead me into ministry. So idealistically bright-eyed and wonder-filled, I leapt against the grain and dove into making a difference in the lives of college students at my rival campus.

While I loved and cherished many of my ministry experiences, I also was met with the greatest disappointment I have ever experienced in my Christian life. I have never been more discouraged that when church elders, ministers, members turned blind eyes to the corruption of one of its beloved leaders, and in turn, their backs on me and another colleague.

Even though my family and friends enveloped me in love and support, I ran. Thankfully, I ran to Patrick. If anything good came from my heartbreak, it was that I ended up in the same town as my husband who had been waiting so patiently for me to choose him. We married shortly after, and I healed... sort of.

Patrick experienced his own disappointments in ministry, and two broken spirits prayed and asked God to take us out of it. We moved to Nashville, got great new jobs, and started our family. We tried out churches, briefly settled at one, and after other disappointments and discouragements, sought refuge at my home church. Along the way, the corruption that I thought had ruined me during my ministry stint was brought to light, but I found no satisfaction, no redemption, in that either. I just kept going through the motions of playing church and living *mostly* right.

I like to have a plan for my life. I like to keep a budget and really adhere to it. I like to have goals and meet them. I like to save money for something special. I like that my daughters are 2 years apart. I like that Patrick and I moved back to Nashville. I like that we go to the church I was raised in.

However, that all brings me to where I--discontentedly--sit now.

I am not discontent in my marriage, with my children, in the other wonderful things that fill my life, but I am discontent because I don't know that I am living sacrificially.

It's not about me.

It's not. I always get annoyed at people's facebook profiles where in the about me section, they write "it's not." But really... It's not. I pray about so many specific things in MY life, but the only significance about MY life is that it should glorify MY God. So, it's not about my wounds or my goals or my possessions. It is about living in such a way that reflects my overwhelming love for my Creator. For nothing being as important as my desire to serve Him.

I know that my human flaws are real, and they are there so that God's grace can cover me. I am not aiming for perfection, and I even acknowledge the things in my life that have spiritual value--teaching my daughters about God's love for them and how to love others, working on my marriage so that my daughters can see what imperfect but God-honoring marital love can look like, worshipping God in community. But I even want those things to be more glorifying to Him than satisfying to me.

Somewhere along the way, my disappointments with church, with people who I thought were good, with ministry made me put my guards back up. It made me want to play it safe again. I let my guard completely down and got burned, and I wasn't going to let that happen again. So I played it safe. I play at church. I play at being a Christian. I am not being a true disciple. I've made it about me.

I once wrote an article about the cost of discipleship; I really thought I "got" it, and right now, I am not sure what my discipleship is costing me. How is my life different because I am a Christian? Am I living an obedient life? Am I willing to not play it safe again... to go where God calls me, to minister as He urges me, to invest, to purge?

Where I am feels scary. It feels desperate. But for the first time in a LONG time, it feels freeing. For the first time in a long time, I am asking God, What do you want my life to be? And I'm ready to play it not-so-safe.

"I listen carefully to what God the Lord is saying, for he speaks peace to his people, his faithful ones." ~Psalm 85:8

Reflections from my pregnancy with Addison

I wrote this poem when I was just shy of 8 months pregnant with Addison, and I just found it. Thought I would share...

"I am"

I am a mommy in the making.
I wonder what my daughter will look like, what her personality will be like.
I hear her curious voice, her melodic laughter.
I see her curly pigtails, her bright eyes, her warm smile.
I want her to know my voice and feel connected to me;
I want her to trust me and feel safe.
I am a mommy in the making.

I pretend that I am not worried or scared.
I feel anxious and excited about the future.
I touch my belly when I feel her move within me.
I worry about each step in this unknown process.
I cry all of the time these days--when I am happy, sad, worried, mad.
I am a mommy in the making.

I understand there is only so much I can control.
I say that I trust God's perfect plan in all of this,
that his mercies and grace are new every morning.
I dream about our relationship as mother and daugther, playing in
park, reading stories.
I try to push out my fears, to focus on my hopes and dreams.
I hope that I can assure her that she is special and loved.
I am a mommy in the making.
This made me thankful for the journey that I have had with sweet Addison so far, the hopes and dreams about her and our relationship that have been realized [those "curly pigtails"--who knew?], and super excited about continuing this journey with Ansley.

I wrote this poem when I was just shy of 8 months pregnant with Addison, and I just found it. Thought I would share...

"I am"

I am a mommy in the making.
I wonder what my daughter will look like, what her personality will be like.
I hear her curious voice, her melodic laughter.
I see her curly pigtails, her bright eyes, her warm smile.
I want her to know my voice and feel connected to me;
I want her to trust me and feel safe.
I am a mommy in the making.

I pretend that I am not worried or scared.
I feel anxious and excited about the future.
I touch my belly when I feel her move within me.
I worry about each step in this unknown process.
I cry all of the time these days--when I am happy, sad, worried, mad.
I am a mommy in the making.

I understand there is only so much I can control.
I say that I trust God's perfect plan in all of this,
that his mercies and grace are new every morning.
I dream about our relationship as mother and daugther, playing in
park, reading stories.
I try to push out my fears, to focus on my hopes and dreams.
I hope that I can assure her that she is special and loved.
I am a mommy in the making.
This made me thankful for the journey that I have had with sweet Addison so far, the hopes and dreams about her and our relationship that have been realized [those "curly pigtails"--who knew?], and super excited about continuing this journey with Ansley.

Coloring Prayers

No pictures for this one. Just words.

This summer has been extra special for me. I don't know if it's because I anticipate how our family dynamics are about to change, or because I feel so much relief with Patrick being back in town all the time, or because I have more energy since my thyroid is now functioning... but I have truly felt intentional this summer. I have cherished every memory that my first-born and I have made, and I have soaked in each moment with her being my only child. My heart is already growing immensely in love for sweet Ansley, and I am also soaking in each moment of our precious time as she grows in my belly, so I have felt twice blessed.

During this season, one thing that I have been more intentional about is my prayer time. Pregnancy makes me extra dependent on God. Addison and I have begun our mornings, me with coffee, her with milk, sharing a banana, snuggling on the couch with Dora on the TV, by Bible study materials in hand, and her coloring books in hers. It's been "our thing." I've loved it.

I have my assortment of Pilot Precise pens in my quiet time basket, and I like to vary the ones I use in my prayer journal. Silly, I know, but I think it makes my journal pretty and gives it a little character. More than once this summer, Addison has flipped through my journal, named the colors, and called it a rainbow. She also calls my pens "Mommy's Crayons."

Tuesday morning, I had to take Maggie outside, and when I came back inside, I found sweet Addison with Mommy's Crayons scribbling in my journal. Wide-eyed and excited, she immediately exclaimed,

"LOOK, MOMMY! I'M COLORING PRAYERS."

While my neat freakishly OCD tendency (about my journal and my writing--if only that transferred to other areas...) wanted to grab up my journal and scold her for misusing it, I stopped and reflected and smiled. What a pure and innocent way to look at praying. She inspired me, and instead, I wrapped her up in my arms and squeezed her extra tightly.

In my quiet time this week, I've been reflecting on the sacrifice of time. How do I spend it? Where does God fit in? Is it out of need, desire, obligation? Probably, a myriad of combinations of the above. What is important is that I choose to allow time for worshiping my Creator. So often, I feel silly about the requests I bring to God--fearing that they are trivial and inconsequential even though they feel pivotal to me. Yet, I've kept on seeking, asking, praying. Some of the verses that I read reminded me that my time with Him is not purely for my benefit, but that he also delights in time with me. What a beautiful mystery. He longs for me to bring my heart to Him, to dream and imagine with Him.

To COLOR my prayers.

And my little girl confirmed that in my heart.

No pictures for this one. Just words.

This summer has been extra special for me. I don't know if it's because I anticipate how our family dynamics are about to change, or because I feel so much relief with Patrick being back in town all the time, or because I have more energy since my thyroid is now functioning... but I have truly felt intentional this summer. I have cherished every memory that my first-born and I have made, and I have soaked in each moment with her being my only child. My heart is already growing immensely in love for sweet Ansley, and I am also soaking in each moment of our precious time as she grows in my belly, so I have felt twice blessed.

During this season, one thing that I have been more intentional about is my prayer time. Pregnancy makes me extra dependent on God. Addison and I have begun our mornings, me with coffee, her with milk, sharing a banana, snuggling on the couch with Dora on the TV, by Bible study materials in hand, and her coloring books in hers. It's been "our thing." I've loved it.

I have my assortment of Pilot Precise pens in my quiet time basket, and I like to vary the ones I use in my prayer journal. Silly, I know, but I think it makes my journal pretty and gives it a little character. More than once this summer, Addison has flipped through my journal, named the colors, and called it a rainbow. She also calls my pens "Mommy's Crayons."

Tuesday morning, I had to take Maggie outside, and when I came back inside, I found sweet Addison with Mommy's Crayons scribbling in my journal. Wide-eyed and excited, she immediately exclaimed,

"LOOK, MOMMY! I'M COLORING PRAYERS."

While my neat freakishly OCD tendency (about my journal and my writing--if only that transferred to other areas...) wanted to grab up my journal and scold her for misusing it, I stopped and reflected and smiled. What a pure and innocent way to look at praying. She inspired me, and instead, I wrapped her up in my arms and squeezed her extra tightly.

In my quiet time this week, I've been reflecting on the sacrifice of time. How do I spend it? Where does God fit in? Is it out of need, desire, obligation? Probably, a myriad of combinations of the above. What is important is that I choose to allow time for worshiping my Creator. So often, I feel silly about the requests I bring to God--fearing that they are trivial and inconsequential even though they feel pivotal to me. Yet, I've kept on seeking, asking, praying. Some of the verses that I read reminded me that my time with Him is not purely for my benefit, but that he also delights in time with me. What a beautiful mystery. He longs for me to bring my heart to Him, to dream and imagine with Him.

To COLOR my prayers.

And my little girl confirmed that in my heart.

This and That... thanks to the GOD OF HOPE (and where else I've been writing)

Whoa, when I logged into this thing, I couldn't believe my last post was June 24. That is not being true to my summer blogger self... I feel overwhelmed to recap the last month of summer, but I'm going to put together a slideshow at some point.

More importantly, I guess I've just been caught up in living in the moment. Something I seem to often take for granted. I usually look too far ahead of me and miss things along the way. We've had a busy yet fulfilling summer as a family--and while reality is deep-seeded within us, we've been trying to approach each day as its own entity, asking God for our daily bread and trying intentionally to celebrate something each day in this life we've been given.

We've vacationed--our last time as a family of 3. We've played. We've talked, you know really talked. We've hoped and dreamed. We've read and written. We've adventured. We've fallen to our knees in prayer, and we have laughed (and even cried) our hearts out. I love my little family.

In a conversation with a friend this summer, I came back to one of my old favorite verses, one that I used to inscribe on every card I ever wrote anyone. It has been a rich morsel to my soul:

" May the God of hope fill you with all joy and peace as you trust in Him, so that you may overflow with hope by the power of the Holy Spirit."
~Romans 15:13

Until I have time to catch up on this thing in words and pictures, I'll direct you over here where I've written a "guest post." Holly asked me to write from the perspective of a working mom about balancing work and family. It was an interesting assignment that made me take a closer look at my life and what I do. Balance? Is there such a thing? Most of the time I think all of us are trying to make it day-to-day. The harsh reality is that we cannot be all things to all people all the time--perfectly. So we look at our lives, make decisions, and do the best with what we've been given. Through my stint as a mom, God has definitely been teaching me to rely on Him every step on the way, and He's the one who gently reminds me, when things get topsy-turvy, to seek Him for balance. When I was writing this post, I got long-winded, but when speaking [writing] from my heart, I realized that my heart was long-winded. If you have the time and interest, pop on over to the Mom-tage to see what's going on.

Whoa, when I logged into this thing, I couldn't believe my last post was June 24. That is not being true to my summer blogger self... I feel overwhelmed to recap the last month of summer, but I'm going to put together a slideshow at some point.

More importantly, I guess I've just been caught up in living in the moment. Something I seem to often take for granted. I usually look too far ahead of me and miss things along the way. We've had a busy yet fulfilling summer as a family--and while reality is deep-seeded within us, we've been trying to approach each day as its own entity, asking God for our daily bread and trying intentionally to celebrate something each day in this life we've been given.

We've vacationed--our last time as a family of 3. We've played. We've talked, you know really talked. We've hoped and dreamed. We've read and written. We've adventured. We've fallen to our knees in prayer, and we have laughed (and even cried) our hearts out. I love my little family.

In a conversation with a friend this summer, I came back to one of my old favorite verses, one that I used to inscribe on every card I ever wrote anyone. It has been a rich morsel to my soul:

" May the God of hope fill you with all joy and peace as you trust in Him, so that you may overflow with hope by the power of the Holy Spirit."
~Romans 15:13

Until I have time to catch up on this thing in words and pictures, I'll direct you over here where I've written a "guest post." Holly asked me to write from the perspective of a working mom about balancing work and family. It was an interesting assignment that made me take a closer look at my life and what I do. Balance? Is there such a thing? Most of the time I think all of us are trying to make it day-to-day. The harsh reality is that we cannot be all things to all people all the time--perfectly. So we look at our lives, make decisions, and do the best with what we've been given. Through my stint as a mom, God has definitely been teaching me to rely on Him every step on the way, and He's the one who gently reminds me, when things get topsy-turvy, to seek Him for balance. When I was writing this post, I got long-winded, but when speaking [writing] from my heart, I realized that my heart was long-winded. If you have the time and interest, pop on over to the Mom-tage to see what's going on.

Recent Mommy Reads

***This one's just for the ladies. Sorry, Dad and Steven.***

My mom takes Redbook Magazine, and she recently brought me two articles to read about parenting. I'll link them on here for you to read if your interests are piqued. I'll also share my thoughts on them.

The first was about breastfeeding and was titled, "No, You Don't Have to Breastfeed." This controversial article (just read some of the reader's comments after...) relays one woman's journey that lead her to unapologetically bottle feed her child. She weighs the pros and cons while honestly expounding on her unpopular, albeit personal, decision.

While I am a breastfeeding advocate, I also believe that what defines a good mother does not come from her nipples of milk and honey. We are culturally defined by so many "social norms" that henpeck us into feeling like we have to do things a certain way. In our day and age, breastfeeding is that norm, and, unfortunately, it just doesn't work for everyone... What about the mom who's baby is losing weight? The baby with food allergies to everything? The mom of the lazy eater? The mom who is so stressed out with older kids that she's just not making any milk?

Almost every mom I know who chose to nurse her child went through some obstacle and made decisions along the way about when to stop, when to supplement, etc. For me, it was Addison's milk allergy and the drastic changes I was forced to make to my own diet. Was it worth it to continue??? Almost every woman has a story of mastitis, cracked nipples, diminishing supply, you name it... and the mom's who don't brag about their three years of spiritual bonding while nursing their child(ren), staring into their eyes, muckety muck. (Sorry for the overgeneralization.)

Unfortunately, another of our societal norms is the "misery loving company" mantra... I remember one of the first questions I got from friends, family, total strangers... was "Are you nursing? Pause... (in a borderline look of worry/condescension) How's it going?" First. Like it's any of their business. Second. Do you want me to share my battle stories to make yourself feel better, or do you really care?

No matter the decision a mom makes, she feels some sort of guilt and judgment. Some combination of selfishness and selflessness. And it doesn't matter how long or short or not at all that they nursed. Someone will ask "how it's going" and respond with some look of chagrin.

Like I said before, I am an advocate of breastfeeding. It worked for me and Addison, and my dietary sacrifices were worth it to me for the goal that I set for myself. (I will NEVER forget how good my first piece of EXTRA CHEESE pizza was for me or how much I savored every gulp of cow's milk with my chocolate chip cookies the night that my breasts were officially emancipated.) I will try to nurse this second child for a time, taking it feeding by feeding, day by day, and I hope and pray that I make the best decision for my child and my whole family and that caring about my family's well-being will be what defines me as a good mom.

Mostly, I just hope that I will not succumb to the expectations of others and that I will be GENTLE with myself...

Still with me?

OK, the second article was a bit more sentimental and reflective. It was titled: "Letting Go of Your Kids, Little By Little." The author describes the stages of a child's transition from dependence to independence and the little benchmarks along the way.

This article made me cry. It also made me understand why people keep having children. I've mentioned in a previous post that the idea of "growing up" has always been an emotional one for me. As an imaginative child, I prayed that the time would pass slow and that I would not have to grow up. Maybe it was some sort of Peter Pan syndrome--I don't know. As a mother, I have those same thoughts. With each milestone that Addison reaches, I am filled with awe and pride and love and wonder... mixed with a little sadness and sentimentality. I desire for her to be an independent soul (which she totally is) with hopes and dreams. I want to help her learn to love and serve, to work hard, to reach her goals. Yet, I feel myself wanting to hold onto these sweet days where her "Mommy, what' that?" and "Look, Mommy!" and "I'm Mommy's little girl." and "Hold you, Mommy!" phrases keep her my little girl for as long as possible.

This article put parenting into perspective for me. It made me so thankful for this opportunity and responsibility, and it made me want to cherish moments. Each moment. Especially the hard ones.

If you read these articles (or even if you don't), I'd love to hear your thoughts on these topics.

Happy Thursday!

***This one's just for the ladies. Sorry, Dad and Steven.***

My mom takes Redbook Magazine, and she recently brought me two articles to read about parenting. I'll link them on here for you to read if your interests are piqued. I'll also share my thoughts on them.

The first was about breastfeeding and was titled, "No, You Don't Have to Breastfeed." This controversial article (just read some of the reader's comments after...) relays one woman's journey that lead her to unapologetically bottle feed her child. She weighs the pros and cons while honestly expounding on her unpopular, albeit personal, decision.

While I am a breastfeeding advocate, I also believe that what defines a good mother does not come from her nipples of milk and honey. We are culturally defined by so many "social norms" that henpeck us into feeling like we have to do things a certain way. In our day and age, breastfeeding is that norm, and, unfortunately, it just doesn't work for everyone... What about the mom who's baby is losing weight? The baby with food allergies to everything? The mom of the lazy eater? The mom who is so stressed out with older kids that she's just not making any milk?

Almost every mom I know who chose to nurse her child went through some obstacle and made decisions along the way about when to stop, when to supplement, etc. For me, it was Addison's milk allergy and the drastic changes I was forced to make to my own diet. Was it worth it to continue??? Almost every woman has a story of mastitis, cracked nipples, diminishing supply, you name it... and the mom's who don't brag about their three years of spiritual bonding while nursing their child(ren), staring into their eyes, muckety muck. (Sorry for the overgeneralization.)

Unfortunately, another of our societal norms is the "misery loving company" mantra... I remember one of the first questions I got from friends, family, total strangers... was "Are you nursing? Pause... (in a borderline look of worry/condescension) How's it going?" First. Like it's any of their business. Second. Do you want me to share my battle stories to make yourself feel better, or do you really care?

No matter the decision a mom makes, she feels some sort of guilt and judgment. Some combination of selfishness and selflessness. And it doesn't matter how long or short or not at all that they nursed. Someone will ask "how it's going" and respond with some look of chagrin.

Like I said before, I am an advocate of breastfeeding. It worked for me and Addison, and my dietary sacrifices were worth it to me for the goal that I set for myself. (I will NEVER forget how good my first piece of EXTRA CHEESE pizza was for me or how much I savored every gulp of cow's milk with my chocolate chip cookies the night that my breasts were officially emancipated.) I will try to nurse this second child for a time, taking it feeding by feeding, day by day, and I hope and pray that I make the best decision for my child and my whole family and that caring about my family's well-being will be what defines me as a good mom.

Mostly, I just hope that I will not succumb to the expectations of others and that I will be GENTLE with myself...

Still with me?

OK, the second article was a bit more sentimental and reflective. It was titled: "Letting Go of Your Kids, Little By Little." The author describes the stages of a child's transition from dependence to independence and the little benchmarks along the way.

This article made me cry. It also made me understand why people keep having children. I've mentioned in a previous post that the idea of "growing up" has always been an emotional one for me. As an imaginative child, I prayed that the time would pass slow and that I would not have to grow up. Maybe it was some sort of Peter Pan syndrome--I don't know. As a mother, I have those same thoughts. With each milestone that Addison reaches, I am filled with awe and pride and love and wonder... mixed with a little sadness and sentimentality. I desire for her to be an independent soul (which she totally is) with hopes and dreams. I want to help her learn to love and serve, to work hard, to reach her goals. Yet, I feel myself wanting to hold onto these sweet days where her "Mommy, what' that?" and "Look, Mommy!" and "I'm Mommy's little girl." and "Hold you, Mommy!" phrases keep her my little girl for as long as possible.

This article put parenting into perspective for me. It made me so thankful for this opportunity and responsibility, and it made me want to cherish moments. Each moment. Especially the hard ones.

If you read these articles (or even if you don't), I'd love to hear your thoughts on these topics.

Happy Thursday!

Hope deferred...

In my quiet time today, my heart lead me to a familiar verse...

"Hope deferred makes the heart sick, but a longing fulfilled is a tree of life." ~Proverbs 13:12

This verse is one that I have prayed many times for friends and family...in hopes for parenthood and being blessed with children--fertility and adoption and the waiting process, love and dating with the desire for marriage, job searches and changes and fulfillment, etc... I have definitely prayed this verse for myself when I am hoping a life dream of my own will be realized. I wonder, though, if I am praying it in the right way... Are my longings the Lord's longings? I know my ways are not his ways... If I am praying in the right spirit, will he align my longings with His? I do believe that His desire for us is that our greatest hope is in Him, and so how does that translate into/relate to/connect wuth our earthy--albeit spiritually earthly--desires? So much over-thinking sometimes! In all of my theological literature, I cannot find much specificity.

I wish that King Solomon would have laid out the complete context sometimes; other times I am satisfied with this sweet morsel. I just want my prayer of the verse to be pure and real and realized.

Hope is a wonderful motivator, but longings fulfilled are sweet to the soul indeed. I pray the same for you and your hopes today!

In my quiet time today, my heart lead me to a familiar verse...

"Hope deferred makes the heart sick, but a longing fulfilled is a tree of life." ~Proverbs 13:12

This verse is one that I have prayed many times for friends and family...in hopes for parenthood and being blessed with children--fertility and adoption and the waiting process, love and dating with the desire for marriage, job searches and changes and fulfillment, etc... I have definitely prayed this verse for myself when I am hoping a life dream of my own will be realized. I wonder, though, if I am praying it in the right way... Are my longings the Lord's longings? I know my ways are not his ways... If I am praying in the right spirit, will he align my longings with His? I do believe that His desire for us is that our greatest hope is in Him, and so how does that translate into/relate to/connect wuth our earthy--albeit spiritually earthly--desires? So much over-thinking sometimes! In all of my theological literature, I cannot find much specificity.

I wish that King Solomon would have laid out the complete context sometimes; other times I am satisfied with this sweet morsel. I just want my prayer of the verse to be pure and real and realized.

Hope is a wonderful motivator, but longings fulfilled are sweet to the soul indeed. I pray the same for you and your hopes today!

Relearning old things...

I've spent much of my free time during these snow days rereading Books 1 and 2 of Francine Rivers' Mark of the Lion Series. I first read these when I was working in Tuscaloosa with the campus ministry, and the words provided so much hope, humility, and purpose during those dark days. The story of a young faithful Christian woman who survived the fall of Jerusalem, Roman slavery, and persecution with such grace inspired me and touched me deeply.

For years, I recommended them to anybody who would listen, but somewhere along the way, I lost the message--the literary appreciation overshadowing the truth. Rereading them has totally brought me full circle and humbled my spirit in a way that I know I have needed. Although God brought me out of those dark days, I have continually struggled with so many of the aftermaths--forgiveness, trust, the sanctity of the church, the validity of the church.

Rereading this story, in a different place, in a different time, in a different set of circumstances, has opened old hurts, doubts, and fears that remind me of a time I would rather forget.

However, I should hope to never forget that time as it is a part of my story, and rereading these words reminded me about passion, determination, and fearlessness of the supernatural kind... the kind you experience and know has not evolved from your own strength, the kind that I did once experience...and I thank God for that gentle reminder.

As I became more captivated with each section, I realized that I already knew the end of the story... yet knowing that end did not keep me from sleepless nights of devouring every word, turning each page with fresh anticipation, reading each dog-eared, tear-stained page with hope and promise. The end left me no less satisfied, but even more affirmed.

It reminds me of another amazing book with its own wear and tear, full of my tears and joy, hope and promise. I'm thankful to also know the end of that story, even more thankful the author wrote me into it.

In this different time, different place, different set of circumstances, I look forward to immersing myself back into that truth with inspired anticipation as I turn each page.

I also am excited about sharing that story with this sweet person:

I've spent much of my free time during these snow days rereading Books 1 and 2 of Francine Rivers' Mark of the Lion Series. I first read these when I was working in Tuscaloosa with the campus ministry, and the words provided so much hope, humility, and purpose during those dark days. The story of a young faithful Christian woman who survived the fall of Jerusalem, Roman slavery, and persecution with such grace inspired me and touched me deeply.

For years, I recommended them to anybody who would listen, but somewhere along the way, I lost the message--the literary appreciation overshadowing the truth. Rereading them has totally brought me full circle and humbled my spirit in a way that I know I have needed. Although God brought me out of those dark days, I have continually struggled with so many of the aftermaths--forgiveness, trust, the sanctity of the church, the validity of the church.

Rereading this story, in a different place, in a different time, in a different set of circumstances, has opened old hurts, doubts, and fears that remind me of a time I would rather forget.

However, I should hope to never forget that time as it is a part of my story, and rereading these words reminded me about passion, determination, and fearlessness of the supernatural kind... the kind you experience and know has not evolved from your own strength, the kind that I did once experience...and I thank God for that gentle reminder.

As I became more captivated with each section, I realized that I already knew the end of the story... yet knowing that end did not keep me from sleepless nights of devouring every word, turning each page with fresh anticipation, reading each dog-eared, tear-stained page with hope and promise. The end left me no less satisfied, but even more affirmed.

It reminds me of another amazing book with its own wear and tear, full of my tears and joy, hope and promise. I'm thankful to also know the end of that story, even more thankful the author wrote me into it.

In this different time, different place, different set of circumstances, I look forward to immersing myself back into that truth with inspired anticipation as I turn each page.

I also am excited about sharing that story with this sweet person:

Life is beautiful. Life is short.

My life has seemed paradoxical these last couple of weeks. Celebrating the birthdays of children alongside the last days of dear loved ones. My sweet Uncle Tom passed this morning after a long, valorous fight with cancer. His pain is now gone, his body at rest, his soul at peace.

I will remember many things about him--his joking sense of humor, his devotion to his family, his passion for sports. He always engaged me with questions about me--he cared to ask. He embraced Patrick into our family wholeheartedly, paying both of us compliments we will always treasure. "You did good, Kristy. He's solid."

It's always difficult to contemplate the brevity of life. The limited opportunities. The wasting away. Sometimes I find myself aligned with Macbeth's eloquently spoken philosophy:

To-morrow, and to-morrow, and to-morrow,
Creeps in this petty pace from day to day
To the last syllable of recorded time,
And all our yesterdays have lighted fools
The way to dusty death. Out, out, brief candle!
Life's but a walking shadow, a poor player
That struts and frets his hour upon the stage
And then is heard no more: it is a tale
Told by an idiot, full of sound and fury,
Signifying nothing.

But then, I am thankful that my life DOES signify something. As a child of the Father, I am not living for the glories and manifestations that this earthly world can provide, for the mere "hour" of my one-act play. I am thankful for a Savior that has provided eternal life, eternal peace, eternal satisfaction in him. I am thankful to serve a patient, gracious God, and I praise/pray these words of truth to my Father:

8But do not forget this one thing, dear friends: With the Lord a day is like a thousand years, and a thousand years are like a day. 9The Lord is not slow in keeping his promise, as some understand slowness. He is patient with you, not wanting anyone to perish, but everyone to come to repentance. ~2 Peter 3: 8-9.

I know that he was patient with my Uncle Tom, and I pray for his continued patience with me.

I like to imagine the afterlife as something like this:

"I think of Heaven as a garden where I shall find again those who have made my world." ~Minnie Aumonier

My life has seemed paradoxical these last couple of weeks. Celebrating the birthdays of children alongside the last days of dear loved ones. My sweet Uncle Tom passed this morning after a long, valorous fight with cancer. His pain is now gone, his body at rest, his soul at peace.

I will remember many things about him--his joking sense of humor, his devotion to his family, his passion for sports. He always engaged me with questions about me--he cared to ask. He embraced Patrick into our family wholeheartedly, paying both of us compliments we will always treasure. "You did good, Kristy. He's solid."

It's always difficult to contemplate the brevity of life. The limited opportunities. The wasting away. Sometimes I find myself aligned with Macbeth's eloquently spoken philosophy:

To-morrow, and to-morrow, and to-morrow,
Creeps in this petty pace from day to day
To the last syllable of recorded time,
And all our yesterdays have lighted fools
The way to dusty death. Out, out, brief candle!
Life's but a walking shadow, a poor player
That struts and frets his hour upon the stage
And then is heard no more: it is a tale
Told by an idiot, full of sound and fury,
Signifying nothing.

But then, I am thankful that my life DOES signify something. As a child of the Father, I am not living for the glories and manifestations that this earthly world can provide, for the mere "hour" of my one-act play. I am thankful for a Savior that has provided eternal life, eternal peace, eternal satisfaction in him. I am thankful to serve a patient, gracious God, and I praise/pray these words of truth to my Father:

8But do not forget this one thing, dear friends: With the Lord a day is like a thousand years, and a thousand years are like a day. 9The Lord is not slow in keeping his promise, as some understand slowness. He is patient with you, not wanting anyone to perish, but everyone to come to repentance. ~2 Peter 3: 8-9.

I know that he was patient with my Uncle Tom, and I pray for his continued patience with me.

I like to imagine the afterlife as something like this:

"I think of Heaven as a garden where I shall find again those who have made my world." ~Minnie Aumonier

My Walk Down Memory Lane

I believe that it is human nature, when reminiscing on our pasts, to either glamorize our meager accomplishments or minimize our journeys to self-realization.

I fall on both ends of this pendulum. It is with self-deprecating wit that I recall my braces-wearing, thick-waisted, frizzy-haired days filled with adolescent angst; however, each point scored in a basketball game, each runner gunned down at second base, forever lives on, every detail of the lay up, 3-point shot, perfectly executed throw {no matter how rare the event} etched in my memory.

A couple of weekends ago, my parents brought over boxes of memorabilia they found while cleaning out their attic. Rummaging through them has consumed my time this week while Addison has been napping. I discovered schoolwork, report cards, calendars, all star and championship softball and basketball trophies, ball jerseys, patchwork quilt pieces, homemade dolls, yearbooks, news clippings, all the news articles I investigated as a journalist for The Pony Express, and all of the stories, books, and poems that I wrote.

It nearly astonished me as I watched the confident, imaginative child transform into a timid, awkward adolescent. As I regained some courage in high school, I followed passions and developed talents, and in college I tried my hand at everything in my attempts to find my true self.

Looking back through my yearbooks, I laughed until I cried remembering the inside jokes in the entries. I smirked at all of my silly preoccupations with boys and homecoming and arguments with friends. I cherished the references to my accomplishments in various activities and sports, but I also found myself somewhat disappointed, thinking "Why did I not try out for that play? I would have loved doing that." "Why was I so worried about what so-and-so thought that I didn't involve myself in ______ activity?" "Man, I really missed out on ______."

When I caught myself playing the "could'a, would'a, should'a" game, I stopped and wondered why. I'm not usually the kind of person who is impressed by flashy accomplishments, and I certainly don't aspire to be the kind of mother who puts so much pressure on her child to be involved in each and every thing. While I am driven to be an ambitious and successful individual, I firmly believe that every person using his/her unique skill set and field of interests is what achieves true success--that knowing ourselves fully is what authentic success "looks like." More than one path can lead to the same result, and each path must be specific to each individual.

I summarized my thoughts as this: we begin our lives with limitless opportunities. Every choice we make along the way eliminates millions of other things we *might* do {have done}... It narrows our field. Sure, being in a play, participating in X,Y, or Z could have benefited me in some way; however, what if right now, based on the decisions I did make, I am doing exactly what I am supposed to be doing.

From as early as I knew my letters and could hold a pen, I have been writing stories and keeping journals. It consumed me so completely that my mother asked my pediatrician if there was something wrong with me not wanting to play with dolls... She told him, "She only wants paper and pens." "Well, then give the girl paper and pens," he replied. And, that, my mom did. My dad even said that he would provide me with a lifetime's supply of paper, a promise he's always kept.

In the pile of papers, I found my ruminations of the 1988 presidential election and my almost 10-year-old self's political opinions on Michael Dukakis, George Bush, Dan Quayle. I uncovered my 5-year-old's pennings of "The Boy who Made Friends," my 7-year-old's "How the Elephant Got Its Trunk," and my ongoing series of Peanut Land and Mystery Kids. I analyzed my 13-year-old's perspective on how confusing and contradictory our feelings are, poured over my college admission essay to Vanderbilt, and I smiled.

While reading anything I could get my hands on as a child introduced me to a world of imagination, endless possibility, and the freedom to make-believe, while it fascinated me through the lives and eyes of historical figures who walked before me, it is through writing that I have created my own world while also observing the world around me.

I now am a teacher; I teach teenagers how to read and write, to analyze and relfect, to choose vivid verbs and precise adjectives. I am also a writer; I write to inform, to entertain, to remember--looking for true sentences, unique ways of expressing myself, and words for encouraging and inspiring.

Although I reduced my boxes of memories into one, the experience inspired me to fill many more.

I believe that it is human nature, when reminiscing on our pasts, to either glamorize our meager accomplishments or minimize our journeys to self-realization.

I fall on both ends of this pendulum. It is with self-deprecating wit that I recall my braces-wearing, thick-waisted, frizzy-haired days filled with adolescent angst; however, each point scored in a basketball game, each runner gunned down at second base, forever lives on, every detail of the lay up, 3-point shot, perfectly executed throw {no matter how rare the event} etched in my memory.

A couple of weekends ago, my parents brought over boxes of memorabilia they found while cleaning out their attic. Rummaging through them has consumed my time this week while Addison has been napping. I discovered schoolwork, report cards, calendars, all star and championship softball and basketball trophies, ball jerseys, patchwork quilt pieces, homemade dolls, yearbooks, news clippings, all the news articles I investigated as a journalist for The Pony Express, and all of the stories, books, and poems that I wrote.

It nearly astonished me as I watched the confident, imaginative child transform into a timid, awkward adolescent. As I regained some courage in high school, I followed passions and developed talents, and in college I tried my hand at everything in my attempts to find my true self.

Looking back through my yearbooks, I laughed until I cried remembering the inside jokes in the entries. I smirked at all of my silly preoccupations with boys and homecoming and arguments with friends. I cherished the references to my accomplishments in various activities and sports, but I also found myself somewhat disappointed, thinking "Why did I not try out for that play? I would have loved doing that." "Why was I so worried about what so-and-so thought that I didn't involve myself in ______ activity?" "Man, I really missed out on ______."

When I caught myself playing the "could'a, would'a, should'a" game, I stopped and wondered why. I'm not usually the kind of person who is impressed by flashy accomplishments, and I certainly don't aspire to be the kind of mother who puts so much pressure on her child to be involved in each and every thing. While I am driven to be an ambitious and successful individual, I firmly believe that every person using his/her unique skill set and field of interests is what achieves true success--that knowing ourselves fully is what authentic success "looks like." More than one path can lead to the same result, and each path must be specific to each individual.

I summarized my thoughts as this: we begin our lives with limitless opportunities. Every choice we make along the way eliminates millions of other things we *might* do {have done}... It narrows our field. Sure, being in a play, participating in X,Y, or Z could have benefited me in some way; however, what if right now, based on the decisions I did make, I am doing exactly what I am supposed to be doing.

From as early as I knew my letters and could hold a pen, I have been writing stories and keeping journals. It consumed me so completely that my mother asked my pediatrician if there was something wrong with me not wanting to play with dolls... She told him, "She only wants paper and pens." "Well, then give the girl paper and pens," he replied. And, that, my mom did. My dad even said that he would provide me with a lifetime's supply of paper, a promise he's always kept.

In the pile of papers, I found my ruminations of the 1988 presidential election and my almost 10-year-old self's political opinions on Michael Dukakis, George Bush, Dan Quayle. I uncovered my 5-year-old's pennings of "The Boy who Made Friends," my 7-year-old's "How the Elephant Got Its Trunk," and my ongoing series of Peanut Land and Mystery Kids. I analyzed my 13-year-old's perspective on how confusing and contradictory our feelings are, poured over my college admission essay to Vanderbilt, and I smiled.

While reading anything I could get my hands on as a child introduced me to a world of imagination, endless possibility, and the freedom to make-believe, while it fascinated me through the lives and eyes of historical figures who walked before me, it is through writing that I have created my own world while also observing the world around me.

I now am a teacher; I teach teenagers how to read and write, to analyze and relfect, to choose vivid verbs and precise adjectives. I am also a writer; I write to inform, to entertain, to remember--looking for true sentences, unique ways of expressing myself, and words for encouraging and inspiring.

Although I reduced my boxes of memories into one, the experience inspired me to fill many more.

Questions I'm Considering...

When is imitation NOT the highest form of flattery?

With the full acknowledgement that there is nothing new under the sun--that everything has been said, done, experienced, thought, etc. by someone before you, how is it possible to maintain uniqueness and individuality?

For example, I love decorating and personalizing my house with my unique flea market finds to reflect what Patrick and I are interested in and our sense of style. Admittedly, I get good paint colors, ideas about spacing and color combinations from Pottery Barn magazines, creative design blogs that I peruse, and sometimes even from my mom's house. However, my ultimate goal is to try to make it "us."

I love choosing clothes and making fashion decisions that are unique as well--trying to "pull things off" that sometimes I'm successful with and other times not-so-much. Of course I find inspirations from Anthropologie and JJill, but would I ever copy a friend's wardrobe from head to toe? I really hope not...

Another thing is names... Unless you completely make up a name by combinations of names like Kristrick or Patsty, or use bizarre spellings, hasn't every child's name been used at least once in all existence. Yet, it is still such a paramount decision because in choosing a name for a baby or child, you are giving that child its first sense of identity. After we named our baby girl, she has completely shaped into her name as far as we've been concerned. Many people over the years have used Addison and Camille in their names--Camille was my middle name that my parents chose for me. Can we "claim" those as hers/ours--as a part of her individuality? Of course not!

When is imitation NOT the highest form of flattery?

With the full acknowledgement that there is nothing new under the sun--that everything has been said, done, experienced, thought, etc. by someone before you, how is it possible to maintain uniqueness and individuality?

For example, I love decorating and personalizing my house with my unique flea market finds to reflect what Patrick and I are interested in and our sense of style. Admittedly, I get good paint colors, ideas about spacing and color combinations from Pottery Barn magazines, creative design blogs that I peruse, and sometimes even from my mom's house. However, my ultimate goal is to try to make it "us."

I love choosing clothes and making fashion decisions that are unique as well--trying to "pull things off" that sometimes I'm successful with and other times not-so-much. Of course I find inspirations from Anthropologie and JJill, but would I ever copy a friend's wardrobe from head to toe? I really hope not...

Another thing is names... Unless you completely make up a name by combinations of names like Kristrick or Patsty, or use bizarre spellings, hasn't every child's name been used at least once in all existence. Yet, it is still such a paramount decision because in choosing a name for a baby or child, you are giving that child its first sense of identity. After we named our baby girl, she has completely shaped into her name as far as we've been concerned. Many people over the years have used Addison and Camille in their names--Camille was my middle name that my parents chose for me. Can we "claim" those as hers/ours--as a part of her individuality? Of course not!

Neigborhood Gestapo and Pregnancy Progress

Well, we thought our biggest concern in our new neck of the woods would be the "Blue Light Special"; however, we are learning about our new adversary, the "Neighborhood Gestapo." Don't get me wrong--as referenced in my original post, we love living in our planned community; we love most of our neighbors; we love the well-manicured lawns and respectable families that we are surrounded by. In many ways we are proud of where we live and can envision ourselves living here for many years--walking our family to the neighborhood pool and biking the trail to the neighborhood elementary school, but recent events have made us wonder if "Big Brother" really exists.

A couple of weeks after we moved in last year, we went out of town and, in being away from home, inadvertently left our garbage can out over the weekend. Shortly after, we received a "friendly reminder" about keeping garbage cans out of sight from the road. Our initial reaction was, "GAH--Seriously!?! Welcome to the neighborhood..." but we also appreciated the dedication to maintaining an aesthetically pleasing neighborhood. This Spring we received another "friendly reminder" about vehicles being parked on the street overnight--after a weekend of hosting out-of-town guests. This one ticked us off a little bit. Meanwhile, we are discussing such events with some of our neighbor friends, and they brought to our attention that an HOA board member lives just a couple of houses down from us and frequently goes on walks with her dog {more to come on that momentarily} looking for violations to cite. Our neighbors had several similar experiences with privacy fences, basketball goals, pool codes that had been deactivated due to said violations...

Our blood began boiling, and we began keeping closer tabs on this "Big Sister." Patrick began noticing that she frequently walked her dog and allowed her to "do her business" in other people's yards including our own. Major violation. You have to have some variation of a pooper scooper when taking dog walks. Next, Maggie gets sick. She becomes lethargic, begins vomiting, and having trouble using the bathroom. In the vet's office as they freak me out with all of the serious implications of her symptoms, they conclude that her intestines are being severely attacked by a bacteria likely caused from her eating grass contaminated with another animal's fecal matter. Our visit{S} cost over $100 and we are NOT happy--concluding that the culprit is "Big Sister's dog."

Fast forward to this week. We receive a notice of a fine for $50 due to a repeat violation of a vehicle parked on the street. Patrick, fed up, calls the HOA pres and boldly demands and explanation. He supplies Patrick the date of the violation--a day that Patrick cleaned and organized our garage and parked our vehicles on the street for 2 hours. He then tells Patrick that it was reported by a board member who lives on our street, and Patrick let him in on the "pooping incident." Our friendly neighbors are irate as well, and we've decided this woman must be an extremely unhappy person. Nevertheless, our "fine" was waived... I think our cul-de-sac may take over the HOA in next year's election. If you can't beat them, join them-- right!?!

In other news, I'm closing in on being 31 weeks pregnant {picture above}, and I cannot believe that the summer is almost over. I'm still feeling pretty good--just having a little more difficulty getting comfortable as I sleep and tiring out a little more quickly than I am used to. We have chosen our pediatrician and begun our "Childbirth Education" classes at the hospital. I was a bit nervous about how I'd react to all of the information. Surprisingly, it reassured me rather than freaked me out--although I know there's probably more scary information to come... After our class last night, I had the first pleasant dream I've had in months... Have I mentioned that I'm having CRAZY dreams...? Giving birth to animals rather than people; I'm lost in an indecipherable hospital maze and can't find Patrick or Addy; horrible birthing experiences... etc. The latest disturbing nightmare was that Patrick was cheating on me with a woman named Vicky who looked like a younger version of Samantha from Sex and the City. In my dream, I am soooo pregnant, am wearing a moo moo {sp?} type of gown, am throwing things, and am cussing them a major blue streak as he shrugs his shoulders at me and she laughs. When Patrick woke me up the following morning for church, I rolled over, bawling, deliriously saying, "Why are you cheating on me?" I don't remember this moment, but I do know it took me about half the day to get over it--not being able to differentiate my dream from reality. Poor Patrick! What a trooper! We've had many laughs over this one--he's praying he doesn't meet anyone named Vicky, and we keep dropping her name at random times...

Well, we thought our biggest concern in our new neck of the woods would be the "Blue Light Special"; however, we are learning about our new adversary, the "Neighborhood Gestapo." Don't get me wrong--as referenced in my original post, we love living in our planned community; we love most of our neighbors; we love the well-manicured lawns and respectable families that we are surrounded by. In many ways we are proud of where we live and can envision ourselves living here for many years--walking our family to the neighborhood pool and biking the trail to the neighborhood elementary school, but recent events have made us wonder if "Big Brother" really exists.

A couple of weeks after we moved in last year, we went out of town and, in being away from home, inadvertently left our garbage can out over the weekend. Shortly after, we received a "friendly reminder" about keeping garbage cans out of sight from the road. Our initial reaction was, "GAH--Seriously!?! Welcome to the neighborhood..." but we also appreciated the dedication to maintaining an aesthetically pleasing neighborhood. This Spring we received another "friendly reminder" about vehicles being parked on the street overnight--after a weekend of hosting out-of-town guests. This one ticked us off a little bit. Meanwhile, we are discussing such events with some of our neighbor friends, and they brought to our attention that an HOA board member lives just a couple of houses down from us and frequently goes on walks with her dog {more to come on that momentarily} looking for violations to cite. Our neighbors had several similar experiences with privacy fences, basketball goals, pool codes that had been deactivated due to said violations...

Our blood began boiling, and we began keeping closer tabs on this "Big Sister." Patrick began noticing that she frequently walked her dog and allowed her to "do her business" in other people's yards including our own. Major violation. You have to have some variation of a pooper scooper when taking dog walks. Next, Maggie gets sick. She becomes lethargic, begins vomiting, and having trouble using the bathroom. In the vet's office as they freak me out with all of the serious implications of her symptoms, they conclude that her intestines are being severely attacked by a bacteria likely caused from her eating grass contaminated with another animal's fecal matter. Our visit{S} cost over $100 and we are NOT happy--concluding that the culprit is "Big Sister's dog."

Fast forward to this week. We receive a notice of a fine for $50 due to a repeat violation of a vehicle parked on the street. Patrick, fed up, calls the HOA pres and boldly demands and explanation. He supplies Patrick the date of the violation--a day that Patrick cleaned and organized our garage and parked our vehicles on the street for 2 hours. He then tells Patrick that it was reported by a board member who lives on our street, and Patrick let him in on the "pooping incident." Our friendly neighbors are irate as well, and we've decided this woman must be an extremely unhappy person. Nevertheless, our "fine" was waived... I think our cul-de-sac may take over the HOA in next year's election. If you can't beat them, join them-- right!?!

In other news, I'm closing in on being 31 weeks pregnant {picture above}, and I cannot believe that the summer is almost over. I'm still feeling pretty good--just having a little more difficulty getting comfortable as I sleep and tiring out a little more quickly than I am used to. We have chosen our pediatrician and begun our "Childbirth Education" classes at the hospital. I was a bit nervous about how I'd react to all of the information. Surprisingly, it reassured me rather than freaked me out--although I know there's probably more scary information to come... After our class last night, I had the first pleasant dream I've had in months... Have I mentioned that I'm having CRAZY dreams...? Giving birth to animals rather than people; I'm lost in an indecipherable hospital maze and can't find Patrick or Addy; horrible birthing experiences... etc. The latest disturbing nightmare was that Patrick was cheating on me with a woman named Vicky who looked like a younger version of Samantha from Sex and the City. In my dream, I am soooo pregnant, am wearing a moo moo {sp?} type of gown, am throwing things, and am cussing them a major blue streak as he shrugs his shoulders at me and she laughs. When Patrick woke me up the following morning for church, I rolled over, bawling, deliriously saying, "Why are you cheating on me?" I don't remember this moment, but I do know it took me about half the day to get over it--not being able to differentiate my dream from reality. Poor Patrick! What a trooper! We've had many laughs over this one--he's praying he doesn't meet anyone named Vicky, and we keep dropping her name at random times...

Random Fill-in-the-blanks

I was tagged by Jessa to do this so here goes...

* Maybe I should... not worry about things I can't control.
* I love the smell of... clean sheets, freshly cut grass, grilling, the ocean.
* People would say that I... act just like my mom and love "shock value."
* I don’t understand why... there is so much hate and discrimination in the world.
* When I wake up in the morning... I push snooze as many times as possible.
* I lost my will power to.. quit eating pizza. It's just too good.
* Life is wonderful with... the one you love and the confidence of eternal life!
* My past made me... happy and nostalgic. It shaped me into who I am.
* I get annoyed when...my students ask the same question over and over.
* Parties are not... as much fun as they were when I was younger.
* Dogs are... faithful companions and loyal friends. They are family members.
* Cats… make me sneeze!
* Tomorrow I am going to… try to teach my students to be humanitarians and to love all people. Live with hope for the next day...
* I have a low tolerance for...people that do not RSVP and have no Southern Manners. (Amen, Jessa!)
* I'm totally terrified of... unrealized potential, not doing what I was meant to do.
* I wonder why I thought my life would be... predictable.
* Never in my life...have I felt so much responsibility!!
* High school was something that...I am thankful for and glad I got through mostly unscathed.
* When I'm nervous... I pace, use the restroom a BUNCH, and my stomach turns into knots.
* Take my advice... Make the most of each moment with ones that you love.
* Making my bed is… something I should try to do more often...
* I'm almost always... cleaning up some mess I've made.
* I'm addicted to… American Idol and Friday Night Lights.
* I want someone… to be inspired.

I tag Kelley, Ashley, Tiffany, Haley , and anyone else who thinks this is fun!

I was tagged by Jessa to do this so here goes...

* Maybe I should... not worry about things I can't control.
* I love the smell of... clean sheets, freshly cut grass, grilling, the ocean.
* People would say that I... act just like my mom and love "shock value."
* I don’t understand why... there is so much hate and discrimination in the world.
* When I wake up in the morning... I push snooze as many times as possible.
* I lost my will power to.. quit eating pizza. It's just too good.
* Life is wonderful with... the one you love and the confidence of eternal life!
* My past made me... happy and nostalgic. It shaped me into who I am.
* I get annoyed when...my students ask the same question over and over.
* Parties are not... as much fun as they were when I was younger.
* Dogs are... faithful companions and loyal friends. They are family members.
* Cats… make me sneeze!
* Tomorrow I am going to… try to teach my students to be humanitarians and to love all people. Live with hope for the next day...
* I have a low tolerance for...people that do not RSVP and have no Southern Manners. (Amen, Jessa!)
* I'm totally terrified of... unrealized potential, not doing what I was meant to do.
* I wonder why I thought my life would be... predictable.
* Never in my life...have I felt so much responsibility!!
* High school was something that...I am thankful for and glad I got through mostly unscathed.
* When I'm nervous... I pace, use the restroom a BUNCH, and my stomach turns into knots.
* Take my advice... Make the most of each moment with ones that you love.
* Making my bed is… something I should try to do more often...
* I'm almost always... cleaning up some mess I've made.
* I'm addicted to… American Idol and Friday Night Lights.
* I want someone… to be inspired.

I tag Kelley, Ashley, Tiffany, Haley , and anyone else who thinks this is fun!

Blue Light Special

On a cool fall night, sitting outside listening to the crackling sparks of the fire, waiting for the perfect moment when the soft center of the marshmallow oozes out of the crusted, partially burnt shell to form the ideal s'more, laughing with old-turned-new friends and enjoying a comfortable comraderie, we all thought the evening couldn't get any better... when, suddenly, "splash!" All of us quickly turned and peered through the back property tree line, branches now bare with the fall leaves having abandoned them, their once protective shield now gone. Patrick looked at me with utter disgust paired with disbelief, his low, guttural words muttering, "They got a hot tub."

This pivotal moment in our "neighbors'" (We won't fully acknowledge them as our neighbors because, actually, they live in a different subdivision.) lives has made an overwhelming impact on ours as well. Now, as we gaze out of our back window while sipping our morning coffee and reading the daily paper, it is not uncommon to see two bodies wrapped together in an oversized Dale Earnhardt Junior towel, still dripping from their morning sauna. I come home from work to find my once luminous kitchen and living room now darkened with all of my shades completely lowered--a result of Patrick coming home for lunch and "not being able to take it anymore." Patrick and I will be cooking dinner, engaging in pleasant conversation, when I notice that he is looking past me, shocked by the latest public display of affection (i.e. wild make out sessions) on the back porch.

Our dismay with our surrounding patrons began several weeks after we moved in to what we thought to be "suburban bliss." We thought our biggest obstacles would be the "yard snob" whose perfectly manicured yards and upturned noses at our few weeds would shame us with chagrin, the stereotypical Williamson County moms who hogged the pool with their loud children, surgically enhanced figures, and "desperate housewife-isms," the hoity-toity BMW/Benz drivers who thought the neighborhood streets were theirs alone--we were fully prepared and excited about leaving the "thug life" that our neighborhood in Alabama was quickly becoming to assuage these safer, lesser obstacles.

It all started with a hamburger bun. We take Maggie out the back to do her doggie business. One day she wanted to explore further and further in the backyard, when I noticed an odd shape. I thought to myself, "I've never seen such a big mushroom! Gross!" Only, it wasn't a mushroom, but a hamburger bun. Patrick and I discussed it that evening--how would a hamburger bun wind up in our backyard? For the next week, on several different occasions, we found additional buns--the conundrum continuing to baffle us. A couple of nights later, Patrick ran to the bedroom whispering, "He's grilling! Let's see what he does with those buns." I quietly complied (unusual for me), and sure enough, moments after our spying session began, we witnessed him toss a bun into our yard. We shouted, "What is he doing? Why would he do that?"

During the summer we grill out and eat outside often, so, determined that our passive-aggressive neighbors would not deter our pleasure, we began to eat out there even more often. After our initial fiery anger subsided, we decided the best tactic would be to "kill them with kindness." We started attempting small talk while doing yard work, grilling, and taking Maggie out. The hamburger buns quit appearing in our yard. We though to ourselves, "Well done!"

Then, they got a hot tub.

Now, it's blue Christmas lights. All over. Beaming into our kitchen. Our blinds perpetually closed.

On a cool fall night, sitting outside listening to the crackling sparks of the fire, waiting for the perfect moment when the soft center of the marshmallow oozes out of the crusted, partially burnt shell to form the ideal s'more, laughing with old-turned-new friends and enjoying a comfortable comraderie, we all thought the evening couldn't get any better... when, suddenly, "splash!" All of us quickly turned and peered through the back property tree line, branches now bare with the fall leaves having abandoned them, their once protective shield now gone. Patrick looked at me with utter disgust paired with disbelief, his low, guttural words muttering, "They got a hot tub."

This pivotal moment in our "neighbors'" (We won't fully acknowledge them as our neighbors because, actually, they live in a different subdivision.) lives has made an overwhelming impact on ours as well. Now, as we gaze out of our back window while sipping our morning coffee and reading the daily paper, it is not uncommon to see two bodies wrapped together in an oversized Dale Earnhardt Junior towel, still dripping from their morning sauna. I come home from work to find my once luminous kitchen and living room now darkened with all of my shades completely lowered--a result of Patrick coming home for lunch and "not being able to take it anymore." Patrick and I will be cooking dinner, engaging in pleasant conversation, when I notice that he is looking past me, shocked by the latest public display of affection (i.e. wild make out sessions) on the back porch.

Our dismay with our surrounding patrons began several weeks after we moved in to what we thought to be "suburban bliss." We thought our biggest obstacles would be the "yard snob" whose perfectly manicured yards and upturned noses at our few weeds would shame us with chagrin, the stereotypical Williamson County moms who hogged the pool with their loud children, surgically enhanced figures, and "desperate housewife-isms," the hoity-toity BMW/Benz drivers who thought the neighborhood streets were theirs alone--we were fully prepared and excited about leaving the "thug life" that our neighborhood in Alabama was quickly becoming to assuage these safer, lesser obstacles.

It all started with a hamburger bun. We take Maggie out the back to do her doggie business. One day she wanted to explore further and further in the backyard, when I noticed an odd shape. I thought to myself, "I've never seen such a big mushroom! Gross!" Only, it wasn't a mushroom, but a hamburger bun. Patrick and I discussed it that evening--how would a hamburger bun wind up in our backyard? For the next week, on several different occasions, we found additional buns--the conundrum continuing to baffle us. A couple of nights later, Patrick ran to the bedroom whispering, "He's grilling! Let's see what he does with those buns." I quietly complied (unusual for me), and sure enough, moments after our spying session began, we witnessed him toss a bun into our yard. We shouted, "What is he doing? Why would he do that?"

During the summer we grill out and eat outside often, so, determined that our passive-aggressive neighbors would not deter our pleasure, we began to eat out there even more often. After our initial fiery anger subsided, we decided the best tactic would be to "kill them with kindness." We started attempting small talk while doing yard work, grilling, and taking Maggie out. The hamburger buns quit appearing in our yard. We though to ourselves, "Well done!"

Then, they got a hot tub.

Now, it's blue Christmas lights. All over. Beaming into our kitchen. Our blinds perpetually closed.

Grammar Nazism

I can always tell that school is about to start when I subconsciously slip back into Grammar Nazi mode...

Current Frustrations:

1. colons after verbs
2. definately

What things irk you to the point of nervous tics?

*Disclaimer: Being said Grammar Nazi doesn't exclude me from mistakes of my own that when caught cause the doubly intense tic.*

I can always tell that school is about to start when I subconsciously slip back into Grammar Nazi mode...

Current Frustrations:

1. colons after verbs
2. definately

What things irk you to the point of nervous tics?

*Disclaimer: Being said Grammar Nazi doesn't exclude me from mistakes of my own that when caught cause the doubly intense tic.*

Humor me, Harper Lee!

I was HERE!

Last night will be a night that I will always remember. It will definitely by a spotlight from the "Montgomery years" that I will look back on with delight. I got to experience what every book-loving English teacher could dream of--being in the presence of her hero.

For more information about the event, click here and read a touching story of two schools merging, and Harper Lee making a rare public appearance.

In my elementary, middle, and high school years, two books really touched me, opened my eyes, and made me passionate about the world of literature and reading: Anne of Green Gables (and Avonlea to follow) and To Kill a Mockingbird. When I was in college and was choosing between two sororities, a fact that pushed me over to one side (with several others) was that Harper Lee had indeed pledged Chi Omega. Trivial, I know, but true.

Yesterday, at about 10 a.m., I found out that Harper Lee had planned to make somewhat of a last-minute appearance--which is an extreme rarity as she avoids the public limelight and lives a reclusive lifestyle--at a joint high schools' performance of her famous work. Lee's teachers and students were invited to this invitation only event compliments of the State Department of Education. I almost fell out of my chair, and I completely rearranged my day and night. My good friend, Britani, who shares a love of TKAM, was able to share this special event, and we were moved. The performance was excellent, and just seeing her was worth it. We did almost go borderline psycho with plans to follow her limo, or walk the streets of Monroeville and just happen to show up at her church with our copies of TKAM for her to sign. How convenient, right? But, alas, we refrained... (I also refrained from wearing my Chi-O jersey! :))

Coming soon are some pictures that we took from the event...

I was HERE!

Last night will be a night that I will always remember. It will definitely by a spotlight from the "Montgomery years" that I will look back on with delight. I got to experience what every book-loving English teacher could dream of--being in the presence of her hero.

For more information about the event, click here and read a touching story of two schools merging, and Harper Lee making a rare public appearance.

In my elementary, middle, and high school years, two books really touched me, opened my eyes, and made me passionate about the world of literature and reading: Anne of Green Gables (and Avonlea to follow) and To Kill a Mockingbird. When I was in college and was choosing between two sororities, a fact that pushed me over to one side (with several others) was that Harper Lee had indeed pledged Chi Omega. Trivial, I know, but true.

Yesterday, at about 10 a.m., I found out that Harper Lee had planned to make somewhat of a last-minute appearance--which is an extreme rarity as she avoids the public limelight and lives a reclusive lifestyle--at a joint high schools' performance of her famous work. Lee's teachers and students were invited to this invitation only event compliments of the State Department of Education. I almost fell out of my chair, and I completely rearranged my day and night. My good friend, Britani, who shares a love of TKAM, was able to share this special event, and we were moved. The performance was excellent, and just seeing her was worth it. We did almost go borderline psycho with plans to follow her limo, or walk the streets of Monroeville and just happen to show up at her church with our copies of TKAM for her to sign. How convenient, right? But, alas, we refrained... (I also refrained from wearing my Chi-O jersey! :))

Coming soon are some pictures that we took from the event...