Late Night Blogging...

Oh my...

Last night I posted a little entry on this blog. But, it was meant to go on the other blog...

I decided to leave it here and also post it there as a reminder of my absent-mindedness. You know, it's little things like these that keep us, uh, humble.

:)

Sara

Mullet: Revisited, Sort Of

Well, it's sure been a little while since I last posted. Unfortunately, today's picture requires a little bit of context, and I'm afraid that by now you might have forgotten that around the age of eleven I had a mullet.

Oh, wait. You hadn't forgotten that? Yeah, me neither. There's still a mullet-shaped scar on my heart. Or, um, something like that.

Anyways, back to our regularly scheduled post. So, I had a mullet. I knew it was bad; you've all seen that it was bad; the world in general knew that I was walking around with the worst haircut ever invented. I wanted and needed to do something about it.

That's when I hatched my brilliant plan. I would have the party-in-back removed. That is, I would get the back of my hair (the very essence of its mullet-ness) removed. I came up with this plan while at Methodist summer camp and shared it with my cabin mate, Barbie. You might remember her from the camp photo. She's the girl wearing blue shorts, folding her arms across her chest, and looking like she wouldn't think twice about ripping your fingers off one by one if you so much as thought about taking the last serving of fruit crumble in the camp cafeteria.

In truth, Barbie was a real peach of a girl. When I told her about the plan for mullet removal, she gave me a pained look and told me that, really, cutting it off would just make it worse.

Despite Barbie's wise yet somehow dubious-sounding advice, I'd made up my mind that I was due for a haircut as soon as I made it back from Methodist summer camp. So I did it. Here it is:



Now, at about this moment, you might be thinking that Barbie had a point. Let's be honest, most girls look to the moms for fashion advice, and, if they could choose to look like one parent, most girls would probably want to look like their moms. You'd think I'd be the same way. After all, I've got a super cute mom. That is, I've got a super cute mom, if every guy I've ever dated is to be believed. If every therapist I've ever seen is to be believed, knowing that might have had a negative impact on my psyche. Only joking, folks. I'm just fine. :)

But, the thing is, I think trying to look like my mom might have been aiming just a little too high for me at that moment. After all, I was an eleven year old sporting a mullet and occasionally wearing white plastic shorts with light yellow LL Bean sweaters. Maybe it was healthiest for me to just look at my dad and think, "Hey. He's got decent hair. That's the kind of thing I could actually do."

So that's what I did. The haircut was followed by months of being asked whether I was a boy or a girl, but those are the kind of childhood memories that build characters. And, more importantly, they're the kind of childhood memories that have allowed several therapists to take extended Caribbean cruises. In the end, everyone wins.

Hope, when it doesn't make sense

I went to El Salvador over the break. I love it there, and there are so many things that I want to tell you, so many things and stories to write. I miss the kids; I want to be there right this second; sometimes I wish I never had to leave.

But there's another side of visiting El Salvador, and that's a tougher side to think about. At some point, along with feeling such joy at seeing all the kids, I feel an immense sadness. It's the kind of sadness that comes from knowing that there is such cruelty in the world. Knowing that parents really do abandon their children. Knowing that children really are kidnapped, that young women are sold into slavery. Knowing that, for someone, other people are simply a product to be bought, sold, profited from.

There are those moments when it seems like you are confronted with all the sadness, sickness, sinfulness of the whole world. That you might be trapped beneath the weight of it all, crushed and hurt and crying for a world that is hurting so much.

It's hard to feel hopeful. It's hard to see the good. It's hard to believe that there is anything but cruelty.

But, in each of the children at the orphanage, I see some sense of hope. I see the immensity of goodness, and I feel a wealth of kindness and love that cannot be described.

Perhaps I feel those things because we are in that season for seeking hope; we are, in some sense, awaiting the Resurrection. We know it has already come, and yet each of us looks forward to celebrating that thing which speaks to each of our souls, which lets us know that there is some greater good, that there is some greater love which allows us to live each day in the hope that this world, torn and broken as it is, was conceived in love.

God bless us in those days when it seems difficult to find hope. God bless those who show us Christ, who give us reason to believe.

Love,

Sara

To everything, a season

Lately I've been reading a lot of autobiographies and memoirs. I'm not quite sure what started this kick, but there's something I love about the stories people tell about their own lives, especially the stories of their families.

In keeping with this reading theme, I picked up a book the other day--The Invisible Wall by Harry Bernstein. Bernstein tells the story of growing up in the time just before, during, and just after the first World War. But, this isn't a story of battles or even of what occurred in the larger cities during that time. Bernstein's family lived in a small village, no place really remarkable. Except that it was remarkable.

Or, maybe that is to say that the village was remarkable in the same ways that each of our towns are remarkable, that each small town or village has a life all its own that sets it apart from every other place. The life of Bernstein's village was distinct not for what brought it together, but for what separated it, the invisible wall of the title. This invisible wall was what separated the Jewish villagers from the Christian villagers; it was that thing which reminded them that they were not alike, that there was no way for them to be joined.

But, the war, which claimed the lives of several villagers, was one thing that briefly unified this divided place. Bernstein, then just a small boy, remembers the reactions of the women as they learned of the deaths of their sons,

"The women cried with one another, put arms around one another, and it didn't seem to matter whether you were Jewish or Christian, you just mourned" (160).

It didn't seem to matter. That's an interesting phrase. So often we say something similar to connote that something isn't important, but what is happening when these women are crying together, embracing each other, mourning each others losses, is something very important because, in their coming together, the invisible wall is briefly brought down.

When I read that part of the book, I thought of the first verses of Ecclesiastes 3:

1For everything there is a season, and a time for every matter under heaven:

2 a time to be born, and a time to die;
a time to plant, and a time to pluck up what is planted;
3 a time to kill, and a time to heal;
a time to break down, and a time to build up;
4 a time to weep, and a time to laugh;
a time to mourn, and a time to dance;
5 a time to cast away stones, and a time to gather stones together;
a time to embrace, and a time to refrain from embracing;
6 a time to seek, and a time to lose;
a time to keep, and a time to cast away;
7 a time to tear, and a time to sew;
a time to keep silence, and a time to speak;
8 a time to love, and a time to hate;
a time for war, and a time for peace.

And, I guess what stands out to me is that everyone experiences these things. There is nothing to say that one religion or race or gender will experiences pain and loss, joy and laughter. We all experience these things. We all hurt. We all smile. We all need help when we hurt. We all hope to see other smiling faces when we are glad.

It is in these moments we all share that there is a real possibility of showing Christ's love and compassion, maybe even more so than when someone sets out with the intention of sharing the Gospel. St. Francis of Assisi once said, "Preach the Gospel at all times and when necessary use words." Perhaps it is in our shared moments of hurt, joy, pain, and love that we are ablest to preach the Gospel. If nothing else, perhaps we can try it, and hopefully we will begin to feel our invisible walls start to fall.

Love,

Sara

Hey, I have another blog!

Well, just like the title of this post says, I've got another blog. You should check it out. It will make you a better person. Or, at least it will give you a chance to laugh at my complete awkwardness.

diaryofanonlychild.blogspot.com

That's the address. I hope you go there. I hope you like it. I hope it makes all your dreams come true.

Love you, people!

Sara

Good Sundays

Some Sundays, church just feels even better than others. Today was one of those days. As I got ready for church, I kept feeling so excited to be going there, so ready to be sitting in the pew surrounded by everyone.

I guess there are just times when you feel so much more aware of God's presence. Times when you just know that what you are doing there in church is worshiping Him, giving Him thanks. And, then you're singing "Redeemed," and you just know that it's true. The pastor prays, and, as always, his prayers sound like hug and feel like love.

It was one of those Sundays. In from the cold and snow, into the warmth.

Love,

Sara

Seasons. Seasons? Seasons!

I know that a lot of you live in places that, while beautiful, are devoid of seasons. I used to be one of you. I know how you feel. You feel a little cheated, a little sad, a little like you lost out on the geographical lottery.

Yeah, I used to be that way too. But, then I moved here, and, honestly, seasons are overrated. Sure, they’re pretty, but winter…

Oh, winter. It lasts stinkin’ forever. And it’s nothing like a winter wonderland. It’s kind of awful at times.

Okay, enough with the pity party. Because I know that all the seasonally-deprived readers might want to see what autumn looks like, I took some pictures.

I took a little walk around my neighborhood, and this is what I saw.

Please note the name of the park. (That’s a little shout-out to my Nana).

Sometimes, you’ve got to look down to see the really pretty leaves.

But, sometimes (before they all fall off) you have to look up.

And, just to let you know, even in this season of changes, some little things stay the same.

Love you all so much!

Sara

A little game

I've had a pretty lovely day today. The weather hasn't been very pretty, but, for some reason, I've been okay with this drizzly, chilly weather. It gave me a chance to wear my new jacket, so that's a pretty nice perk.

Just a while ago I was looking through some pictures of the El Salvador orphanage though, and it just made me miss being there so much. I especially felt that way when I saw a picture of Javier. Each little one is my absolute favorite, but when I saw Javi's picture I missed him so incredibly much. Mainly, I missed this game we play, "Cuántos besitos necesitas?"

It's not a real game. It's just something I made up, just being silly with Javi. It means, "How many kisses do you need?" So, I ask Javi, and he will hold up 3 or 5 or ten fingers. Then I give him a kiss on each cheek while counting up to the number he told me. But he always turns his head so that I give him extra kisses. That's part of the game.

I know it's silly, but that's one of my favorite things. And, I guess I miss him so much because I know that there is only so long that a little boy will let you dote on him like that. But, maybe that's what makes those times so incredibly precious. Whatever it is, I'm so looking forward to going back there in January. Maybe I should start counting down the days. :)

Love,

Sara

Better For

I was just reading Psalm 1, because it always helps to remind me of the way I should be, not the way I often am or the way that is easiest to be. To me it speaks about the sort of goodness we are to strive for, the sort of kindness we are to show.

But, it also got me thinking about how helpful it is to have friends who share faith, to be around people who understand that there is something greater and that that something greater is God. I definitely don't mean that I want to hole up in a compound with a bunch of other Christians. I think that would be disastrous and completely contrary to how Christ would have His followers live their lives. it's hard to be a light in the dark when that light is hidden away, right?

No, what I mean is that it can be such a comfort and a help to know that there are people I can turn to for advice, people who inspire me to want more and to be more than I might be inclined to otherwise. I think that Christians are often thought of as seeing ourselves as "better than" those who aren't. I'm not sure I would completely disagree with that. Sometimes it's hard to remember humility while striving for holiness.

Reading Psalm 1 really made me question that though. Is it that I want to be "better than" other people? Or, perhaps a better question is, is being "better than" even something that should cross my mind? I have to think that it shouldn't. It seems pretty obvious that the standard of goodness and holiness is Christ and that that is a standard I can never be "better than." But, when I think of how I interact with my Christian brothers and sisters, maybe the wiser thing is to try to be "better for" one another, not to measure ourselves by one another, but to follow the example of Christ as best we can so that we may be an encouragement to each other. If we strive to be "better" (better than our pasts, better than the bad we encounter everyday, better than what we sometimes want to be) maybe we are in some ways doing it for each other, showing each other that we aren't just individuals working our separate paths to holiness, but that we need each other, that we are there for each other.

But, that's just my idea.

Love you all,

Sara

The need for God

A few months ago, I came across and article by Matthew Parris, "As an Atheist, I truly believe Africa needs God." Here's the link if you want to read it yourself:

http://www.timesonline.co.uk/tol/comment/columnists/matthew_parris/article5400568.ece

Now, the title alone is completely intriguing. I saw it somewhere and had to find out what Parris was talking about. I'm not going to completely give the article away; you should really read it for yourself because it's good. But, one of the main ideas in the article is that Parris sees a way that Christianity, taught and practiced by those who are volunteering, working with NGOs, or even serving as missionaries in Africa has a way of transforming the lives of the people living on that amazingly vast continent. Though Parris mentions that there are many NGOs that are secular in nature and that those organizations offer much help, he argues that those organizations, apart from faith, don't seem to have the same power to actually change lives, to give people a sort of sense of self, a sense of their own worth.

This interests me a lot. Mainly, it interests me because, like Parris, I was long skeptical of missions work, thinking that faith might be a motivating factor which led people to want to serve others but not seeing that faith as integral to their work or to the extent to which that work could really affect others. And, I was troubled by the kind of work that seemed predicated on the idea that those who hold religious convictions were somehow superior to those who didn't. But, that's not it. That's not it at all.

Over the last couple of years, I guess I've come to appreciate that so many of those people who feel moved by their religious convictions to serve are not doing so because they feel that they are somehow better than those whom they serve. It's not about that. It's about love. It's about looking at someone (someone who might have more than me, someone who might have less than me) and appreciating the worth of that person, knowing that that person has just as much worth as anyone else. And, it's about being moved by that love, listening to that still, small voice that tells us that we must help when and where we can. And, it's about knowing that God, in His infinite love for each of us has called us to service. And, He's called each of us to tell others about Him, difficult as that may be at times.

So, that's what the article made me think about. Read it. You'll like it.

And I like you! Each and every one of you.

Love,

Sara

If I were a singer...

Well, I've been taking voice lessons, and they're going really well. I feel like I do whenever I go back to swimming. Everything is kind of new and difficult, a bit of a struggle, but I feel like my voice is getting stronger.

When my voice teacher asked what kind of music I like singing, I said I really liked classical. I mean, I love singing these wonderful, amazingly high pieces where it feels like my voice just keeps going up and up, almost floating above me. If I ever focused on music, I think I'd want to be an opera singer.

But, the other day I came across a singer I hadn't heard before. Her name is Sarah McMillan, and her CD Under Your Bright Wings is one of the most beautiful things I've heard in a while. It has such a great soulful feel to it. I want to listen to this music while sleeping on a screened in porch sometime in summer. "Flesh and Bone" is my favorite song on the CD. Listening to her music, I feel like her style would almost be tied with singing classical music for me. So, if ever you hear that I've run away from my studies, you can probably bet that I'm either singing opera or that I've borrow Sarah McMillan's style and started writing my own stuff. :)

So, check out her stuff. It's gorgeous. You will love it!

And, I (of course) love you!

Sara

Sometimes there is desert, but in it there are streams

Last week when I was at Bible study, Carrie (who leads the study) told us about a book that she loves. I'm so glad she did because it's a book I love too. It's called Streams in the Desert, and it's been around for quite a while. The book is a collection of short readings, one for each day of the year. It's kind of a compilation of many different writers with one editor who rather elegantly brings it all together, and the readings revolve around the theme of God's protection and care for us.

The funny thing is, the first time I met Carrie she recommended the book to me. Even funnier was that, somewhere packed in a box, I already had the book. I'd had it since I was about fifteen. I got it from a youth group leader shortly after I told her that I was really struggling with my faith. I remember her telling me that I should read this book. I thought it was pretty nice, but I also remember thinking that it felt awfully weird to be reading something about the Bible, like in my spare time. When I didn't have to do it. I surely didn't keep up with the daily reading; I perhaps read five of the readings.

I guess I just didn't understand why this book would help me with my struggle with faith. I mean, it seemed to be about the Bible, and, let's be honest, growing up going to church and Christian school, I knew a lot about the Bible. I thought that my struggle with faith was something that would sort of fix itself, not really seeing how getting to know more about God, about His Word, might bring me closer to the fullness of faith. But, it does.

My friend Alanna once said that if you want to get to know someone, you talk to that person. She said it was the same with God. I thought that was cute and quaint. But, I didn't really buy it. When she told me that, I thought of God as an abstract concept, maybe even something that existed because we humans, in our fear of the unknown, had invented Him.

But, a few months after my conversation with Alanna, I started questioning what I thought about God, what I knew of faith, what I wanted that to mean in my life. And, even though I had thought that God was just a concept, a placebo that made us forget our troubles but didn't actually do anything, that way of thinking about God just couldn't explain the hole I had in my heart, the constant pull I felt to somehow know Him. To know God.

And so I tried to get to know Him. I sought Him out wherever I might find Him. I read and prayed and cried when I didn't understand why this God who I hadn't given much thought to in years seemed so intent on getting me to seek Him.

But, you know, even if getting to know God was not without its pains and struggles, I know He was always there for me. Maybe that's why I love Streams in the Desert so much. It reminds me of God's ever-present love and care. And, who doesn't need to be reminded of that? Life is hard. God is good. Always.

I love you all so very, very much!

Sara

A reunion, of sorts

Tonight I went to Bible study.  It was an anniversary or reunion of sorts.  I'm not really sure which.  Two years ago, this was the first Bible study I'd ever gone to.  This was the Bible study where I ended up bearing my soul and crying to a complete stranger who ended up becoming a friend.  And it was the Bible study that helped shore me up at a time when I just wasn't sure what I needed to be doing with my life.

When I sat there tonight, I thought back to that first night.  There I was in a Baptist church, a denomination whose doors I thought I'd never darken again.  I was the youngest woman there, sitting among a group of sweet older ladies, the kind of ladies who make those church lady cookies that I love so much.  "El Shaddai" was playing, and I seriously considered bolting, as I thought about how completely out of place I was at this Bible study, in this Baptist church, among these sweet, older ladies who went to church every Sunday and looked so angelic.  I mean, I kind of felt like a fake.  I wasn't one of them.  I was just this girl who needed somewhere to go.  And, there I was, in the last place on earth I ever thought I'd be.

Tonight I didn't feel so out of place, didn't feel like a fake.  I don't even think I was the youngest person there, though I still enjoyed one of those delicious cookies.  Older church ladies are so good at those.  But, I kept thinking, maybe more like wondering what it was that brought me there, what it was that made me keep coming back when there was nothing at that Bible study that I could really relate to.  I mean, the enthusiastic people so excited about God?  The contemporary Christian music (that was actually no longer contemporary)?  None of it looked like me, sounded like me.

But, then I remembered Isaiah 53.  I memorized it in school when I was a kid.  It's beautiful and haunting.  It tells of a Christ who is to come, the same Jesus that we don't even get to meet until the Gospels.  I that chapter, there is a part of a verse, "He had no beauty or majesty to attract us to him, nothing in his appearance that we should desire him."  It's talking about Jesus, saying that there was nothing to draw us to Him.  Except that everything was there.  Is there.  Hope and love and salvation and goodness.  Those things that we crave and need.  They were all there, even though we couldn't see it because we didn't look past the surface.

But, maybe we knew.  Maybe there was a still, small voice telling us that, though we could not see all of that goodness, it was there.

I love you,

Sara

Recovery

I'm still on the kick of reading about addiction, and I just finished a book by Heather King, Parched.  I read it partly because I read another book by her and pretty well adored it, and I wanted to read about her struggle with alcoholism which she'd talked a bit about in the book I'd already read.

I'm not going to lie.  This book was hard to read.  There were times when it just hurt to read how enslaved she was to her addiction, how it ruled every aspect of her life, how it could have killed her had she not gotten help.

But, the book also reminded me that there is redemption even in the bleakest of circumstances, that there is still some hope of a rebirth of one's spirit.  That maybe there is a chance to recover a life that seems lost.

It's maybe that hope that makes me read these books.  It's that searching out of those people who have been broken and hurt but still seem to almost come back to life.  It's the wonder in seeing that God looks far beyond the surface of each of us--past the addictions and vices and scars--and knows that there is something beautiful in us.  Knows that there is some way, even in our our failings, that we may be a light to others, that we may be Christ's feet and hands here on earth, that we may bring Him glory and honor.

And that's something very beautiful, very hopeful.

Love you much,

Sara

I want to ride my bicycle!

Okay, you guessed it.  This post is about bicycling.  

The other day, spurred on by some odd yet unquenchable desire, I bought a bike.  I had this idea that it would be nice to have the option of biking to school rather than always taking the bus, so I went out and bought a bike.

Now let me tell you a secret.  I'm stinking in love with this bike.  I took it for a test ride, and it was the most amazing biking experience ever.  That, and the bike is just beautiful.  It's a white Gary Fisher with silver designs.  I'm in love.  

I wanted to take it out on a trail, so today after church I went to Lake of the Woods in Mahomet.  It's really close to Champaign but a little more woodsy.  To be honest, I'd really hoped that the park would be a little more removed from houses and things, maybe even that the trail would be a little more rugged, but the area it so pretty that I soon got over my desire to be in the middle of nowhere.  There was even some wildlife, which was really cool.  I saw three small deer, at least one rabbit, squirrels, and (I'm not even kidding) a chipmunk.  A chipmunk, people!  It was too cute.  

So, there I was, riding the bike trail, enjoying nature, and loving my new bike.  It was a gorgeous day, and it was really peaceful out there.  I started going down a really fun hill, speeding up and thinking how cool it was to be so fast and free feeling.  And then, I saw that there was a bike coming my direction.  And on that bike was a little, old man.  Seriously.  I panicked.  I swerved slightly.  Thankfully, we avoided hitting each other.  Sorry for the lack of excitement in this story.  But, what was funny is that, though I was inwardly (and perhaps a little outwardly) freaking out, this little, old guy was completely stoic.  No real change of facial expression at all.  Someday I hope to be that brave.  :)

But, I guess what I liked about going out to ride my bike is that it was such a great thing to do on a Sunday.  I mean, I went to church and had a wonderful time hearing the sermon and singing, being around all those people who are just so sweet.  And then I went out into nature (more or less) and got to take in the beauty of God's world, the beauty He created.  

It makes me think of those verses from Psalms, maybe one of my favorite parts, though most all of them are my favorites.

When I consider your heavens, 

       the work of your fingers, 
       the moon and the stars, 
       which you have set in place,

 what is man that you are mindful of him, 
       the son of man that you care for him?

You made him a little lower than the heavenly beings

and crowned him with glory and honor.

I hope all of you had a wonderful and blessed Sunday.  I love you all so very much!

Sara

Fears and Almost Tears

Here are two things that you may or may not know about me.  The first is that I love to sing.  I'm even, well, good at it.  The second is that I am terrified to sing in front of people.  Seriously.  And, really, what's the point of singing if not to share it with other people?  I mean, it's pretty well worthless to be a good singer if you're not going to sing in front of people.

About a week ago I had a dream, and in that dream I was singing.  When I woke up, I just kept thinking about how happy I was in that dream, how happy I was to be singing.  There has just always been such a wonderful feeling when I sing.  I used to drive around and sing for hours, and those were some of my favorite times.  

So, I decided, post singing dream, that I should get back into singing.  I looked on campus to see what my options were, and I found out that I could take voice lessons.  Sounded great.  I called the school of music, and was sent all the info about voice lessons.  

One problem.  Voice lessons require an audition.  Audition.  That basically means that there will be singing and that it will be in front of people.  Like, live people.  Not that singing in front of dead people would be that much more comforting, but, well, I'm getting totally off topic at this point.

Okay, so I resolved that I'd go for it.  I settled on singing "Ave Maria" because I know it and because I do an alright job of singing it.  I didn't really have a good way to rehearse much, but I figured I'd be okay.  Auditions were Saturday, and I was pretty ready.

Truth be told, I wasn't ready at all.  In fact, I almost didn't even go.  But, then there I was, early for the audition.  I was the first one there, and as I waited, as the time got closer, I nearly didn't go through with it.  My inner monologue was pretty interesting (not quite sure how many prayers I said while sitting there waiting for the audition), and, had it not been for the fact that it would have been really awkward for me to just pick up and leave before even singing, I probably would have left.  But I didn't.  I sang.  It was awful.  I was there in front of a panel of judges.  People.  Singing in front of people.  Nervous.  Completely nervous.  Far too nervous to be singing in a key that high.  Too nervous to breathe.  And, let me tell you, breathing is a really key component of singing.  It is, in fact, crucial to producing sound.

So, I didn't sing well.  I'm a perfectionist, so I'm willing to believe that it was less horrible than what I thought it was, but it was pretty bad.  But, you know, I did it.  I actually stood in front of people and sang.  And, you know what?  It felt pretty good to do something that so completely terrified me.  It wasn't as good as I hoped for, but I was there singing, doing something that I love.  

Oh, and for whatever reason, I actually made it past the audition.  My first lesson is tomorrow.  

Love you all!

Sara 

Reading Addiction

I get on reading kicks sometimes.  I mean, I'm almost always working on a book, but sometimes I read all books by the same author or all books with the same focus.

Right now, I'm on an addiction kick.

I know that sounds completely depressing.  I actually worried that it would be when I started reading the first book, a father's account of his son's drug addiction.  Heartbreaking in so many ways.  But, also fascinating in that way that stories of addiction give so much insight into how the brain works or how people are influenced, for good or for bad.  Or how important it is for people to have close ties with others, how addictions can harm those ties and make people so different from what they once were.

I started reading a book the other night.  It's written by a recovering addict.  I also watched a short interview with the author who said that he wanted to write the book, in part, because he wanted to show young people that there are others who have the same dark, depressing feelings.  He remarked that there were many authors he'd loved when he was younger, authors who expressed such dark feelings and let him know that he was not alone.

In some ways, I really understand that.  Sometimes I think that we have to just cut to the chase and be honest about our failings and fears and the dark sadness in our hearts.  Sometimes that's the only way we can find out we aren't alone and let others know that they aren't alone either.

But, there's another part of me that approaches those ideas with caution.  I guess it's that part of me that says we have to be careful with the way we talk about those things.  Are we looking at the darkness of the world around us, of our own tattered and broken psyches, and seeing that darkness as something we want to overcome?  Are we seeing that though, yes, darkness does exist, that isn't where we want to stay?  Or are we just allowing ourselves to go deeper into the muck and ugliness of life, saying that it's good to discuss such things because they are true?

I'm not a Pollyanna, though I sometimes do play the Glad Game.  I know that harshness exists in life.  I've dealt with it, and I know it's true.  But I also know that beauty is true; love is true; joy is true.  And I think that maybe those are the things to cling to, the things that will bring us out of darkness.  And I think that may be why the Bible talks about meditating on things that are beautiful and true and pure.  Perhaps God knew that, in our understanding of evil, we'd gravitate toward it as a way of understanding life; perhaps that's why He steered us toward what is better, what is holy, what is lovely.  

A Grateful Sunday

It's Sunday night, turning into Monday morning.  I've had such a lovely Sunday.  Restful, enjoying my new home, feeling quite grateful.  

Sunday feels like a good day to be grateful.  I think about the love of Christ, the grace of God.  How blessed I've been.  How so many people have come into my life and taught me so much, given so much, loved so much.  And I thank God for each of them.  I thank God for His ever-present love and care, for loving me, even in times when I've been unloveable.  For making something beautiful of my life.

Well, it's Sunday night, turning into Monday morning, and I'd better get to sleep.  I thank God for each of you.

I love each and every one of you,

Sara

A Very Serious Matter

Hello, All!

It's been a bit since I last blogged, but there has been much going on. A trip back to El Salvador, fretting about my impending move (so much to think about!), finding an apartment (done!). There's a lot that I could write about, and I will. But right now, I have something very important on my mind.

Smoothies.

That's right. Smoothies. I stinking hate that word, but they're just too delicious to live without. And, the great thing is, they're pretty healthy. But, when I go get a smoothie, I know that I'm probably getting more sugar than I (or anyone else, really) need.

Yesterday, though, I made a smoothie of my own. Before we left for El Salvador, I'd thrown some bananas in the freezer, and I was kind of wondering what to do with those frozen bananas. So, I though, "Thaw them for banana pudding!" But then my common sense kicked in and reminded me that I am addicted to banana pudding and probably shouldn't be anywhere near one. So then I thought, "Smoothie!"

Half a frozen banana, half a cup of milk, some strawberries, and some ice cubes later, I was enjoying a delicious smoothie, and I knew exactly how much sugar went into it. None! I mean, none besides whatever is naturally in fruit and milk. This afternoon, I made another smoothie. for lunch/afternoon snack/what have you.

It was tasty. Here's how you make it:

1 frozen banana
1/2 a peach
1/2 cup milk
a little vanilla
a bit of cinnamon
tiny bit of honey. seriously. not too much. bananas are really sweet. this is just to take some edge off the vanilla and cinnamon.
some ice for that yummy, icy texture

Blend it up until the ice is all broken up. Then drink it and find true happiness!

Love,

Sara :)

Poppy Birthday to Me

Well, yesterday was my birthday. I won't say how old I am. I'm still a little in denial. Only kidding. I'm 31. Not too bad, really.

Anyways, this year I decided to start a tradition. Poppy Birthday.

I know it sounds odd. Let me explain. I'm basing the tradition on my grandfather, Poppy. Every year on his birthday he would give us presents. I always liked that. So, I thought that starting this year I would attempt to bring some of that spirit to my own birthday, trying to bring some happiness to other people instead of just focusing on myself. And, as maybe a way of thanking God for this gift of life.

I liked it. And now I plan on making every birthday a Poppy Birthday.

Love love,

Sara (aka, George) ;)