Remember how January kills? How it sucks all things good and well from all good people?
January 6, 2010 - My car was stolen with everything I own in it.
January 15, 2011 - My sister find our her unborn baby isn't going to live for much longer. Two weeks later Jonan passes away. My first love leaves on a train forever. My car breaks down for two months and since the Pie Shop never paid me, I don't have any money to fix it.
January 1, 1012 - My brakes on my car go out while I'm driving downhill on a windy road in the dark and I'm supposed to drive to Chicago in two days to have a family Christmas, and I find out I can't find my drivers license.
Can we please skip January this year? January 1 is not off to a good start so far.
Saturday, November 12, 2011
Roots
I think we must lose ourselves now and again to find ourselves that much stronger, to know ourselves that much more. To have the ability come back to who we were made to be we must be in tune to the fact that we have forgotten who we were, and to come back to who we were made to be we must take the time to remember who that person was, and why. When we take the time to remember who that person was, we inevitably discover things that have been hidden, lost, or completely undiscovered yet. What a wonderful thing to peel back the things hiding us and find the core of ourselves, our heartbeat, our colors. Every time we lose ourselves, we come back a little bit brighter. When the winter melts off the trees and the leaves grow back we’re finally able to see what kind of trees surround us, what kind of leaves they grow.
Before a tree dies for the cold winter season they lose their leaves and leave them at base of their roots. Not an accident, I’m sure.
Find the dancing colors
I think our lives are dependent on beauty. Beauty means that things are living, growing, being noticed and taken care of. Ugly brings death. Beauty brings life. But lack of beauty has been evident in my life lately. Ugly has infiltrated itself into my life and blinded me from good things. Good things that bring joy, like looking out into the brisk mountain air through the window and seeing flurries of snow dance around the waving tree branches while I sit comfortably in a blanket of warm, peaceful air; letting the beauty of sounds, whispers, music, and every day voices be my soundtrack, my comfort, my home; allowing the scents of my surroundings bring me to a place of peace and excitement. Instead, I use my senses to drift me slowly into a nostalgia of days more sorrowful, more joyful, more familiar times rather than living in the reality of the moments I find myself in, feeling all the feelings my Lord has given me, and then thanking Him for the great gift of these senses.
Now I learn to take joy in the feeling of my soft blanket on my skin, engulfing me through the night and keeping me warm from the chilly mountain air, the sounds of my keyboard beneath my fingertips typing out my thoughts and tapping me into the reality of the beauty that surrounds me. I take joy in the thin, subtle smell of cold air, and the sight of the mountains at night when the moon is full, the snow-caps glow softly in the midst of the black sky. Lastly I bring myself back to the simple flavors of a good cup of coffee, or homemade bread, good whiskey, or a good ol’ stinky cheese. These things that once brought the colors to my happiness I have so quickly forgotten to notice.
Today I will notice, and I will soak in every color I can find. Colors make our eyes come alive. Colors mean the light is dancing, and God is Light. To notice the beauty is to notice God. He makes things beautiful. He made my life beautiful.
Wednesday, October 19, 2011
Remedies
I walked up to the counter at the BBQ place wearing pajamas, a hobo hat, and tennis shoes, and plopped my elbows on the counter that reached just below my chest which made the little skinny girl who hadn’t eaten in three days feel even punier. Looking at the hostess with a reserved joy about finally gaining my appetite back I asked, "Can I place an order to go, please?" After sitting down and looking through the menu for that one thing I wanted, I ordered with my soft, sickly voice, “Can I have a Taphouse burger with Swiss cheese.. and bacon… and fries?” Let me inform you that the Taphouse burger without the bacon is already 1.2 lbs of meat. “And, can I get all the sauces on the side too?”
I pay the girl at the counter and she tells me it will be about ten minutes. I started filling the little sauce containers she gave me with all the sauces. I dab one, taste it with my finger, and squeeze it in until it made a farting noise. I farted some right onto her counter even. “I’m so sorry, I spilled some”. And she cleaned up after me.
Ten minutes later I was handed a giant bag with a giant Styrofoam box filled with a giant burger and a giant mass of fries. I walked out groggily dragging my feet and picking my wedgie. A real lady I am. Now, here I sit in my room, drinking my juice box, watching a girly movie, and eating a big fatty burger. I say this is how you get rid of strep throat.
Saturday, October 8, 2011
To be heartbroken
I don't think being heartbroken happens all of the sudden. It's a slow process of one thing after another digging to the deepest spots of where your heart is most tender.
Four steps forward, and three steps backward. It's progress, but it's slow.
Love hurts.
Four steps forward, and three steps backward. It's progress, but it's slow.
Love hurts.
Saturday, August 27, 2011
Steady Hands
There’s abounding joy so deeply embedded into my heart. But I have a sadness that drips from my eyes. Even when my eyes are filled with smiles. It’s a longing. I’m joyful for things I know and understand, and I’m deeply sad by things I know, and do not know at the same time.
It’s a longing in my heart.
For things to be good and right.
To feel a hand holding my own.
To be caught up in a moment that will follow the joys of my heart for the rest of my days.
Music gives me that longing. Music.
What is it with art? There is something deeply spiritual going on that goes much further than an artists fingertips to her work. Maybe it’s the same between God and I. Perhaps there is a place I long to be that I have yet to find between God, the artist, and I, the work of art. Perhaps.
There’s something I don’t understand going on. I’m still part canvass. He’s not finished me. Will He? I still feel so much of me is blank canvass, and so little of me has been created. I know without doubt that God has a few quirky ideas up His sleeve about what He’s going to make me into. I feel as though He’s just standing there now, though. Maybe He’s not. Maybe He’s working on the most intricate parts of me right now, His hands so steady that it feels like endless stillness.
the most comforting arms
I am amazed by my loving God. Every time I seek Him He is faithful beyond my expectations.
Through this summer here in Estes Park God has been consistently reminding me that I am not as forgettable as I have believed all my life. He continues to fill me with His peace. He opens His arms to me when I become stagnant and desire to run back to Him. God is slowly awakening deep desires in my heart.
Most of all. Most of all. He takes care of me. I hesitate writing about how amazed I am by this one thing; how amazed I am at His faithfulness of how he takes care of me. I struggle to find the perfect words to get my heart and point out. They're not there.
When I seek to learn more about my God He continually draws me back to show me that He is always taking care of me, that He always is wrapping His arms around me, keeping me safe, and making sure I am loved, safe, healthy, and in a good place. I look to find new things for God to teach me but once again, I will find him drawing me back and saying, "Look Sarah, still you are fully taken care of by me. I will never stop taking care of you. When you feel like no one else can take care of you, I will always be right next to you providing you with everything you need." Even when I don't feel He needs to be showing me this, He still will be showing me this. It has been the theme in life. When no one else can take care of me, God can. He always is, always has been, always will. And He LOVES it! It's a great joy to Him for me to fall into His arms with full trust as I let him take care of me. I can tell you lists of ways God has done this for me.
My words are failing me. My actions, my thoughts, my feelings. They are all failing me because God is so much bigger than all those things. It's okay, though. I rest in the fact that one day there world will be as it should and no longer this body of mine will fail to express the largeness of my love for my God.
He longs to take care of us all. Let Him. Sometimes we don't even realize how exactly it is we need to be taken care of, but it makes me fee safe to know that many times, only God knows.
Through this summer here in Estes Park God has been consistently reminding me that I am not as forgettable as I have believed all my life. He continues to fill me with His peace. He opens His arms to me when I become stagnant and desire to run back to Him. God is slowly awakening deep desires in my heart.
Most of all. Most of all. He takes care of me. I hesitate writing about how amazed I am by this one thing; how amazed I am at His faithfulness of how he takes care of me. I struggle to find the perfect words to get my heart and point out. They're not there.
When I seek to learn more about my God He continually draws me back to show me that He is always taking care of me, that He always is wrapping His arms around me, keeping me safe, and making sure I am loved, safe, healthy, and in a good place. I look to find new things for God to teach me but once again, I will find him drawing me back and saying, "Look Sarah, still you are fully taken care of by me. I will never stop taking care of you. When you feel like no one else can take care of you, I will always be right next to you providing you with everything you need." Even when I don't feel He needs to be showing me this, He still will be showing me this. It has been the theme in life. When no one else can take care of me, God can. He always is, always has been, always will. And He LOVES it! It's a great joy to Him for me to fall into His arms with full trust as I let him take care of me. I can tell you lists of ways God has done this for me.
My words are failing me. My actions, my thoughts, my feelings. They are all failing me because God is so much bigger than all those things. It's okay, though. I rest in the fact that one day there world will be as it should and no longer this body of mine will fail to express the largeness of my love for my God.
He longs to take care of us all. Let Him. Sometimes we don't even realize how exactly it is we need to be taken care of, but it makes me fee safe to know that many times, only God knows.
Thursday, August 25, 2011
Scardy-cat above 14,000 feet
So many of my memories as a child are of me being scared, freaking out, backing away, saying 'no'. I went through a few traumatizing experiences as a child and it caused me to grow up in fear. of. everything. I had to be forced to go on the go-carts with my dad driving, and I made him go much slower than the surrounding drivers. I'd wait to cross the street until I could see zero cars in the distance. I wouldn't even touch the St. Louis Arch when my family drove to see it. I was irrationally terrified of everything around me. For swimming lessons as a child, I wouldn't even jump into the pool on the shallow end. The swimming teachers had to lower me in.
I have learned to grow out of my little-scared-weenie-ness. Mostly. That scared girl inside of me jumps out now and again, though I do a pretty good job of keeping her from ruining some of my fun.
Yesterday I may have gotten rid of her for good on Longs Peak.
Longs is one of the 14ers of the Colorado mountains. That means it's elevation at the summit is over 14,000 feet high. Hiking a 14er takes a toll on your body hiking that much, being that high with the thin air and less oxygen. You have to be prepared with water and food, and be ready for the possibility of altitude sickness. These hikes go well above treeline where vegetation can't grow in the lack of oxygen.
Longs Peak itself is a do-able hike for anyone who can take the physical toll on their body, and if they can look down steep cliffs without letting it mess with their mind. The route Stena, Cameron, Derek, and I did on Longs yesterday, however, took way more mental power than I was ready to give.
It's called the Northwest Couloir and it's a class 4 climb, class 5 being the hardest. Once you get to this part of Longs you are no longer "hiking", you're mountaineering. You're climbing. We all agreed when we saw the climb to go off the Keyhole route and give the Northwest Couloir a go. Finding good hand holds to climb up and trying not to kick down the loose rocks wasn't easy, but it was do-able. It was a rush, and it took a lot of mental strength to not look down at the thousand foot drops beneath us and focus only on how carefully we were making our next move... and wishing we had ropes...
A little shaky, we all made it carefully to the last part of the climb where we would finally summit the peak of Longs. We looked out towards the beautiful view as we were towering high above the rest of the mountains in the park, and Derek goes to scout out our last move. Every stop was nerve racking because we could see ahead of us how steep the climb kept getting, but we rest assured that once we summited we'd hike down the Keyhole route which would be much easier and safer.
Instead, as we're sitting there waiting for Derek, we hear an, "Ooohhhh shoot....." and all looked at each other with fear in our eyes. Derek comes back to tell us we can't really make it up that way without a rope. It's wet, it's steep, and it's dangerous. Our only way off of Longs Peak is to down-climb what we just came up. If you've never down-climbed anything, I'll tell you now it's about 983246387 times scarier than climbing up. All I am thinking about up there is how three people already died on Longs this summer, I'd rather not make it 7, I can't die on my dad's birthday, and.... how the hell do we get a hold of a helicopter to come rescue us? This required backing off things, setting your feet where you can't see, and facing those thousand foot drops straight ahead with the majority of the rocks beneath being very loose.
Every move counted. It counted towards keeping me alive in a very literal sense. Falling or slipping would have meant a steep tumble down and down and down with a very minimal chance of living through it. Two specific moves I had to make terrified me down to my core, the second one being when we heard thunder in the distance. Lightening on a mountain above treeline is probably more dangerous than the steep cliffs beneath.
Finally the four of us made it down safely back to they Keyhole where we decided not to finish the summit because of how draining our whole experience was. We finished hiking down, the lightening never came, and my Sweet Jesus had us all in the palm of his hand.
When I got back alive I looked up that route we did only to find out that people do that route with helmets and ropes. Not only that, but someone had died on that route this summer, and we ended up going up and down the right side of the face, which happens to be the more difficult side.
I was terrified, but we all made it down with a good focus, not letting our imaginations and 'what-if's' take us over. I think the scardy-cat I grew up with has finally left the building.
And I will never do that again, but oh was it fun....
I have learned to grow out of my little-scared-weenie-ness. Mostly. That scared girl inside of me jumps out now and again, though I do a pretty good job of keeping her from ruining some of my fun.
Yesterday I may have gotten rid of her for good on Longs Peak.
Longs is one of the 14ers of the Colorado mountains. That means it's elevation at the summit is over 14,000 feet high. Hiking a 14er takes a toll on your body hiking that much, being that high with the thin air and less oxygen. You have to be prepared with water and food, and be ready for the possibility of altitude sickness. These hikes go well above treeline where vegetation can't grow in the lack of oxygen.
Longs Peak itself is a do-able hike for anyone who can take the physical toll on their body, and if they can look down steep cliffs without letting it mess with their mind. The route Stena, Cameron, Derek, and I did on Longs yesterday, however, took way more mental power than I was ready to give.
It's called the Northwest Couloir and it's a class 4 climb, class 5 being the hardest. Once you get to this part of Longs you are no longer "hiking", you're mountaineering. You're climbing. We all agreed when we saw the climb to go off the Keyhole route and give the Northwest Couloir a go. Finding good hand holds to climb up and trying not to kick down the loose rocks wasn't easy, but it was do-able. It was a rush, and it took a lot of mental strength to not look down at the thousand foot drops beneath us and focus only on how carefully we were making our next move... and wishing we had ropes...
A little shaky, we all made it carefully to the last part of the climb where we would finally summit the peak of Longs. We looked out towards the beautiful view as we were towering high above the rest of the mountains in the park, and Derek goes to scout out our last move. Every stop was nerve racking because we could see ahead of us how steep the climb kept getting, but we rest assured that once we summited we'd hike down the Keyhole route which would be much easier and safer.
Instead, as we're sitting there waiting for Derek, we hear an, "Ooohhhh shoot....." and all looked at each other with fear in our eyes. Derek comes back to tell us we can't really make it up that way without a rope. It's wet, it's steep, and it's dangerous. Our only way off of Longs Peak is to down-climb what we just came up. If you've never down-climbed anything, I'll tell you now it's about 983246387 times scarier than climbing up. All I am thinking about up there is how three people already died on Longs this summer, I'd rather not make it 7, I can't die on my dad's birthday, and.... how the hell do we get a hold of a helicopter to come rescue us? This required backing off things, setting your feet where you can't see, and facing those thousand foot drops straight ahead with the majority of the rocks beneath being very loose.
Every move counted. It counted towards keeping me alive in a very literal sense. Falling or slipping would have meant a steep tumble down and down and down with a very minimal chance of living through it. Two specific moves I had to make terrified me down to my core, the second one being when we heard thunder in the distance. Lightening on a mountain above treeline is probably more dangerous than the steep cliffs beneath.
Finally the four of us made it down safely back to they Keyhole where we decided not to finish the summit because of how draining our whole experience was. We finished hiking down, the lightening never came, and my Sweet Jesus had us all in the palm of his hand.
When I got back alive I looked up that route we did only to find out that people do that route with helmets and ropes. Not only that, but someone had died on that route this summer, and we ended up going up and down the right side of the face, which happens to be the more difficult side.
I was terrified, but we all made it down with a good focus, not letting our imaginations and 'what-if's' take us over. I think the scardy-cat I grew up with has finally left the building.
And I will never do that again, but oh was it fun....
Wednesday, June 15, 2011
I'm cranked, are you cranked?
Sitting alone outside, watching the sunset, and eating dinner yesterday on my blanket, I turned around to find a well-dressed woman wearing giant sunglasses watching me from no more than fifteen feet away. I raised my eyebrows.
"You've got it cranked!" she yelled and smiled.
"What?" I replied, confused.
"You've got it CRANKED!" she repeated, motioning her arm in circles while thrusting her hips, "I LOVE it!"
She got in her car and drove away on her cell phone.
Well that was awkward...
"You've got it cranked!" she yelled and smiled.
"What?" I replied, confused.
"You've got it CRANKED!" she repeated, motioning her arm in circles while thrusting her hips, "I LOVE it!"
She got in her car and drove away on her cell phone.
Well that was awkward...
make, this day, your daily bread
What is food? It's been described as fuel, nourishment, energy, etc. It's all those things. Mostly, to me, food is a gift. It's yet another way God reveals His marvel to us, His artistry to us, His care for us.
God gives us dirt, and colors, and beautiful foods to grow from His canvass: the Earth. He allows us to be partners with Him giving us the opportunity to plant and care for these things, while He provides sunshine and natural nutrients from His canvass.
Food comes from everywhere around us. It grows, it runs, it blooms. All these things are made dripping with succulent flavors. Crispy, chewy, beautiful, colorful, grainy, and satisfying. Food is an artistic necessity that involves all of our senses. Our bodies are temples, and we are image bearers of our God who provides for us such glorious ways to enjoy our fuel. This body is something I must take care of. To take care of my body is glorifying God in more ways than my mind can understand. To enjoy the nourishment that God has placed on this Earth for us to eat is glorifying to Him. To nourish our bodies, to enjoy our food, and to taste every flavor in our mouth, is glorifying to God.
When I eat I want the deepest colors and I want the richest flavors. I want to use my hands to make my food, and when I do I feel close to God. I feel like His partner in this creative process. He reveals to me how to better live life through mere enjoyment.
Food makes us use our hands. It helps us know our bodies. It brings community and satisfaction.
Eating is deeply spiritual. Knowing your body is deeply spiritual. Even knowing merely when you're hungry and when you're full, is spiritual.
This makes me think of the Eucharist, and how awesome it is. How I think there is so much more to taking the Eucharist than I understand, but I enjoy it nonetheless.
I think it's a travesty when communion is taken through packaged wafers and grape juice. There is something beautiful about bread that has been made by the kneading hands of His people which, in the Eucharist, represents Christ's body. There is something spiritual about a people drinking wine that has been grown and cared for and made by His creation, and holds so much significance in His Word. We bastardize it when we open our individual packages which came from a factory to take a not-so-holy communion.
I do understand, though, that God is bigger than a packaged wafer. He meet's us where we're at... even in our grape juice.
But why skimp if we don't have to? I want to glorify His Majesty in my every bite. He is worthy of kneading my own bread, and pouring my own wine. He is worthy of the extra time it takes to grow a garden, or create from scratch.
I have found such a great worship to my Lord in caring for myself, and glorifying Him through flavors and food.
Slow down. Make something rather than just opening a package. Cut your lettuce rather than buying it in a bag. See this amazing process. Let the sound of the knife on the cutting board add to the sensory experience of meal time.
Yeast, baking soda, salt. It's chemistry, it's art, and it's nourishment. Wow. What an amazing God to give all of this to us.
God gives us dirt, and colors, and beautiful foods to grow from His canvass: the Earth. He allows us to be partners with Him giving us the opportunity to plant and care for these things, while He provides sunshine and natural nutrients from His canvass.
Food comes from everywhere around us. It grows, it runs, it blooms. All these things are made dripping with succulent flavors. Crispy, chewy, beautiful, colorful, grainy, and satisfying. Food is an artistic necessity that involves all of our senses. Our bodies are temples, and we are image bearers of our God who provides for us such glorious ways to enjoy our fuel. This body is something I must take care of. To take care of my body is glorifying God in more ways than my mind can understand. To enjoy the nourishment that God has placed on this Earth for us to eat is glorifying to Him. To nourish our bodies, to enjoy our food, and to taste every flavor in our mouth, is glorifying to God.
When I eat I want the deepest colors and I want the richest flavors. I want to use my hands to make my food, and when I do I feel close to God. I feel like His partner in this creative process. He reveals to me how to better live life through mere enjoyment.
Food makes us use our hands. It helps us know our bodies. It brings community and satisfaction.
Eating is deeply spiritual. Knowing your body is deeply spiritual. Even knowing merely when you're hungry and when you're full, is spiritual.
This makes me think of the Eucharist, and how awesome it is. How I think there is so much more to taking the Eucharist than I understand, but I enjoy it nonetheless.
I think it's a travesty when communion is taken through packaged wafers and grape juice. There is something beautiful about bread that has been made by the kneading hands of His people which, in the Eucharist, represents Christ's body. There is something spiritual about a people drinking wine that has been grown and cared for and made by His creation, and holds so much significance in His Word. We bastardize it when we open our individual packages which came from a factory to take a not-so-holy communion.
I do understand, though, that God is bigger than a packaged wafer. He meet's us where we're at... even in our grape juice.
But why skimp if we don't have to? I want to glorify His Majesty in my every bite. He is worthy of kneading my own bread, and pouring my own wine. He is worthy of the extra time it takes to grow a garden, or create from scratch.
I have found such a great worship to my Lord in caring for myself, and glorifying Him through flavors and food.
Slow down. Make something rather than just opening a package. Cut your lettuce rather than buying it in a bag. See this amazing process. Let the sound of the knife on the cutting board add to the sensory experience of meal time.
Yeast, baking soda, salt. It's chemistry, it's art, and it's nourishment. Wow. What an amazing God to give all of this to us.
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