The bible study I'm currently in presented me with a challenge a few weeks ago: we were each to take a "Jesus" story and read it several times over the next week or two and look at how it might apply to the current circumstances in our life. Simple enough.
The small group I'm in decided to choose "Jesus calms the storm." (We chose Luke 8 in particular; though this event is documented in Mark 4:35-41 and Matthew 8:18,23-27 as well.)
I wasn't certain what reading this story several times would reveal to me. I'm ashamed to admit I didn't expect much...I mean "Jesus calms the storm" is one of the many stories I'd grown up in church reading and hearing. I was fairly certain that nothing in that particular story would be revolutionary. Well, as often is the case when I think I know everything, God revealed more in these passages than I could have possibly imagined!
Let me walk you through my thoughts/revelations/aha moments in relation to this "simple" story. (I apologize in advance for my tendency to go on tangents and my general unnatural enthusiasm for research.)
I like research, I like school, I like assignments....I know, I'm weird. I approached this 'assignment' with the enthusiasm that I had reserved for my Master's thesis...it's been a really long time since I've had an assignment. And, though I admittedly didn't expect to discover anything new, I was excited for the task, nonetheless.
I began by reading the three passages in which the events are documented and made some notes:
Luke 8:22-25 -
They were in real danger.
Jesus was asleep.
Jesus rebukes the storm but not his disciples.
I feel that the key in this passage is NOT that Jesus calmed the storm but that it reveals his true nature, being both man and God. Man, because he was obviously tired and fell asleep. God, because as the disciples made note, "Who is this? He commands even the winds and the water, and they obey him."
This passage also made me realize how very real their danger must have been. The men in the boat were Jesus' disciples...and who were some of his disciples? Peter, Andrew, James, and John = Fishermen! So if these experienced fishermen, who had spent much of their lives on this very sea were fearful of their lives then it must have been more than a little storm. Their danger was real. Jesus didn't scold them for being silly scaredy cats (can you tell I'm a mommy! ha!) On the contrary, he rebuked the storm but not his friends. He didn't lessen the danger of the storm but called for them to have faith in the face of that danger.
When he asks them, "Where is your faith?" Jesus is not asking them this because they shouldn't have been scared of the storm. He is asking them because he told them from the beginning where they were going, "Let's go over to the other side of the lake."
He knew where they were going. He told them from the start. Their faith is his words wavered in the face of the storm. Jesus revealed his true nature in both his actions that day: falling asleep=man and calming a storm=God.
While I was processing my thoughts on this passage I turned to read Mark 4:35-41 where I got more details on the event.
Mark 4:35-41 -
It was a furious storm.
The boat was nearly swamped. (This is the same use of the word as Luke.)
Jesus was sleeping in the stern on a cushion.
Again, he rebukes the storm.
Being somewhat drawn to research, I may have mentioned this, I began looking up information on boats during this time period. I wanted to see the most common designs...I also wanted to study the location of the stern. I soon discovered that the stern is the rear of the boat. At this time (and even today) and with the type of boat Jesus was in, this is the location of the steering apparatus. It is the most common location for the captain to be, since the captain is typically in charge of where the boat was going. Aha! Now, it is quite possible that I am reading much more into this than need be. Perhaps the stern was just the best place for Jesus to stretch out for a nap. But maybe, just maybe, the symbolism I see in this passage is completely warranted. Jesus is not only in the boat, he is in the stern...he is in charge in where it is going! He is the captain, so to speak. Wow! What does that say to the disciples? What does that mean to me as I look to Jesus when I encounter storms in my own life? The storms may be real but my God is bigger. The waves may be crashing and I may be swamped but He is in my boat...and more than that, he is steering my boat. Does that give anyone else goosebumps?
Again, my mind is reeling as I turn to the final documentation in the bible of this event:
Matthew 8: 18, 23-27
Again, we see similar vocabulary used to describe this "furious" storm.
Storm came up without warning.
I am reminded again how very real and dangerous this storm must have been (not the rain shower I think I always pictured in Sunday school - my mind has now replaced it with the scene from that movie "The Perfect Storm.")
This passage added that the storm came up without warning. This caught my attention. It is hard to imagine a storm coming up without warning on the sea. Whenever at the beach and a storm is rolling in you can see it from miles off shore. You feel the wind pick up, the sky darkens, you KNOW a storm is rolling in. And yet, this passage clearly states that this storm arose with no warning whatsoever. That is often the case in life, isn't it? Life is going along just hunky dory when something unexpected (and often unwelcome) throws us for a loop. And yet, even then, Jesus knows the destination.
After reading the three passages I had these final realizations:
Within the passages Jesus is called - Master, Teacher, and Lord. (All very appropriate and accurate descriptions.)
And though the disciples recognized him as such and pleaded for his help when the storm nearly capsized their boat they were simultaneously amazed when he provided the help they required. Their faith was only so deep.
How many times have I done the same thing?
God help me! Please! ...Oh, wow...you helped me! You really are God?! You are God!
It humbles me to see so much of myself in this story. To realize that I can frequently be accused of the same thing, "Why are you so afraid?"
Jesus is in my boat.
"The LORD is my light and my salvation--whom shall I fear? The LORD is the stronghold of my life--of whom shall I be afraid?"
Psalm 27:1
Sunday, October 23, 2011
Monday, September 12, 2011
What's your passion?
Some passions are innate to us.
I have had a passion for theater for as long as I can remember. I love the art of performing. But I also love educating through theater. I feel confident in my ability to use theater as a tool to both educate and engage students while enriching their lives. I believe in theater – its’ ability to transform a community, its’ power to enlighten and redefine. I believe my passion for the art form is apparent in my work. I strive in my teaching to foster an appreciation, understanding, and dialogue for the art. The use of applied theater for social change excites me. Yes, theater is a passion of mine.
But, some passions are birthed through experience. I use the word "birthed" quite intentionally because in the last three years childbirth has transformed my life.
Birth is a journey. It is a life changing, transformative experience no matter what "route" one takes. I know this to be true because my birth experiences could not be more different from each other. Each changed my life completely in their own way.
Before Blake was born I had strong opinions about how I wanted my birth to go. I researched and then researched some more. I read books by Ina May and Dr. Sears on natural childbirth. I watched birth videos, hired a doula, watched "The Business of Being Born" (which I highly recommend for anyone who hasn't seen it! It's amazing!), and planned meticulously for the labor I desired. Below is a section from my birth plan with Blake to illustrate the birth we had planned for:
This was the birth experience we desired...what we ended up with was ENTIRELY the opposite. After arriving at the hospital I immediately knew that this was NOT the place I wanted to be for the birth that I, personally, desired. I was so confident that I could achieve a natural birth, free from any interventions, in any setting...my naivety did not serve me well. I could write a novel on what happened in the 28 hours that followed (maybe one day I will) but as the doctor came into my room, for yet the 4th time, to tell me they would not allowed me to labor any longer I felt my spirit crush. I felt defeated. And when they wheeled me into the O.R., what had started months before as a "strong opinion" about how I wanted my birth to go, ignited into a passion. My next birth would be different.
And was it ever!! I chose a midwife for my birth with Beckett, one that, in my research, was well known for her success with VBAC patients. I, once again, hired a doula. I found the only hospital in DFW with birthing tubs in the rooms for patients of the midwife practice. Harris Methodist renewed my faith in hospitals. My experience with Beckett healed the scars caused from the snide remarks, eye rolls, and general disrespect for my journey. I love the nurses at Harris more than I can say. When I went to tour prior to the birth they were so accommodating and answered each of the thousand and one questions (poor thing probably felt like she was getting grilled...which she was.)
When Bryan and I arrived at Harris, on the eve of Beckett's birth, after laboring for 10 hours at home I could not have felt more relieved that this was the place we had chosen for our son to be born.
The nurse first said, "Oh, I see you are with the midwives group. Would you like a suite with a birthing tub?"
Me, "pant, pant, Yes, please. pant, pant."
After arriving in the room the nurse continued to offer choices that I had not been offered in my previous experience: Would I like to labor in my own clothes? Would I like to be checked then or later by my midwife? Would I like an IV?
She left the room saying, "Well, let us know if you need anything! We're just gonna let you have this baby."
Hallelujah!
My 29.5 hour labor with Beckett could also be written into a novel...though I doubt many would care to read about the nitty gritty details. I'll sum it up in one word: PROFOUND.
All births are transformative. Without Blake's birth experience I would not have experienced the defeat (please know that I use the word "defeat" losely, as it was my plan that was defeated. God had bigger plans for me that day. I truly feel that he knew I needed a reminder that I am not the one in control. I ended that experience with a sweet healthy baby in my arms, and for that I was so blessed!) that ignited the passion I have today. Beckett's birth was the most tangible experience I have ever had with God. I have never relied on Him so fully, or felt His all-consuming, and over-whelming presence as I did that day! GOD is good and He took me on the journey I had prayed so fervently to experience.
My mind has been set upon birth lately. Two friends have recently experienced wonderful VBAC's. Another just gave birth in the comfort of her home (awesomeness!) My sister-in-law is a couple of weeks from having her first baby. That being said I have pulled out my prayer journal from Beckett's birth and reread it probably a dozen times in the last month. A dear friend shared her prayer journal with me and it was more of a blessing than she could ever know! I feel blessed that we, as women, can journey through childbirth together, supporting one another, lifting each other up, directing each other to lean on God through this pivotal moment in our lives. It is no wonder I am passionate about such an amazing thing!
Now I just have to figure out how I can keep myself from craving birth....at least for a little while!
I guess I'll let Bryan figure that one out! ;)
I have had a passion for theater for as long as I can remember. I love the art of performing. But I also love educating through theater. I feel confident in my ability to use theater as a tool to both educate and engage students while enriching their lives. I believe in theater – its’ ability to transform a community, its’ power to enlighten and redefine. I believe my passion for the art form is apparent in my work. I strive in my teaching to foster an appreciation, understanding, and dialogue for the art. The use of applied theater for social change excites me. Yes, theater is a passion of mine.
But, some passions are birthed through experience. I use the word "birthed" quite intentionally because in the last three years childbirth has transformed my life.
Birth is a journey. It is a life changing, transformative experience no matter what "route" one takes. I know this to be true because my birth experiences could not be more different from each other. Each changed my life completely in their own way.
Before Blake was born I had strong opinions about how I wanted my birth to go. I researched and then researched some more. I read books by Ina May and Dr. Sears on natural childbirth. I watched birth videos, hired a doula, watched "The Business of Being Born" (which I highly recommend for anyone who hasn't seen it! It's amazing!), and planned meticulously for the labor I desired. Below is a section from my birth plan with Blake to illustrate the birth we had planned for:
Thank you very much for all you’ve done for us so far and for what you will do in the immediate future! We are excited for today and very much looking forward to this experience. We are confident in and grateful for your expert care as we all usher this child into the world.
Because this is such an important event to us, we have put some thought into our goals and priorities, which you will find below.
Goals: To have a healthy child and a safe delivery for Chelsea, free from all medications unless medically necessary, and with no restricted movements for Chelsea.
To that end, we would like to avoid:
· All medications, unless the health of the baby or Chelsea necessitates it
· Artificial induction or augmentation of labor (amniotomy, petocin, etc.)
· Episiotomy, unless to manage a specific risk
· Routine IV
· Continuous fetal heart monitoring
· Routine exams, unless necessary
· Forceps, vacuums, etc.
After the baby is born, we would like to be able to establish an immediate bond with it. We would request that:
· We breastfeed immediately after birth
· Bryan cut the cord after the placenta is delivered and the cord stops pulsing
· Bathing, measurements, testing occurs in the labor and delivery room after the first breastfeeding
· To be able to room-in, e.g. the baby doesn’t go to the nursery unless necessary
We understand that the above is an ideal scenario and there may be complications that necessitate medical intervention. We are confident that you will be working in our best interests and we will of course trust your judgment if anything unexpected arises.
This was the birth experience we desired...what we ended up with was ENTIRELY the opposite. After arriving at the hospital I immediately knew that this was NOT the place I wanted to be for the birth that I, personally, desired. I was so confident that I could achieve a natural birth, free from any interventions, in any setting...my naivety did not serve me well. I could write a novel on what happened in the 28 hours that followed (maybe one day I will) but as the doctor came into my room, for yet the 4th time, to tell me they would not allowed me to labor any longer I felt my spirit crush. I felt defeated. And when they wheeled me into the O.R., what had started months before as a "strong opinion" about how I wanted my birth to go, ignited into a passion. My next birth would be different.
And was it ever!! I chose a midwife for my birth with Beckett, one that, in my research, was well known for her success with VBAC patients. I, once again, hired a doula. I found the only hospital in DFW with birthing tubs in the rooms for patients of the midwife practice. Harris Methodist renewed my faith in hospitals. My experience with Beckett healed the scars caused from the snide remarks, eye rolls, and general disrespect for my journey. I love the nurses at Harris more than I can say. When I went to tour prior to the birth they were so accommodating and answered each of the thousand and one questions (poor thing probably felt like she was getting grilled...which she was.)
When Bryan and I arrived at Harris, on the eve of Beckett's birth, after laboring for 10 hours at home I could not have felt more relieved that this was the place we had chosen for our son to be born.
The nurse first said, "Oh, I see you are with the midwives group. Would you like a suite with a birthing tub?"
Me, "pant, pant, Yes, please. pant, pant."
After arriving in the room the nurse continued to offer choices that I had not been offered in my previous experience: Would I like to labor in my own clothes? Would I like to be checked then or later by my midwife? Would I like an IV?
She left the room saying, "Well, let us know if you need anything! We're just gonna let you have this baby."
Hallelujah!
My 29.5 hour labor with Beckett could also be written into a novel...though I doubt many would care to read about the nitty gritty details. I'll sum it up in one word: PROFOUND.
All births are transformative. Without Blake's birth experience I would not have experienced the defeat (please know that I use the word "defeat" losely, as it was my plan that was defeated. God had bigger plans for me that day. I truly feel that he knew I needed a reminder that I am not the one in control. I ended that experience with a sweet healthy baby in my arms, and for that I was so blessed!) that ignited the passion I have today. Beckett's birth was the most tangible experience I have ever had with God. I have never relied on Him so fully, or felt His all-consuming, and over-whelming presence as I did that day! GOD is good and He took me on the journey I had prayed so fervently to experience.
My mind has been set upon birth lately. Two friends have recently experienced wonderful VBAC's. Another just gave birth in the comfort of her home (awesomeness!) My sister-in-law is a couple of weeks from having her first baby. That being said I have pulled out my prayer journal from Beckett's birth and reread it probably a dozen times in the last month. A dear friend shared her prayer journal with me and it was more of a blessing than she could ever know! I feel blessed that we, as women, can journey through childbirth together, supporting one another, lifting each other up, directing each other to lean on God through this pivotal moment in our lives. It is no wonder I am passionate about such an amazing thing!
Now I just have to figure out how I can keep myself from craving birth....at least for a little while!
I guess I'll let Bryan figure that one out! ;)
Thursday, September 8, 2011
All about fall...
For me...it's all about fall. I feel like I spend the whole year yearning for that perfectly crisp morning - then the moment it arrives I can just smell it - fall is in the air. It smells like wood burning fireplaces, pumpkin spice lattes, and a bowl full of chili for the football game. Ahhhh - fall! In Texas I am kept waiting for fall much longer than I was used to in North Carolina and NYC, but that only makes its eventual arrival all the more sweet. I LOVE fall...wait, did I already make that point? No, seriously, LOVE it. Everything about fall makes me smile: college football (though not Texas football. Sorry folks, I only follow App State.), fall colors, cool air, changing leaves, picking pumpkins....and of course, fall FASHION.
Fall fashion is truly something I adore. On my priority list it ranks right up there under oxygen...well, maybe not quite that high. But, you get the picture. I blame my manager at Ralph Lauren. Marissa was our fashion nazi...particularly in the fall when sales were the highest. The stylists had to arrive each day "ralphed out." This means we needed to look like perfect little Ralph Lauren models - ready to sell our own style to potential clients. We were required to read WWD (Women's Wear Daily), write thank you notes to all 'big' clients, and attend the ever-so-popular trunk show at Bryant Park for fashion week. This was the highlight of my time working there (lining up for wardrobe inspection was not!) For those that do not know, fall fashion week at Bryant Park is HUGE...hallowed ground for those that obsess over designer couture. The delight I had as a stylist was that stylists had dibs on the runway clothes at the sample sale that followed fashion week. Marissa went with me...I think it was because she really wanted to tell me what to buy for work as opposed to vying for my company. I was too perky for her, a no-nonsense typical New Yorker aiming to climb the corporate ladder. Thankfully, we shared the same classic style and so I was more than happy to accept all the clothing she was shoving into my arms. Budget restraints meant that after fighting through the crowd, trying clothes on in the midst of fifty other women and literally engaging in tug-a-war over a pair of delicious runway wool shorts, I emerged the victorious owner of six runway label items. The fashion bug had bit me...hard. Though, at times it was slightly depressing to be living in a city full of so many goods I could not afford, I managed to save scrupulously for some highly prized items. I did, however, stop short of selling my kidney on the black market for a coveted birken bag. Might need all my vital organs one day...best not to chance it.
Below are some classic pieces I have my eye on for this season (they range greatly in price from H&M to Christian Louboutin) The great thing is that you can easily find similar pieces and styles at very affordable prices.
1. A big tote - perfect to throw everything in and schlep around.
This Goyard bag is perfect and though I typically play it safe with navy or black I think this pumpkin orange color adds a nice punch of color for fall. (Since I can NOT wear orange, accessorizing with it is my only option.)
2. Cashmere cardigan - Simple. Cozy. Classic.
3. Riding boots - A staple for fall. Made even more popular by the ever-so-timeless Kate Middleton.
4. Scarves - Another necessary component to any fall wardrobe. And the BEST thing about scarves - you can find them at any price point. Add them to your outfit for an instantly finished look! Voila!
5. Knee length fall coat. This steal is from H&M - only $60.
6. Shorts with tights/leggings - I think this look is best worn with opaque tights/leggings and either boots or heels (makes the legs look longer.) Wool or tweed shorts add texture and feel especially fall-ish to me! (Fall-ish is that a word? It is now!)
7. Rain boots - Though maybe not needed in TX. But, in NYC... most definitely! I love these classic boots by Hunter.
8. Layered jewelry - more specifically - stacking BRACELETS! I love stacking bracelets...the colder it is outside, the more I wear! John Hardy designs my favorite bracelets. But cheap-o imitations from Target do the trick.
I could go on but for sake of time, I will call it a night!! Happy almost fall everyone!
Fall fashion is truly something I adore. On my priority list it ranks right up there under oxygen...well, maybe not quite that high. But, you get the picture. I blame my manager at Ralph Lauren. Marissa was our fashion nazi...particularly in the fall when sales were the highest. The stylists had to arrive each day "ralphed out." This means we needed to look like perfect little Ralph Lauren models - ready to sell our own style to potential clients. We were required to read WWD (Women's Wear Daily), write thank you notes to all 'big' clients, and attend the ever-so-popular trunk show at Bryant Park for fashion week. This was the highlight of my time working there (lining up for wardrobe inspection was not!) For those that do not know, fall fashion week at Bryant Park is HUGE...hallowed ground for those that obsess over designer couture. The delight I had as a stylist was that stylists had dibs on the runway clothes at the sample sale that followed fashion week. Marissa went with me...I think it was because she really wanted to tell me what to buy for work as opposed to vying for my company. I was too perky for her, a no-nonsense typical New Yorker aiming to climb the corporate ladder. Thankfully, we shared the same classic style and so I was more than happy to accept all the clothing she was shoving into my arms. Budget restraints meant that after fighting through the crowd, trying clothes on in the midst of fifty other women and literally engaging in tug-a-war over a pair of delicious runway wool shorts, I emerged the victorious owner of six runway label items. The fashion bug had bit me...hard. Though, at times it was slightly depressing to be living in a city full of so many goods I could not afford, I managed to save scrupulously for some highly prized items. I did, however, stop short of selling my kidney on the black market for a coveted birken bag. Might need all my vital organs one day...best not to chance it.
Below are some classic pieces I have my eye on for this season (they range greatly in price from H&M to Christian Louboutin) The great thing is that you can easily find similar pieces and styles at very affordable prices.
1. A big tote - perfect to throw everything in and schlep around.
2. Cashmere cardigan - Simple. Cozy. Classic.
I could go on but for sake of time, I will call it a night!! Happy almost fall everyone!
Saturday, September 3, 2011
What's the cost of freedom?
In the last week it's been hard not to notice the media reports and new outlets gearing up for the 10th anniversary of 9/11.
It's been hard not to notice; yet, it is at the same time difficult to remember and impossible to forget.
A lot can happen in ten years. I look back on the events of that day and remember the flood of emotions that overwhelmed me the moment my teacher Ms. McClinton turned on the TV in my 2nd period Physics class. Glued to the screen I couldn't help but watch as news anchors shrieked, people ran for their lives, and a second tower was hit. Devastation. Complete despair. Buildings that once stood tall as a symbol of America's promise and economic strength dissolved to ashes before our eyes. Most of us remember quite clearly where we were that moment whether high school seniors, like myself, or already in the workforce. I was surprised in reading the Wall Street Journal today that 20% of Americans are either not alive, or not able to remember 9/11. For them this is the norm. To these children the words "9/11" are nothing more than words that sprinkle the vocabulary of grown-ups and and heard on the nightly news. They will never feel the uncertainty, as we did, in the days that followed 9/11, watching the events unfold and our world unravel like the end of a rope that symbolized something that was once precious and good and whole, and became a tangle of threads slipping through our fingers. My daughter won't know what it was like to watch her friends - boys, barely eighteen years, stand up at the lunch table and declare, with courage beyond their years, that they were enlisting to serve their country. I, as well as all those with children who were not alive then, am faced with the enormous challenge and duty of giving weight and importance to this day. I must teach, I must talk, I must represent those who were forever effected or lost on that day.
It was spring of 2006 when I moved to New York City, nearly five years after 9/11. I naively thought the city had moved past the tragedy by then. After all, time heals all wounds, right? But everyone I encountered had a story. Whether they had watched people covered in ashes walking up the avenues from downtown, whether they had lost a loved one, or like one woman I knew, had been burnt on 70% of her body and had nearly died. Sadly, I knew her for nearly a year before I knew her story. She was my client at Ralph Lauren and I honestly thought the only thing she'd been the victim of was a lot of bad plastic surgery. She had had plastic surgery, no doubt. Numerous procedures. All to repair the damage that was done when a pile of burning rubble fell on her as she was running from the building. I was helping her in the dressing room to try on a stunningly beading $6000 gown for one of NYC's many social galas. I noticed how sadly she looked at herself in the mirror. Selfishly, because I was paid on commission, I told her how fabulous she looked in the dress. Though, in truth it showed the many scars she had on the right side of her body. She smiled, "If only you'd seen me before 9/11." Over the next few months her story would come out in bits and pieces and all I could say was, "I'm so sorry." She was one of the lucky ones. She knew that too. No one has a story from that day that is free of sorrow. No one was free of pain. Everyone was touched.
I want my daughter to know that. I want her to know the sacrifice so many paid for the freedom we enjoy as Americans. I want her to know how blessed we truly are.
A lot can happen in ten years. My own life has seen the milestones of completing high school, college, grad school, marriage, and two kids. Ten years feels simultaneously like yesterday and an eternity ago. When I look at ten years in the life of our country so many things strike me. It seems like America has been on a roller coaster, both politically and economically speaking. There have been moments when I felt like I was seeing the silver lining. Moments when our country rose up like the proverbial phoenix from the ashes. Watching the firemen raise the perfect shaped cross, created from the steel beams of the building and forged in the fire; watching politicians trade politics and party lines for the greater good of America's citizens. Then there are the moments of the petty bickering, that so characterizes Washington today. Moments of when America has appeared laughable on the world stage, or worse, overly cocky. A roller coaster. I don't like roller coasters much. I'm ready for the ride to be over.
I want my daughter to know the events of that fateful day, nearly ten years ago. I want her to know the sacrifices made by so many. But I also want her to know the cost.
Lives lost on 9/11: nearly 3000
Lives in the war on terror: over 6200
Federal Homeland Security spending in the last ten years: $360 billion (not including the state, local, or private sector that spent another $330 billion)
Operations in Iraq and Afghanistan since 9/11: $1.3 trillion
The numbers are staggering. Of course, it is impossible to put a price tag on the emotional cost of the lives lost and this war on terror (regardless of whether or not we agree with the war being waged.) The costs have been high. It it begs me to ask the question: Do we feel safer? Was it worth it?
I don't necessarily have any answers...for now just lingering questions.
What's the cost of freedom?
It's been hard not to notice; yet, it is at the same time difficult to remember and impossible to forget.
A lot can happen in ten years. I look back on the events of that day and remember the flood of emotions that overwhelmed me the moment my teacher Ms. McClinton turned on the TV in my 2nd period Physics class. Glued to the screen I couldn't help but watch as news anchors shrieked, people ran for their lives, and a second tower was hit. Devastation. Complete despair. Buildings that once stood tall as a symbol of America's promise and economic strength dissolved to ashes before our eyes. Most of us remember quite clearly where we were that moment whether high school seniors, like myself, or already in the workforce. I was surprised in reading the Wall Street Journal today that 20% of Americans are either not alive, or not able to remember 9/11. For them this is the norm. To these children the words "9/11" are nothing more than words that sprinkle the vocabulary of grown-ups and and heard on the nightly news. They will never feel the uncertainty, as we did, in the days that followed 9/11, watching the events unfold and our world unravel like the end of a rope that symbolized something that was once precious and good and whole, and became a tangle of threads slipping through our fingers. My daughter won't know what it was like to watch her friends - boys, barely eighteen years, stand up at the lunch table and declare, with courage beyond their years, that they were enlisting to serve their country. I, as well as all those with children who were not alive then, am faced with the enormous challenge and duty of giving weight and importance to this day. I must teach, I must talk, I must represent those who were forever effected or lost on that day.
It was spring of 2006 when I moved to New York City, nearly five years after 9/11. I naively thought the city had moved past the tragedy by then. After all, time heals all wounds, right? But everyone I encountered had a story. Whether they had watched people covered in ashes walking up the avenues from downtown, whether they had lost a loved one, or like one woman I knew, had been burnt on 70% of her body and had nearly died. Sadly, I knew her for nearly a year before I knew her story. She was my client at Ralph Lauren and I honestly thought the only thing she'd been the victim of was a lot of bad plastic surgery. She had had plastic surgery, no doubt. Numerous procedures. All to repair the damage that was done when a pile of burning rubble fell on her as she was running from the building. I was helping her in the dressing room to try on a stunningly beading $6000 gown for one of NYC's many social galas. I noticed how sadly she looked at herself in the mirror. Selfishly, because I was paid on commission, I told her how fabulous she looked in the dress. Though, in truth it showed the many scars she had on the right side of her body. She smiled, "If only you'd seen me before 9/11." Over the next few months her story would come out in bits and pieces and all I could say was, "I'm so sorry." She was one of the lucky ones. She knew that too. No one has a story from that day that is free of sorrow. No one was free of pain. Everyone was touched.
I want my daughter to know that. I want her to know the sacrifice so many paid for the freedom we enjoy as Americans. I want her to know how blessed we truly are.
A lot can happen in ten years. My own life has seen the milestones of completing high school, college, grad school, marriage, and two kids. Ten years feels simultaneously like yesterday and an eternity ago. When I look at ten years in the life of our country so many things strike me. It seems like America has been on a roller coaster, both politically and economically speaking. There have been moments when I felt like I was seeing the silver lining. Moments when our country rose up like the proverbial phoenix from the ashes. Watching the firemen raise the perfect shaped cross, created from the steel beams of the building and forged in the fire; watching politicians trade politics and party lines for the greater good of America's citizens. Then there are the moments of the petty bickering, that so characterizes Washington today. Moments of when America has appeared laughable on the world stage, or worse, overly cocky. A roller coaster. I don't like roller coasters much. I'm ready for the ride to be over.
I want my daughter to know the events of that fateful day, nearly ten years ago. I want her to know the sacrifices made by so many. But I also want her to know the cost.
Lives lost on 9/11: nearly 3000
Lives in the war on terror: over 6200
Federal Homeland Security spending in the last ten years: $360 billion (not including the state, local, or private sector that spent another $330 billion)
Operations in Iraq and Afghanistan since 9/11: $1.3 trillion
The numbers are staggering. Of course, it is impossible to put a price tag on the emotional cost of the lives lost and this war on terror (regardless of whether or not we agree with the war being waged.) The costs have been high. It it begs me to ask the question: Do we feel safer? Was it worth it?
I don't necessarily have any answers...for now just lingering questions.
What's the cost of freedom?
Saturday, July 23, 2011
You are what you eat...
It's a saying I've heard time and again though I never gave it much credence growing up: You are what you eat.
What would that make me? What does it makes you?
My first experience in organic farming was exactly 10 years ago. I was acting in my first professional production in NC. One of my co-stars, who was in college and more "worldly" than me, was spending her summer working on an organic farm. To be honest I thought she was pretty weird. She had a nose ring, a few tats, her hair was cut like a boys...and she dated girls. So, it was safe to say that other than acting, Annie and I had very different interests. In my naivety I told her I was perfectly happy eating food sprayed with pesticides and made in a plant as I had been doing my whole life. I was seventeen. Looking back I can only imagine what she must have thought about me.
Over the next few years I found myself inexplicably drawn to understanding what was so important about eating organic. Was it just a fad? A gimmick to make people spend more on food? Was it really better, I mean seriously, hadn't I turned out just fine?
Like many people my childhood memories contain food memories as well. My summer was one cheese puff and grape soda after another. What I didn't know then but know now is this - I was not eating food! Oh, I was eating something...but not food. I was eating a highly processed food-like substance, but sadly, not REAL food.
I started to read. I started to research. And then, armed with the knowledge I almost wished I didn't have I was forced to re-evaluate what I was putting in my body.
I made the switch to whole grains first in 2005. As a life long white bread eater this was probably the most difficult switch for my new husband. A month or two later I switched to organic milk. What began as a slow transition switched into warp speed once I read The Omnivore's Dilemma by Michael Pollan. Combine reading this book with, having my first child, watching Food Inc., and then reading Food Rules, also by Michael Pollan. It was safe to say a simple trip to the grocery store has never been the same since!
Feeding myself was one thing, but being responsible for what nutrition I provide for my child placed a burden on my heart. I could not turn a blind eye to facts any longer.
Americans invent many remarkable things. We are the true innovators of this world, I believe. One not-so-wonderful thing we are the culprit of inventing however is the Western diet. What is the Western diet, you ask? Well, it is a diet generally defined as eating lots of processed foods and meat, lots of added sugar and fat, lots of refined grains, and lots of everything except fruits, vegetables, and whole grains.
That being said, it stands to reason that societies subsiding on the Western diet invariably suffer from what have become known as Western diseases. According to Pollan, "Virtually all of the obesity and type 2 diabetes, 80 percent of the cardiovascular disease, and more than 1/3 of ALL cancers can be linked to this diet." Wow!
So if we know this, why are we still eating this way? "There is a lot of money in the Western diet. The more you process any food the more profitable it becomes. The healthcare industry makes more money treating chronic diseases (which account for more than three quarters of the $2 trillion plus we spend each year on healthcare in this country) than preventing them.
How can we take a step towards changing what we eat? That's what Food Rules is about! (I swear I should be paid to advertise for this book! I LOVE it!) It is a tiny book (You can read it in less than an hour) that simplifies what and how to eat. Simple, straight-forward rules with concise explanations. Here are a few of my favorites:
1. Don't eat anything your great grandmother wouldn't recognize as food. (There are thousands of foodish products that our ancestors wouldn't recognize as food!)
2. Avoid food products no ordinary human would keep in their pantry. (Do you have ethoxylated diglycerides in your pantry? I didn't think so.)
3. Avoid foods that contain more than five ingredients....or what ever arbitrary number you adopt. The more ingredients in a packaged food, the more highly processed it is.
4. Shop the peripheries of the supermarket and stay out of the middle. Processed foods dominate the center of the store, while fresh food - produce, meats and fish, dairy -line the walls. If you shop the edges you're more likely to end up with real food.
5. Eat foods made from ingredients that you can picture in their raw state or growing in nature.
6. If it came from a plant, eat it; if it was made in a plant, don't.
7. Eat animals that have themselves eaten well. The diet of the animal strongly influences the nutritional quality, whether it is meat or milk or eggs.
There is so much good info in this book! It has certainly influenced what I eat and feed my family.
I am thankful for what I've been learning. It has become my goal for my family to be eating entirely organic and whole food by the end of 2012. I recently purchased a grain mill so I can make my own flour (thus make all my own breads.) So...if you need someone to grind your wheat, you know who to call. It has been difficult, if not impossible, to eliminate all processed food from our house. I still have a bag of fritos in my pantry calling for my affection. Some of my recipes call for things that I have yet to find a suitable substitution for...but I'm working on it. And I will get us there, eventually.
If I am what I eat, then I am currently some organic raisins...my snack of choice to keep the fritos at bay till I find the will power to toss them!
Does the old saying ring true: Are you what you eat?
What would that make me? What does it makes you?
My first experience in organic farming was exactly 10 years ago. I was acting in my first professional production in NC. One of my co-stars, who was in college and more "worldly" than me, was spending her summer working on an organic farm. To be honest I thought she was pretty weird. She had a nose ring, a few tats, her hair was cut like a boys...and she dated girls. So, it was safe to say that other than acting, Annie and I had very different interests. In my naivety I told her I was perfectly happy eating food sprayed with pesticides and made in a plant as I had been doing my whole life. I was seventeen. Looking back I can only imagine what she must have thought about me.
Over the next few years I found myself inexplicably drawn to understanding what was so important about eating organic. Was it just a fad? A gimmick to make people spend more on food? Was it really better, I mean seriously, hadn't I turned out just fine?
Like many people my childhood memories contain food memories as well. My summer was one cheese puff and grape soda after another. What I didn't know then but know now is this - I was not eating food! Oh, I was eating something...but not food. I was eating a highly processed food-like substance, but sadly, not REAL food.
I started to read. I started to research. And then, armed with the knowledge I almost wished I didn't have I was forced to re-evaluate what I was putting in my body.
I made the switch to whole grains first in 2005. As a life long white bread eater this was probably the most difficult switch for my new husband. A month or two later I switched to organic milk. What began as a slow transition switched into warp speed once I read The Omnivore's Dilemma by Michael Pollan. Combine reading this book with, having my first child, watching Food Inc., and then reading Food Rules, also by Michael Pollan. It was safe to say a simple trip to the grocery store has never been the same since!
Feeding myself was one thing, but being responsible for what nutrition I provide for my child placed a burden on my heart. I could not turn a blind eye to facts any longer.
Americans invent many remarkable things. We are the true innovators of this world, I believe. One not-so-wonderful thing we are the culprit of inventing however is the Western diet. What is the Western diet, you ask? Well, it is a diet generally defined as eating lots of processed foods and meat, lots of added sugar and fat, lots of refined grains, and lots of everything except fruits, vegetables, and whole grains.
That being said, it stands to reason that societies subsiding on the Western diet invariably suffer from what have become known as Western diseases. According to Pollan, "Virtually all of the obesity and type 2 diabetes, 80 percent of the cardiovascular disease, and more than 1/3 of ALL cancers can be linked to this diet." Wow!
So if we know this, why are we still eating this way? "There is a lot of money in the Western diet. The more you process any food the more profitable it becomes. The healthcare industry makes more money treating chronic diseases (which account for more than three quarters of the $2 trillion plus we spend each year on healthcare in this country) than preventing them.
How can we take a step towards changing what we eat? That's what Food Rules is about! (I swear I should be paid to advertise for this book! I LOVE it!) It is a tiny book (You can read it in less than an hour) that simplifies what and how to eat. Simple, straight-forward rules with concise explanations. Here are a few of my favorites:
1. Don't eat anything your great grandmother wouldn't recognize as food. (There are thousands of foodish products that our ancestors wouldn't recognize as food!)
2. Avoid food products no ordinary human would keep in their pantry. (Do you have ethoxylated diglycerides in your pantry? I didn't think so.)
3. Avoid foods that contain more than five ingredients....or what ever arbitrary number you adopt. The more ingredients in a packaged food, the more highly processed it is.
4. Shop the peripheries of the supermarket and stay out of the middle. Processed foods dominate the center of the store, while fresh food - produce, meats and fish, dairy -line the walls. If you shop the edges you're more likely to end up with real food.
5. Eat foods made from ingredients that you can picture in their raw state or growing in nature.
6. If it came from a plant, eat it; if it was made in a plant, don't.
7. Eat animals that have themselves eaten well. The diet of the animal strongly influences the nutritional quality, whether it is meat or milk or eggs.
There is so much good info in this book! It has certainly influenced what I eat and feed my family.
I am thankful for what I've been learning. It has become my goal for my family to be eating entirely organic and whole food by the end of 2012. I recently purchased a grain mill so I can make my own flour (thus make all my own breads.) So...if you need someone to grind your wheat, you know who to call. It has been difficult, if not impossible, to eliminate all processed food from our house. I still have a bag of fritos in my pantry calling for my affection. Some of my recipes call for things that I have yet to find a suitable substitution for...but I'm working on it. And I will get us there, eventually.
If I am what I eat, then I am currently some organic raisins...my snack of choice to keep the fritos at bay till I find the will power to toss them!
Does the old saying ring true: Are you what you eat?
Tuesday, June 28, 2011
Home is the best place to be...
I feel like it has been eons since my last blog entry...time is funny like that, isn't it? I get busy and suddenly it's been nearly four weeks since I've posted!
Though the busyness of my life as of late has been simply lovely. Not only did my parents get to spend a week with me in TX over my birthday, but I was able to fly back with my mom to enjoy some time in NC.
Coming home for the first time in over a year with the newest addition to our family has been perfect. Beckett got to meet his Great Granny Sue for the first time and Blake has been loving our daily nature walks. Home is truly the best place to be.
But...enough with the updates. Let me paint you a picture of this glorious place I call home: Mitchell County, North Carolina.
Some places you experience with your entire body. You're not simply...there. You become apart of it...and it, in turn, becomes a part of you. The mountains are like that. When I'm here I feel like my body physically responds. I feel like my heart slows down to the perfectly relaxed pace of this place. My accent suddenly becomes a little thicker. I actually used the word "holler" (as in a hollow, not as in yelling) in a sentence the other day...and I liked it. I find myself yearning to churn some apple butter and go berry picking. And I can't help but hear Nickel Creek playing in the back of my mind as I stand in awe of how beautiful this land is. Something about blue grass music and the Blue Ridge Mountains just go together. If in NYC my heart beats to the rhythm of a socialite's stilettos, then at home it beats in time with the fiddler at a square dance on Saturday night.
The oldest mountain chain in the world is something quite wonderful to behold. The way the mountains fold gently into each other. The way the fog nestles in the valley in the morning. The way the light hits the mountains at sunset making giant shadows across the fields. I stood on the top of Roan Mountain on Saturday morning with mountains as far as I could see and I suddenly felt the impulse to pray. Afterall, God seems so much closer up there, surely my prayers would reach his ears first. No, but seriously, I felt the strong need to thank Him for this beautiful place that He created.
The beauty of the mountains is only accentuated by the kindness of the people that inhabit them. When we first moved here I found myself frequently frustrated by little old men in their pick-up trucks that would stop in the middle of the road to chat. Not at a stop light, not at a stop sign, just right smack dab in the middle of the road. One would be going one way and one the other and they would slow down and roll down their windows and chat...for several minutes. Somehow we always seemed to be stuck behind them. I asked my dad one time, "What in the world is so important that we have to wait for four minutes while they chat?" He told me they probably weren't talking about anything important, it was just part of the culture here. I eventually got used to waiting for little old men in their pick-ups chatting about their tobacco crop or the weather or whatever it was. I got used to people waving and smiling at anyone that passed by. I got used to the cashier in the checkout line asking questions that sometimes crossed personal boundaries. I got used to it. It has only been in leaving this place and returning to it that I have begun to appreciate it. I appreciate that people always have time to chat with each other, even though it may be about nothing in particular. I appreciate that neighbors always have time to lend a hand. I appreciate the conversations in the check out line that may add a few measly minutes onto my busy day. I appreciate the beauty of these mountains that strike me so much more coming home than when I actually lived here.
I appreciate that no matter how long I am gone I come back to find that nothing has changed. With so few things you can count on in this world it's nice to be able to count on my home.
The mountains are a part of me now. They have influenced so much in my life. One of my favorite bible verses is: "I lift my eyes up to the hills. Where does my help come from? My help comes from the Lord, the maker of heaven and earth." Psalm 121
It reminds me of my mountains. And it makes me smile with the knowledge that even though I may currently live far away....I always have this to come home to.
Though the busyness of my life as of late has been simply lovely. Not only did my parents get to spend a week with me in TX over my birthday, but I was able to fly back with my mom to enjoy some time in NC.
Coming home for the first time in over a year with the newest addition to our family has been perfect. Beckett got to meet his Great Granny Sue for the first time and Blake has been loving our daily nature walks. Home is truly the best place to be.
But...enough with the updates. Let me paint you a picture of this glorious place I call home: Mitchell County, North Carolina.
Some places you experience with your entire body. You're not simply...there. You become apart of it...and it, in turn, becomes a part of you. The mountains are like that. When I'm here I feel like my body physically responds. I feel like my heart slows down to the perfectly relaxed pace of this place. My accent suddenly becomes a little thicker. I actually used the word "holler" (as in a hollow, not as in yelling) in a sentence the other day...and I liked it. I find myself yearning to churn some apple butter and go berry picking. And I can't help but hear Nickel Creek playing in the back of my mind as I stand in awe of how beautiful this land is. Something about blue grass music and the Blue Ridge Mountains just go together. If in NYC my heart beats to the rhythm of a socialite's stilettos, then at home it beats in time with the fiddler at a square dance on Saturday night.
The oldest mountain chain in the world is something quite wonderful to behold. The way the mountains fold gently into each other. The way the fog nestles in the valley in the morning. The way the light hits the mountains at sunset making giant shadows across the fields. I stood on the top of Roan Mountain on Saturday morning with mountains as far as I could see and I suddenly felt the impulse to pray. Afterall, God seems so much closer up there, surely my prayers would reach his ears first. No, but seriously, I felt the strong need to thank Him for this beautiful place that He created.
The beauty of the mountains is only accentuated by the kindness of the people that inhabit them. When we first moved here I found myself frequently frustrated by little old men in their pick-up trucks that would stop in the middle of the road to chat. Not at a stop light, not at a stop sign, just right smack dab in the middle of the road. One would be going one way and one the other and they would slow down and roll down their windows and chat...for several minutes. Somehow we always seemed to be stuck behind them. I asked my dad one time, "What in the world is so important that we have to wait for four minutes while they chat?" He told me they probably weren't talking about anything important, it was just part of the culture here. I eventually got used to waiting for little old men in their pick-ups chatting about their tobacco crop or the weather or whatever it was. I got used to people waving and smiling at anyone that passed by. I got used to the cashier in the checkout line asking questions that sometimes crossed personal boundaries. I got used to it. It has only been in leaving this place and returning to it that I have begun to appreciate it. I appreciate that people always have time to chat with each other, even though it may be about nothing in particular. I appreciate that neighbors always have time to lend a hand. I appreciate the conversations in the check out line that may add a few measly minutes onto my busy day. I appreciate the beauty of these mountains that strike me so much more coming home than when I actually lived here.
I appreciate that no matter how long I am gone I come back to find that nothing has changed. With so few things you can count on in this world it's nice to be able to count on my home.
The mountains are a part of me now. They have influenced so much in my life. One of my favorite bible verses is: "I lift my eyes up to the hills. Where does my help come from? My help comes from the Lord, the maker of heaven and earth." Psalm 121
It reminds me of my mountains. And it makes me smile with the knowledge that even though I may currently live far away....I always have this to come home to.
Friday, June 3, 2011
Are you content with where you Went?
You know how Dove chocolates have those little philosophical sayings inside the wrapper? You get to enjoy a little something sweet while reflecting on something deep and meaningful....or you're like me and you crumple the wrapper up before remembering that you were supposed to read it and then you spend five minutes flattening it back out only to find that this deep, meaningful message wasn't so meaningful after all.
Anyways, apparently beer bottle caps are following suit. I just opened a bottle of my magic hat summer seasonal to read, "Are you content with where you Went?" (Yes, they capitalized the W on Went.) This caught my attention.
I'm not sure if it was the erroneously capitalized W or the lack of explanation in the question itself, but for whatever reason, I stood there, by the trashcan, staring at the bottle cap in my hand for a good four minutes before tossing it in. Went where? Why the capital W? Did they capitalize it arbitrarily to make me do a double-take? If so, kudos to them. It worked.
But then I started thinking of the ways to complete that question...and then many other questions began to enter my mind, all focused around one primary question - Are you content?
We spend so much time and energy focused on that question don't we? I can't check out at the grocery store without passing by O magazine exclaiming that it holds the new key to happiness. The key to being self content. The key to inner peace and endless joy. Turn on the Today show any morning of the week and some author will be touting their new book on how to find true contentment in life.
Am I content?
Yes. I am tired. I feel a little alone during the week (sigh), but I am content. I have peace. I have joy. I am trying to ignore the exhaustion this phase of my life brings and savor all the little moments with my babies. I count my blessings every day.
What is my secret? What is the key to my personal joy?
Here's my Sunday school answer: Jesus.
(Not the one that pooped on the girl in the outhouse....read my previous blog post if you are confused.)
Jesus. Such a simple answer with such complexity underneath. There is complexity to ones' personal relationship with Christ. There are things that words seem desperately inadequate to describe. Maybe that's why you don't often see Christians on the magazine covers or the tv shows letting everyone in on our little secret. We know where true joy is found! We experience the peace that only complete and utter submission to our Savior can bring!
Why aren't we sharing it?
I have felt the conviction of this question lately, as it is currently the sermon series at my church: SHARE. I have had, oh so many, countless opportunities to share my faith. On some occasions I have done so. But many I let pass me by for fear of sounding like those radical evangelicals that spout out scripture on TV but seem incapable of having a rational intellectual discussion.
But, then again, is the love of Christ rational? No. It is radical. How can I take the radical love of my Savior and reach those who prefer for things to be rational.
That is the challenge I faced the most in grad school at NYU. That's the problem with the academic elite. Intellectuals ask questions....lots of questions. Whenever I have taken the plunge and been brave enough to engage one of my non-believing friends in a religious discussion I have always walked away from it wishing I had been better equipped for the "debate." I would make one remark and suddenly would be bombarded with questions from everyone remotely close by....or at least, that's what it felt like. After a while I realized it would be much easier to just smile and nod when someone said something I disagreed with. I realized that...but those who know me, know that's not in my nature. It made for lots of interesting discussion, to put it mildly. I would often replay those discussions for months afterward wondering what I could've said differently, or searching the scripture to find that allusive verse I couldn't recall at the time. I can only hope that our talk may have planted a seed.
I pray that God will put the right people in my path and open my eyes to new opportunities to share the reason behind my joy.
Are you content?
Anyways, apparently beer bottle caps are following suit. I just opened a bottle of my magic hat summer seasonal to read, "Are you content with where you Went?" (Yes, they capitalized the W on Went.) This caught my attention.
I'm not sure if it was the erroneously capitalized W or the lack of explanation in the question itself, but for whatever reason, I stood there, by the trashcan, staring at the bottle cap in my hand for a good four minutes before tossing it in. Went where? Why the capital W? Did they capitalize it arbitrarily to make me do a double-take? If so, kudos to them. It worked.
But then I started thinking of the ways to complete that question...and then many other questions began to enter my mind, all focused around one primary question - Are you content?
We spend so much time and energy focused on that question don't we? I can't check out at the grocery store without passing by O magazine exclaiming that it holds the new key to happiness. The key to being self content. The key to inner peace and endless joy. Turn on the Today show any morning of the week and some author will be touting their new book on how to find true contentment in life.
Am I content?
Yes. I am tired. I feel a little alone during the week (sigh), but I am content. I have peace. I have joy. I am trying to ignore the exhaustion this phase of my life brings and savor all the little moments with my babies. I count my blessings every day.
What is my secret? What is the key to my personal joy?
Here's my Sunday school answer: Jesus.
(Not the one that pooped on the girl in the outhouse....read my previous blog post if you are confused.)
Jesus. Such a simple answer with such complexity underneath. There is complexity to ones' personal relationship with Christ. There are things that words seem desperately inadequate to describe. Maybe that's why you don't often see Christians on the magazine covers or the tv shows letting everyone in on our little secret. We know where true joy is found! We experience the peace that only complete and utter submission to our Savior can bring!
Why aren't we sharing it?
I have felt the conviction of this question lately, as it is currently the sermon series at my church: SHARE. I have had, oh so many, countless opportunities to share my faith. On some occasions I have done so. But many I let pass me by for fear of sounding like those radical evangelicals that spout out scripture on TV but seem incapable of having a rational intellectual discussion.
But, then again, is the love of Christ rational? No. It is radical. How can I take the radical love of my Savior and reach those who prefer for things to be rational.
That is the challenge I faced the most in grad school at NYU. That's the problem with the academic elite. Intellectuals ask questions....lots of questions. Whenever I have taken the plunge and been brave enough to engage one of my non-believing friends in a religious discussion I have always walked away from it wishing I had been better equipped for the "debate." I would make one remark and suddenly would be bombarded with questions from everyone remotely close by....or at least, that's what it felt like. After a while I realized it would be much easier to just smile and nod when someone said something I disagreed with. I realized that...but those who know me, know that's not in my nature. It made for lots of interesting discussion, to put it mildly. I would often replay those discussions for months afterward wondering what I could've said differently, or searching the scripture to find that allusive verse I couldn't recall at the time. I can only hope that our talk may have planted a seed.
I pray that God will put the right people in my path and open my eyes to new opportunities to share the reason behind my joy.
Are you content?
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