It's funny how it hurts me; this love I've never had

So my oldest and dearest friend got engaged yesterday. I was not at all surprised, and in truth, really excited. They're pretty much the perfect couple, and I told her in the beginning if she screwed this up I would punch her in the face. She obviously hasn't been punched in the face.

I'm pretty excited. I get to be maid of honor - a first for me even if being a bridesmaid is old hat. 5 previous weddings makes me more than competent, I think. You know that old saying, "6 times a bridesmaid . . . " Oh, wait there isn't one that goes like that. Someone should make one up. The best one might get a prize. Perhaps a quilt made of all my old bridesmaids dresses?

All this being said, I am super happy for Steph and Kyle, but it makes me start to wonder. I'm starting to doubt my own social competence. I've never had a serious relationship. I have never even been on a date as an adult. It just makes a girl wonder.

I don't need an engagement ring or a long term commitment. It would just be nice if someone took me out to dinner. I'm just saying. A girl can dream.

Like a Caged Panda

Today, I went to the Petsmart. I both love and hate going to the Petsmart. I love the animal things. I love the people and their pets. I love the adoption center until I realize that I can't take anyone home with me.

This morning I went in to find a more comfortable vacation dwelling for our class turtle, and in the process, I fell in love with a cute little kitty named Panda. Panda was everything a sweet boy of his age should be. He was handsome and strong with impeccably groomed whiskers. As is the case with all handsome young men who see me (of the feline variety, at least), he turned on the charm and began the incredibly easy task of winning my heart.

I was standing there talking politely with Mr. Panda as he pressed his muzzle and sides up against the bars of his temporary home. You know the way cats do in pet stores. They throw themselves head long into affection even when there are steel bars in between. I stood there as a long as I could petting and chatting with Panda before beginning to feel foolish. He was just a cat after all. I finally made the break and walked away.

I started thinking as I walked away. Panda would have nuzzled that door for as long as I would have been willing to stand there. Had I opened the door to Panda's cage, he wouldn't have stayed inside of it. He wouldn't be content with the stilted affection of hands that were separated by a door. This reminded me of grace.

A lot of times I'm like Panda, pressing myself against the boundaries of God's grace. I'm content to prance along it's periphery and let the trace amounts of mercy dance along my spine. I forget that the door is already open, but unlike Panda, I'm foolish enough to content myself with the outskirts.

Just like when the door of Panda's cage opens up, and he can jump into the arms of a loving owner, so I can leap into the arms of grace all the time. Except, I don't. I could luxuriate in grace. I could curl up in it's lap and be lavished with love, but I don't . Sometimes, I don't even press myself up against it's door. Sometimes, I pretend it doesn't exist at all.

Our cage is sin and death, and while it's always just a cold steel box, there are tricks of the light that make it look warm and inviting. We stay there for a time. We're happily unaware of our circumstances until we brush up against the edge and feel that hand of grace. The door's unlocked, the hand is there, but we're embarrassed or ashamed or we've forgotten what it feels like to live, and we think that glimmer of a hand is all there is.

Fortunately, God is nothing like me, and He doesn't feel foolish standing there petting and talking and waiting. Until one day, some glad morning, when we step out of the box and back into freedom . . . into grace . . . into warm arms of the loving Father.

"Here I am! I stand at the door and knock. If anyone hears my voice and opens the door, I will come in and eat with him, and he with me."

Revelation 3:20

He said/She said

I realized today that I take far too much to heart the things people say. So much so, that I orient my world around the things they tell me are true.

It's time for me to start making my own calls. It's time to be proactive. It's time to restore some relationships.

A Day

It's been a day. Long and more tiring than it should have been.

Sometimes, I hate having empathy. Sometimes, I feel like I don't have a "right" to feel the way I do. Like when I see someone else's pain, and it so overwhelms me. I don't feel like I deserve to feel sad about that. I feel like other people with "legitimate" claims to sadness look and me and think "She's just an emotional whore. Who is she to feel this way? I lost a mother, or a friend, or a companion, and she's just on the periphery. She's sad because I'm sad? She's grieved because I am? She has no right."

Being Radical

There's been a lot of talk lately about being radical. Terry Jones, the pastor of a church in Florida, has gotten no end of attention for his decision to burn copies of the Quran on September 11th. Jones said it was a radical move aimed to fight the radical Islamic movement. Providentially, Jones decided to cancel the event and is meeting with Muslim leaders in New York instead.

Stick with me for a second because you're not going to like what I say next. Terry Jones was not 100% wrong. We do need a radical movement in our world. However, violence and hate in today's society just aren't all that radical. Spectacles like Jones was planning are the norm. People go to violent and absurd extremes all the time to make their point.

Radical does not mean you have to cause a media frenzy. Radical doesn't mean that you hurt others - physically or emotionally. It means that you have to do something out of the norm.

Here's where I start having to point the finger back at myself. My gut reaction to this story was to send Jones an email detailing all the positively radical things he could do as a Christian.

- He could make sure the homeless people in his community had places to stay.

- He could make sure no one in his community went hungry.

- He could give away part of his salary.

- He could burn hateful propaganda.

- He could collect items to send to the troops.

- He could raise money for The Clean Water Campaign.

- He could befriend a Muslin and show them the very person of Christ through his actions.

But the thing is, I could do all that, too. I could be radical but I'm not. In a way, I envy Terry Jones. However misguided he was (and I fully believe that had he gone through with his plan it would have been disastrous on untold levels), he certainly isn't apathetic.

Passion and wisdom are a lot like faith and works. Faith without works is dead. I would go out on a limb and say wisdom without passion is apathy and passion without wisdom is reckless or worse. Terry Jones had passion, but he lacked the wisdom to display God's message in way that loved his enemies. Which, loving your enemies is a hugely radical concept. I do not claim to be wise or passionate. Both of these attributes are something I need to desperately seek after.

As I gain wisdom and passion, radical is sure to follow. We cannot love Jesus and not want to change things. He is a creator God and that attribute wasn't done away with on the 7th day rest. He is daily creating in us new beings. He is creating for us new passions and purpose. If we are constantly being renewed, there is no way for us to ignore the stagnation around us.

I think there are some questions I need to ask of myself. What passions has God placed in me? For what work is He renewing me? What will it look like for me to be radical? I wish I knew the answers already. I wish I was prepared and able to do all of the things I mentioned before, right now, but I know I'm not. The wonderful things about God is that He'll take me there. He'll bring me to the place. I may not realize it as I go along. Passion and wisdom may look more like sorrow and suffering along the way, but the destination will be something radically beautiful.

I'm Pretty Much a Rockstar

This afternoon I hung out with the fabulous Howell folks, and the coolest thing happened when we picked Lily up from daycare.

Kristin walked into Lily's room before me and said, "Guess who I brought?" As I rounded the corner, Lily spotted me and shouted, "Sarah Cosey!" She ran to give me a huge hug, and I decided that this must be what rockstars feel like.

I also decided that even if Lily Howell is the only one who feels that way when she sees me, then that's really doing better than most. I also love that she calls me by my full name.

It's the cheesiest.

I'm feeling a little sentimental today. Let's face it. I feel sentimental pretty much everyday. Today, however, I think it came in an extra large dose.

My oldest and best friend moved an hour away a couple of weeks ago. An hour may not seem like much, but when you're as busy as we are, it may as well be an eternity. I was able to talk Steph into coming back to the big G'ville this weekend, so we could hang out.

Tonight was beautiful. We ate at our favorite Mexican restaurant. We gathered up the Roomie after dinner and went to Target. We stayed in the jommie section for an inordinate amount of time. On our way to the special school supply section (see earlier posts to learn of my insane love of the school supplies), I realized I needed dryer sheets. Roomie and Steph went on, and I went in search of Gain Apple Mango Tango dryer sheets of which they had none.

As I was walking down the aisle back toward the school supply section, I could see Roomie and Steph. It was like tunnel vision right towards them. It reminded me of those scenes in movies where people focus in on the thing they've been searching after for so long. Cheesey, I know, but in that moment my heart was so full. I had these two amazing friends with me. Friends who would joke about how the world would be horrible if we all had rhyming names like Amelia Bedelia, or if my father were in fact Robert Redford.

Having friends is such a goodness, and it's not one that I entirely deserve. Being known is such a privilege. To think that now we only know in part, and one day we'll know in full - not just about ourselves, or each other, but about God. It's heart warming, and cheesey, and saccharine, but it's truth which makes it entirely beautiful.

Steph is in the purple shirt in the photo above.

I'm bringing modesty back!

I have a few fashions from the past that I intend to bring back into vogue.

For women:
1) Bonnets
2) Ankle length dresses and skirts
3) Moderately puffed sleeves
4) On occasion, the bustle

For men:
1) Tall hats
2) The cravat
3) Vests
4) Pocket watches

Be on the look out. They'll soon be all the rage.

"In olden days a glimpse of stocking was looked on as something shocking, but now God knows, anything goes."
Cole Porter

School Supplies

I LOVE school supply season. I wish I had all the money in the world so that I could stockpile pencils and index cards. I picked a very good profession for all this nonsensical love. Please go to your local Target or Wal-mart to view the school supply section in all of its glory. You'll be glad you did.

Peace, love and Pencil packs,
Miss Sarah

Homespun

I have these dreams of being a key player in a new arts and crafts movement. I have visions of myself knitting cute hats, sewing my own clothes, and selling handmade quilts at local shops.

I keep thinking that if I got rid of cable TV, I would have all of this time just to create. I'm pretty sure TV is just a scapegoat.

Beauty for Ashes

I've started meeting with a small group of girls each week. We talk about their faith, and friends, and family, and always, always, always we talk about boys. We're girls it's what we do.

In the process of all this talking, I would constantly hear things like, "I'm so fat," or "He's too good looking to notice me," "I'm ugly." It broke my heart because these are some of the most beautiful, loving, fun, and sweet girls I know. So, we took action. We did an activity that asked them to claim what God says about them. The things that are true - that they are lovely, they're valued, they're prized and fought for, and then they had to take the next steps of living in those certainties.

That was at least a month ago, so let's flash forward to Thursday evening. I'm taking my girls home from our Mexican dinner night, and one of them said something disparaging about herself. In a matter of nano seconds the other two girls turned and yelled out, "What's the truth?" They wouldn't stop until she gave them an answer, until she had claimed that truth for herself.

In short, it was one of the most beautiful things I have ever seen. Not only have these girls begun to embrace who they really are, but they've begun to fight for those who aren't quite there yet. They even called me out during dinner when I said something about never getting married. One girl confronted her mom about how negative she was about her body.

It is amazing that once we see truth and know it for ourselves, we are no longer content to let others feel that way. These girls are figuring it out. They know where their worth lies. I'm 26, and I can't honestly say that.

I hope my girls, for the rest of their long and beautiful lives, have a voice inside their head asking them what the truth is. If they don't, I pray God sends them a friend who will scream it, or whisper it, or write it in a song for them.

I hope that every time I think those things of myself, I'll go back to that car with those girls and hear their voices because in them was a truth that could not be denied.

Learning

I learned several interesting, if not valuable, things over the weekend.

1) When put on the spot, I feel like the world's most boring person. I was asked the other day what I did with my personal time. You can insert the sound of crickets chirping here. I couldn't think of anything except reading. Totally lame. I know that I do things. I think it's hard as an adult. So much of our lives center around work and family that it's hard to realize all the things you do outside of that frame.

2) The little fabric covers you put on the arms of chairs have a name. They're called antimacassars.

3) I have a much harder time opening up to people than I thought. There's a lot of risk in being known, and I'm not much of a risk taker. I had envisioned an outing going much differently because in my head I'm alway cool and calm and never reserved. In actuality, I have a lot of self doubt. I also feel that I express myself far better in writing, but we can't live our lives that way. In writing you can always take things back or change them to better express your thought, but in speaking, you simply have to do it. You have to leap. This makes me incredibly nervous.

4) I took a strengths test a while back. It turns out that one of my strengths is empathy. I've sort of been aware of this my whole life, but now I have it in writing. I've also learned that as strengths go, it kinda sucks. It's the reason I'm a cryer. It's the reason that sob stories make me such a soft touch even when I know they're probably not true. I can know someone is lying to my face about their down and out circumstances, and still in the back of my mind I feel this deep since of sadness for them. I think, "If they feel like they have to lie, then something must really be hurting them." I'm not the person to call them on their crap and tell them to get their act together. That"s not my strength.

5) I miss singing. It's not my greatest gift, but it's a gift I enjoy.

Homeless

Every year an Eastern Bluebird has been building her nest outside of my classroom window. It's really incredible actual. With just some dirt and debris and a little bird spit, she builds a home on the completely vertical face of a wall. Of course, if her house plummets a great distance, she is far better equipped to handle this than you or I.

Each year my kids and I spend the weeks after the CRCT watching the progress of the bird and her eggs. There's always one morning when we come in and there aren't eggs anymore but babies. This is my favorite part. I am largely a fan of anything that is miniature.

My kids loved it! We'd talk about the birds and write about them, and we would generally stare at them longer than we should have. I loved it too. It gave us an opportunity to just experience something. I couldn't plan it. I couldn't control when the eggs would hatch or when they would choose to spend hours squawking because they were hungry. As a side note, baby birds are hungry a lot. We just got to be observers, and it became an irreplaceable experience.

Did you notice the past tense of that verb there? Became. A few weeks ago (I've just gotten to the point where I can deal with it), my students and I watched in horror as our birds nest was knocked down. It was then destroyed and the eggs in it. I know people think that middle schoolers are unfeeling monsters, but I can assure you they feel plenty, and they were devastated. I was devastated.

We thought at first that the Mama Bird was going to rebuild. She kept swooping a wide arc and coming back to her homesite. We waited for days, but the nest still hasn't come back. That bird is homeless. She spends her days flying in circles and making random visits to the place where her home once was.

My kids and I still watch her, and we're all secretly hoping that one morning we'll come in, and there will be a nest again. But for now, we'll just sits with her as she visits the place that used to be home.

Under Pressure

My dad came over early this morning so we could pressure wash my house. Normal enough, but here's the thing, I had no idea my dad was coming. I had alluded to the fact that I was going to pressure wash my house today, which in Sarah terms means "I am going to think about pressure washing my house all day long while I am doing other things." So imagine my surprise, when I am awoken this morning to the sound of the door bell, and then to the sight of my father knocking on my bedroom window. I was less than excited. At the same time, I was very appreciative of the fact that I had help for this endeavor.

Before I plunge too much further into the day's events, let me give you a little insight into our father/daughter relationship. My dad is probably the nicest guy you'll meet. He'll crack jokes with you and pick on you. Everyone he knows loves him. Now imagine a life in which your dad was this guy, but the 20 or so stock jokes he tells to everyone are also the only source of conversation the two of you have. My dad asks me three questions on a consistent basis, "Are you tired?", "Are you hungry?" and "Are you thirsty?" I'm not lying! He must have asked me these same 3 questions 15 times today. We don't get much further than that.

When I was younger, I thought this was because my dad didn't like me. Honestly, this is what I thought. I was the "accident" kid, and I thought that just meant that I was one more person for my dad to take care of. As an adult, I realize that my dad loves me very much; we just communicate in vastly different ways. I like to spend time with people and have deep conversations with them. This is how I show and receive love. My dad, on the other hand, is a service kind of a guy. My dad likes to do things for others. This is a great way to express love. There's nothing wrong with it. However, as a child, I didn't realize that when my dad did things for me he was really saying, "I love you." It's sort of a Princess Bride "as you wish," situation.

There's another facet to our relationship. My dad has Obsessive Compulsive Disorder. I know people say that they or someone they know have it, but my dad genuinely does. This means that when we undertake a project like this my dad has a way of doing it, and he will not stop until it is done completely in a manner that he sees fitting. I have a ton of problems with that. Largely in that my dad will not listen when I tell him something. It drives me nuts, and I get really upset with him. I've learned to keep my mouth shut, but it eats away at me, and I think all sorts of terrible things while we're together. Our projects usually end up being silent tasks, and I usually cry or rant to Romie after he leaves.

So you see, we started the day with the cards stacked against us. I dragged myself out of bed and threw on some crap clothes all the while thinking about how horrible and awkward today was going to be. We started, and five minutes in I was ready to be done. I was just so frustrated. He wouldn't let me do anything. He was set on using the longest possible process. I was thinking about how I didn't really want to be doing this anyway. Then I stopped, I thought back to being de-cluttered and renewing my mind. I was letting everything I thought about my dad, every painful memory, everything I think my dad should have said or done in the past, every comparison I had made to other fathers completely overshadow the fact that my dad was here today, and that he was showing me love. It didn't matter that it wasn't the way I would have preferred. I was the one who was making the process harder. I was the one who had put up defenses. My dad was doing a really nice thing for me.

I stopped, and I said in my mind "Do not conform any longer to the patterns of this world, but be transformed by the renewing of your mind. Then you will be able to test and approve what God's will is - his good, pleasing, and perfect will." (Romans 12:2). Yes, I know I sound like one of "those women". The ones who are so "holy" that they're just one giant religious cliche. I promise I'm not, but I am learning a lot about myself, and one of the things I've learned is that I'm a super negative thinker. People who know me would be surprised by this because I'm verbally very positive. Trust me though, my thoughts are junk most of the time. In realizing this, I decided to cling to something positive and that verse was it for me.

Back to the story. I'm not saying that verse or that moment was magic, but in that moment, I manned up and made a suggestion. And my dad took it. And we got done a lot quicker. And we talked about sports at lunch. And my dad let me do things my way for most of the day. And for the first time in a really long time, I wasn't mad at my dad when he left. It wasn't because he was really any different. It was because I let go of the things that used to get in our way. I let them float away like a balloon, and now, they're just a tiny speck in the sky.

My house is pretty clean, too. ; )

Never were there more devoted sisters

I love my sister. She is everything a sister should be. She looks out for me. She picks on me. She puts blankets in the dryer to warm them up when I'm cold. Really, I couldn't have asked for a better one.

Sister and I are pretty different. She is loud and has never met a stranger. I'm quiet until we're good buds, and I'm pretty wary of strangers. She was a cheerleader. I was a theater kid. She grew up with New Kids on the Block (that was my first concert). I grew up with Backstreet Boys (I am shame faced). She's married and has kids. I'm not, and I don't, unless you count 100 7th graders.

Despite all of these things, when we're together, we're connected. We think it's weird that people say we're so different because to us, we're two peas in a pod. We think alike. We have the same twisted sense of humor, although, my sister is much freer in sharing hers. We both love music and reading and being slightly judgmental. We both picked the same profession. We painted our houses the same colors. Mine is admittedly much brighter shades than hers.

I know with such surety that if I needed anything - a kidney, money, a home, a blood transfusion, an alibi for a crime - my sister would be there, and she would give it. I know this because I feel that way about her.

A Bit of Excess

I realize that two posts in one day may be deemed a bit excessive, but I was super excited about having my first follower and my new layout. Although I must say, Kelly is much cooler than even the springiest of layouts.

I have had a secret friend crush on Kelly for quite some time. What's a friend crush you ask? Good question. You know when you meet someone, and you know that they are infinitely cooler than you are, but you secretly hope they want to be your friend anyway. That is a friend crush, and you're never too old for them. In some cases it works out. I'm hoping this is the case with Kelly. That is if I haven't ruined it by airing my friendly crushed out state on the internet. In some cases it doesn't.

I've had high hopes for this particular friend crush from the beginning, but there have been some extenuating circumstances that have kept us apart. Kelly has been pretty sick lately which means the forums in which we would normally see each other have been closed off. So perhaps now we can be internet friends.

In truth, I have lots of friend crushes on people at my church, and I'm just getting to the point at which I feel comfortable enough to act upon them. It's been pretty well received so far, but again, I may have spoiled it all by putting all my weird friendship needs on the web. Oh well, my mother told me that people who blog are crazy, and like with most things my mother is right.

I'm also excited that after three days of antibiotics, I no longer want to claw my own ears off. This may not seem like a big deal to some, but for me, it's pretty monumental. It's been hard for me to remember that love is not selective - not even with ears and hopefully not with friend crushes either.

You only need one . . . if he's the right one.

Books and movies based on books have completely ruined me for real men. It's sort of ridiculous the expectations I have. I want a man who is serious but funny, strong yet gentle, wise but still playful, manly while being sensitive. It's a lot to ask especially considering I am not one of those things. Well, maybe I'm sensitive, but I sometimes let those sensibilities get away from me.

I say all this because I have just watched the new BBC version of Sense and Sensibility. It was everything I could hope for in a romance. Plenty of swooning which led to plenty of being carried away like a damsel in distress. There was a duel, a man chopping wood in the rain, a secret engagement, several broken hearts, and of course, a happy ending.

I realize that books and movies are merely fancy. I get that real relationships are messy and require a good bit of work, but the truth is that at almost 26, I still haven't let these dreams go. A few posts ago, I mentioned that fact that I'm a commitment phob. I think it's because I'm always thinking that my own Austen-esque hero is lurking around the corner waiting to catch me if I swoon.

Is it silly? Of course, but I still love it. I love the thought of these types of heros who are good and strong. I like chivalry. I would LOVE for someone to fight a duel for me. In the end I wouldn't want him to kill anyone, though. He'd be too good for that. I would really love a man who wore a cravat. Face it ladies, cravats are hott!

My thought is that if I haven't meet a man who makes me want to give up these dreams, then I haven't found the right man yet. So, I'm going to hold on to my silly daydreams. I will continue to watch and read Pride and Prejudice (the Colin Firth version to be exact). I'll religiously watch Masterpiece Theater, and resign myself to the fact that cravats have gotten out of fashion. But I'll keep waiting for the one, and maybe if he's the right one, he'll even show up on horseback.

Cluttered

Romie and I have been on a MAJOR spring cleaning kick. I think it's partly because we are willing spring to stay for good and partly because we own a lot of crap. It's sort of insane how much two single people can accumulate, but accumulate we do. I cleaned out my closet for the second time in two weeks today. The first time I let go of things I knew I didn't use, but today I got serious and got rid of things that I held onto because I might use them.

I manned up today and faced the fact that I'll probably never use them, and that maybe someone else would. They'll go to a nice new home, and I'll have much more closet space - which I will NOT fill with more crap.

Anybody buy that? I didn't think so as I I don't really buy it myself. Oh well, a girl can have decluttered dreams.

However, all this purging has got me thinking. I feel like things are constantly rumbling around in my head. I don't know if you're anything like me, but my mind never seems to shut up. It's never just quiet and still. This is a blessing and curse because while I'm never bored, I'm also never completely rested.

In my thinking, I thought about the verse in Romans (Romans 12:2 to be exact) that talks about being transformed by the renewing of your mind. If I don't stop and kick out the random, useless, worrisome, and just plain silly stuff that rolls around in my head, can I really have a renewed mind? If I don't have a renewed mind, can I be completely transformed?

The truth is I don't think I can. The truth is also that I have no idea how to quiet the chaos that rolls around in head. Any thoughts or suggestions would be much appreciated.

What's in a blog name?

Which now leads me to the name of my blog. It comes from a line in a Waterdeep song. It says:

"And the joy when you restore me
I will stand and walk again
I will run into this world
I will call them to come in
But I will not point my finger
Or grow that wicked skin
They cannot remember
What I will not forget
How I broke You
How I'm broken"
- Put In Me by Waterdeep

I love this line. I love Waterdeep. I love music. I love the words that make up music, but I love these words in particular. I all the time remember how I'm broken, but this song reminds of the joy when He restores me. It's been my jam for the past week or so. Who knows what my next song will be?

I was talking with Romie (She's my roommate, but that's not a typo, for the purposes of this blog we're calling her Romie. It's to protect the guilty.) tonight, and how she doesn't really notice the words to songs. She can sing along to them, and can correct me when I sing them incorrectly. However, she doesn't think about the meaning of songs. I often ask her, "Is this song talking about X,Y, or Z?" Her response is always the same (not sure why I keep asking). She doesn't know.

I'm always thinking about what the words of songs mean. I sometimes think I synthesize the world in music. I think there may be a perfect song for every occasion. Happy, sad, angry, giddy, or discontent - there's a song for each one. There's a lyric that can sum it up perfectly. There's even a lyric that will name your blog.

Fits of Inspiration

I've been surrounded lately by a group of women who are following their ambitions. They're starting businesses and college and blogs. In truth, I am very much in awe of them. They have families and kids and crazy full-time jobs. Then here I am, no husband, no kids, one moderately stressful job, and I don't even really cook for myself. I felt a little aimless.

See, I'm a teacher. I teach Language Arts, and I'm always telling my students that they have a story to tell. They have something in them that is important to the world. I truly believe this, but somewhere in there, I forgot that I had a story to tell, too. I'm always doing things like that. I always believe things truly and deeply for others and not so much for myself.

In this realization I decided a blog might be a good spot for my story to begin. There came the debate of what to blog about. I mean, I have things to tell and say, but I'd like for them to all fit into some sort of cohesive category. I have plenty to write about my job, but as I'd like to keep it, I figured I'd better steer clear of that one. I refuse to cook my way through a cookbook because there's a lot that I don't want to have to eat or cook. I also refuse to drone on about my single state because in truth I don't mind being single. It affords me time to start a blog, and stay extra late at work if need be, and to work with the youth at church. I don't have to feel guilty about any of it. I just get to do it. That's some pretty amazing freedom. I'm also a commitment-phob, but we'll get to that latter.

Like all good writes, I digress, a lot. You'll have to get used to it. Anyway, back to the point. I still didn't have an idea as to what to write about. During my quandary, I started to notice some things. I was discovering all these truths about myself and what God truly thinks of me. As I made these discoveries, I realized again that I knew them for others, but I didn't accept them for myself. The crazy thing is that I don't think I'm alone in feeling this way. I think there are a lot of us who can believe God's mercy and grace for others and not for ourselves.

So, the purpose of this blog is two-fold. The first fold is rather selfish. It allows me the opportunity to work out some of the spiritual things I'm discovering and take a little time to reflect on the Love God has for me. The second fold is to share my story with others in hope that we can make some discoveries together. That we can be reminders that Truth is not simply for others who are more worthy or in need, but that Truth is for us.

There it is the whole selfish and glorious truth. This blog is a way for me to do life with others. It's a opportunity to cling to some of the things God is teaching me. It's the chance for me to tell my story - no matter what it might look like in the end.