investing my life

Saturday was a big day in our house. One of the biggest since I had knee surgery in January. It left me excited for the future and utterly exhausted.

It started because I was bored. Beyond bored really. There's only so much Private Practice that a girl can watch until 10+ episodes a day gets to be too much. There's only so many different positions I can sit in over the course of a day.

We had plans that night to go out for dinner with an older couple from our church, but until then there were multiple hours to get through.

For some time, my husband and I have discussed the need for a new laptop or computer of some sort. Our plan originally was to purchase a PC a few months back, but then I hurt my knee and one of our dogs had to have surgery. We kept putting the purchase off and trying to make it with just my 7-year-old MacBook.

That all changed on Saturday. We simply couldn't do it any longer. Between overheating, the mousepad not working properly and a lot of first world frustrations, we knew it was time. Time to move forward. Time to invest in our future endeavors.

After some shopping around, and a lot of talking it over, we headed to the mall - me on my crutches and my husband excited that we got to park in disabled parking - and made one of the larger purchases of our married life.

I know it's an object. And that nothing is tied to it. I could have edited and written on my old MacBook. But something about having a new shiny MacBook Pro has inspired me. Rather than losing all understanding of how quickly the day passes while watching television, I've spent my time on the computer lost in the world of manuscripts and blogging.

During college, I wrote a lot. Most of it was for fun, but much of it was also for classes. I took courses in communication that demanded papers. My major was professional writing which meant I had to complete an entire novel in the course of a semester. While taking English classes, I wrote short story after short story. I also submitted pieces to an online publication.

I was committed to my degree then. I was invested in writing. And I always thought it would be that way.

But a funny thing happens when you graduate from college. At least a funny thing happened to me. The dreams I once had, while still very real, took a back seat to the life I saw in front of me. Rather than write stories, I wrote court reports. Rather than spend time working on submissions, I dedicated time to treatment plans. I still talked about writing as my dream job, but I didn't do anything to turn that dream into a reality.

It only got worse as the years passed. While I always felt more myself when writing, I simply decided I no longer had the time to do it. I chose to spend my time on other tasks... Tasks I deemed more important.

The time I've had off work has changed my thoughts. I've been drawn back into the world of writing and editing and creativity. I've realized how much a part of me the written word is and just how empty I have been without it.

So this purchase of a new Macbook Pro solidifies my commitment to writing and to myself. Once I'm back at work, I won't have the time to write as I do now. So until I return to work, I'm going to dedicate my days to writing and blogging and creativity.

We discussed our purchase over dinner. We also discussed my writing. I have a desire to write stories that mean something to people. I want my words to impact someone's life in such a way that they are left forever altered. I want my work and my art to point back to a Creator who is so much more than I ever will be.

Talking with our friends, I was hit by God's grace. They shared stories about their daughter who is a professor in theatre and how she has a desire to see more Christians on stage. How she has a desire to help Christians escape doing just Christian theatre. It hit me then how much I have a desire to write but not to write Christian fiction.

I want to write in a way that reaches the mainstream. I want the stories to be relatable and entertaining. But at the end of the way, I want the stories to remind people that they are not the end all be all. I want my stories to elicit a wonder in people that makes them think about things more important than worldly possessions and comparisons to others.

So that's what I've been doing. Working on one incomplete manuscript and editing another manuscript to send off to a beta reader.

Without this knee surgery, I wouldn't be here. I wouldn't have this time to dedicate to writer if not for an extensive surgery. Had I been able to go back to work after a week, as first (and stupidly) planned, I would still be living a life without actual words. There would be talk of writing but not actual writing.

We prayed about it on Saturday night. Me, my husband, and our friends. And in that moment, I felt it. This reminder that I've been given a dream of being a writer for a reason. This reminder that God is working to provide a way for me to just write.

These reminders continued throughout the weekend. Not just reminders about writing. But reminders of God's timing. His timing with my knee surgery, with our moving to a different church, with purchasing our new house, and with a few other things.

And I also remembered how important it is for me to be engaged. If I am not engaged in my life or my walk, then I can't grow. I won't see Him working. I'll miss all the beautiful things He does. I'll miss the future He is calling me to and instead settle for whatever I see in front of me at that time. I'll miss the provisions He is giving me.

There have been so many provisions during this time. Do I miss being mobile and busy? In a lot of ways, yes. Do I miss being independent? Yes very much so. Do I miss spin class and the elliptical? Yes. But when I had all those things, I also missed writing. I just didn't realize it until I had it back in my life.

The MacBook Pro is an object. But it is also an investment. Just like a gym membership is an investment and running shoes are an investment. And it's not the last investment I will make either. It's the first of many. Because from now on, I will be investing in myself and my life.

Linking up with Mercy Ink Blog for Heart and Home!

the girl behind the blog (a vlog!)

When I went to bed last night, I had no idea what to blog about. The majority of my day is spent inside my house right now, and while I can construct scenes and conflicts for fictional characters in my novel, I am finding it is becoming harder to talk about my life since it isn't all that exciting. I can only state that physical therapy is hard and exhausting so many times. And I'm guessing people are tired of hearing about my knee surgery in general.

I've talked some about weight loss, but that's also hard. I miss sweating at the gym. I miss going to spin class. I miss wearing work out clothes just to work out instead of wearing them all throughout the day.

Thankfully I stumbled upon a link up, so today I am joining forces with other bloggers and introducing myself, my blog, and what is on my heart currently in video (or as bloggers say vlog) format. In the vlog below, I share that this is my first vlog. That's only true if you don't count the Blogger Lip Sync video I participated in last year. Feel free to check that gem out. I'm the girl wearing a Santa shirt and singing my heart out in Starbucks and in downtown Oklahoma City.

You can also see a little bit of our house in the video. I have high hopes and plans to do a tour of our house once I'm able to enjoy our entire house instead of just hobbling or one crutching it from the bedroom to the living room to the kitchen and to the bathroom.

I am so glad you all stopped by today. Make sure to enter the giveaway for a $250 Visa Gift Card before leaving, and I look forward to sharing more about writing soon!

 

stream of consciousness (a list for monday)

1. I started reading 7: An Experimental Mutiny Against Excess by Jen Hatmaker over the weekend. It's already wrecked me. I'm ready to get rid of my clothes for good. I don't think I could do just 7 pieces of clothing for a month, but I am ready to severely limit the amount of clothing I have. Part of that could be because until yesterday I had only worn work out clothes and for days at a time, I wore the same clothes without changing.

And then I changed out of yesterday's skirt as soon as we were back at home. Work out clothes are so much more comfortable.

2. The initials PT do not stand for Physical Therapy. They stand for Pain and Torture. I picked this up from the lady who waited on my father-in-law and I at breakfast. And it is so true. I honestly felt like my knee was going to explode today.

3. As hard as this recovery process is, I feel like it could very well be one of the best things that has ever happened to me. Not just because I might actually be able to walk and function like a normal person but also because I have so much more clarity on life and such.

And God has been so so good to us through this process. I'm blown away by the ways He has provided. I'm also blown away by the love, care, and comfort people have provided us.

4. I'm exhausted. Between trying to adjust to sleeping in a bed for the first time since surgery, which is not comfortable since I am stuck sleeping on my back, and bending my knee more often, it's hard to keep my eyes open after I've been up for a few hours.

5. I don't know when I am going back to work. I have a date I am striving for, but I don't know if it will happen. I'm just praying that my Short Term Disability is approved so I don't have to worry about losing entire paychecks.

6. My mom suggested that I create a schedule for myself every day. That way I don't waste hours and hours watching TV or movies. I'm taking her advice because I really have wasted several hours watching TV, and really this is an opportunity to blog and write that I need to take. Plus I can multitask while doing physical therapy at home and watch TV that way.

7. I am so excited about my new Sunday series - Lovely Lines. I love written words. Before PhotoShop and the Internet, I used to make quote journals. That's kind of what I see Lovely Lines as. I can only hope that maybe one day my words will be someone else's quotes to hold onto.

8. As a self-proclaimed teenybopper, it pains me to say that I was underwhelmed by many of the performances on the Grammy's. I love Taylor Swift (more than I should), but her performance last night was awful. She honestly sounds good in concert but not so much on award shows. And the theme made no sense. Also, while I love that Justin Timberlake is returning to music, I'm not digging his current sound. Maybe if this project doesn't do well, 'NSync can finally get back together.

9. I miss coffee. A lot. I have yet to master how to carry a drink while walking on crutches, so no coffee for me in the mornings.

10. I also miss driving. I have not driven a car since before surgery. I also have yet to sit in the front seat of a car. It's just a tad difficult to get into the front seat when I can't yet bend and lift my left leg. All of you with healthy legs and knees: you are so, so lucky. Knee surgery is the worst.

11. It's Monday, and I am already behind on my weekly schedule. Let's hope this isn't how the rest of the week will go. I blame it on having to finish the Grammy's this morning and the fact that I hurt too much to think after physical therapy.

PS: Go link up with Meg for Mingle Monday!

desire to inspire (link up) - celebrating three years of blogging

Ever since I discovered the internet, I've had a small space to call my own. My space has included sites on gurlpages, a personal site hosted on friend's domanins, livejournal, and different blogs hosted by blogger. Nothing ever felt like home, and I moved constantly. The moving stopped when I wrote my first post here on February 7, 2010. Which means that today marks three years of blogging.

It's not just three years of blogging. At least not to me.

For me, it's three years of sharing my life. Three years of seeking out community in any way I can. Three years of defining, and redefining, my voice as a writer. Three years of searching my heart and allowing God to do works on my heart. Three years of striving to live a healthier life.

And I'm excited for the next three years. The next three years I will spend here blogging.

I'm also struggling. Because of the knee surgery and the subsequent recovery. I had hopes of returning to work day ago and then today. Now I'm just hoping to be able to head back to work before the month of February ends.

I was optimistic when I first learned I would need surgery. And I've held onto that optimism, as much as possible, during the recovery process. But the further I get into recovery, and the farther I feel from my real life, the harder it is to hold onto that optimism. The optimism feels silly. Like I should give it all up and succumb to realism.

And maybe it is silly. Or maybe it's misguided.

My optimism has been on how I would excel at recovery from knee surgery. The surgeon gave me timelines, and I was determined that my recovery into those timelines. A return to work in a week? Done. Back to normal activities in three to four weeks? Done and in three weeks. Those timelines, though, were not realistic for me or for the surgery I had.

I didn't return to work in a week. I haven't returned to work at all, and tomorrow will mark two weeks post-surgery. My next appointment with the orthopedic surgeon is scheduled for February 19th - just over three weeks post-surgery. I know when I see the surgeon that I won't be cleared to return to all the activities I did before surgery.

Many of my moments have been spent frustrated. And angry. And hating that I have to ask for help. What I haven't done is spend my moments with thankfulness. I've been given the chance, or forced into the chance, to spend time at home. And it's my choice on how I spend that time.

Most of my time has been spent on the couch. I've enjoyed endless episodes of Glee and a few movies sprinkled with episodes of Nashville, Grey's Anatomy, and Hart of Dixie. And I've blogged.

What I haven't done is write. Really write. My work in progress. It's open right now, minimized to the corner of my screen, and waiting for me to spend real time with it. And now, with no plans for the next several days, I have no choice but to just jump in. To ignore every terrifying thought and give myself over to the words.

Sometimes we make things happen. I made this blog happen. The posts are my words and my thoughts.  But sometimes things happen to us. My knee dislocated while I was walking down the stairs, and I had to have knee surgery which resulted in all this time off work.

When we make things happen, or when things happen to us, we always have a choice. That choice is what are we (you) going to do when things happen? Are you going to wallow in frustration? Or are you going to constantly and continuously wallow when life happens and doesn't go according to plan?

I've wallowed enough. Now I'm choosing to celebrate.

I'm celebrating three years of blogging, more time to dedicate to my blog, and the opportunity to write. I'm celebrating the chance to rest, for optimism in spite of obstacles, and never giving up. I'm celebrating the future and the next three years.

take all the courage you have left

About two weeks ago, I decided to start reading again. I haven't made time for the written word in far too long, so I committed to it once more. I'm on my fourth (or fifth? - I've lost track) book in the past two weeks now. Reading has awakaned my heart and spirit. It's made me excited to write more - both on my blog and with my current work in progress (WIP).

I'm still figuring out time. How this all works when I'm working, working, working. But God is good, and I know He will lead me towards where He wants me to be.

Thank you, Laurie, for tagging me and reminding me just how important reading and writing is to my soul. It was your tag that helped me remember and rediscover words.

1. What is the title of your book/WIP?
I think it's going to be Second Chances. I've also considered This Time Around. It could change, though, depending on how the story plays out.. I may use whichever title I don't choose for this WIP and apply it to the second book as I think I want this story to be a series.

2. Where did the idea for the WIP come from?
I've worked in the realm of foster care and child welfare for over four years now. I started as a social worker, changed to a foster care specialist, and am now working as a social worker in a group home setting (part-time). Working with those kids is my heart, and I want to bring more awareness to foster care. That's how I decided to approach the subject of foster care. The rest of the story? I'm not sure exactly how I got the idea... God breathed I suppose!

3. What genre would your WIP fall under?
I hate genre's to be honest because I don't know if anything I write fits into one true genre. I think the WIP will be one women enjoy more. So maybe chick lit? I've been reading quite a bit of Karen Kingsbury lately and so I want the story to be inspirational -- just not sure I want to commit to it being a piece of Christian fiction.

4. Which actors would you choose to play your characters in a movie rendition?
Shayla Johnson would be played by Sophia Bush. Sampson Douglas would be played by Justin Timberlake. Abigail Thomas would be played by Amy Adams (but with frizzier hair). Emily Johnson would be played by Jennifer Lawrence. Noah Douglas would be played by Jackson Brundage.

5. What is the one-sentence synopsis of your WIP?
Shay spent 17 years of her life being shuffled from foster home to foster home before escaping six months prior to turning 18. Years later, she finds herself back in the town she ran from, opening her home to a 15-year-old girl whose life mirrors her own.

6. Is your WIP published or represented?
I wish! It will be one day; I truly believe that.

7. How long did it take you to write?
I'm still working on it, so it's not yet written. I've been considering it for about seven months and started working on it back in January. I am ready to tackle it full force though I am a bit (read: A LOT) nervous.

8. What other WIPs within your genre would you compare it to?
I'm not sure. The only story close to what I'm working on (that I know of) is Between Sundays by Karen Kingsbury.

9. Which authors inspired you to write this WIP?
Karen Kingsbury. Jennifer Weiner. Megan Crane. Caprice Crane. Liza Palmer.

10. Tell us anything else that might pique our interest in your WIP.
The WIP is not as straight forward as the summary shows. There are a lot of twists and turns that I can't (and won't!) put into the summary as I don't want to give anything away. It's a WIP I am loving and constantly thinking about. I feel like I know these characters better than any others I've ever written.

What about you? Do you have a WIP? If so, please tell me about it!

(title from "little lion man" by mumford & sons)

done looking for the critics (week 8)

I've loved reading for as long as I can remember. As a child, I had my parents read me The Berenstain Bear's Go To School nightly. Around the age of 5, I excitedly told them that I knew how to read and proceeded to "read" every single page. In reality, I recited the story from memory and also knew when to turn the pages, but in my child's mind, I was a genius.

My Nana was a reading specialist, before I was born, in Detroit, and so stories were also important to her. She had my dad read to me, while I was in my mother's womb, and accounts my love of the written word to this. I would have to agree with her as it's apparent that I was born both a writer and a reader.

In college, I (eventually) majored in professional writing. Through the courses in the school of journalism, as well as the English courses I took while a creative writing major, I read a lot. Some were books I enjoyed and wanted to read. Others were not. This onslaught of reading made it quite difficult to read just for pleasure, so I didn't - unless I was on vacation.

The same could be said for writing. I did do some writing for pleasure but most of it was for class and for a grade. I learned so much during my five years of college - not picking a major made it difficult to graduate in four and I probably would have stayed longer if I could have - but I also lost my love for the written word.

It's taken me nearly four years to rediscover it. Four years of really only diving into a book while on vacation. Four years of rewriting and editing the same novel. Four years of writing short stories only when someone gave me a prompt because it was too difficult for me to think of an idea. Four years of simultaneously forgetting everything I learned, remembering everything I learned, and reminding myself that it is okay to need help with writing.

The irony is not lost on me that it took me an entire bachelor's degree to recover from the bachelor's degree I hold. At least this time, no one had to pay for the courses - though there's plenty of bills to pay for real life.

I finished a book last night. The third in The Mortal Instruments series. I couldn't sleep, except for between 11pm and 1am and then again 4am and 6:50am, so I worked on a few things around the house and read. I started the books only a few weeks ago, right after finishing The Hunger Games, and I can't wait to dive into another book.

With every book I read, I feel like I discover something about myself. Sometimes its a new author I love. Other times its content that shows up on the blog. Not every discovery is big or earth shattering, but it's there.

This time I realized how badly I want to be an author. I've mentioned it before on the blog - more in passing than as an actual statement. And then I have gone about my life without diving into life as an author. Because doing that is scary. But I know it's who I am and that the longer I spend not writing the more I will feel adrift.

And I have been adrift the past few weeks. Not exercising. Struggling with what to eat and how to eat. Losing my footing on this journey towards health. It all goes back to defining who I am at the core, and who I am at the core is a writer - whether numerous people read my blog or no one read its; whether I become a best selling author or I'm never published.

The first book I ever wrote was a children's book. It was for an assignment in school. I wrote about a skunk who got trapped in a high school - the high school I ended up attending and graduating from. I illustrated the entire book as well and enjoyed telling of all the skunk's adventures. My mom still has the book.

The second book I really wrote was for class. I had (and still have) half-finished manuscripts and other stories I wrote for fun, but my senior year of college, I completed an entire novel about a girl who goes to China and what happens when she comes back.

Now I'm working on my third book. It's slow, but it's getting there. And maybe, just maybe, third time will be the charm.

I think rediscovering myself as a writer is integral for every aspect of my life - especially the journey of losing (and then maintaining the loss of) 100 pounds. Because if I don't have as firm a grasp as possible on who I am, I doubt the weight loss will be something that sticks.

So I'm on my way. Working diligently on the novel. Thinking about it all the time. Anticipating the next time I can write. Fitting it into my daily schedule, even if for just a few minutes. Just like I will once again do with exercise.

(title from "f*ckin' perfect" by pink)

Note: this post was sponsored in part by Blue Matter Marketing. All opinions and thoughts are my own. For online writing tutoring, please visit www.thewritingfaculty.com - a site that provides assistance and tutoring for writers of all ages and levels.

words fall through me

Last night, I had dinner with friends from church while my husband reconnected with friends from high school. We each needed the nights we had. More than that, though, I think we each needed the nights we had away from each other.

It's hard being married. For a million reasons. And one of those reasons, at least for me, is how our lives combine.

My husband and I didn't go to college together. I grew up in Texas, outside of Houston, and he grew up here in Oklahoma, just minutes away from where we live. We met our senior year of college, and almost instantly it was just the two of us - trying out hardest to fit our lives together and finding that it was nearly impossible to cram years of separateness together.

Four years later, we're still trying to figure it out. And last night, after we both got home at the exact same time, we lay in bed and talked about how we make all of it work.

It would be easier, in some ways, to pick up our life here in Oklahoma and move somewhere entirely new to us both. Somewhere that would force both he and I to make new friends. But the easier way is not always the right way, and we know that, for now, we are called to stay in Oklahoma.

We've talked about making effort a lot lately. Effort in our relationship. Effort in friendships. Effort in ourselves. And last night, as he discussed how it was good and strange to reconnect with people I know from a distance but not close up like he does, he spilled words out that echoed my heart.

The hustle and bustle and loneliness and joy of Christmas is over. But there's a whole new year heading our way, and with that new year comes the chance for change and growth. And knowing that my husband wants the growth I so desperately want makes me feel closer to him than ever before.

It's things like this - that I could say are little but really are big - that give me so much hope about 2012. Because 2011 was hard. Maybe not quite as hard as 2010 (in some ways) but so much harder in others. There were dreams lost and realized in 2011. A lot of growth and a lot of tears. Many questions and not enough answers.

And I know we are not the only ones who struggled in 2011. From what I can tell, it's been more of a difficult year for most. But it's almost through. Just a few more days, and we can officially wave goodbye and then hello to all the possibilities that rest in the change of a single number.

My night wasn't filled with realizations last night. Just quiet moments, good food, conversations, and the feeling washing over me that, as much as I might fight it, God has me right where He wants me.

I'm learning to be okay with where I am. To relish it even. It's not perfect, but never again will it be December 28, 2011. Never again will I have the opportunities set in front of me or the time to spend resting on the couch with my husbamd. Never again will I be 26 with a world of possibility in front of me.

I want to enjoy 2012. Even though there might be difficulty and frustration. Even though it won't be perfect. I want to enjoy it and find beauty in every moment. I want to live my life instead of just taking everything day by day. I want to reflect all this wonderment and beauty and all of these little and big moments.

We've talked a lot about the possibilities and what we want from 2012. There's been mention of my writing, of my husband's writing, of intentionally spending our time, and of doing things now instead of waiting for this or that to be better. The talk is good - great even. It binds us together and puts us on the same page. It gives us things to dream about and hope for.

But talk is also just talk. And there needs to be action along with it. The action is, I think, the scariest part. It's an act of faith. There's no time to look down or to worry. I simply have to get out of the boat and then not look down or worry.

This blog is the first step for me. There's accountability that comes with announcing that I've written more than 6,000 words of my new novel. There's accountability that comes with saying I'm going to be positive and happy and trust God even more in 2012.

With this accountability comes the possibility of people mocking me, laughing at my choices, and questioning my decisions. I know to expect and be prepared for all of these things. As scary as those things are, it's worth it, I think, to live life intentionally and to open yourself up to the possibilities.

So here I am. Open to 2012. Ready for what it will bring. Expecting wonderful things. Excited for growth. Thankful to have another life to share the year with.

(title from "falling slowly" by glen hansard)

there's a place for us

For a writer, I don't have the best memory. It's not that I don't remember things. I do - I just remember snapshots rather than complete scenes. I remember the feeling of a moment, the gist of inspirational words, but the exact words escape me.

I think that's why I've always loved fiction and how easy it is to get lost in the world created by the author. Often times it's a mix of reality and fantasy. And even though things don't always go according to plan, there's a light with every misstep and the understanding that everything will work out in the end.

Not every story has a happy ending, but there is always an ending.

Life isn't like that. Life doesn't just end; it continues to breathe and grow - even after the person living the life is gone. Each choice a person makes has a consequence. Those consequences come to the person who made the choice as well as to other people.

If the woman didn't choose to place the baby up for adoption, then the couple wouldn't have adopted the baby. If the couple hadn't adopted the baby, the baby may never have learned how to read at 5. And if the baby hadn't learned how to read at 5, then the baby may never have grown up to be a writer.

And if the writer didn't tell the story of how boy met girl, there would be no inspiring words to curl up with on a rainy day. No funny words to laugh over while stretched out on the beach with a drink in hand. No sentence to dissect in the midst of a sophomore English class. No novel to write a five-page paper over in college.

The story, even though it has a definite ending, continues on because of the author's choice to write the story.

I've always been drawn to fiction because it gives me hope. I've always felt better suited for writing fiction because I didn't have to remember. I could grasp onto the moments in my life and enjoy the murkiness of those memories without having to squint and force the details to come into focus. And I've always loved fiction because I could hide my own realities behind it.

Then I made the choice to start a blog, and suddenly there is no hiding any realities. It is all about showcasing the good and the bad along with the somewhere in between.

Writing a blog is stretching me. It's causing me to look at the world more carefully. I'm taking in the edges and the details along with the whole picture. I'm going back to those little moments and dissecting them, trying to understand why I felt the way I did and what the air felt like and who was present.

There are certain moments that stand out. One was on a bridge. I was in junior high. The church I grew up in was at Conclaves. It was the end of the weekend. Split into our small groups, we wrote notes to one another. Notes of affirmation. Notes that could be pulled out years later and hopefully serve as the beacon of hope through whatever darkness we might be facing in that moment. I don't know the exact words that were written, though I am sure they are hidden somewhere in my bedroom at my parents house, but I remember how they made me feel. I felt inspired and good enough and loved. Three things that are sometimes difficult for a teenage girl to feel no matter how much she hears those things.

The other day I started putting together a bucket list. One of the items on the bucket list was to become an inspiration. While looking at the list earlier today, I found a comment from a friend of mine that read you can mark done on this one too...you have always been an inspiration to me.


Those words took me back to that bridge. And to other moments. Times when people poured into me and told me words of affirmation. Times when I heard that something I said or wrote - something I did - made a difference in someone else's life.

In those other moments, I would take the words, believe them for a moment, and then release them. But this time I held onto the words and thought about them. I considered what they meant. And I wondered what it was about me that made me feel like I shouldn't or couldn't believe the words.

I started wondering about what it is about all of us that makes us all feel that we aren't good enough. I started wondering about what it would be like if we started to see ourselves the way other people saw us.

How different my life would be if I saw myself as an inspiration. How different my life would be if I considered myself a writer. How different my life would be if I saw my dreams as realities and not impossibilities.

I don't have it all figured out (clearly). I'm stumbling and fumbling along in my weight loss journey. Rather than writing a novel, I think about the characters and the plot. And so maybe I'm not the one to spark a revolution for the whole world, but I am the one to spark a revolution for my own life.

So I am going to do the thing I've never been able to do. I'm going to take the words of affirmation, years worth of words of affirmation, and I am going to believe them. I am going to remember how it felt the first time I heard the words. I am going to concentrate on the details and allow them to seep into future memories. I am going to allow the words I once hid away to effect the rest of my life and maybe make their way into someone else's life.

I am going to be the person so many people already see me as.

(title from "romeo & juliet" by edwin mccain)

and i will waste no time

I graduated college in May 2008. Armed with dreams and a bit of naivity about how the real world works, I was excited for more free time, the freedom to write whatever I wanted, and the knowledge that I would be living in my own apartment and could enjoy as much solitude as I wanted.

Years of education had made me think I didn't have any real free time. I felt that, without papers to write and tests to study for and three jobs to work on top of a full-load of classes, I would have all the time in the world. What I didn't realize then, and what I am starting to realize now, is that I have just as much time now as I did then.

My first year after college I was busy. I moved into an apartment and then moved out of it months later due to busted pipes. I worked a job that required the majority of my time and energy. I planned and executed a wedding in less than four months. Then I settled, or tried to settle, into my first year of marriage. Four months later we bought and moved into a new house.

I didn't really have a lot of free time then. And when I did have any free time, I had no energy to spend on writing or any real desire to write. Five years of writing papers, stories, novels and articles took away all of my desire to write. And then all I really wanted to do was absolutely nothing at all during my free time.

It's been over three years since I graduated college. We'll have lived in our house for three years this coming January. I enjoy writing again. The ideas are slowly trickling back into my head, and I'm responding by writing character profiles and outlines. I struggle with how to spend my free time and wonder how I did it all in college.

Maybe it was the lifestyle of college. Being free and knowing I could skip class whenever I wanted (which never happened - ever). Feeling like all-nighters and choosing friends and fun over an early night of sleep was expected. Knowing I could roll out of bed and head to class or work in a pair of sweatpants and a tee-shirt. But at that time, I made so much more time for everything than I do now. I chose to put effort and time into classes, into relationships, into writing, and into myself. I might not have made it to the gym each day, but I did at least attempt a work out every so often.

Today, I find myself at multiple crossroads. My job is no longer as consuming. I have time to write. And yet I still prefer to sit on the couch, watch television, and then head to bed early. I make countless excuses about how busy I am and how I just can't do everything. But it's a choice I've made - this choice on how to spend my evenings, my mornings, and my lunch breaks. Even my weekends.

I've spent a lot of time wanting things to change. Wanting to write. Wanting our house to be fixed. Willing and wishing and praying for a way to do it all. And it's a lot to take on, especially when I so desperately want balance in all aspects of my life, but it's all things I need to just take on. It's choices that need to be made of how to spend my time and my money and where to put my energy.

I'm not naive enough to think that I can do everything and do it all well. I know my schedule is more restricted now than it was when I was in college and could work before class, between classes, and then in the evenings. And I have a husband to think about as well as two dogs that want my attention and a house that seems to need to be cleaned daily. But I can do this. I can make the choices that need to be made, the sacrifice of sleep when other things take priority, and the determination/drive to make my life work for me in the way I need it to.

I still spend a lot of time comparing myself to others. And I'm trying to stop. It's a daily struggle and a daily process. This wondering of where I am compared to this person or that. This questioning of why I want some things others don't or why I have no desire to have my own children but really want to adopt or foster. And this wondering of where my life is going, what will happen in the next few months and years, when I will get close to figuring it all out, and why it seems so much is harder than I thought it would be.

And I want the answers to those wonderings. Desperately. They might be out there, too, but I am not finding them with how I am currently living my life.

So I am making choices and decisions that will impact my life. Every choice results in a response - good or bad (sometimes both). I'm prepared for the good, the bad, and the somewhere in between. I know that it might be hard living with the choices and what happens after I decide.. I'll have to be more dilligent with my time and start the day off with even more coffee. And I know it's going to be hard to remain constant with writing, motivated with working out, and determined. But I also know it will be worth it.

And I know I can do it.

Writing this blog has taught me so much. I'm not one to write about the daily ongoings of my life. I'm terrible at taking pictures to post. And I spend my time with friends enjoying the laughter rather than thinking about how it relates to a post or how I might work it into my blog.

But I've found a voice. A voice I didn't know I had. This voice talks about struggles and thoughts and all these things that are a little more serious. But this voice is helping me to peel off my layers and see the beauty in my life. It's given me a deeper understanding of my strengths.

And this voice has reminded me that I really can do anything I set my mind to. It might take me longer than some, but I've still lost 33 pounds. My house might need a lot of work still, but with curtains hung (three years later), it's turning into a home. And I might never be a mother in the traditional sense, but there's a desire there to care for children that I will one day turn into a reality.

I will never share every choice here. Some are more private. And some are harder to describe. But I'm excited right now for all the possibilities I see before me. And for all the doors, that were once sealed shut, opening because of the choices I am making.

(title from "clarity" by john mayer)

celebrating the small things (week 2)

Show me where to go and what steps to take. Make the path known for my life. Grant me wisdom and discernment to decide how to move forward and when to skip to the side. Those words tumble off my lips and flood my mind to any given day. I consider which way I might skip and if now is the time to step out in faith. I concentrate on the dreams I have - dreams that are not ready to become reality - and lose focus on the here and the now.

It usually happens that I think I know. It feels right. Everything is in line, and yes, this is the direction I need to move.

Suddenly the door that was once open is shut, and there is no window to peak through. So much time was spent considering the possibility and what I knew would happen - what I felt should happen - that I didn't stop to think about how it might not happen.

I know this about myself. This need to plan and understand the possibilities I want to have happen. There's always a fear that by wanting something I will make it so it will not happen. By planning, it's almost as if I am guaranteed to have things go completely the opposite direction.

There's always a bit of light, peaking through the bottom of the door like the cold air slinks into our house through the crack between the front door and the wood floors. Sometimes I see the light and move closer to it, feeling the warmth and understanding that there is always a way. Other times I notice only the cold and forget that God is there in those moments too.

I think I know what He has called me to, and then I wonder at the same time. As much as I plan, there is beauty and grace and hope found in all of these unknowns. And there's a choice. Do I step where I think I should step or do I step into the places I fear - the places that are not a guaranteed success?

The idea came to me last week. Similar to ideas I've had before but this time it held a strength it's never held before. Pictures and moments in a time that doesn't quite exist yet outside of my mind. A story to tell that is no one's story and yet so many people's story.

So I listened. I listened and imagined and thought about what it could mean. This story that needs to be told. This story that found me and knocked on my heart and asked to be told.

After I listened, I sat. My fingers danced over the keys and the words poured onto the page. A summary. Descriptions of characters. An outline as bare as possible. And then a hope that had been extinguished by the cold air suddenly gaining strength from the light that slips through the crack under the door.

Do this for yourself. Think about the words you want to say. The experiences you've had. The children who deserve a voice. The people who should know. And then do something about it.

So I am.

As this one door that was once closed now opens back up, I see the possibilities. Not just here at a computer telling a story that came to me. But in other aspects of my life. An understanding of why so many doors have been closed and some never even opened. An acceptance of this life and an excitement at all the places it might lead.

But I know to be careful. To keep my hands open but my eyes shut. I need to feel how to get there and not to walk the paths I think are right but might really be wrong. It's time to trust and to breathe and to allow these moments in time to turn into more than I could have ever dreamed of.

I am just a vessel. This life of mine will be a wisp of smoke so quickly gone. But this story, and any other stories that might come after it, can live on longer.

the answer that could never be found

I've spent a lot of time recently looking inward. Thinking about what I want. And by that I mean what I want from life and also what I want to be in when I "grow  up."

As a child, the options are endless. You can want to be a singer, a dancer, an astronaut, a doctor, a vet. Years go by, and eventually the childhood fantasies are meant to end. You find one thing you like, are good at, or can at least stand, and that's what you do - if you're lucky.

There's no college degree for the perfect job. And really there is no perfect job. So many of us spend years going from one job to another looking for fulfillment. It's something that plagues my generation (and me!) maybe more than the older generations. Not that people older than I don't deserve to be happy or to find that fulfillment from a job - they do - but they tend to stick it out better than I do.

This morning I thought about what I would do if time wasn't an issue - if money wasn't an issue. And if fear weren't an issue. I really thought about it. It's a question I've considered a lot, but usually my answers move to the focus of money and how I need more money to do the things I want. And my answers move to how the things I want could make me more money. Or to doing the thing I know I am good at.

I'm the sort of person who collects quotes. I have a whole board on pinterest dedicated to words that matter. There are plaques hung in my house with thoughtful quotes. I have blog posts dedicated to pretty words. I used to have a whole journal of just quotes. But those quotes have just been words for too long. They haven't been truth for me.

I've been vocal about the fact that I concentrate too much on the next phase of my life. I've said that I need to learn how to let go. And I've tried. But I haven't completely released the grasp I have on controlling my life and thus stifling my dreams.

I bought that plaque in California during Spring Break. I was in college and went to Los Angeles to visit my aunt. My dreams were endless then. I didn't have a mortgage or bills or anything to keep me from living my life to the absolute fullest.

I was a writing major in college. I started as a nursing major and then changed to an English major before settling on a degree in professional writing through the journalism college. Many of my hours were spent writing for class and for fun. Short stories, articles, fan fiction at one time, and eventually a novel for a class.

My college apartment was a two-bedroom apartment, and my bedroom walls were painted yellow. I loved sitting on my bed with my back against the wall and MacBook or Dell (depending on the year) in my lap. Hours were spent there with keys on the fingers. Sometimes I moved to the couch in our living room with purple walls and wrote with the television on.

That apartment was home to me. I felt safe and comfortable there. Creativity flowed. I don't know if it was the apartment so much or the freedom that came with college. While I worked three jobs and had a full load of classes, I had time to do whatever I wanted.

They say you make time for the things that are important to you. And I agree in a lot of ways. But how do you make time for all the things that are important? How do you master that balance?

I've been working on balance this week. Less time has been spent in the gym and more time has been spent focused on my diet. My brain has been wracked with blog posts and questions about how I want to spend my time. And I keep coming back to three things: writing, healthy living, and serving.

I miss the girl I was in the college. The one who could balance a social life along with those three jobs and full load of classes - the one who only got one C at OU. The one who had dreams of living in New York City and writing novels and doing all these things because of the love of the written word and the sound of clacking keys not because of any other reason.

I'm become more intune with that girl from college now than I have been in years. I'm letting go of all these expectations that I think I should have and moving away from the order I think my life should take. I'm bidding farewell to comparisons of my life with another person's life and saying hello to who I am and want to be.

Growing up, my dad read me a lot of Dr. Seuss. In fifth grade, he read Oh! The Places You Will Go to my class. I gave him the book with a personalized inscription one year for Christmas because I started to realize just what that book said and meant. I started to realize how badly my parents wished for me to go to all the places I dreamed of.

I've always been allowed to dream and to wander. But I've been the person to squash my dreams and say they aren't possible. I've taken all the wonderful things people have said and denied the truth to them. I've told myself that being an author isn't possible. That I'll never find success the way others have.

But the thing is? It's not about success. It's about doing what I love and loving what I do. That has everything to do with writing and everything to do with weight loss.

The question about how to spend my time is a complicated one. But the answer is oh so simple. Of course the simple answers are sometimes the hardest ones to come by.

I don't know what this realization means for this blog other than I am going to do my best to stop tracking page views, and I am going to just write. If it's too serious for some, then fine. If there isn't enough, fluff. Fine. And if it's not motivation enough, that's okay too. It's not about them; it's about me.

And as far as the rest of my writing, I am just going to do it. I am going to find time to curl up on our purple chair and write with my feet propped on the matching ottomon. With exercise, I am going to seek out inspiration when I need it and jump onto the elliptical or go to a class because I enjoy it not because I need or want to lose weight.

I'm going to start living my life the way I did in college: with no restrictions and with a determination to enjoy every possible minute.

There's a plaque on our living room wall that reads "I don't want to make money. I just want to be wonderful." It's by Marilyn Monroe.

That's what I want. To be wonderful. To live out my dreams. To enjoy every minute. And if the money follows? Even better. But I won't be chasing that money. I'll just be chasing the dreams, the worlds, the wonderful, and all the places I can go.

(title from "let love in" by the goo goo dolls)

i am never broken

9:00pm comes, and for the first time all day, I am ready to write. I've rested on the couch and had dinner. We have laughed over a sitcom streaming on Netflix and also watched an episode of Design Star. The house is cooling down, after my leaving the broiler on for too long. The glass from the broken wine glass is picked up.

Instead of opening my MacBook and typing, I force myself off the couch and then climb into bed with my husband and two dogs. It is a night of almost seven hours of sleep. In the past, seven hours of sleep would be nowhere near enough, but now, with leaving for the gym at 5am most work days, I cherish any sleep over six hours.

So often, in the midst of a busy day at work or while navigating my car through traffic, ideas come to me. Realizations. Questions. Thoughts on life, on love, on faith, on journeying through all the ups and downs that accompany any and every little thing.

And then, when there is time to write, the ideas dissipate. Or the need and desire for sleep wins out.

This time of my life, this journey, is about so much. One of those things is deciding what matters in my life. It's about putting certain things and people first. It's about disentangling myself from the things that hold me back. It's about forgiving myself and others for past mistakes so that I can move on - never again to be captured by those emotions of anger, anxiety, and uncertainty.

And the things that matter include exercise, cooking, laundry, writing, reading. And the people that matter include my husband, our families, our friends, and our two dogs (because they are more people than pets).

Deciding what matters in my life is just one piece of this neverending puzzle. The other piece that I am struggling with currently is finding and making and keeping time for all the important things and people.

It's so easy for me to put myself last. To make everything into an excuse for why I can't do something like eat better or spend at least two hours at the gym every day. For so long, I did everything I could to stay where I was. To continue to hide in whatever fashion I could. To put everything else first and remind myself that eventually there would be time.

But there is never enough time unless you make the time. Life is so full with jobs, marriages, friends, and all that goes into living the life of a 26-year-old professional. It's all to easy to stay in a coccoon of life. To never move past this stage and into the next. To never become that butterfly.

I had to come to grips with the fact that my cocoon was not the safe place. The cocoon was the suffocating place, the place where my vicious cycle continued and I asked, Why is there no light? Why am I stuck here? without actually finding an answer. The cocoon was tight and uncomfortable, not safe and inviting--a trap, not a haven. And the more I wrapped myself in layersand layers of protective coating, the harder it was to emerge from that false sense of security. It was not until later that I realized a cocoon is not a sweet escape from life. It is the absence of life. --Abby Rike, Working It Out

I haven't spent my entire life in a cocoon. There have been moments of beauty and brilliance. Moments when I was so close to understanding who I was. Moments when I felt like I officially beat every demon and had cleaned out every skeleton in my closet.

And then something would happen. I would retreat back into the cocoon. I would pull myself in and wrap myself in something - anything - to hide. Sometimes it was extra weight. Other times an unnatural looking tan. Sometimes losing too much weight.

I had my mother send me pictures from these moments. And I have every intention of going through them all and understanding who I was in that moment and why I was that way. I have every hope of sharing those understandings here and moving on. Because it is time to leave the cocoon permanently. There will be no going back this time.

9:00pm comes, and for the first time all day, I am ready to write. I've rested on the couch and had dinner. We have laughed over a sitcom streaming on Netflix and also watched an episode of Design Star. The house is cooling down, after my leaving the broiler on for too long. The glass from the broken wine glass is picked up.
Exercising is part of leaving the cocoon. Eating healthy is as well. Opening myself up is another part. And I am doing all three of these things all at once. Even on the days when I feel like doing nothing of the sort. Also on days when I feel like I have already blown it and wonder why I should even keep trying.

But that's the thing. Those days will happen. Always. It's my choice to make on how they impact me. And this time, for the first time, I choose to not allow those days to keep me from moving forward. I refuse to let anything stop me.

(title from "hands" by jewel)

from another life

I watched two episodes of "Dawson's Creek" tonight.

I'm not sure if it was nostalgia or something else, but I felt a need to revisit a show that shaped my life in ways I'm still trying to figure out. I pulled out every season and read the summary paragraphs. The desire to start with the seasons I prefer, when Joey and Pacey begin their relationship and everything that follows, was there, but I started with the beginning. Because even if I am not the biggest fan of the beginning, it is where everything started.

I have memories of watching the show at night when it first aired. Memories of watching re-runs of it while getting ready for the day. Memories of spending entire weekends in my college apartment, cleaning or doing homework, and watching seasons at a time of the show. Memories of Starbucks and "Dawson's Creek" episodes with one of my best friends. Memories of picking out clothes similar to the ones Joey Potter wore and hoping that maybe one day there would be something worthy of writing about in my own life.

And the music? It spoke to me in a way I hadn't experienced before. The lyrics took over the episodes at just the right time, and I had the childish dream that one day I would be the one to pen a series and select the perfect music for each scene.

There's a part of me still that has that dream. Though I have no clue what the show would be about.

It's not just the memories that "Dawson's Creek" evokes or how it wove its way into so many pivotal moments of my life. It's also the inspiration I found from the characters, the dialogue, and the music. It's the dreams it brought to almost reality.

I still find it now. It's harder to come by. Life gets in the way. My body doesn't do well staying up into all hours of the night. But there's still inspiration lurking; I just have to fight to grab hold of it and turn it into something tangible.

And I think that's what growing up is. It's not just a series of moments. It's more than celebrating birthdays, weddings, and babies. It's grabbing hold of the things you want and turning them into tangible items.

My story is not that of a television show. The list of characters isn't neat and tidy. There are no great loves that followed me through adolescence, puberty, and then eventually into life after college.  There is not a soundtrack of fifteen songs that I could select to play throughout those moments.

There are mistakes I would like to forget. There are loves that weren't really loves at all. There are broken friendships and severed relationships and a list of characters that I sometimes wish I still knew and other times am glad I do not know. And there's an iPod with more than 4,000 songs that speak to different areas of my life - past and present and maybe even future.

At one time, I wanted my life to be a television show. To have neat and tidy episodes. To keep only certain people close, and to live up to an expectation that I created - one that would please the viewers.

I can't say the desire has completely left. Because television shows have a definite end and beginning - in each episode, for every season, and ultimately for the entire show. Life has a definite beginning in birth and then an ending in death, but the seasons of life and days don't always end or begin so clearly.

Maybe that's why so much of this is difficult. The endings and beginnings rush together. Every step can be considered the first step.

I plan on rewatching all of "Dawson's Creek" over the next few weeks and months. And I plan on paying attention to the details - to remind myself of all the reasons the show made me laugh and cry and connect.

And I plan on taking several new first steps. Steps towards writing. Steps towards my future and what I want to be when I finally grow up. Steps towards losing a total of twenty pounds and then another eighty pounds.

My life is not a television show. There will likely be no clear or clean endings and beginnings, but I can still find bits and pieces of myself in the dialogue and in the music.

Joey: Dawson, I'm sorry I don't have the same dreams I had when I was 15 years old, and I'm sorry that I moved on faster than you did, but you know what? Maybe not everything that happens to you is my fault! And maybe just because I want more from my life than...
Dawson: More than what? More than us? You don't know, do you? You've never known. The entire time I've known you, all you've wanted to do is escape. From me, from Capeside. I mean, you say that I'm the dreamer. I'm the one who doesn't wanna live in the real world. Well, I'm doing it, Joey. Right now. I'm living in the real world. It's you who wants the fantasy.

Jen: No, no, hear me out, Dawson, please. Okay? Because this seems to be the day of truths, and I'm taking my turn. I lost my virginity when I was 12 to some older guy who got me drunk, I don't really remember his name but after the first pregnancy scare I went on the pill, and I used condoms most of the time, some of the times, I don't know, it's kind of blurry. I was really drinking a lot and having blackouts and stuff, um. I was sexualized way too young, and I don't wish that on anybody. I mean, sex at such a young age, more often than not, is a bad idea. I finally got caught having sex in my parents' bed. Daddy's little girl fornicating right before his very eyes. He still can't look me in the face but then again he shipped me 200 miles away so he wouldn't have to, but Dawson I'm not that girl anymore. I never really was, and I'm not that white-as-snow image you've got either, I'm somewhere in between and I'm just, I'm just trying to figure it out.

Joey: How would you know what I need?
Pacey: Yeah...you know you're probably right. How could I possibly know what it's like to let somebody go, right? How hard it is to let someone go. The pain of knowing that even though the two of you are right for each other, that doesn't necessarily mean that you're right for each other right now. What would I know about that, right? How could I possibly know that sometimes it just makes you want to scream, hit somebody, or sit out at the end of a dock and cry...
Joey: Of all the people to see me like this, it had to be you.

(title from "dizzy" by jimmy eat world)

when the show is over

I had the privilege of posting at Eat Move Write earlier today. I say privilege, and I mean it. It was also an honor. There's just something about being published on someone else's site, especially someone that you admire for both writing and weight loss.

Maybe I am a bit too hard on myself. Or rather I am a bit too hard on myself, and I often find it hard to believe that my words mean anything to anyone. But they do. And not only that, I am finding that my words mean a lot more than "anything."

I've wanted to be a writer for my entire life. But in a lot of ways, it has always been a "want" and not a reality. Many people will say that if you write you are by default a writer. And it's true. But for some reason, I felt like I had to be published or have a certain number of followers or any other variety of details in order to be a writer.

Much like my thinking about the reasons I didn't lose weight that I talked about in my guest post, I stopped myself from writing. I stopped myself from taking the illusive first step.

I have the degree in writing. I also have, from what I was told at a workshop, the understanding of grammar. But there is something missing in my writing. It's a freeness that I once had, I think. I'm afraid to take risks now. I stick to what I know. I write ideas other people provide. I remain in a comfort zone with writing.

It's much like with weight loss. Even though I wasn't happy or healthy, I was comfortable with where I was.

I actually thought I was thinner than I was. But I stayed away from cameras as much as I could. I stopped taking pictures with my husband at every chance, and I even refused to post any new pictures of myself on Facebook or here. I'm still weary of posting pictures. But I'm slowing coming around.

I think it's because I see progress. I see what leaving my comfort zone can accomplish.

A year ago this September, my sister-in-law got married. I wore the dress I bought for my own rehearsal dinner three years ago this September. And when I put it on, I could tell that it didn't fit the way it once had, but with little time left, and nothing else to wear, we left for the church.


I see the difference now. In fact, I saw the difference as soon as the pictures were on facebook. But I didn't take the first step. Because I wasn't ready.

It's the same with writing. I see what is happening. I know what I need to do. But I have convinced myself I wasn't ready.

Right now, though, I am trying. I am stretching myself and dabbling in guest posts, in short stories, in contests. I'm concentrating on my novel. I'm taking risks, and I'm allowing myself to be a writer.

And just like that first step I took, I know it will pay off. I just won't be able to take a picture of it in the mirror.


(title from "these friends of mine" by rosie thomas)

the smallest thing can make all the difference

picture found here.

 It's amazing just how much can change in one year. It's also amazing just how much does not change in a year.

A year ago, I was confused. And unsettled. Frustrated. Holding onto hope when I felt like there was nothing left to hold onto. God was working on my heart. He was showing me the similarities I shared with an old house. He was whispering to me that in the brokenness He would provide healing. He was reminding me that He would remain in control.

It's been a bumpy road since then. There have been ups and downs. There have been questions of what am I doing. There have been hours spent searching for something else and hoping that God would pluck us out of any sort of despair and place us on an easier path.

And He has. Though not in the way I expected. But when is God's way really ever the way we expect? I think the answer is never, but I feel that if I say that He will do something just to prove to me that I can not expect Him to act one specific way.

Just about a year ago, in the midst of struggling with our house and wondering when things were going to turn around, I started a very slow journey. I started to think about what I wanted from life. I started to think about what God wanted from my life. And I knew that we both wanted me to be the best possible version of myself.

I'm still working towards that goal. But I am so much closer to it today than I was a year ago. And I am more determined. I've thrown out the excuses and have chosen to embrace a new way of life even when it is hard. I have decided that I am worth it, and I have started to chronicle my goals. And I don't intend to let anything get in my way this time.

My insecurities loomed at that time. I struggled to fight them off and to remember that they were just insecurities and not truth. But I fought with my words and thoughts instead of with my whole self. And so they won.

Just a year later, I spend at least an hour a day in the pool or at the gym. I look all of those years of insecurities in the eye, and I fight back. With weights. With the stationary bicycle. With deep water aerobics and aqua zumba.

When I struggled with those insecurities, I was reminded of them everywhere I turned. Not just in my life. But in other's lives. Even through it all, I was reminded that God was faithful. That He would provide in His own way - a way I (again) never would have or could have expected.

A year ago, God spoke to me through my aching muscles. He reminded me that pain will bring change. I listened for a moment, and then let all of those insecurities and excuses creep back in.

This year, instead of Him speaking to me, He placed people into my life. These people will not let me stop. These people, just by existing in my life, hold me accountable because I know I have to hold myself accountable. I know I need to celebrate my successes and let go of my shortcomings. I need to remember that this is a journey. Not just my relationship with God. And not just my journey towards health. But all of it.

All of this to say, again, that in a year everything has changed, and in a year nothing has changed. But I guess that's often the way it goes.

I can't wait to see what has (or has not changed) in another year.

(title from "change" by carrie underwood)

life makes love look hard

celebrating my birthday at Blu.

I have started at least four separate blog posts this week. I make it halfway through the post, sometimes even three-quarters of the way through the post, and then I stop. Something about the words just did not sit right with me.

I want to tell you about my birthday. And about the car we purchased. Also about how I have worked out at least three times (usually four or five and sometimes even six times) every week for the past month. And about writing and the critiques I received at a meeting that reminded me I can do better. Or about the little, quiet moments in life that stick with me and bounce around my head for weeks.

But the words simply won't come.

I could blame it on my computer having been in the shop for several days. Or on my sore muscles that demand nothing but rest when I return home. I could even blame it on work and how busy it has been. But those are nothing but excuses.

And when it comes to writing, to blogging and sharing my life, it is a choice. As quoted here, "Success follows trying. Failure also follows trying. Nothing, however, follows nothing. So try!" Obviously, I have done nothing. Because the words have been stopped and packed up and placed into the back of a drawer while I come up with excuses for why I have not sat down and taken the time to gather and share my thoughts. Also, as quoted here, "If you really want to do something, you'll find a way. If you don't, you'll find an excuse."

I have a post to write for Imperfect People that is due by tonight. A piece of my testimony. When I signed up for the guest post, I had plenty of ideas of what to write about. And now I feel less than adequate. But I know the words will come. Because it is something I want to do, so I will find a way.

I look forward to writing again soon. To sharing my triumphs (like losing almost a whole 10 pounds so far) and to sharing my stumbles (like eating an Egg McMuffin for breakfast). To talking about writing.  To writing about meeting up with a fellow Okie and blogger this weekend. To discussing a trip west to see my husband's family and sharing how my heart sometimes longs for a simpler life in the country. And to sharing other things too - like how I am continuing to count my blessings.

(title from "ours" by taylor swift)