a man worth writing for

curly hair, empty parking spots and other things I can't seem to control.

2012-01-28T15:23:00.001-05:00

Control is far away. It's like a package I know has been sent, but hasn't arrived in the mail yet. I wake up every day thinking, "Yes! Today is the day control will come!"

The anticipation of its arrival nearly brings me to the shoreline of tears. My heart longs for it so badly, and my mind nearly tears itself apart. It turns against me, asking why I can't seem to get it all together. I run to the mailbox only to find that control is not there.

And a hollow, stinging and suffocating emptiness results in the realization that control is not coming.

There have been so many instances in my days here recently that brought the unfortunate conclusion to my attention. I breeze through life wearing high heeled pumps and bouncing my hair thinking that I can fool the world into thinking that I have it all together. "I can fake it to make it" I tell myself. "And everything will be just fine."

But there are some things - even the smallest inconveniences - that you can't grasp hold of. Even with a smile, a wave, a pair of shoes and a good excuse.

For instance, the other day my boss came up behind me and tossed my hair like a tennis ball on the palm of his hand.

"Can you do something about this?"
"About what?" I asked.
"Your hair? Can you put it in a bun?"
"Um, sure?"
"It just looks a little crazy. I know it's probably the weather..."

Oh no he didn't.

I sighed and reluctantly clasped my hair into a tight bun at the crook of my neck.

I've learned my hair is going to do its own thing. I've battled with it for years. I may as well save the money I've used on countless taming products and put it to better use. Like paying to get my car back.

It was a late (or early depending on how you look at things) and brisk January evening. One that would have you power walking anywhere you went, no matter how your feet hurt after a ten hour waitressing shift. The sky was crisp and clear, and looking at the stars was like looking through a pair of glasses rubbed newly clean.

And the spot where I had parked my little red Toyota Camry, named Georgia after my favorite Ray Charles song, was vacant. The fact that my watch read one a.m. only sweetened the deal.

It was a combination of a thirty minute car ride, one trip to the ATM an hour long wait and one hundred and thirty-five dollars in cash (they were very serious about their precious cash for some reason) that had to take place before I could retrieve my car. And it didn't matter how polite I was on the phone, or how patient I was with the two gentlemen who gave me my receipt and told me to "have a good night" (oh please), I felt small and insignificant. Like no matter what I did, I wasn't an exception to the rules.

Being kind and confident did nothing. So since then, I've pretty much fallen into a scaredy-cat default mode. Such a big future is ahead of me, and there are so many unanswered questions. I feel like a fawn, struggling for balance on its own legs. Vulnerable. Weak. Desperately naive and focused on the wrong things.

I was feeling still feeling this way when I got home from work last night. I shot a text to the BF, asking if he was ready for me to swing on by his place. About fifteen minutes later, he replied.

"Sorry, I was distracted by my loop pedal."

Sitting there listening in his spinning desk chair, I can see why. The loop pedal kept every bit of music that escaped from the hollow depth of his guitar sustained in the air. The layers, the rhythms, the low bass strums, and the higher-pitched etherial notes wove together. The room turn from a dimly lit loft with big law books that lawyers read to a room filled with continuous layers of sound.

They tossed, and bounced and flew together so perfectly, so violently, I thought the room would spill over and overflow in the crux of a simple, melodic beauty.

All the while, BF was standing there, strumming along and nodding. His head was bent over his instrument and he had this look of concentrated control over his face. Every once and a while when a chord would come together, he'd smile slightly.

And I thought, maybe life is the same way.

The chaos of our life is woven together. All of its different compartments rolling together, twisting apart, dissonant, and harmonic. All at once.

Things like curly hair and empty parking spaces, and even larger-than-life problems like the future and a world post-graduation are just a sprinkle of sound in the whole mix. I do not have complete control of the melody. But I can smile, step back and appreciate the beauty of the song as a whole.

Have a lovely Saturday!

wild and free

2012-01-07T09:20:00.000-05:00

Dear FH,

(Who will have to cherish and bask in freedom along side me).

This past summer was one of the most liberating of all my life.

Ever.

I'll save you the story of the major heartbreak, the betrayal, the mistrust and emotional abuse for another, more melancholic day. Today is a day of rejoicing, and celebrating new beginnings. Having the courage to shed the outer layer of things in this world I clung so tightly; or rather the pain that clung so tightly to me.

This summer I walked away from those things, those heart-wringing obstacles, with my head held high and my spirit, though perhaps ever-altered, never torn.

I owe that partially to my dear friends, old and new, who flooded my apartment this summer. Their stays and visits swept over my little home like a sudden rainstorm. Changing me with every breakfast made together, and every bottle of wine broken into. They left my heart full, revitalized with love and hope.

(After all, FH, this was long before I even knew who you were. It was during a time when your presence in my life felt like a familiar but far away story, one that I had read but couldn't place. It was frustratingly on the tip of my tongue, but not yet there. So close, but not yet close enough).

One salty, and perfectly warm evening, my friend Babs and I whisked ourselves away to the very edge of the East Coast. Just a twenty-five minute drive on the very straight, very fast I-64. Her bare feet and her dog, Josephine, had made their second home on my dashboard that summer. My car had no working radio, but we kept ourselves entertained with the lilts of our own voices. Our conversations carrying on just like one of those good, old crackling vintage tunes.

I remember everything about that night. My favorite turquoise sundress, and brown sandals. My curly reddish brown hair was partially gathered with a few bobby-pins. The rest I let fall down my back and get carried away with the salty breeze that blew through the ocean front.

Together we ate thin-crust pizza and Greek salads, with as many olives as a person can consume in one sitting. The wine we drank was yellow and cold, banana and citrus flavored, dry, perfect. Our favorite watering hole, Catch 31, was crowded with people much older and gaudily dressed than we. She and I, looking quite natural and sun burned, make-up-less, heel-less, stuck out from the crowd. Or rather, we fell into it. Blending in with the faces of women painted much more fiercely than our own.

We propped our sandy feet on the rim of the fire pit outside and stared into the flames. Lost in thoughts of Wow, we really are out of place here...

We were not a part of that place, though we were in the midst of it. We were two locals who felt like outsiders among tourists.

And that's how I feel in my every day life sometimes. Like I'm missing something. Like I'm not even comfortable in my own home. I'm surrounded by friends who live very strange lives (strange in the "I'm not familiar with it" sense of the word) with husbands, and babies, and mother-in-laws. I feel simple in their presence. Like I'm missing something important, and I can't figure out what it is. But it's so obvious to everyone else around me because they're on the inside.

But I'm on the outside looking in. And I have no idea what I'm doing wrong.

This was about the same feeling that overwhelmed me powerfully as I tried to ignore the strangers around me.

"Do you want to get out of here?" I asked as I turned to Barbara.

"Yes," she said to me. "Weird vibe here, definitely."

So we paid the bartender and peaced-out. Leaving the decorated strangers to talk their talks and laugh their laughs. She and I had to practice our yoga poses on the beach.

And that's just what we did.

We stretched, and reached, and bent and...fell over. I can't even fault the wine on the last part. I'm really bad at yoga.

She and I fell into the sand, laughing at our apparent balance problems, the dark, damp sand layering our calves and feet and elbows. I sat in the sand a while and looked out into the black ocean for a moment. I lost myself in the beauty of the stars, the smell of salt and foam crescendoing onto the tip of the shore and the freedom of the moment I was currently living in. A couple of miles out into the water, I could see bright buoys blinking, signaling boats to be cautioned, something was beneath the surface.

I stuck a pin in that moment, in that very day. Just like a buoy in the ocean of my life. In that moment I had released the pain of just a month before, and let go. I had forgiven enough - or forgotten enough, as the definitions of those words begin to look incredibly identical - to let go.

"You look so wild right now," Barbara said to me, breaking my thought. I took a moment to examine the picture of myself she was referring to. Sitting in the sand with my legs crossed, my hair falling every which way. She was right for sure, I was not my little put-together-business-casual-graduate-school-self in that moment. I was wild.

And I was free.

FH, I hope to still hold onto that freedom when you and I come together. That I will never be your ball and chain, and that I will never feel boxed in or cornered. I don't want to fall into the crowd with you, or fall into the trap of keeping up with our friends and family members many steps ahead of us in the stages of their lives. I hope you and I will be able to recognize when it's time to leave the places we need to, to play in the sand a while. To dismiss the people in the world who say your life has to follow the equation of x, y, and z.

Who cares? Let's go walk in the sand a while. Be wild and free alongside me.

Very dearly yours,

B.

thoughts on Christmas (finally)

2012-01-03T09:36:00.003-05:00

Dear FH,

(Who I will spend many Christmas mornings nestled closely by).

I never want to wake up alone on Christmas morning again.

That’s the worst part about this whole single business. Yeah, I’ve got the freedom to figure out who I am, to write, to sit for hours in coffee shops with my girlfriends, to work, to play, to study.

Don’t get me wrong. I’m very thankful for the position that I’m in. Quasi-steady job with a respectable income, loads of girlfriends and soul-sister discoveries, a family who loves me dearly, a civic freedom that entails my complete expression, and a pursuit of an exciting dream that is becoming a slow, but evident, reality.

But I slept on the eve of Christmas with, instead of sugar plumbs, visions of customers dancing in my head. I of course dawned my high starched collar and bright green tie and served food to strangers on Christmas day.

For the second year in a row.

This is when the whole line of independence and loneliness begins to violently blur. Loneliness is usually the winner. It’s moments like these that remind me to keep that determined joy. To swallow the emotions working their way up my throat, keeping them from exposing my inward self through the expression I am undoubtedly wearing on my face.

Because my thoughts and actions were focused on ensuring that others - the well-to-do, and sparkling strangers who will undoubtedly forget my name and my face a moment after they’ve settled their bill - have a well-to-do, sparkling Christmas.

And I’m afraid I’ll be punished, somehow, for it.

I can’t help but think about the story in the Bible about Mary and Martha. Martha is the woman I connect with. Christ was in her midst, but she toiled away her hours playing the part of the hostess. She was sweeping, cleaning, making sure her guests wine goblets were full.

I’m sure she was the Biblical equivalent of Donna Reid. Just replace the sandals with high heeled pumps and the similarities are uncanny.

I imagine Martha scurrying around her kitchen, moving around those who have gathered. There’s no getting in the way of a woman who’s trying to host a party. Her guests are trying to offer their best to help, but really they’re just a nuisance. Her hair has fallen in her face, and her cheeks are flushed with focus and aggravation.

She’ll never ask for help. She can do it all by herself. With a polite and passive stubbornness, she continues to work herself to death. Meanwhile, her co-hostess Mary, who has done nothing she might add, is just sitting, in a quiet peaceful reverence.

“Get up off the floor!” She sharply whispers to Mary. “We. Have. So. Much. Work. To. Do. And you’re just sitting there!” The desperation in her voice is sharp.

But Mary is no more just sitting there than a woman sits on the beach looking at the ocean roll onto the shore, or a man sits on a park bench watching fiery red and orange leaves fall to the ground on a crisp autumn day. She’s not passive in her attitude of sitting - she’s soaking in the moment.

And the character of Christ is quick to remind Martha that she’s toiling for the finite, for the things that will be gone. Mary’s attitude is correct.

And you know, FH, I feel like the past year and a half I’ve been toiling too. I’ve been pushing people out of the way, I can do things all by myself.
Get out of my way, I can do it all. Working twelve plus hour days, feeling guilty that I’m not working more, wanting to have a little free time but in the meantime still looking down on those who seem to just be sitting there.

That’s kind of how my Christmas season was spent. Until I just couldn’t take it any more. I couldn’t jot down one more drink order, memorize any entree specifications, deal with any more guests with special dietary needs who expected me to magically be able to accommodate within a ten minute notice.

So I cashed in five days worth of my paid time off and headed home to dear old Mechanicsville just minutes after my shift on Christmas day. I stopped by my apartment just long enough to untie my apron from my waist, jerk away my green neck tie and slip into sweats. Then I sped home in a way I’m sure I should have been more aware of cops on the road.

Because even though I woke alone Christmas morning, I didn’t want to go to bed alone Christmas night.

My family was already gathered as I pulled into the driveway of my beautiful home. My mom, dad, brother and sister scooped the dirty laundry and my two duffel bags out of the trunk of my car before I could barely put the car in park. We trudged up the steps leading to my tiffany blue bedroom together, and sat talking on the floor of my cramped little space I flee to when I just can’t take it any more.

My little haven was lit with twinkle lights and candles my father puts in the windows every Christmas. And there I knew that for once this season, I would lay my head down and relish in the fact that my family was just a hall or closed door away. There were people in my midst who were going to insure the fact that I, too, had a sparkling, fulfilling Christmas.

Even if it happened a few days after the fact.

So, FH, I’ve had a few days to relish in the love of God, to spend these all-too-quickly passing days baking, reading, writing and loving. I’ve had time to be Mary for just a little while, before the Martha within me begins to study, serve and worry once more.

And even though you’re not in my life yet, and though I’m quite by myself at times...

I’m not alone.
B.

determined joy.

2011-12-21T23:01:00.001-05:00

Dear FH,

(Who will have to either deal with my stubbornness or learn to manipulate it to your own advantage).

There are two things I am a strong purveyor of: joy and truth.

One day, maybe, if I'm brave enough, I'll get a tattoo on my right foot. It will say "rejoice in truth." After all, it's what love does.

I'm beginning to find, unfortunately, that there are more things in this life to become bitter about, rather than rejoice in. Bitterness is such a strong seed, it takes root in even the most brittle places. It quickly squelches, obliterates any traces of joy.

We have a little term for this in the restaurant industry. It's called "being in the weeds." This happens to the best of us. Guests keep filtering in during the afternoon lunch or evening dinner rush. You literally begin drowning in coffee and ice tea refills, picking up empty plates, greeting new guests, cashing out old ones, keeping food balanced on trays above your shoulder and praying that you don't slip and fall (something that, you will learn, is in my nature).

It's a whirlwind of welcome, thank you, how may I assist you?, it would be my pleasure, the restroom is right over this way, our lunch buffet is 16.95, yes gratuity is included, no beverages are not included, do you need change?, have a wonderful day, come join us again soon.

And there is little time for thinking or doing anything else.

Similarly, you can slip into the weeds of bitterness in your own life.

It would be super easy for someone, for me, for you, to just sort of melt into a habit of looking at life through bitterly-rimmed glasses. I was prepared for a day at work "in the weeds," just yesterday. I was running a few minutes late (proof of my aforementioned need for a five minute buffer) because I was sitting in my little red toyota in the employee parking lot. Praying.

"Lord, give me grace among the fire of this day. Either that, or make it a super easy day."

FH, nothing in this lifetime will ever be super easy. But grace is always there when you need it the most desperately.

As soon as I breezed through the employee entrance, the madness began. I smiled at my boss as I tied my apron and prepared mentally for the day ahead.

"Good morning!" I said with all the enthusiasm I could muster. I was in a good mood. I began praying a lot more when I began working here.

"Our buffet runner isn't here, I need you to help set up the buffet outside," my boss said to me in a near panic.

I smiled back at him, and gave him a second chance.

"Good morning" I said again. My only reply.

He stopped, looked me in the eye with a short smile and said, "Sorry, good morning."

I turned and began brewing coffee for the lunch hour. And so it began.

And, FH, I wasn't perfect. I may try to convince you that I am in the beginning of our relationship, but you'll very quickly come to find that I am not. I was impatient, I lost sight of joy. My fuse line of patience ran rather short.

Nonetheless, I worked the rest of the day, clearing tables, resetting silverware, counting money and listening to my dear coworkers as best I could. Trying not to fall into the weeds of bitterness, and searching for joy in serving.

I was determined to find joy in the midst of stress, pressure and doing the dirty work.

I hope you'll trust and fight for this determination for joy by my side. That our love for one another will rejoice in truth. Together.

B.

get after it

2011-12-05T15:28:00.003-05:00

Dear You-Know-Who,

(Who may need to give me a kick in the you-know-what every once in a while)

It's Monday of the last week of my second-to-last semester of graduate school. Motivation is low, and procrastination is at its all-time high. I believe you will come to know that I have set the record for putting off important things in order to accomplish menial tasks, like painting my fingernails and dying my hair darker. Both of which I have done today.

This is why I refer to myself as the latest procrastination sensation.

The fact that I'm sitting here, reclining in my worn-out, faded striped chair, still in my pajamas and slippers at 2:30 in the afternoon, listening to Christmas music, drinking Vanilla Coke and eating M&Ms is proof positive of this phenomenon.

BUT, I do have my schoolbook in my lap as a rest for my computer, so you can't say that I'm not at least thinking about the things I need to do.

Today got off to a rough start (speaking from a strictly productivity standpoint) when I read an e-mail from my professor's graduate assistant informing all of the students in our class that our paper (which I had originally thought was due tomorrow) is actually not due for a few more days.

"Oh man," I thought to myself. "Simultaneously awesome and awful news."

You'd think I'd be rejoicing right? But, the lack of pressure and timeliness of this assignment means I won't get anything done today at all. I had every intention of cranking this sucker out today. But now, I just know I'm going to wait 'til Friday after my 10 p.m. shift to put the finishing touches on it.

It's due at midnight. See the problem?

A friend of mine who is a third-year law student, and pretty awesome at the whole not-procrastinating thing, asked me how my paper was coming along a few minutes ago. Through a string of texts, I explained to him my thought-process of putting off completing the writing of my analysis of our homo-liturgic selves, and how humans are more than mere animalistic thoughts and actions (see, doesn't it sound like some mumbo-jumbo I should be putting off? I mean, come on!).

A few texts in, here is the conversation that ensued:

...So, I'm writing today with no pressure. God is good to me.

He sure is. Why not get it out of the way?

'Cause then I wouldn't be me. I'm gunna give it all I got. Maybe give myself a 2000 word goal. Learning from you, I guess.

Get after it.

Those three words struck me. I asked him if I could borrow his words for creative purposes, and he assured me his royalty rates were reasonable. Then the whole thing turned into a light debate about fair use and copyright law. Typical.

Side note: Future Husband, I've just revealed what a hopeless nerd I really am. But, I guess you knew what you were getting yourself into.

Anyways, that particular verbiage really evoked such an interesting idea of passion. I need to sit down and "get after" this assignment, give it all I've got, and be done with it.

It really made me wish and think for a moment that there's really nothing in my life that I am "getting after." I get caught in the chaos, and get too mentally exhausted to get after anything.

And really, if you could look at me right now with my hair frazzled and piled on my head, a few loose curls falling over my blue eyes that are hiding behind my "makes-me-look-smart" glasses, and snuggled in the crook of my recliner you wouldn't consider me a woman who "gets after" much.

Which, I'm sure if you could actually see the picture I painted for you, there would be very little motivation for anyone to get after this.

But, it just made me realize I need someone in my life - the man I'm writing for - to be a reminder to chase after my dreams and calling. Even when I don't particularly feel as though I have a dream to sleep along side of or even a basic goal to conquer. I need to wake up, recover from my past and get after the things in my life worth waiting, working and writing for.

Today I'm hoping that you're a man who will be filled with enough passion to get after your own dreams, as well as encourage me when I'm down, and alleviate my fear of failure by helping me push through my procrastination.

And I guess all of this will be apparent when I meet you. When the day comes that you realize you want to get after a lifetime spent with me...

thank you

2011-11-25T13:34:00.000-05:00

Dear FH,

(Who will just have to live with the fact that we're spending all major holidays with my side of the family. Because they're awesome).

1200 people walked into our restaurant for Thanksgiving dinner yesterday. And I served eighty of them.

I'm still in recovery mode.

Thanksgiving is an all-hands-on-deck kind of day. All of our staff - no exceptions - gather together to serve what seems like all of Virginia Beach. The restaurant was flooded with so many people, they were merely a sea of faces, strong perfume, big jewelry (and even bigger hair).

Busy days like that, when my section is filled to the brim, it seems like one wrong move could produce a domino effect of rather catastrophic catastrophes. Here is when the people I serve are nothing more than a table number, a beverage order, and a dollar amount of gratuity when they depart. I go, grab, place, serve, clean, pour in a completely feigned natural-looking robot mode.

Until...

One lady in a large black and white polka dot sweater in the corner touches my hand as I place a glass of fragrant merlot on her table. I stopped dead in my tracks. What was she stopping me for?

"Thank you for spending your Thanksgiving serving us," the lady says to me. Her eyes are as full of sincerity as my portion of the restaurant is filled with buzzing people.

A lump of sadness blindsided me as it jumped very quickly into my throat.

Season number two of spending the holidays without my family. I had told myself this year that I wouldn't pout, and that I wouldn't be sad. That I would be very grown up about my situation this year (a.k.a. not like last year). Plus, my family will always be here to celebrate on a day that works for all of us.

We don't let days of the year dictate when we can have a party, you know? We're party people.

But in that moment, knowing that my sacrifice - however little it is in comparison to those who serve in the armed forces and risk their lives - meant something special to someone else.

And you know, FH? It made me thankful. Suddenly, it didn't matter that I wouldn't see my family on this particular day. It didn't matter that I was working until my ankles were so weak that I can barely walk today. I was overwhelmed, standing in front of this woman in a polka dot sweater fighting back tears as I told her,

"It's my pleasure to serve you all."

And you know what? It wasn't even a lie.

This part of my life, FH, this place that I'm in where I have no idea who you are, if I've already met you, or if I'm lightyears away of maturation before I'm ready to even think about the "m" word ("m" as in marriage), has been quite pleasurable.

I spent the rest of the evening, after I cleaned up and hung my green tie in the closet for the next day of serving, with good friends, strong drinks and homemade turkey.

It's okay that I don't know who you are, or that I'm out here doing this whole independent lady thing.

I'm truly thankful for the season I'm in. I'm thankful I don't know who you are yet. And I'm thankful that I'm experiencing these adventures on my own. I'm thankful that I'm (hopefully) becoming a stronger person outside of a relationship with you. And I'm thankful that God has perfect timing, and that when when we finally do come together, there will be no shadow or trace of any doubt in my mind whatsoever.

I'm thankful I have a family so valuable and precious to me that I do miss them.

And I hope my prayers and thoughts displayed here are as sincere and earnest as that polka-dotted lady's words when she first thanked me.

And I'm also thankful that I have a husband who will understand how important it is that I spend the holidays with my family, since I spent so many of them serving food to strangers.

I hope.

One day.

Please?

B.

I wanna go fast

2011-11-23T13:34:00.001-05:00

Dear Future Husband,

(Who will either have to slow me down or play constant catch-up to keep up with this chick)

I think I'm moving too fast.

My life right now is an incessant string of meetings, papers, reading material, presentations, e-mails - and that's just taking into consideration the grad school sector. There's this whole other portion of my day I dedicate to serving food to strangers.

No, not in some madonna-esque charity work. For tips. I'm just greedy like that.

Nearly every day, on top of the journals, and lectures and notes and trying to figure out what-the-heck is going on Blackboard (seriously, what is this labyrinth of craziness? I've been a college student for almost six years now, and still am not fluent in Bb language), I put on a bleached and starched white collar, and a bright green tie, and bebop into work with my curly, brunette pony tail leaving my only trace.

I'm usually late, and everyone in my life gets along fine with me so long as they give me a five-minute buffer zone. Sometimes I need seven, but I never need ten. My legs carry me as quickly down the long back hallway to the front of the restaurant as they can; giving the illusion that I am just eager to get to work, rather than I'm rushing to report on time for my shift.

We live in a world that likes to go fast.

The people I serve food like to go fast, too.

Even though most weeks I spend over fifty hours at the restaurant, I'm never not taken aback by its clean and colonial beauty as I trounce through the large wooden swinging door, entering the dining floor. The lights are dim, and each of the tables are set and lined with perfectly creased white table cloths. A tiny tea light at the center of each table illuminates an angelic glow.

It's really quite breath taking.

"Uh, waitress?" A large, white-haired man looks up at me through his wire-rimmed glasses. "We've got a play to get to in forty-five minutes. How long will it take for a beef brisket to cook?"

And just like that, the illusion shatters.

Now, Future Husband*, I may move fast, but I am not in the fast food business. And no matter how much patience I muster when I have tables like this who snap their fingers at me, or who ask me to tell the kitchen they have "some place to be" I can't get over it.

If you're here, in a fine dining restaurant expecting your Kobe Burger to come out as quickly as a patty at Burger King would, you're horribly mistaken.

A mere ten minutes pass, and it begins to get awkward. I can feel the white-haired man with wire rimmed glasses staring at me. He looks at his watch, murmurs something to his wife, and taps his brown loafers on the floor.

He gestures me over to the table.

"Miss, we're really in a hurry, how much longer on our food? This is ridiculous."

Classic, shoot-the-messenger syndrome.

"Sir, I assure you the cooks are working as quickly as they can. Your meal will be out shortly and worth the wait."

The man rolls his eyes, and I watch as a droplet of water slides down the front of his frosted water glass. I wonder if he can see a similar droplet forming at the top of my forehead.

I'm going as fast as I can.

And then it hits me: I am the impatient white-haired man with the wire-rimmed glasses.

Now, don't misunderstand me. I am very much a woman. Not to worry.

But, there are certain things in my life - things like you - that I have been very impatient with. So impatient, in fact, that I was willing to settle for the Burger King version of you.

Does that make sense?

In other words, I was so desperate for the right man to come along, that I was willing to make any man the right man. As you can well imagine, this has gotten me into trouble in the past (more on that later).

All the while I'm whining to my girlfriends, whining in my prayers. "Lord, where IS this man? This is ridiculous. It shouldn't take this long!"

The Lord is saying, "He'll be along shortly, and he'll be worth the wait. I promise."

I need to learn to be patient.

A few minutes later, I see the man's beef brisket appear under the heat lamps near the kitchen. Quickly, I go to the table, and display the food proudly before the gentlemen. He nods, and smiles as he takes a bite of his peach-flavored barbeque brisket.

"Was it worth the wait?" I ask him with a smile.
"Mmmph," says the man between bites (I'm the queen of asking people questions as soon as they take a mouth-full of food). "Compliments to the chef!"

Because the good things, the important things in life are worth waiting for. You, FH, are worth waiting for. Heck, you're worth writing for.

B.

a man worth writing for: a year of my life in letters to my future husband

2011-11-19T13:52:00.003-05:00

It all started with a letter I wrote a few years ago to my future husband.

The idea was to write a letter, a love letter, to the man I was going to marry without having the slightest idea of who he was or how he would happen into my life. I hadn't a clue what was going on in my little heart at the time, but it was something I needed to do to prove to myself that I had faith in what God had promised me.

I had just broken up with my high school sweetheart, a phase in my life that to this day I'm not completely sure I understand, still. All I know was that the Lord had called us apart, and I had ignored his calling for too long.

Those breakups are the worst. The ones where everything is right and well, but you're holding each other from what you were made to do. I was discouraged. I had lost my best friend, and the love of my life (at that point in time, anyway) all at one crappy Fourth of July cookout.

There were two things I remembered about that day: I broke up with my boyfriend of nearly four years at my neighborhood's pool party. To top the whole day off, there were no hot dogs to be found anywhere.

Worst. Fourth of July. Ever.

But, I look back on those years fondly as just a fond, innocent time in my life and I am thankful and blessed by them.

It's three years later and it's quite humbling to think that I'm still waiting for a man to sweep me away as he did. Hasn't happened yet.

And it's perfect.

Because now, I'm a fairly independent young woman living alone in Virginia Beach. Fairly independent, because I know I truly could not function without the joy following the Lord has given me, and a family who supports and loves every breath, thought, or pursuit of my being.

I'm pursuing my dreams and my Master's degree all the while serving strangers food every night at my beautiful little fine dining restaurant. And I'm confident that the Lord sees that it is good.

Of course, anyone who has heard the slightest whisper of how the world works will tell you that life is so not easy. These realizations have startled me from a complacent place in my little corner of the world.

My heart has been wrecked, and left only halfway mended. And having a glass-half full when it comes to healing is impossible. Being only partially full leaves the remaining parts only yearning and hurting more.

Then there's this whole business of jealousy that pries its way into your life. My Facebook feed is flooded with gorgeous engagement pictures. You know the ones, color enhanced, the lady's left hand on the chest of her fiance. Don't get me wrong, I am so happy for them all. But, it's almost humorous how those photos of people I barely know can send me into a whirlwind of discontent and insecurity.

So, in the midst of all of this one letter written a few years ago no longer holds the promise of what my life and future holds. Let's say, it was a step in the right direction.

I decided to chronicle a year of my life in letters to my future husband who will, of course, be the man worth waiting for. Or, in my case, the man worth writing for.

This is what my blog will now be dedicated to.

I've thought long and hard about starting over fresh, and just beginning again. However, I can't just dismiss the things I've written in the past. Part of life is learning from mistakes and growing from them. This little site has such a neat place in my heart, and I'm too sentimental to let it go.

But things are going to change around these parts for sure.

There have been so many interesting lessons learned, and crazy characters I've met along the way here, and stories too good not to share. Sometimes I think the random tidbits and thoughts that pop up out of nowhere happen solely so that I may write them down. And I totally do.

My little fingers are bursting on the keys - and I'm trying to hold them back as to not reveal too much at once.

Welp. This is going to be fun. I hope you'll read along.

B.

if you and I were old friends

2011-06-11T11:51:00.000-04:00

Hello old friend.

If the lack of my posts the last few months reflected my dedication to a friendship, we'd be in big trouble. We would meet up in a coffee shop and the conversation would fall off every few minutes into several awkward pauses...

So...how's your mother doing?

I have a pocket full of excuses. Mainly that my computer, Judy, has fallen ill. I've been a bad mother and have failed to get her to the Mac store in time. Now not only do I not have a computer, I am at risk of losing every blabbering narrative I have written this year along with several hundred dollars worth of iTunes music. I wish I was exaggerating - that darn Glee cast is SO talented.

But you, old friend, did not come here for excuses. Truth be told, I don't know what you've come here for. Perhaps you like to glimpse into a life of a woman who is very forward about how imperfect she is. Maybe you laugh because these things happen to you too. Maybe you like to drop by to distract you from your own stack of paperwork and e-mails which you - like myself - have swept under the rug.

Or maybe you just love me and my voice mail is full and I don't return your calls, therefore by the theorem of deduction this is the only way to sustain a very one-sided relationship.

Maybe, just maybe, you come here for a little slice of hope. I must confess: this is why I write. I must also confess: this is what I have been lacking.

Without going into too much detail, let's just say that in Virginia Beach I was working tirelessly to build a beautiful house made out of sand. Just like a child, I knew that it's construction could not be permanent. However, it was no less heartbreaking when it's quick destruction came.

Like the song says "the rains came down and the floods came up," and my poor, beautiful little sandcastle eroded away taking a chunk of my heart with it.

For so long I simply stood still on the shore blinking at the lumpy mound of what was, and what I dreamed would be. But now, a month later, I am able to wipe my eyes dry and chase after a more stable foundation. One that wont be depleted by rain or waves. One that will stand firm.

I've learned a few lessons along the way. Lessons I hope to relay to you all here. Now that my shore has been blessedly wiped clean and fresh, my life can begin again.

Thanks for sticking around to discover this with me.

B.

you know it's a slow night in a fine dining restaurant when

2011-05-01T12:29:00.000-04:00

Two hostesses, two waiters, a manager and a chef are gathered chit-chatting at the front entryway. A single customer walks in. Seeing the delight in our faces that we have someone to serve for the next hour or so remarks,

"I expected you all to say 'Welcome to Cici's!'"

And that's how we do.

Happy Sunday! Wrapping up the last bits of the semester and catching Regent's rendition of Bye, Bye, Birdie!

B.

why couldn't you have stayed calm for once instead of flying off the handle?!

2011-04-27T22:19:00.000-04:00

My cousins and I - all eleven of us - are amused by this every year at our annual OBX trip. We call it "Mento Madness."

My dad is the coordinator. Because he's awesome.

Relishing my home life.

B.

clicking your heels together three times just doesn't cut it

2011-04-27T15:16:00.000-04:00

You gotta DANCE in those ruby reds - all the way home!

(finally!) Wednesday.

B.

uh...yup.

2011-04-27T10:32:00.000-04:00

Same thing goes with graduate school professor's e-mails.

Happy Wednesday.

Spontaneously off the next three days. Going home to Richmond.

B.

all the single ladies!

2011-04-25T13:00:00.000-04:00

"'For I know the plans I have for you,' declares the Lord. 'Plans to prosper you and not to harm you, plans to give you hope and a future. Then you will call upon me and come and pray to me, and I will listen to you. You will seek me and find me with you seek me with all your heart. I will be found by you,' declares the Lord, 'and will bring you back from captivity."

Jeremiah 29:11-14

Happy Monday!

B.

the moon is twice as lonely and the stars are half as bright.

2011-04-23T02:37:00.002-04:00

this is just the sort of trite thing this blog needs

2011-04-18T21:22:00.000-04:00

The scene: My front porch on a bright, sunny day in Virginia Beach.

I was painting my fingernails Sally Henson's "Red Zin" and talking to my friend Barbara about the woes of this final week of our first year at Regent.

A call beeps in - it's my neighbor - I politely ignore the call. The girl talk was too good on the other end, I'll call him back.

As I continued to stroke my nails a deep red, I hear footsteps marching up the steps to my apartment. It's my neighbor. He signals me to get off the phone and follow him.

"Hold on!" I mouth to him, trying to listen to Babs.

"My neighbor is getting rid of his kitchen table, do you want it?"

I did.

I quickly hung up the phone and followed him to his neighbor's apartment.

After a quick inspection and writing a one-hundred dollar check my seven month long quest to find a kitchen set is complete.

And the best part?

It totally has fruit painted on it.

Oh yeah, baby!

Happy Monday (what's left of it!)

B.

all hail the queen!

2011-04-13T15:19:00.002-04:00

Congratulations to Ashley Smith, Regent University M.B.A. Journalism student - 2011 Miss Virginia!

Of course, I couldn't resist.

Fine dining at the restaurant tonight (my favorite!). Happy Wednesday!

B.

here is my final thought on the matter

2011-04-11T22:05:00.002-04:00

Oh, Ella. I love you.

B.

this has literally been stuck in my head for four solid days

2011-04-11T17:49:00.002-04:00

I know I need help. I just don't want it.

B.

If I find in myself desires nothing in this world can satisfy, I can only conclude that I was not made for here.

2011-04-11T14:20:00.000-04:00

If the flesh that i fight is at best only light and momentary,
then of course I'll feel nude when to where I'm destined I'm compared.

Happy Monday!

B.

hello, norfolks!

2011-04-10T00:26:00.000-04:00

A foggy and overcast day in Norfolk, VA. I was in town for the Society of Professional Journalists conference at the Waterside Marriot.

And by visit the conference, I mean accidentally crash a Virginia Press Association meeting then skip across the street to visit a little bookstore/coffee shop called "Prince Books" where I bought three books including a young adult novel by John Green titled "Will Grayson Will Grayson."

Then I looked at the pretty boats on the pretty water.

So. Productive day? Very official.

Happy Sunday!

B.

it is a truth universally acknowledged

2011-04-07T14:18:00.002-04:00

that time spent doing what I love flies by. And time at work

tends

to

slow

painfully

(very painfully)

down.

Especially when it's a night of refilling drinks, clearing plates and small - though very much appreciated - tips.

Where do the hours between 9 and 3 go?

Time to put on my high starch collar and bright green tie.

B.

delightful

2011-04-07T13:12:00.001-04:00

I can't wait to go back to taste unlimited. A 2010 "Best of Chesapeake"

winner from the Virginian Pilot.

Of course I opted for the Chesapeake crab cake sandwich. The most delicious thing ever. Babs and I also bough lemon squares, however mine didn't last long enough to take a photo of it. That good.

I'm reminded of a scene from the 1953 Doris Day film Calamity Jane. She marches into a bar after driving a stage coach across Illinois and orders a Sarsaparilla all mean and tough-like. So cute.

Hey, if the drink lid says it, I guess I have to do it.

Statues in the 2X4 museum at the Virginia First Landing State Park. Peace. We just want peace.

Beautiful displacement.

Do I need to consume these photos with words? Or may I just let them speak for themselves?

I will say this: it was the windiest day EVER. I have sand in places...well, let's just say, I'm still finding sand.

I took half the beach home with me in my book bag - which in essence is pure joy, except when I pulled out a notebook at a meeting and sand sprayed everywhere. There is a time and place for everything, and sand does not belong at business meetings.

Happy Thursday!

(pasta night).

B.

have a little faith

2011-04-04T12:27:00.001-04:00

Kelli O'Hara from the Broadway revival of Rodgers and Hammerstein's South Pacific.

Right before her character, Nellie Forebush, bursts into this song - she speaks about the war, and how the world around her is falling apart. All of her friends, her family, even her own mother doubt there is any beauty left in the world.

Not her.

Despite the fact that she is a nurse in the Great War she says she "can't work herself up to getting that low."

I feel that way a lot.

Working in a restaurant. Surrounded by greed. In a place where many people - not all, but many - don't follow through. Just living life trying to squeak by.

It can really mess with your mind.

Finally last night, it was as if my head fell into itself. All of the walls I have built up against people were destroyed.

Yes, people screw up. People are imperfect. I am people. I am imperfect.

But I refuse to believe that this place we inhabit for just a short whisper of time is void of all beauty and freedom. I can't work myself up to getting that low.

There is truth in this world, and I'm going to find it. It's okay to have faith in people. It's okay to acknowledge there is, yes, evil in this world, but also there is good. There is good. There is good.

So what if they call me a "cockeyed optimist?"

Happy Monday!

B.

this week's "you go girl" moment is brought to you by TOWANDA!

2011-04-02T02:16:00.000-04:00

She is your instant source of gumption when you need it the most in your life.

Happy Saturday...y'all.

B.

welp, everyone I know is awesome

2011-03-28T22:12:00.000-04:00

hey everyone! come see how domesticated I am!

2011-03-28T20:21:00.001-04:00

Today was a day of cleaning, errands and cooking. Adulthood is becoming more independent and less lonely. It's a good feeling.

So, tonight I decided to take a stab at my mom's famous tortellini soup, with my own twist, of course.

Start by boiling 4 quarts of water.
Add a small palmfull of salt and a teaspoon of olive oil.
Add your package of cheese tortellini and cook for 7 minutes.
Drain the pasta.

Then heat 3 cans of chicken broth.
Add 3 tomatoes, 1/2 chopped onions and about a handful of raw spinach.
Bring to your desired temperature (I typically like my hot liquids to burn the enamel off my gums).

Put in the tortellini and voila!

The finished product is quite delicious if I do say so myself. And I had a surprise visitor stop by and take part in my culinary spurt. Hooray!

Also, I wouldn't be me if some catastrophe didn't happen in the kitchen. Somehow I managed to scrape by and only catch my oven mitt on fire.

It's fine.

Happy Monday...again!

B.

ah, the benefits of cleaning are so clear to me now

2011-03-28T14:45:00.000-04:00

As I was nesting my new apartment - you know, the new new apartment the folks at the Regent student housing were so good to force me to move into - I stumbled upon some encouragement from a dear, dear friend of mine I so desperately needed to read.

You are singing and dancing on the yellow brick road the Lord has set before you. May your Emerald City be your eternal home and may the song of your heart encourage any (strange) characters the Lord leads you to along the way.

"Resurgence Betty" is becoming "Regent Brett" come Friday. Continue to walk as He leads. The Lord is working in you and through you, Brett Wilson. Be reminded of His presence, of His faithfulness, and of His sense of humor as you enter into this new season.

My friends are so incredible. Thank you, my sister (you know who you are) for your beautiful words. They were written nearly eight months ago, but they still impact me today. They will continue to be displayed on my new office wall.

Happy Monday!

B,

the depressed dames playlist

2011-03-24T20:39:00.000-04:00

No profound thoughts of the day. Just some tuneage I've put together.

No tables tonight, I was a happy camper nonetheless. Why? Because I somehow still managed to swipe a cannoli before "pasta night" was quite through.

Also I'm home in time for tonight's episode of 30 Rock. Boom.

Happy Thursday!

B.

The problem with people who have no vices is that generally you can be pretty sure they’re going to have some pretty annoying virtues

2011-03-23T10:54:00.000-04:00

It's never a happy Wednesday when you wake up to this.

A lot of Liz is going to be on my Netflix queue for the next few weeks.

B.

this week's "you go girl" moment is brought to you by patsy cline

2011-03-22T14:45:00.000-04:00

It's not me.

It's you.

This song has been on my "stuck in my head" playlist for the last week or so. Perfect to listen to while sitting on my front porch with a cup of Chick-fil-a sweet tea.

Go ahead, give it a try. You know you want to.

Crazy... I mean...Happy Tuesday!

B.

my love for my job is continuing to surge

2011-03-21T22:48:00.002-04:00

It's my job that I had to go to a wine tasting all day today at the Williamsburg Winery.

My JOB.

Some things I learned today during class had nothing to do with wine. For instance I learned that in a group setting there will always be the following:

1. One snobby guy/gal who asks all of the obnoxiously, pseudo-intellectually structured questions.

2. The not-so-discrete cell phone buzz. Usually with an embarrassing ringtone.

3. The table of the black sheep. Usually where I am sat.

4. The female who is inappropriately dressed. Really, who confuses "business casual" with a short, tube-top dress?

5. People just here for the free wine and dinner.

6. The "stand out" guy who tries desperately to be funny.

The other things I learned had to do with wine...kind of.

"There's only so much you can do with a fruit loop."
-Matthew Meyer, Wine-making 101

"God, I do love yeast. They basically eat, sleep, have sex and die...they reproduce like crazy."
-MM

"I am a champagne whore."
-MM

"People will be like, 'is the wine ready to drink?' and then they'll say 'Yeah, as soon as I get the cork out of it I will be..."
-Phil Pratt, director of school of wine

Beautiful pinot noir we tasted.

A little beef portion we paired with our wines.

The sixty degree wine cellar. My coworkers and I dipped out of the tour early. We were being too disrupted, and they needed a smoke break.

I learned that in the days of ancient Greece, wine was like the Starbucks of its time.

I also learned that tasting a good wine is like poetry for your palette. As a lover of words, I very much enjoyed drumming up adjectives to describe each wine we tasted:

Tangy.

Coffee.

Citrus.

Warm.

Woodsy.

So much fun.

Happy Monday!

B.

this week's "you go girl" moment is brought to you by...this girl...

2011-03-17T12:30:00.002-04:00

Innocent obliviousness?

Or viral genius?

You be the judge.

Challenge: try not to say "way-ho" when you see the very last shot of the video.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=aiww4OTA194

Happy Thursday.

Way-ho.

pursuing pursuit

2011-03-16T01:38:00.000-04:00

For the past two years or so of my life, pretty much ever since I finished the book Captivating for the first time, I've decided not to date. I've decided to wait for the man who comes to me for friendship first, romance second.

I'm waiting for the man who pursues me. The perfect fairy tale. The reserved romance for my life.

I've complained to and with countless girlfriends that there is no such man out there for me/us. There are few who can simultaneously lead and love. We, in our young little lives, have come across men who are the product of being chased. Who are so used to having women come to them, they are hardly categorized as chasers.

I've been discussing this and other relationship ideals with one of my friends here at school. He described his want for a relationship where he takes the lead.

"Don't chase me, Brett," he said. "Slow down. Let me pursue you. It's the man's job to pursue."

Crap.

Allowing someone to pursue you takes patience. Patience.

My cup overfloweth with coffee, not patience.

How humiliating. Here I am trying to be cool and breezy, and all he sees is someone on the hunt. Someone who likes the chase. Isn't that the most exciting part about the relationship? The part in the story that's the most exciting - the climax of the movie?

Then the guy and the girl get together with a kiss at the end. Then the story is finished, and the words "The End" appear over the screen in fancy calligraphy.

Why?

Because the "once upon a time" is so much more interesting than the "happily ever after."

Isn't it?

We never see Cinderella washing Prince Charming's boxer briefs (he doesn't seem like a whitey-tighties kind of guy). We are privy to the pursuit. The ball, the lost slipper, his hunt for his beauty.

We - sweet ladies - have been conditioned for the hunt.

And a lot of relationships turn sour because of this. We have only allowed ourselves to dream of the chase and not the catch.

But the thing is, is that a woman with any sense at all would long for a lasting and peaceful relationship. An exciting adventure with a beginning, middle and never ending until death parts.

Girlfriends, if you long to be pursued in a Godly romantic way, you need to slow down and have the courage to be pursued.

Happy Wednesday.

B.

booty girl's nature window

2011-03-14T14:04:00.002-04:00

Windows have always been a constant in my life.

I know what you're thinking - what the heck does that mean?

Ever since I was little, coincidentally, my windows have been full of little critters. Much to my delight, wherever I moved my windows have always been the resting place of spiders spinning webs or little ants marching one-by-one (hoorah!). Which is particularly lucky, because there's hardly anything I love more than being outside.

My family calls this the "booty girl's nature window" phenomenon. Booty-girl, I think I should mention, is a nickname that my family still calls me to this day. I'm not really sure where or from what it first originated. But I will say that I am now fully aware of its implications and what the term "booty" means in today's vernacular.

Thankfully, they never call me that in public.

One year a family of wasps made home in my "nature window." I watched in awe as the big momma wasp circulated and spun and worked and plotted to make her nest for her little baby wasps.

I'm not sure how old I was. I was in somewhere in the age range of "old enough to know that wasps could harm me," but "young enough to convince myself that I was invincible and that wasp stings probably don't hurt as badly as everyone says."

Finally, I felt compelled to share the latest happenings in "booty girls' nature window" with my dad.

"Look, Dad!" I said with my bright blue eyes gleaming. "The baby wasps! They're about to be born!"

I brought my Dad into my room to show off my findings. The larvae were wriggling and struggling out of the nest little little worms.

The next thing I knew, my Dad was outside of my window with a can of Raid.

All the wasps, babies, struggling larvae and momma, fell dead to the bottom of my nature window. And I was devastated.

I remember my mother coming carefully into my room. Like many of the little girl dramas, I dealt with this one head on: face down, bawling into my pillow.

She stroked my back and explained to me that wasps were harmful. They were not pets and it didn't matter how much you loved them, they would still try to hurt you.

"Your Dad is protecting you," said my Mom in a very serious tone. Bless her for having patience with a daughter who is devastated by the lost of her wasp friends. I didn't argue. I just continued to cry hysterically.

"Plus," she said. "You wouldn't want your Daddy to get stung while he was working in the yard, would you?"

I sat straight up in my bed suddenly alarmed by this possibility. Could my wasps really have tried to hurt my Daddy?

Oh no.

I dried my tears and watched my Dad outside from the now formerly-booty-girl-nature-window. Those wasps needed to go. They needed to get out of my window.

Y'all, isn't our Heavenly Father the same way? If He eliminates or strips something out of your life, it isn't because he hates you or wants to make you miserable.

It probably made my Dad miserable to watch me cry as a direct result of something he had done.

But he did it out of protection. Because he knew something I didn't.

God works in the same way. Any loss or misery we face in our daily lives has a purpose. God wants to protect us. He doesn't enjoy taking our pleasures away - but He wants to protect us from heartbreak.

Sometimes we need God to step in and kill the wasps in our lives.

Happy Monday!

B.

I'm becoming more and more frightened of the choice between the kick ass career and wife/motherhood

2011-03-14T00:56:00.001-04:00

Even more so now, especially after I went to Target tonight specifically to purchase my very own copy of Morning Glory.

Here is my life at a glance: I'm just a waitress who occasionally also caters to the interests of a small niche of Christian University students via editing the school's online news publication.

And I can't seem to make stuff fall into place even now.

Y'all, I can't even give up coffee for 40 days. Yes, I partook in a catastrophic lent experiment that ended today after a 2 a.m. closing shift at the restaurant, a 9 a.m. wake-up call and one less hour of sleep.

Sorry, Lord. Had to do it.

How in the WORLD am I going to make this all work? Or will I just have to give up on passion for the other?

Monday. Just...Monday.

B.

your mother was a hamster and your father smelt of elderberry

2011-03-10T14:50:00.002-05:00

Win of the day?

Monty Python and the Holy Grail.

On sale at Food Lion (of all places!) for $8.99. Who could resist?

I'll leave you with this:

Happy Thursday!

B.

reason #874 why regent is the best thing that has happened to me (note the urgent subject line)

2011-03-08T20:56:00.000-05:00

Y'all. It's just too beautiful for words.

I obviously e-mailed a reply asking for a french toast bagel. Duh.

Stir fry night at the restaurant. Two tables. Was cut from work at 7:30 p.m. And made it home in time for Glee, laundry and have time to knock out two papers that I obviously didn't start over break.

Happy. So happy.

B.

this week's "you go girl" moment is brought to you by Anna Graceman

2011-03-08T12:52:00.000-05:00

Damn.

I mean, woah.

Her voice is the most intoxicating thing I've heard since Josh Groban. She has all of the talent of Charlotte Church without the crazy "voice of an angel" claims.

You can tell she's just a bundle of sass. Love that.

I stumbled upon this video while I was getting lost in the sauce of YouTube. So many of my friends have uploaded her little sister's video: 5 year old needs a job before getting married.

These girls are going to take over the world. You heard it here first, people!

Happy Tuesday!

B.

if I only had a brain

2011-03-05T11:18:00.001-05:00

"My head is quite empty but once I had brains, and a heart also; so, having tried them both, I should much rather have a heart."

-Tin Woodman
The Wonderful Wizard of Oz, 1909

Happy Saturday! Y'all, we made it through another week!

B.

buy it if you find me even remotely trustworthy

2011-03-04T00:04:00.000-05:00

Christian artist and Dove-winner Francesca Battestelli released her new album, Hundred More Years, this week.

Get it now.

I first became a "Fran Fan" in the summer of 2008 when my boyfriend of three and a half years broke up. Her song I'm Letting Go was the theme of that summer. It reminded me to let go of the control I had (or at least, I thought I had) on my life and really let God take the reigns.

Later that year, I made the song Free to be Me my ringtone:

Got a couple dents in my fender
Got a couple rips in my jeans
Try to hold the pieces together
But perfection is my enemy.
And on my own I'm so clumsy,
but on your shoulders I can see -

I'm free to be me.
When my girlfriends and I totaled my best friend's Ford Explorer (named the "Exploder" by her family. I'll leave it up to your imagination as to why it was named that...) on a trip to New York City that winter my phone was ringing off the hook. My parents called every five minutes to make sure we were all okay.

Every five minutes our conversations were interrupted by my phone ringing...

Got a couple dents in my fender...

Got a couple dents in my fender...
Got a couple dents in my fender...

At that moment, my friends did not appreciate the irony of my ringtone and asked me to change it or put my phone on vibrate already.

I didn't care. I still loved Francesca.

I think the deal was sealed when I heard the news that my parent's godson was to be her keyboardist. He still travels and performs with her to this day. Currently stoked that they will both be making a stop in the Norfolk area on March 20th for Winterjam.

I'm falling more and more in love with this new release with every passing day.

Happy Friday!

B.

this week's "you go girl" moment is brought to you by Claudette Colbert

2011-03-01T22:33:00.002-05:00

It Happened One Night (1934).

What happened in movies before the Wizard of Oz and Gone With the Wind.

I read that Claudette had reservations about lifting her skirt. The director said, "No problem, we'll get you a leg double." When Claudette saw the girl who was to be her "leg," she immediately agreed to do the scene as originally written.

She didn't like the look of that other gal's gams.

Also, fun fact: It's rumored that Bugs Bunny was inspired by Clark Gable's performance and carrot eating in this particular scene. Who knew?

Happy Tuesday!

B.

the fire lane

2011-02-26T10:25:00.000-05:00

Home in Mechanicsville this weekend. No trays, no tips, no long hours. Just family, friends and coffee. Lots of coffee.

I woke up this morning to the flooding of the sun into my Tiffany blue bedroom and the smell of my Dad's famous waffles crawling up the steps.

When I was a little girl, I absolutely loved Saturday mornings for this very reason. Every Saturday would either be pancakes or waffles day with Dad.

I'd step into the kitchen early Saturday mornings in our little house on the Fire Lane - I always loved the name of the road I grew up in. The Fire Lane house was a very small brick ranch on over an acre of lush green property. To look at it now, it seems more like a dollhouse rather than a starter home for a family of three.

But it was where my family began. And it was where the Saturday breakfast tradition began. I'd come running down the hallway in my barefeet and my favorite floor-length night gown that made me feel like a princess. I'd find my Dad in the kitchen cracking eggs and pouring milk into a large plastic bowl.

Always feeling like quite the culinary genius, I'd ask my dad to hold me up over the counter. I'd stir the batter until it was thick and smooth.

When breakfast was ready, I'd smoother the crisp, brown waffles in some sort of Smucker's syrup. It made everything sticky and wonderful.

I don't know if I should divulge the fact that I loved pancake syrup so much that one morning my mom woke to find me sitting on the floor of our pantry, drinking boysenberry syrup straight up from the bottle.

This morning I didn't wake early enough to help my Dad stir the batter, but we did sit around and chat it up, like the old days on Fire Lane. I was still his barefoot, curly-haired, syrup loving daughter. We talked about our latest musical downloads (his, Lionel Richie's greatest hits, mine Adele's new album, 21).

Happy Saturday!

B.

fortunate

2011-02-24T12:31:00.000-05:00

Stir fry night. Six hours. Five tables. One spilled child's Dr. Pepper (even though it's in a plastic cup with a LID - how that little guy managed to spill it all on the floor I'll never know). Forty-eight dollars.

BUT I did come across the best fortune cookie ever:

...in bed...

Also, I got a pretty interesting comment card - we hand out these "comment cards" to customers asking how their experience at the restaurant was - saying that:

Brett was an attentive and friendly server. And very entertaining.

Very entertaining?

Yeah, that was the customer I got in an argument with. When I told him I was from Richmond he made a face and told me that "People from Virginia Beach don't like Richmonders, and Richmonders don't like people from here."

And I was like..."Well...I'm here to bridge the gap?"

Sometimes it's hard for me to reign in the sass. But, you know, don't trash talk my city!

Typical night in the post-holiday restaurant season. Which I have to admit has been a bit of a relief. All of the servers here have grown accustomed to working double, sometimes even triple shifts. I think the record of the season was an eighteen hour day. Ridiculous. So, as far as I'm concerned, it's okay if things slow down. Give us a chance to live our lives on top of serving others.

Anyway, it's spring break. Can you believe it? I'm so confused. I can't believe I'm almost halfway through my graduate school career.

I've been thinking about what's next. I'm always thinking about what's next. And I have to admit, I've been praying a lot about pursuing my Doctorates. I figure as long as I'm getting a seventy-five percent discount on tuition for working at the inn, I might as well see how far I can run with it.

Plus, it would drive me crazy knowing there's a degree out there that I don't have.

I don't think I'll be good and ready to leave this place in a year. But, there I go, running away with the future again...I'll stick to the here for now.

Happy Thursday!

B.

I hope you all have days like this today

2011-02-21T10:46:00.000-05:00

Happy Monday!

B.

walking at night

2011-02-19T11:57:00.000-05:00

My feet felt like lead statues after my eight hour shift at the inn. It was a night of constant refilling drinks and special orders like...

I want this salad...

but I don't want croutons...

and does your soup of the day have gluten because I'm intolerant...?

and may I have a side of oil and vinegar, with no dressing...?

and can you get me two high chairs for my sloppy children...?

and I'll be sure to tip you ten percent of my bill after leaving the world's biggest mess for you to clean.

But the sky was so clear and the stars were so bright that a midnight walk was definitely in order.

I texted my neighbor: Doing my paperwork and then heading home. Wanna walk? He replied: Let's go.
And so we went.

Our usual route is just a couple of loops around the neighborhood. But the past couple of days we've taken a trail across the street that leads to a pretty large lake. We've never gone through after dark.

My friend stopped.

We were in the middle of a game, fighting over who gets to kick the pine cones that have fallen in the middle of the sidewalk. Stupid, I know, but most of our outings escalate into some sort of competition.

He looked at me and then looked at the woods. Next thing I knew we were walking down the path leading to the lake.

It was so quiet that even the tinniest snap of a twig beneath my feet made a crunch as loud as the cymbals in Sousa's march. He warned me to be very quiet and to match his pace when we walked.

I couldn't clearly see his face, but I could tell he was annoyed. He said, "Brett! Heel to toe."

"I am! I am!" I said. Then after a few uniform paces, there was inevitable snap beneath my feet.

He told me how important it was to stop and listen. To make sure there wasn't something or someone following us. He's so paranoid about things like that, but for good reason. Let us not forget the fox incident that happened the first night we met.

We heard the sound of rustling in the leaves, and he had me so high strung that I nearly ripped his arm off, I grabbed it so quickly. He just smiled and stood patiently with me for a moment.

And after a long night of running around the restaurant, and taking care of other people's needs, I was taken care of. Someone cared about my protection. Someone worried about the surroundings so that I could enjoy myself.

Then, in the distance, we saw two deer.

They left as quickly as they had come. And before long, we did the same and began the trek back to our homes for the evening.

Happy Saturday!

B.

I can't help it. I love serving.

2011-02-17T23:36:00.000-05:00

Now, I know how people get caught up in this industry. It is such an awesome feeling to serve. To go above and beyond. Further to minister to the people that I serve.

MORTAR of the day came from the ladies who left me a gratuity of 50% and a love note on the ticket.

Y'all, sometimes serving sucks. I'm not going to lie. It's so stressful. But it's things like this that make everything worth it. It even makes up for the crabby pants who suck down sodas and expect 6-8 refills when my entire section is packed.

jealous.

2011-02-17T12:43:00.000-05:00

Check it out, y'all.

Sitting on my porch with peanut butter toast and coffee, listening to the Morning Glory soundtrack while simultaneously doing laundry. I'm so oddly productive when the weather is nice. Y'all should see the inside of my apartment. All the stuff I have to keep myself accountable for - like dirty dishes, dirty clothes, crumbs on the rug, they're all taken care of.

I haven't been procrastinating. I almost don't even recognize myself. It's like this baby prelude to the spring just surges within me and makes me want to crank it up a notch or two.

It also makes me want to blog and exercise more. Go figure.

It's also days like today that remind me who I am and what I'm here to do. It's so freeing.

One of my girlfriends, and writers for the Daily Runner -- the small online news publication I am the editor in chief of -- wrote this refreshing article: Ode to Mount Trashmore

Barbara is one of those people who you feel automatically at peace with. Yesterday, my Regent girlfriends and I were sitting in our mini-documentary class, watching each others interviews. One of the girls interviewed Barbara on the beach.

The backdrop was so beautiful - the sun was setting, seagulls were everywhere, and there was Barbara. Completely free and herself. I was completely captivated by the whole picture. It was stunning. Then I immediately became sad.

I don't think I would have looked quite as natural and at peace walking on the beach if someone were interviewing me at this point and time of my life.

I decided then that I, no matter what, would no longer carry tension from the restaurant or school in my shoulders and face any more. No matter what, I will be free. I am free. And I will act accordingly.

B.

stumbled upon this little gem while reading an article for my research evaluation methods class

2011-02-08T01:20:00.002-05:00

[On the sense of community felt among the Maasai people - a group living on the Tanzanian and Kenyan border]

"Others try to reach the moon, we try to reach our villages."

-Julius Nyerere, former president of Tanzania

Such a commentary on the priorities of the nations. Ours don't seem to match up as powerfully as those in the third world.

Happy Tuesday!

B.

mortar: a new segment

2011-02-06T09:41:00.000-05:00

The great thing about being a waitress is that you don't ever have to take any of the stress from the office home with you. People who make you angry and who make you swallow your pride and continue serving them with a smile, or make you take back food that isn't perfect and run into a conflict with a chef are just tickets that you have to ring up at the end of the night.

They are just receipts that you have to balance out and make sure add up. Suddenly the man who is upset because his burger took 15 minutes to cook is just a little piece of easily disposable paper that you have to turn into the front office.

Then you're off, you don't have to think about him ever again. Thank heavens!

But sometimes people that you meet along the way are more than just receipts. Which brings me to my new *segment (I like to think of this blog as my own built-in-do-it-yourself talk show, so yeah, we'll call it a segment) called: MORTAR (MORe Than A Receipt) where I reflect on the good guests - anonymous of course - who I come across in my evenings waitressing.

And it's perfect, because a mortar is something you create food in. So it's all good.

Well, today's mortar of late is a woman who was visiting the inn with her husband and son from Rochester, New York. She was in town for a conference we were holding at the inn called the "Throne Zone."

Don't ask me how we started talking about the Lord, but we did. These things just tend to happen. She said she was a "truth-seeker."

"The truth is like a little nugget of gold," she said. "And you have to pan through a lot of dirt before you can find it."

She was so right. Sometimes I feel as though my vision is so clouded by lies. They greatly outnumber what the truth is. And you have to shift through a lot of garbage, lies from the world, from the media - even from that little voice inside you own mind - in order to find it.

But when you find it, it's so valuable.

It's like the show Gold Rush that my friend and I like to watch together. These guys will stop at nothing, even severe illness, to find the tiniest little specks of gold.

We need to be that vigilant in our own search for the truth.

All this realization from serving a beef brisket to a woman from Rochester.

dun-dun-da-duuuuun!

2011-01-31T07:36:00.007-05:00

Seven a.m. wake up call to the soundtrack of Glee - "Forget You." Mornings like this when I've had less than five hours of sleep, my eyes make a very unattractive puffy-squinty combo. This winning combination makes me crabby and adds about fifty years to my face.

But this morning when I rolled over to check my e-mail on my bedside laptop (so unhealthy, I know, and also the reason I got less than five hours of sleep every night), my eyes shot wide open.

Thank you, sweet Amy at the Pink Pony for the award!

So, now I'm supposed to write seven things about myself, then pass the award along to some bloggers whom I also believe are "versatile." Due to my constant procrastination, this might take a while [side note: this post took almost a week for me to finish...see what I mean?]. But it will get done! Promise!

And, guess what? I'm bending the rules again...

I hate writing lists about myself, because it makes me feel very uninteresting. So, I'll write seven things I believe in instead. That okay? Then y'all can draw your own conclusions about me, and I won't have to feel like a boring person when I get to number three and can't think of anything to write.

1. Despite my going back and forth the past year, I believe in God. I believe that He loves me, and that He knows the number of hairs on my head.

2. I believe in having sisters. Biological ones are great (hey, Caro!) - but the ones that you weren't given on purpose are pretty spectacular as well.

3. I believe in coffee. Lots of coffee.

4. I believe in left handedness.

5. I believe in journalistic integrity: writing/showing the absolute truth in a creative way while protecting the underdogs who don't have a voice.

6. I believe nothing pours out more joy than singing.

7. Macs rule, Dells drool.

Happy Monday!

B.

preordered today.

2011-01-28T14:36:00.000-05:00

I think this woman is perfect storm of incredible and hilarious.

Confession? I've begun to wear my dark rimmed glasses more often. Because I want to be incredible and hilarious.

Also, I've watched every episode of 30 Rock. They just keep getting better and better.

I can't wait until April 5th. When that day comes, I will make the necessary means to read this cover to cover. Placing all my priorities aside. Stuff like school work. What a sacrifice that will be...

Thanks for allowing me to indulge a post in my celebrity girl-crush.

Happy Friday!

B.

the king's wife

2011-01-24T15:20:00.000-05:00

"A bell's not a bell 'til you ring it. A song's not a song 'til you sing it. Love in your heart wasn't put there to stay. Love isn't love 'til you give it away."
-The Sound of Music

Pessimism has penetrated my thoughts of relationships the past couple of days. I'm usually a look-at-the-bright-side kind of girl, but the conversations I've been having with people about their current marital status are so discouraging.

Everyone I have talked to has been cheated on. Everyone. Wives, husbands, boyfriends, girlfriends. Everyone at one point or another has been affected by betrayal in their relationships. Even me.

So, I'm watching t.v. with one of my guy friends, and one of the characters on the show cheated on her husband.

Me: [Staring straight ahead, under my breath, to myself more than him] I could never do that...
Him: You say that now.
Me: No, I could never do that.
Him: How do you know?
Me: I just know.
Him: But, you're not married.
Me: Thanks for the reminder...
Him: I'm just saying, you don't know what it's like.
Me: True, but -

Him: You fall into those patterns every day, you get sidetracked, get tempted...
Me: Yeah, I know, but -
Him: It happens to lots of people.

He then went on to cite Biblical examples of women who were unfaithful to their men. Samson and Delilah, anyone?

I told him not to worry, I wasn't going to cut his hair off.

But, shoot. I couldn't argue with him. Especially when he brought the freaking Bible into the debate. He was totally right. Cheating happens to lots of people. It's happened to him. Even people like me who swear from the beginning that they will always remain faithful. Even those who are so concerned with people-pleasing, even the most loyal of friends.

I think this is why this movie was so refreshing. I learned a lot about love and marriage (or just relationships in general) from the King's Speech, watching the character of the Queen. Just watching her character.

The movie begins with her search for a speech therapist for her stuttering husband. She knows exactly what he needs, and she humbles herself on her quest to get it. Abandoning her cushy life in her home, she ventures into the streets, and is treated like a regular citizen.

She meets the therapist (without giving too much away), the protagonist, and treats him as an equal - which is more than what I can say for how her husband treated him.

Throughout the movie, she didn't once raise her voice to her husband or get frustrated and argue with him when he wanted to give up. She stood by him and patiently waited for him to arrive to the decision to stick with his therapy on his own.

She was never ashamed of his failures. She loved him. She was his biggest fan, whether he delivered a perfect speech or stammered and sputtered his words in utter humiliation.

What a beautiful thing.

It made me long to love someone in that way one day. To embody that strength, to be that support, that patient kind, and faithful love that a man, that anyone deserves. I hope I have the capacity and the opportunity to love someone in that way.

If you all are blessed with that opportunity, don't let it go to waste. Be faithful.

B.

I should pay more attention to the pastor

2011-01-23T17:21:00.001-05:00

Sunday afternoon is traditionally a time for the Christian demographic to reflect on what they learned earlier that day in service.

And for napping.

Friends, I couldn't accomplish either of those today. Not even the nap, and especially not the "Godly reflection." Why? Because not one, not two, but THREE infants were wearing these this morning:

To make matters worse, one of them had pierced ears.

Ridiculous.

Don't get me wrong, I am pro-fashion. But this is just exploitation to the max. It's a cute idea in theory, but if your child is too small to sit up on her own, you should probably wait a few years before you begin weighing down your little bundle with gratuitous accessories.

Plus if you start her off now, where will the fun be in trying on her grandmothers black pumps and pearls later on in life? Is nothing sacred?

cork it

2011-01-20T14:30:00.000-05:00

Delight is making ninety dollars off of three tables.

Serving is humbling. Go figure, right? And last night, I felt like Superwaitress. I was singing Don't stop me noooowwww...I'm having such a good time...

I had just sold a $78 bottle of red wine to a three top table. I. Was. Unstoppable.

But, as we all know...what happens when I get a big head? Oh yeah, so put back in my place.

A coworker looked at me and said, "You know you have to present that wine to the table, right?"

"Uh, YEAH," I said with the most sass I could muster. "I have been here four months you know. I have learned something..."

He laughed it off like he thought I was joking. And I do joke a lot. So much that when I'm actually serious people think I'm joking. I wasn't joking. I hate it when people patronize me. I don't joke about patronization.

I grabbed the bottle, and draped a fresh napkin across my arm and headed to the floor to present the wine.

He called after me again, "It's a '99, so be sure the screw goes all the way through the cork."

I smiled and nodded, but inside my head was Grrrrrrrrrr.

So, I bounced to the table presented the wine. The customer gave me the "go-ahead-and-pour" nod I wait for, and so I began to open the bottle and...

And the screw didn't go through the whole cork. I mean, this wine was twelve years old. The cork was brittle, and it broke into pieces in my palm. The worst of it was, a fourth of the cork was left near the bottle's base of the neck.

Whoops.

I panicked and left the table without saying a word. Not like Superwaitress, more like Super-deer-caught-in-headlights-waitress. I grabbed said coworker who was giving me such a hard time and looked at him all like fix it!

Well, the cork fell in the wine. And if you know anything about wine you not only know more than I do, you also know that cork in wine equals bad. It's not only gross, it depletes the worth of the wine itself.

And I had the audacity to be a bucket full of sass to my coworker. What was I thinking?

So, brave coworker goes to explain the situation to the table. And these guys are TOTALLY fine with it. The man suggested an alternative...just pour the wine through a coffee filter. Cork-be-gone!

I took the remainder of the wine to the table and apologized briefly to the gentlemen. The man who ordered the wine looked at me, smiled and said, "I like it better this way, anyway."

You know, we're all kind of like a bottle of wine. We're complicated - at time fragrant (ew) - people. We make mistakes. And sometimes little remnants of cork fall into our lives.

And the best part is, it doesn't mess with our lives or deplete our worth. We are loved and delighted in just the same.

these are the days

2011-01-17T20:28:00.000-05:00

Pure contentment.

Forgive me, faithful friends, for my random drivel, I hope to be lovely and brighten your day.

I'm sitting in my quiet little apartment listening to the Julie and Julia soundtrack, and the rain plit, plit, plit against the large bay window in my living room. I'm currently dwelling on how faithful God has been to me over these last few weeks, despite my confusion.

My apartment is clean, I've just done laundry and read an entire chapter for a class that's not even until Wednesday.

My neighbor invited me over for chicken and noodles. It was so nice to be served. To have the humility to allow someone to take care of my needs and to not always have to be the one to take care of others.

The whole day has been like this. Calming, relaxing and yet stimulating and exciting all at once.

I just keep on thinking about how lucky I am to be pursuing my dreams. To be in a place that encourages my thoughts and goals, and doesn't squelch them, or tell me that I can't do them.

I have to treasure moments like these, because they don't happen very often. Every day, I'm pulled in so many directions. As a journalist I have so many passions and interests that sometimes it's hard to remember who I am beneath it all.

I met on of my friend's fathers last night. I went over to her house to bake pigs in a blanket for a Christmas party with my coworkers. He took one look at me and sized me up immediately:

FF (Friend's Father): You must not watch football.
Me: How do yo know?
FF: You're so feminine.

He also could tell I was left handed and said that left handed people have a problem with consistency. He told me that he is also a lefty, and that sometimes he does wonderful artistic work, and other times it's just not that great.

And I thought to myself, yes. I have that same problem with consistency. There are bad days. The days I get in trouble with my boss for tweeting about the inn, and days when I feel like everyone has some sort of minor critique, something they want to correct about me like my shirt's too wrinkled or my eyebrow is sticking up funny.

But then there are good days. Days like today when I actually believe in myself. Days that I both know and feel like the daughter of the King.

Days when even though it's raining and my I Love Lucy umbrella breaks, life is still so utterly rich and sweet.

Happy Monday!

B.

the games we play

2011-01-15T15:39:00.000-05:00

The Virginia Beach Saturday afternoon. The sky is a precious color blue, and the wind is a mild, yet motivating cold.

My office windows look out on my little neighbors playing cowboys outside. They make me smile, and I find myself longing to get lost in their little world of make believe.

I crunch into my red delicious apple and try to dismiss thoughts of stolen property, the mounds of laundry to wash and chapters about research to read and the note left on my door yesterday saying that my student loans have not come through for this semester's tuition.

A bird is fastening a nest in a crepe-murdle. I watch it hop from branch to branch and can't help but think that's exactly how I'm living my life. Trying to find a balance - flitting from branch to branch, idea to idea, passion to passion, trying to construct a solid and sure me.

I spent the morning with one of my favorite people in one of my favorite places. Barnes and Noble. We, like the bird, wandered from shelf to shelf with our "Starbucks" coffees (his was decaf, mine was real) playing a game my sister and I learned from the Vlogbrothers. Adding "in your pants" to the ends of book titles.

The funniest one we found?

Must you go...

In your pants?

Now, tell me that didn't make you laugh!

We looked through books about canoeing - he expressed to me today that he has an insatiable itch to go camping and to go on a great adventure. And how a lot of men just want a woman to go on the adventure with them.

Then I think about my budding plans for a summer in Jerusalem. I think about that bird right outside my window. I think about my little neighbors playing cowboy. And I think about how we all just want adventure.

I think about how the Virginia Beach Saturday afternoon is an adventure in and of itself, and how content I am to be the full time student slash waitress me on days like today. And how I don't need to play cowboy for adventure in my life. I'm in the middle of it right now.

Happy Saturday!

B.

like an unexpected hot pepper explosion

2011-01-13T13:26:00.001-05:00

Stir fry night. Six hours, three tables, eighteen dollars and one “to go” box full of fried rice and general tso's chicken.

In the end, not very lucrative – I was cut at about 8 because business was pretty slow - but very tastey.

I had been making pretty stupid mistakes all night long. That's nothing out of the ordinary, I was just mindlessly and repeatedly ringing up people for pasta instead of stir fry. No biggie. But it's nights like those I get discouraged - I want to be good at what I do.

One of my coworkers told me I needed to be more mindful.

"Slow down, you're making too many mistakes," he said. "You're moving so fast, just calm down and be mindful."

Yeah. Good advice. Me be mindful. The girl with the frazzled curly hair and kitchen sink full of dirty dishes. Who has time to be mindful when they're a full time student slash waitress?

I pretty much brushed the advice off, and didn't think another thing about it until I got home. I had my "to go" box of stir fry goodness waiting for me, and I was starving. Ten p.m., I was sitting in front of my computer, catching up on e-mails and shoveling my rice all spaazzy, like a kid digging the world's largest hole in really dry sand.

And then, during one of these sporadic fork shoveling excursions to my mouth I happened to look down at my fork...

And there was one of those adorable ("adorable" being code for YEEHAW, LETHAL!)little peppers that if you bite into your tongue will spontaneously combust into volcanic ash. They are really hot. And I was about to chow down on one of those suckers.

Mindlessly.

Let me just say, when I was little I totally bit into one that was in our Chinese food we had ordered. I was all Look, mom! I'm a B.A. eating a pepper, look at me gooooo...woah. WOAH. AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAUUUUUUUUUUUUGGGGGHHHHHH!!!!!!!!!!

I screamed, I cried, I ran around the house, I wiggled my hands. I felt like my face was turning inside out. My mom made me sit down in the living room and stick my tongue in a glass of milk for 30 minutes.

So it's a good thing I stopped myself mid-chow the other night because the milk in my fridge right now is probably expired, and running around my apartment screaming was not an option because my neighbors have small children.

But it's crazy the stuff we can do because we're not mindful.

Dr. Robertson made news again for expressing his freedom of speech.

And though I don't want this to be a forum for arguing about gay rights, or bashing certain outspoken evangelical Christian leaders, I do think it's important that we all slow down and be mindful of the things we say.

Because sometimes even the smallest of our words can erupt. Like a little green pepper hidden in your fried rice.

Happy Thursday!

B.

there is no better excuse for putting off class assignments than filing a police report...

2011-01-10T11:31:00.000-05:00

I woke up this morning with a sense of empowerment. For the first time in ages, I sprung from my sheets, productively made my bed, cranked up the tunes and cleaned my entire apartment.

All before the ripe hour of 8 a.m., and all before coffee was streaming through my blood veins.

Quelle impress!

So I said to myself: Self, let's take a trip to your favorite coffee shop and spend the day reading the five chapters due for discussion in your Evaluation Methods class. Yeah!
(Like a dog in training, I perform better when there is a treat involved).

I threw on my favorite silver flats, grabbed my green Coach purse and headed out the door. Click-clacking away, hair bouncing, I was a confident, tenacious woman. A force not to be reckoned with.

Nothing and no one can get in my way.

Real live lesson learned before 10 a.m. today? Pride comes before fall.

When I got to Georgia (the name of my '97 red Toyota Camry), I realized my car doors were unlocked.

Huh, I thought to myself. Good thing I live in a Christian community where absolutely nothing happens. La-dee-dah!

I sat in the driver's seat and went through my little checklist I've gotten in the habit of running through my head when I first began learning how to drive.

Click the safety belt. Check!
Placed my hands at 10 and 2. Check!
Adjust mirror. Check!
Put keys in ignition. Check!
Turn on CD player. Ch -

Uh...turn on CD player...?

Totally not check.

CD player totally missing from vehicle.

So then I went through emergency checklist for the day.

Call police department to file a statement. Check.
Talk with officer about the nine break ins within the last month in my neighborhood. Check.
Make a joke about a car with a Cowboys decal getting its windows bashed because of all of the Michael Vick fans in the area. (Because I'm the queen of splashing in humor at inappropriate times) Check.
Call dad on the verge of tears. Check.
Go to favorite coffee shop and order extra large emergency coffee. Oh, SO check.

I guess this will teach me not to let my guard down EVER.

It's stuff like this that makes me realize how important the field of communication is. No one ever mentioned anything about the break ins in my neighborhood. If I had known, I would have been a little more careful about locking up Georgia after returning home from my emergency mocha excursion last night...

Anyway...hope y'alls Mondays got off to a better start!

B.

and so it begins

2011-01-09T22:43:00.000-05:00

Ah, procrastination, my late-night friend. It's been two weeks since I've fit you into my schedule. And I tell you what, it feels good to have you back in my life.

Today, I realized just how many assignments I have to complete before my Tuesday classes, on top of waitressing full time.

And instead of chipping away at it, I went to Bojangles with a friend (more on that later, tomorrow, or maybe the day after...), took a nap, watched Legally Blonde, made dinner, and drove to Starbucks to grab an emergency mocha.

I told my friend TJ today that I was just trying to hold on to the hem of freedom for another night before the pressures of graduate school commenced.

I owe that to myself, right?

Even now, I have so many thoughts and ideas running through my head that I can't even put off things productively by writing a concrete blog post.

Rats!

Maybe one day I'll conquer the beast. In the mean time, I bought myself this daily planner...

I get so excited about 2011 because

2011-01-06T12:27:00.000-05:00

...I could be living here this summer.

...and I could be doing this. Like, for real.

Just in that fun little phase between the dreaming and coming true.

shut up and shoot!

2011-01-05T15:07:00.001-05:00

My very good friend Padmakshi (aka Paddy-cakes) and I doing a "before" documentary while we are waiting for our mini-documentary class.

We like our book, because it reminds us of Lilly Moschovitz's cable show "Shut Up and Listen" from the Princess Diaries.

Happy Wednesdays!

there are so many things

2011-01-04T07:49:00.001-05:00

...I should be not be doing right now. Blogging is one of them.

I also should not have stayed up so late and eaten two pieces of Lindt chocolate right before I went to bed. Hello, nightmare city. I keep having this reoccurring nightmare where people I serve at the inn ask me over and over again for cherries. Just plain cherries. Thousands of cherries. We of course don't have any, so I keep having to deliver bad news to all the tables I serve.

I told this nightmare to some of my coworkers and instead of comforting me they started calling me "little cherry." Delightful.

I have about an hour to drink as much coffee as possible before the start of my spring semester at Regent. First (and only, praise!) class of the day? COM 601: Evaluation Methods.

If I have to do any math in this class, I am dropping out. Of school. I don't care if it's a required course. I'll just run away.

Side note: Calling spring semester "spring semester" in the dead of winter is one of the most depressing things ever (see photo above).

Have a wonderful Tuesday!

always a bridesmaid

2011-01-03T15:37:00.001-05:00

...is alright with me. Especially if it's always this much fun. This weekend I had the privilege of walking down the aisle to honor one of my closest and most special friends since the third grade.

She and her fiance wanted to get married on 1.1.11. So cute.

And I will forever be grateful for not being obliged to wait tables on New Years Eve - and for getting to wear a pretty red dress.

And my shoes? Also red. Ruby red. They are safely packed away with the things I'm taking back to Regent with me.

We went to a tres delicious barbecue joint for the rehearsal dinner.

Thank goodness her husband didn't have to carry her across this teeny tiny little threshold. We barely fit through!

Two of my favorite people in the entire world. The bride and T.J.

So, I'm not allowed to post any pictures from the bachelorette party. Something to do with the condoms we made the bride put on every time she mentioned her fiance's name. Which was quite often because his first name is the same as both her brother AND father. Let's just say, she had a few slip ups. But, part of the party was a scavenger hunt. I had to ask five men what their philosophy of marriage was. Aside from the "Forever faithful and never alone" quote by Steven at the top, the world of marriage looks pretty bleak...at least for those of us who didn't get hitched on New Year's day.

The coolest bridesmaids ever. How many wedding parties pretend that their wraps are superhero capes and sing "Hakunah Matata" and "The Circle of Life" while waiting to walk down the aisle?

Kelli, cousin of the bride. She works a Seaworld. She's awesome. 'Nuff said?

The beautiful bride. Who knew that skipping Sunday school to walk to 7-11 could lead to such a wonderful and lasting friendship.

My mom, in charge of hair and makeup for the bride, tried to hijack the veil. Not really.

Hope you all had a happy and blessed beginning to 2011!

east or west?

2010-12-28T12:06:00.001-05:00

"Beloved these are dangerous times, 'cause you're weightless like a leaf from the vine."
-Derek Webb, Beloved

My friend and I were sitting in his little purple hatchback Honda in the longest drive thru line Taco Bell had ever seen. We had just completed a midnight Walmart shopping excursion after we completed yet another long, harrowing pasta night shift at the inn.

An excursion that included me knocking several things off of their respective shelves, talking movies with strangers and checking our blood pressure (his was 117, mine was 126 - I think that's because he was really stressing me out and arguing with me over every little thing...and because I have a heart murmur).

While we were waiting for our food, he looks at me and gets all excited, wants me to hear this song. I looked on his iPod and I see the album "Video Games Live 2" come up. He must have seen me wrinkle my nose, because he said, "Trust me, you'll love it."

It was a song in Swahili, and he was singing along and stomping his feet on the floorboard, keeping a rather spastic time. I asked him if he knew what it meant, to which he replied "It's the Lord's prayer in Swahili."

He was right. I loved it.

He started translating the words and told me that he had been learning Swahili. He told me he has a passion for different languages, and then he said that he wanted to learn some crazy language of some indigenous peoples that I can't remember the name of so that he could go and spread the gospel to people who had never heard it before.

After he disclosed this to me, I smirked at him, thinking I was something sort of clever and teased, "So, what is it? East or West...?"

He looked at me and said with the upmost certainty, "At the center of God's will."

At that moment, I was put into my proper place: feeling about three inches tall and not very clever at all.

How incredible to be so confident in where you are in your life. To be so sure that everything you're doing has a distinct purpose that everything you learn and work for is purposeful.

Half the time I don't know what I want or where I'm going. I feel just as weightless as D. Webb is talking about. Like I've lost my vine, my grounded-ness all of a sudden and I'm just kind of floating along. I mean I know I'm studying broadcast journalism and have a passion for travel. But what on EARTH am I here for?

It gets really frustrating. Not only to me, but to my friends as well. I have this other friend at Regent who is studying to be a counselor. He's constantly asking me questions. Hard questions like, "What do you want, what do you think? What do you want to do?"

To which I run my hands through my hair and hide my face in his chest and say, "I don't know." I'm sure it comes out all muffled. I do that pretty much every time he asks me a question.

It drives him up the wall.

So, what's a girl to do? Just hope that even though I don't know east from west, that wherever I am, I am at the center of God's will for my life.

mary, mary, all but contrary

2010-12-24T12:23:00.002-05:00

I went to bed last night trying to think of ideas for my next blog post.

My worst gifts was what I came up with. Of course I'd turn it around and let everyone know that Christmas is not about the gifts you receive.

But every five-year-old kid remembers getting a package of embarrassing underwear, right?

Anyway, I woke up this morning with my heart so heavy, I couldn't even begin to pretend to be quirky and clever in my writing.

I woke, well, feeling quite sorry for myself, honestly. It's my very first Christmas away from home. I live alone, and most of my friends have vacated to their respective hometowns to be with their families. And if I weren't in the food industry I'd easily be doing the same thing.

And even though I had time to prepare myself emotionally for the absence of the things that make this holiday fun this season, it still feels like I've been orphaned out here. My grandparent's Christmas Eve party has always been one of my favorite things, and I'm missing it to serve draft beers and french fries to strangers. I just couldn't stand thinking that my whole family is going to be having a beautiful celebration this evening without me.

Woe, woe, woe. Big crocodile tears. Crumpled on the floor, praying that my neighbors can't hear my blubbering.

Then I got the kick in the pants I truly needed.

I have so many things to be thankful for. I have a family to miss. I'm not overseas, I'm not in the military. I'm not putting my life on the line by serving tables (most of the time, anyway).

And then I got to thinking about Mary, and how she must have been feeling that first Christmas eve. The eve before the Son of Man was to be born. She was just a mere child.

And I know there is a whole religion that addresses Mary as a Saint, but the truth was, she was incredibly human. She was a woman. She had mood swings. She probably felt like most women feel every day. Inadequate. Like no matter how hard she tries, she can't be good enough, thin enough.

She probably had a hard time keeping her apartment clean.

And while God has never asked me to do anything like, you know, give birth to His son, I can relate to her. I hope. There have been plenty of things He has called me to do in my life that have been challenging. And I always put up a fight.

God, not me. There's no way I'm good enough. There's no way. It's not me. Please don't ask.

But, look how Mary approaches the task the GOD OF THE UNIVERSE laid before her:

"'I am the Lord's servant,' Mary answered. 'May it be to me as you have said.'" (Luke 1:38)

Imagine if we all had this attitude about the things the Lord has called us to do in our lives.

Instead of this:

GOD: Brett, you're going to need to work a full time job in order to support yourself through grad school.
Me: WHY? THIS SUCKS, I'M AWAY FROM MY FAMILY AND FRIENDS. I'M ALL BY MYSELF I'M BURNING THE CANDLE AT BOTH ENDS AND MISSING OUT ON ALL THE FUN STUFF (caps indicate dramatic and exaggerated sobs).

We'd have this:

Me: I am the Lord's servant. May it be to me as you have said. I know you have my greatest interest at heart. I know this education is preparing me for something big and wonderful. I know you don't want me to be slammed with debt upon my graduation.

May it be unto you as the Lord has said this season.

And if my humble blog post was not enough to lift your spirits if you're blue this season, hopefully this PRECIOUS video will (compliments of Miss Becky Honaker):

Merry Christmas, friends.

-Brett Elizabeth

addiction at its best

2010-12-22T13:17:00.000-05:00

The following conversation took place in my living room today. I was on the phone with my "little" from my sorority days.

First, I make the unwise decision to flounce myself onto the couch with a cup of steaming coffee in my hand, fresh from the microwave.

Me: OUCH! UHG, aw man. I just spilled hot coffee all over my lap!
Hannah: Oh my gosh, are you okay?
Me: Yeah, it's just such a waste of coffee.
Hannah:...That's the most psychotic thing I've ever heard you say.

Enjoy your Wednesdays, and keep that coffee in your cup!

-Brett Elizabeth

workjacked

2010-12-22T02:25:00.000-05:00

God bless my coworkers.

It all started when I thought I saw my coworker's green explorer leaving the employee parking lot. This seemed odd, because this particular person usually works the night shift. He had been talking about switching and becoming a morning server lately, and I wondered if he had actually ventured over to the "dark side."

So, imagine my surprise when I saw this particular coworker at the hostess stand five minutes after I walked into the building.

I think the conversation went something like...

Me: Oh, hi. I'm surprised to see you here.
Coworker: Why?
Me: I thought I just saw you pull out of the parking lot in your car.
Coworker: You did? My explorer?
Me: Yeah, it's green, right?
Coworker: Right. Well...I do have to leave one of my doors unlocked. It'd be funny if someone stole it.
Me: Hah, yeah.
Coworker: Uh...actually you've got me freaked. Will you watch my tables while I go outside and check to see if it's still there?
Me: Sure!

Coworker grabs his coat off the rack and heads out the door. I dutifully march into the restaurant and watch over his tables.

And scene.

Fifteen minutes later, I see this particular coworker walking toward me with one of our security guards. He was holding a clipboard and looking very concerned. They were speaking to one another in hushed, reverent tones.

I looked over at him and said breathily, "Noooo!"

Then my coworker looked me square in the eye, and said, "Yeah, it's not there."

That's right. His car had totally been stolen. Right out of our employee parking lot. In broad daylight. I immediately started praying. Oh, dear Lord, please let him find his car! It hasn't been missing that long, maybe one of his friends was playing a joke on him...
Then the security guard started asking me questions. What did the driver look like? What time did you report for work? When did you see the car pull out? What road did they turn on?

I answered each question as best as I could.

Then my coworker broke character and started cracking up. The security guard followed suit.

They totally got me. Something about me, I don't know what it is, makes it fun for people to prank. Oh well. If he ever cries "wolf," I'm totally not helping him. Whatever.

My coworker's car, of course, was fine. And in the two minutes it took to walk from the parking lot to the restaurant, he grabbed the security guard, and they both decided it would be fun to mess with me.

Well played, sir. Well played.

Any creative suggestions that won't get me fired, bloggies? Send them my way!

you might epitomize bridget jones if...

2010-12-21T14:12:00.003-05:00

Any of the following criterion apply to you:

1. Look down. Are you wearing turquoise and brown flannel pajamas that your mom got you for Christmas last year?

2. Are you sipping a cup of earl grey?

3. Are you attempting to knit a turquoise scarf for a fashionista friend for Christmas that you are convinced you will not be able to finish?

4. Are you watching reruns of the Nanny on Nick at Nite?

5. Have you done nothing all day but spend money that you don't have?

6. Have you within the last 24 hours eaten pizza for breakfast, lunch, AND dinner?

7. Do you currently own a copy of "O" magazine?

8. Do you have a recurring dream about Colin Firth?

9. Is your clean laundry scattered across your dining room floor - partially because you neglected to fold it and partially because you don't have a dining room table so your "dining" room is more like your "clutter" room?

10. Do you have dreams worth chasing, which means making a few sacrifices along the way?

Totally Bridget. Singleton extraordinaire.

diversity day

2010-12-21T14:00:00.001-05:00

Most of the time, I have a pretty good attitude about things. Most of the time.

But sometimes, in life, you have to do ridiculous things for money. Like sit through lectures teaching us about our differences and stereotypes. These things I have a hard time having a good attitude about. Especially when they conflict with my plans to skip town and have a long weekend at home with the family.

Oh well, at least I have some entertaining coworkers to fool around with.

So, yesterday I came into work with a grande coffee with a chip on my shoulder and a why-the-heck-am-I-here mentality. Too cool for school. The Swan Terrace people all sat together, joking, laughing under our breaths, sharing gingerbread man cookies with one another (well, they shared theirs with me, because I dropped mine on the floor).

It almost made me miss high school.

So at one point of the two hour lecture, we were all supposed to come down in groups and write generalizations that we've picked up on different demographic groups on these large easels in the front of the room: Mexicans, Arabs, Rich People, City Folk, Country Folk, Obese People, and Homeless People.

When this exercise was over we read them out loud as a class. Some of them were pretty funny, some were things everyone was thinking but no one would ever say.

But one in particular broke my heart.

The people in our class ripped apart the homeless. They wrote things like, "McDonald's is hiring," and that they were "lazy" and an "embarrassment."

And yes, while some were more gentle in their assessment, writing things like "bad luck," and "difficult life circumstances" the good did not outweigh the bad at all.

The HR director stood at the front of the room and asked if any of us could identify with any of the groups posted in front of the room.

One man raised his hand and said, "I was homeless."

For a split second, the room fell silent. We weren't joking any more. He went on to say that, yes, some of the things that were written on the easel were true. Some people were lazy. Some people just can't get their lives together. But there are always exceptions. And he was one of them.

I really walked into this yesterday with the mentality that this was a waste of time. And like many of the groups we generalized, I was quick make assumptions. I think we all learned an important lesson yesterday afternoon.

And the greatest thing? We got paid to learn it.

may your days be merry

2010-12-18T12:14:00.000-05:00

Thanksgiving was a complete disaster.

It was my first holiday spent completely alone. Well, by alone I mean with 20 other coworkers (also, "alone") and 50 guests I waited on. And let me just say, for the record, I was not an angel about it. I woke up that morning with a horrible attitude, thankful for nothing. And I do mean nothing.

My darling neighbor Hope yelled after me as I walked out of my apartment door, strapping on her coat over her flannel pajamas. "Come over for leftovers after work," she said. I could have started bawling right then and there. We have only known each other for a few months, and she was inviting me into her home with her husband and adorable baby boy.

That made my day so much brighter.

The next ten (...eleven?) hours at work several of my friends invited me to spend Thanksgiving with their families. I was so grateful, I thought if such gracious and loving people are continually placed in my life, maybe being out here by myself won't be so bad after all.

I went home to change and wound up falling asleep on the couch at 8:30. Whoops.

So, this Christmas same story. I'm spending it in Virginia Beach with the Founders Inn. No holiday parties with the family. No watching White Christmas, no running down the staircase looking for stockings, no little black dress, no uncomfortable "so, why don't you have a boyfriend?" conversations.

It's enough to make you a complete scrooge.

I just completed my first semester of grad school (with the exception of a project I hope to finish today) and my mind for the last week had been constantly racing. I was running on three hours of sleep, and had absolutely no time to think about God or what He has done for me.

Pitiful, I know.

But yesterday when I was waiting for my grande coffee with caramel flavor in the Starbucks drive thru, the song Silent Night came on the radio. As I listened to the words, this overwhelming "all is calm, all is bright" feeling came upon me.

It was like the Lord was whispering this in my heart. The poor barista must have thought I was having a meltdown when I pulled up to the window with tears in my eyes.

Suddenly, it didn't matter that I would only be home for Christmas in my dreams. All that mattered was the miracle we celebrate at this time of year.

And don't people crave the true meaning of Christmas? Don't they long to forget the distractions and focus on what really matters? Don't they wish for time to reflect on what Christ has done for them?

And guess what? I have that opportunity. And it's...well...surprisingly and against all odds...merry.

wine

2010-12-08T12:52:00.001-05:00

Confession: I know absolutely nothing about wine.

Before I worked in the restaurant industry I didn't even know that white wine is chilled, and red wine is not. Even after three months of working full time, that's about the only distinction I can make between the two.

But while waitressing, my absolute favorite thing to do is present a bottle of wine to a table.

Why?

It's so fancy. And, more importantly/realistically, because I'm a people watcher. Watching people taste wine is about the most fun I've ever had while people watching.

The guest studies the folder with several dozen pages of our selection with a furrowed, studious brow. After a moment, they look up and ask in a very intellectual tone for a bottle of the delicious Barboursville Phileo dessert white, or perhaps the Twisted Old Vine Zinfandel.

I smile, and say, "Yes, right away." Turn, and head to the back of the restaurant where the wine is stored. I retrieve a crisp, white napkin to drape across my arm, grab enough big, hand-blown wine glasses for the table, and the wine of their choice. Before I return to the table, I read the label on the back of the bottle, quickly memorizing the date, and place the wine was stored.

I return to the table, place down the glasses and present the bottle to the man or woman who has ordered:

"Sir (or madam), your 2007 Phileo, from Barboursville, Virginia."

I wait for them to say, "Yes."

I skillfully (oh MAN it took me a long time to get this part down) open my wine key, and twist the squiggly screw into the cork and pry the bottle open. I then pour the wine (label always facing the guest) so that they have just enough to do to the liquid whatever it is people do when they taste wine.

Wait for it...here comes my favorite part.

They (usually) lift the glass to their lips, smell, swirl then tilt the glass forward. They wait a moment, swallow and set the glass down, looking at its sudden emptiness. They then look at me and smile if they are satisfied, and I pour a glass-worth into their cup.

This is why I haven't been posting as many entries lately.

Wait, do those ideas even go together? Oh yes, they certainly do!

See, I like watching people taste wine, because I write and read in the same way. Writing, blogging and reading are all in the same accord. They can't be greedily gulped and sputtered like a Pepsi. You need to take time to sit, ponder and reflect. You need time to be quiet, to retreat inside the place where only you (and perhaps your most intimate friends or partners) are allowed.

The same thing needs to happen with your relationship with God. Perhaps this is why I've been struggling slightly to stay afloat, lately. These things don't come easily, but they come when you wait patiently and quietly for them.

I don't want to produce Pepsi products in any aspect of my life. I want it to be meaningful, something of significance and worth.

great expectations

2010-11-14T21:35:00.001-05:00

I was so excited to go skating with my mom.

She and I watched countless hours of figure skating championships together. I would sit in wonder, staring at the likes of Michelle Kwan and Tonya Harding. They moved with such grace and perfection. To me, they were perfection. As beautiful as white swans gliding across the ice.

But my absolute favorite to watch was Scott Hamilton. He wasn't so much a beautiful white swan as he was a white stallion on the ice. He was young, saucy and always had a fun routine. And here's the deal sealer, making him my favorite figure skater of all time: He always did back flips on the ice. Always.

When the time came for my mom to take me to my friend's birthday party at Skate America - coincidentally my first time on skates - I was convinced that I could do a back flip.

Just like Hamilton.

My mother, bless her heart, never once crushed my dreams. I bragged the entire car ride to the skating rink.

"I'm gunna do it, Mom. Just like Scott Hamilton. I'm gunna flip."

I put on the skates, and wobbled confidently to the edge of the rink. My mom stepped onto the floor before me and held out her hand. I stepped onto the rink.

"Okay, Brett," said my Mom. "Show me your flip."

I froze. I could not move. More experienced skaters were flying by me. I was standing at the very edge of the floor, unable to budge - and certainly unable to do a back flip.

Well, as the saying goes, practice makes perfect. I must have made it around the rink that day without bruising or hurting myself in any way, because the fear of moving is all that stands out to me about that day.

Something similar happened to me the other day.

Here at Regent, I am the editor in chief of the Daily Runner (www.dailyrunneronline.com). I assigned myself to cover the annual Clash of the Titans debate, an event in which famous/outspoken political affiliates come to discuss the state of the nation. This year, Regent hosted James Carville, Laura Ingraham, Henry Ford and Charles Krauthammer.

I said to myself, "I am a seasoned journalist. No problem. I'll go to the event, ask a few people a few questions about their expectations, take notes and in t-minus two hours have a presentable and professional article to show for my hard work."

Oh, so false.

Because when I arrived at said Clash of the Titans debate, all my confidence was gone. I was like that Kindergartner frozen on the skating rink. I was literally hiding behind a large white pillar in the middle of the Communications and Art building. I felt green, so fresh, so inexperienced.

Sometimes, I think we all think like I did on that day. We pick a challenge, we see what others are able to do with ease, and we say to ourselves, "Yeah, I should be able to do that - no problem."

Then the time comes for us to put our words to action and we freeze.

If I had the determination, persistence and skating lessons, I'm sure I could have eventually learned to skate like Scott Hamilton. However, that day was rather discouraging to me. I stuck to dancing. Same challenges, except the floor isn't quite as slick.

However, I do have the determination to make it in the world of journalism. And though others in the industry make it look so easy, I have to remind myself how hard those before me have had to work to get where they are today.

I hope you all will read this and be encouraged to keep your hand to the plow. Even in the midst of discouragement or fear.

In the mean time, here is a video of Hamilton and his famous back flips. Effortless.

2010-11-10T00:10:00.002-05:00

I want to be a part of the world.
I don't want the world to be a part of me.

happy wednesday!

2010-10-27T11:35:00.002-04:00

grad school makes you weird.

2010-10-26T15:40:00.000-04:00

No time for hair styles.

No time to grow a stash. Have to draw them on.

Sometimes I just want to hide. And purposefully avoid opening e-mails.

Anyway, how are y'all doing?

madeline

2010-10-12T00:40:00.001-04:00

"To the tiger in the zoo, Madeline said, 'Pooh-pooh!'" -Madeline

Why do I need to keep learning the same lessons over and over again?

Tonight I felt so completely overwhelmed with so many different aspects of my life. I've been here about a month and a half now, I'm all in. I'm not just testing the waters as a recent post-grad anymore. This is it.

In utter exhaustion I came home from class, sat in my bathroom and cried terrific tears that I had been holding back for so long. Then I went to Barne's and Noble and purchased a $7.99 paperback copy of my favorite childhood story, Madeline. I sat in the children's section despite the shady eyes I willingly received and read it. I decided that I couldn't part the store without it.

After that, a cup of coffee, an oatmeal-rasin cookie (yum!) things were looking up.

I went through my journal and stumbled upon words that I didn't even recognize as my own from Sept. 13th.

Dear Lord,

How utterly sweet it is to be loved by you. I really think in the depth of my heart that I will be able to manage all of this. Through and by you. You are my Lord. You are my all in all in times of peace, in times of struggle. I thank you for the times of peace - but I also thank you for the struggles - because that is when I truly feel your presence. That is how I know your peace is real.

Lord, YOU KNOW BEST and I surrender it all to you. Sometimes I forget that you know beter than I. After all, you are Lord. I am sorry that I get my priorities mixed sometimes. All the times. Every day. But, Lord you are sovereign. You are the famous one. And all this is for you.

Know that I am yours and you are mine. Death shall not part us.

____________

I certainly did not feel this tonight. But knowing that just a few days ago I was in that place is so
c o m f o r t i n g .

It's like becoming familiar with a favorite childhood story. You fall right into where you where when your bright, curious eyes first looked upon the colorful illustrations. When you begged your Dad to read the story over and over again until you were safely asleep, floating on your dreams like bubbles riding breath.

the diva walk

2010-10-06T13:48:00.000-04:00

Just another reason why I love Regent. Here is a classmate strutting her stuff in her new BCBG shoes. We call this strut, the "diva walk."

Have a great week!

-Brett

workin' hard for the joy (so hard for it, honey)

2010-09-30T14:09:00.001-04:00

I run into some very interesting people working in a restaurant. Especially a restaurant within an inn. People are here on vacation: they're here to relax. Therefore they don't just want good food and service, they want to know all about my personal life.

Every day I'm asked questions like "Are you a student?" "Do you have a boyfriend?" "Where are you from?" and my personal favorite "What is 'Brett' short for?" To which I happily reply, "Nothing. Short for 'Brett.' You know, like 'Madonna,' 'Cher,' 'Shakira?' I'm just Brett."

The other night I was asked what my future endeavors are by a law student who was studying in the corner of the restaurant. I told him that I was a grad student in the journalism program, and that so far, I was interested in doing some reporting, or news anchoring.

He looked at me with one of those future-successful-lawyer-smiles. You know the ones I mean? The smiles that seem to say, "I've got you all figured out." Not in a mean way, just as fact of matter.

"You're not going to make any money," he said.
As soon as those words flew from his mouth, I said "That's not what it's all about."

What I really wanted to say was..."So...?"

I'm not afraid of being poor, according to America's standards. Otherwise I'd be living in constant fear. I won't even go into how in some countries, simply owning a car of any make, model or year is a symbol of royalty.

What I am worried about is being poor in spirit.

It has been raining like crazy in Virginia beach today. So much more than cats and dogs - it looks like straight milk is falling from the sky.

This morning I watched as my neighbor from downstairs carried his child in the rain and ran around a tree in the courtyard. The child had this look of utter confusion on his face - the father was hooting and hollering as he made another venture into the rain. His wife laughed and flirtily swatted at him with a dish rag - pretending to be annoyed that he was getting her child wet.

It was a beautiful moment to witness.

That right there. Those moments, full of life in spirit: that's what I would like to be rich in. You, Mr. Future Lawyer, can keep your green paper. I'm seeking after priceless valuables. I'm seeking after joy.

wild at heart

2010-09-28T12:22:00.002-04:00

"Safe? Who said anything about being safe? 'Course he isn't safe. But he's good."-C.S. Lewis

Lately I've been dwelling on the differences between men and women. I know, I know, there's an original thought. I've spent the past few days reading John Eldridge's Wild at Heart - and let me just say, I'm in love.

I, along with hundreds of thousands of other Christian, twenty-something women, have read Captivating (a book about the woman's heart, written by Eldridge and his wife Stasi), but never had I tried to unveil for myself what was happening "on the other side of the tracks" - so to speak. Captivating was easy.

I've grown up knowing that I want to be loved, that I want to be beautiful. I was the little girl with long, curly hair twirling in her favorite, poofy dress. They nailed it. Perfectly pinpointed the desires of my heart.

But, men on the other hand, what's more a man's heart? Never quite wrapped my mind around it, or even made the effort to figure it out. But the difference was displayed for me quite plainly a few weeks ago.

A friend and I met in the Regent Village laundry room one evening (he was reading Captivating by the way --- which, I confess is partially what persuaded me to purchase Wild at Heart after I saw him earnestly trying to understand the opposite sex). It was a beautiful night, so a walk around the apartment complex was definitely in order.

We'd been walking, wandering, for about an hour when we saw this beautiful fox come running toward us. I was in awe, I had never seen a fox in person before. We stood very quietly, as the fox ran gracefully, ever-near.

And, here, right here, is where I discovered the difference between men and women. Are you ready?

My first reaction to the fox was girlish delight: "Oh my GOSH! Look! A fox!"

His first reaction to the fox was skepticism/caution: "Stand back," he said as he outstretched his arms. "He could be rabid. If he comes any closer, I'm going to pick you up and put you over the chain-linked fence."

I just stood there, quite stupidly, my usual demeanor. I was in shock. It was just a fox. But he saw a potential threat, and his immediate reaction was to protect.

He clapped his hands together. The loud snap echoed and bounced off the walls of the apartment buildings and frightened Mr. Fox away. I smile when I think about that brief moment that interrupted our walk that night.

It is that, that protection, that thrill of danger, that I am discovering through reading this book. What's more, I'm also learning about the "wild" side of God. It's challenging to think about, especially since all of these years he's been the nurturing, blessing-giving God. I've never really thought that I served an adventure-seeking, dangerous, thrilling Lord.

This should be the start of a pretty big adventure.

-Brett Elizabeth

still and free

2010-09-24T12:34:00.001-04:00

You're a thief in the black night
you burst into my being
the shattering of crinkling glass
beneath the weight of cowardice toes.
You tip-toe on the line of faith
and step into the fervor.
Arguing vague rules of right.
Defending wrathful wrongs.

The heat of your breath
drips thick and slow --
its the flickering wick
on a slender candle,
it's the suffocating humid air
that breaks into my lungs.

You make me still and free.

***

Well, friends. It's been a while. No apologies, just excuses. But I won't bore you with them here. Let's just say with the changing of the seasons marks a very challenging, stressful, joyful --- and yes, wonderful time in my life.

There is nothing like the feeling of wonder when you feel as though you are truly following the will of the Lord. I'm here. I'm wandering the halls of a calling, something beautifully constructed just for me, before I was even spoken into being.

"With this in mind, we constantly pray for you, that our God may count you worthy of his calling, and that by his power he may fulfill every good purpose of yours and every act prompted by your faith."
-2 Thessalonians 1:11

Brett Elizabeth

here are a few of my (new) favorite things

2010-09-01T18:34:00.003-04:00

1) Watching things grow. I can't have a pet in my new apartment, so I'm one of those "plant ladies" now. As you can probably tell from the seeds, these will be sunflowers.

2) Mums (JMU mums to be more specific). Their upkeep is easy, and HELLO, they're purple and gold. I got them for $4.99 at the local Farm Fresh.

3) Every year I come back from the Dominican Republic with a new obsession. The first year it was mangoes. Last year it was mariposas (butterflies). This year I have added the avocado to my list. The ones I pick out from the Farmer's Market will never be quite as good as the ones we plucked off the trees in Santo Domingo.

4) Visitors from home. Even when brief. There's nothing like a good soul-bond session with the girls that you love to put things into perspective.

5) Big Sam's Inlet Cafe and Raw Bar
Now, I don't know if anyone of you has ever experienced a mouthgasm before. This restaurant got my taste buds off. I had the best crab cake sandwich of my life there. Their fries were pretty superb too. It's right off I-264 and is located on the waterfront. I strongly suggest checking out this local hot spot if you are ever in the Virginia Beach area.

6) Public speaking. Who knew?

7) Finally, the people at Regent. Today I played ping-pong for a solid half-hour with a freshman boy that I had never met. Where else on earth could anyone do that? I think there is a feeling of security knowing that everyone here has something very important and special in common.

What are some new fun discoveries you've made?

accidents welcome

2010-08-29T13:48:00.000-04:00

When you're living in a new place by yourself, you can't anticipate anything but the fact that you will make mistakes. You'll spend over your budget, you'll miss the exit for I-264, you'll sit in the wrong classroom on the first day of school for ten minutes.

I feel like through these little "whoopsies" I've made the past week or so I've been here, I've learned so much about myself. My perfectionistic tendencies have been crushed. I'm allowing myself to make mistakes. I've even welcomed them, and grown bold from them. So freeing.

For instance, this morning I decided to wake up at 7:30 a.m. to try to make it to First Presbyterian Church for their 9:30 a.m. service. I plugged the address into the navigation system on my phone (which I subscribed to for such a time as this). I diligently got ready and left the house at 9 a.m., plenty of time to make it to the service and shake hands with a few members.

Though, I got off the exit of I-264 and turned onto Atlantic Avenue, just like the GPS said, and was directed to a public parking lot.

So NOT church.

By this time, it was already 9:45 and all hope of making it to this, apparent, ghost church was lost. I decided to park my car and take a stroll down the boardwalk. I was frightfully out of place with my white capris and lime green shirt. Everyone who passed me seem to ask with their eyes, "Where'd you leave your swimsuit, sweetie?"

And as I was walking along with my Coach purse, my faithful companion in these times, I thought I heard the beginning chords of "Let God Arise."

Yes - it was! One of my favorite worship songs was being played right in Neptune Park. Hundreds of locals were gathered in their flip flops and beach chairs.

So, I didn't make it to church this morning. But, I did make it to a beach-side worship jam. And you know what? It was so much better than I had planned!

Let's all make some good accidents this week! What mistakes have you made recently that you've been thankful for?

when the goin' gets tough

2010-08-28T21:46:00.000-04:00

The tough goes to Sandbridge.

This is a beach up Indian River Rd. Literally twenty-five minutes from my new apartment.

That is a nice stick. *If you get that reference, you are the best!

There has been a lot of Frank Sinatra on my playlist lately.

No beach trip is complete without an Anna Quindlen novel and my Wizard of Oz journal.

My favorite flip flops (that have been lost all summer in the back of my closet) are back in commission!

As you can see, I'm very stressed out. Please disregard the MASSIVE pimple.

all this and no popcorn?

2010-08-15T14:12:00.000-04:00

The flight from Charlotte, North Carolina to Richmond, Virginia is approximately forty minutes long.

However, the passengers on flight 1022 at 8:10 p.m. experienced a phenomenon not yet experienced by those grounded this fine evening. Time warp.

I swear, my flight was forty HOURS long.

Why? Because I was sitting in the back of the plane, sandwiched between "Opie" and "the Fan Man" (that's seriously how they introduced themselves to me). Opie looked like, well, a 16-year-old Opie from the Any Griffith Show. Gangly, red hair, the works. What was the most disheartening was that he didn't know from whence his nickname came. What is WRONG with American teenagers? Anyway, "the Fan Man" acquired his nickname in the security check (the check-point-Charlie, as my grandmother calls it). Apparently he brought a fan with him on the trip and he was checked by security. There you go.

They were part of a boy scout troupe on their way home from a six-day boating excursion in Florida. I knew they were going to be trouble from the moment I saw them. They were a group of eight people hurdling down the aisle toward me in their army-green t-shirts.

As the old saying goes, "if you can't beat 'em, join 'em." There was much teasing and guessing of ages involved. I'm sure they would have been a fun group if I weren't so drained from leaving my family and sitting in an airport by myself for three hours*.

During the respective forty hour flight, one of the guys asked me if I were a Christian. Random. I said yes, and a delightful but brief conversation ensued. As he was telling me that he was an Episcopalian, he pulled out a Mountain Dew. His buddy saw this and asked for a swig. They took turns sipping from the bottle.

It was in that moment I began to mentally create a list of things that Christian guys like. Prepare for some horribly stereotypical observations.

You just might be a Christian guy if...

1. You have an obsession with Mountain Dew or any other green soda beverage in the Mountain Dew family (i.e. Surge, Vault, Mountain Dew Blueberry Blast, etc.). The 7-11 Slurpee variations of these sodas also apply.
2. You consider the Bacconator the greatest piece of culinary artwork ever created.
3. You own a frisbee that glows, sparkles, talks, sings, whistles, what have you.
3b. You frequently play ultimate frisbee with your buddies.
4. You own a pair of Vans, or TOMS.
5. You have ever participated in a "Texas Pete" competition. Ladies, this is when the guys will take turns swigging from a hot sauce bottle. I've seen the aftermath, believe me...not pretty.
6. You play poker.
7. You own a hackey sack.
8. You collect Star Wars action figures.
9. You have ever sold popcorn or helped an elderly woman cross the street.
10. Play basketball. In real life, or in video games. Also if you play video games. Not necessarily sport-related ones.

Girls, can you think of any I missed?
Guys, feel free to create a list of your own for girls. Be nice.

Note: Participating in all or none of the above activities does not automatically make or break a Christian guy. These are just commonalities that I've noticed over the years. Of course, you're only a true Christian guy if you have accepted Christ into your heart. Just thought I'd clear that up. :)

*I did, however, run into a girlfriend from my old ballet dancing days. It was so great to catch up with her. She was sitting in first class though, and of course I was in D-25, the second to last row in the plane...

2010-08-11T00:00:00.014-04:00

Audrey Hepburn calls it "the mean reds."

It's when you feel like the skin wrapped around your body might explode from pressure or frustration. It's an inexplicable phenomenon that could be attributed to PMS - although I've known many-a-fellow to experience it too.

You're angry or restless for no good reason.

The other night, I had the "mean reds." I couldn't tell you why. I was just in a mood.

Then my mother (bless her heart) came trouncing into the dining room where I was working on a few job applications. She said, "Brett! You need to go check out the sunset."

I probably just grunted an "I'm-too-busy-to-look-up-from-what-I'm-doing-to-talk-to-or-acknowledge-you-plus-I-have-my-earphones-in-and-I-can't-hear-you" manner. Pffffffft. Sunsets. I don't have time to look at the stupid sunset.

Five minutes later I sprinted up to my room, grabbed my camera and started snapping away in the rain.

Why?

Because the sky looked like it had the "mean reds" too.

I stood out in the pouring rain for a solid thirty minutes taking pictures. And pretending like I wasn't deliberately walking in puddles.

You should never be too busy to look at the sunset.

my formerly white pants

2010-08-08T17:20:00.001-04:00

"For I have the desire to do what is good, but I cannot carry it out. For what I do is not the good I want to do; no, the evil I do not want to do—this I keep on doing. Now if I do what I do not want to do, it is no longer I who do it, but it is sin living in me that does it."
-Romans 7:18-20

Someone who is as clumsy and has as big of a caffeine addiction as I should not invest in a pair of white pants (even if you did get them on sale at New York & Company for $14.99 - I love them, check 'em out here. Not sure why the price online is so much more expensive than what I paid in store).

Of course, as the universe would have it, my new, crisp, formerly white pants suffered some spillage this morning from my venti-iced-caramel-coffee. That's right. VENTI.

I'm not a gal for cursing, but I assure you I came very close when the catastrophe happened. I think the words that came out went something like, "SHAAAA-FFFFFFFFF-NOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!"

Note: Venti coffees, though great for a early-morning pick-me-up and the stock of Starbucks, Inc., are a) bad for the economy. Nearly five bucks! Woof! and b) bad for the wardrobe and should never be slurped in the car. And certainly never slurped while both legs occupy cute, new trousers. This brief interruption brought to you by hindsight.

This summer, my youth group decided to tackle the Screwtape Letters by C.S. Lewis. It's a faith-challenging and intellectually stimulating work of fiction that looks into the lives of two demons trying to fuddle in the affairs of Christ-followers. I've learned that there are many ways that the enemy will try to mess up Christians in their walks.

The book focuses on a man who has been redeemed in his life through Christ. The challenge of the demon assigned to him was to make him fall into the same patterns in his life that he was before he became a Christian.

And isn't if funny that as Christians, it seems that we fall deeper and harder into sin than ever before when we commit our lives to Christ? It seems as though the "cleaner" purer if you will, your heart has been made while following the Lord, the more susceptible you are to dribbling on your new white pants...er...redemption.

And then the whole word stares at the metaphorical stain on your pants and knows that you had a clumsy moment in your life. And calls you a hypocrite.

Moral of the story? Venti iced coffees, white pants and driving on the I-95 do not mix. However, don't let it stop you from enjoying a grande white chocolate mocha later in the afternoon. Just wait until you're in your home and in jean shorts before enjoying.

you want the moon? just say the word, I'll throw a lasso around it and pull it down.

2010-08-08T10:21:00.001-04:00

"The time has come for closing books. And long last looks must end. And as I leave, I know I'm leaving my best friends. Friends who taught me right from wrong and weak from strong. That's a lot to learn. What can I give you in return?"
-To Sir, With Love

I feel as though the gap between the past and future is beginning to merge. This weekend was a sweet reminder of where I've come from. It also gave me inspiration to hold my chin up high as I venture into this new chapter of my life.

It taught me that no matter how much time passes, nothing changes. Not really.

No matter what happens or how much time passes, I know that my friends will always love me. That they will make me laugh harder than anyone I know. That we share a special bond that nothing, not even time, can sever.

It was a good, freeing reminder.

Thank you.

here we go one more time...

2010-08-04T23:05:00.000-04:00

small fish, big pond

2010-08-03T20:36:00.001-04:00

"Sometimes I believe that I can do anything. Yet other times I think I've got nothing good to bring. But, you look at my heart and you tell me that I've got all you seek. And it's easy to believe..."
-Free to Be Me, Francesca Battestelli

My little brother's fourteenth birthday was this past Sunday. One of his friends gave him these beads that
g r o w into fish in this tank. He had the most fun watching them grow over a couple of hours.

What can I say? We Wilsons are rather easily amused.

And I got to thinking (I always get to thinking) about fish and their environments. I heard somewhere along the way that a fish can never outgrow its tank. It's body can sense how big its living arrangements are, and will actually stunt its own growth in order to adapt to its surroundings. Goldfish can actually be pretty huge. I didn't know this, but it seems to make sense. Gosh, those little guys are smart.

I've been stressing out about my own living arrangement, recently. I learned that there are no vacant spots in my grad school's "graduate" dorm - so I've been given a room in a residence hall that is dedicated to couples that are married and have children.

Great.

Nothing against married couples. Or children. I was just looking forward to bonding with some other singles. Cue Beyonce, ya know (wa-uh-oh-oh-oh-oh...)?

And sometimes, the thirty-two thousand dollar student loan that I took out to pay for my tuition year just seems a little steep. Well, "steep" if "steep" were code for: OH MY FREAKING GOSH HOW IN THE WORLD AM I GOING TO DO THIS?!

But then I remember the fish. That's right, the fish had a point. Swim this way. I think all little fish are intimidated by their big ponds. And that's just what I am. This little baby fish, is entering the great void of the big pond. A fish who was used to having someone sprinkle her food to the top of the tank is now entering the unknown.

My point is this: If you don't have moments in your life where you are intimidated by your new location, job, life circumstance, you will never have the opportunity to grow. You will just be a blubbering, teeny goldfish, swimming around in a bowl. See what I mean?

(Forgive me for taking this analogy waaaaaay too far. I've had a lot of coffee).

Maybe this...

2010-08-02T16:19:00.001-04:00

...will help me keep up with this better. Blogging from iTouch. So tight.

dear ali,

2010-08-02T14:20:00.000-04:00

I hope you make the right decision. Even though I secretly hope that you don't, so that I can spend some quality time with him...

Best,

Brett

bring me that java-joy

2010-08-01T23:41:00.001-04:00

Is there a line that can be drawn between "quirk" and "addiction?" Because, something tells me that I am dangerously teetering on the edge of the two. Eh. I'm not too worried about it, I guess.

One look at this mammouth cup, and all of your hopes and dreams will come true.

Okay, not really.

But, you gotta admit...there's nothing like a "Coffee Date for the Student's Soul." Now, there's a New York Time's Best-Seller.

I am particularly under-caffeinated and have spent way too much money within the past couple of days. That's why this post is so short.

Actually, this post is short because I had a great idea for a post while I was taking a nap, and when I woke up I couldn't remember it. True story.

Maybe if someone bought me that 'mongous cup o' joe featured here, I'd be able to write some entertaining prose. Until then, you'll just have to wait until the creative-dream-thing happens again and I can actually remember what it was I was going to write. Thanks!

I'm just a summer girl

2010-07-31T19:11:00.002-04:00

"Forget the former things, do not dwell on the past. See? I am doing a new thing. Do you not perceive it? I am making a way in the desert, and streams in the wasteland."
-Isaiah 43:18-19

I will forever be thankful for my girlfriends.

Last night, I headed into some shady territory. Nothing major, I was just a little wary of running into someone who had a hand in breaking my heart a long time ago. Ages ago. And though everything is fine now, and I consider myself to be "over it," there was still a little piece of me that was deadly anxious.

Not scared, by any means. Just anxious. Like only girls can be. You know how girls can be.

And would you believe I did see this person out of the corner of my eye when I pulled up at this ice cream shop last night. They were sitting alone, quietly. I hopped out of the car, and before I knew it my dear friend had linked her arm in mine and whisked me away.

I didn't even have time to make polite conversation with this person. Bless my friend's heart, she didn't want to see me hurt so badly, that she wasn't even going to give this person an iota of a chance to mess with my mind/heart.

And as I thought about it later that night over my humongous coffee ice cream (in a waffle cone, the ONLY way to eat ice cream, in my opinion), I realized that it was me who got the better end of the deal. Yes, this person did hurt me years ago. And a lot of people would say that this person "won" the game of "love and war" that we played. But, I was with two of my best friends having the greatest time. That was not something that I was able to do a few years ago.

My relationship with Christ has been nearly identical to that experience. I have been blessed by His protection in so many ways. Sometimes, I feel him saying, "No, Brett, no. You're not even going to entertain this for one mili-second. Don't go down that road. You're not going down that road."

He doesn't want to see me hurt. He wants to protect my heart and mind from the crazy thoughts girls tend to entertain. It is so visible how the Lord uses things and people in my life to draw me nearer to him, and to "forget the former things."

I am so thankful.

the humble

2010-07-30T10:49:00.002-04:00

"Now that I have seen, I am responsible. Faith without deeds is dead, now that I've held you in my arms."
-Brooke Fraser, Albertine

*this post has officially taken me one solid week to write because I am perpetually interrupted/don't have the strength of mind to effectively say what I need to say. Still not sure my point is getting across. Sorry.

It's no secret that I am a fan of the fantasy. Musicals have always been my thing. Something inside of me peaked with curiosity when I was a little girl. I remember the first time I ever saw Julie Andrews sing "Just a Spoonful of Sugar." Where did that music come from? For days, I wondered why when I sang, there was no orchestra to orchestrate.

Now, of course, I've learned that there is no magic music that begins when someone special starts to sing. That Ms. Andrews was lip syncing to a track she had previously recorded. It just didn't appear out of nowhere. I've had to settle for the music inside my head when I burst out into song in public. Which does happen. Frequently.

It's fine.

And though, I frequently am caught red-handed daydreaming, there's something convicting about my constant desire to escape to a make-believe world. Why am I always in the sugar-coated "lala land?" Especially when John Piper is screaming for me to "[Not] Waste My Life," and our time on this earth is fleeting and blah blah blah. I probably shouldn't "blah, blah, blah" scripture. Yaddah, yaddah, yaddah (?).

So, while I was in the Dominican Republic, I prayed that I would be exposed to the raw reality of this impoverished (in the physical, and spiritual sense of the word) country. And boy was I ever.

The people in the Dominican Republic do a splendid job of putting up a front. They have beautiful tourists attractions, smooth-as-marble beaches, and ocean water that is as clear as glass. I spoke to a girl in the airport who was returning home to California from the Dominican. I asked her why she was there, and she plainly said, "for vacation."

Nothing against vacationers. I like vacation. But I was sad for her. Sad that she never got to experience the love of Christ through the reality of the impoverished land.

In our "Los Humildes" location one morning, there was this little boy who have suffered serious burn wounds. He was playing with gasoline, and he caught fire. He was scorched from head to toe, and couldn't even extend his arms out fully, due to the burns. We embraced him, kissed him, prayed over him. I turned my back to him and cried. I didn't want him to see how the reality of his life struck my heart.

I felt like in that moment, in that place, I was awoken to reality. And it was very hard. And it was very convicting. Our team witnessed several other very real things that the Dominicans face every day. Some of my teammates saw a child get run over by a bus in the middle of the street. We were exposed to the huge and abundant droplets of rain that the D.R. sees every rain season.

We were also told by the people that we witnessed to that they were either, a. Not Christians, b. Going to Hell, or c. Going to Heaven because of the good deeds they were doing.

Never in my years prior to this trip had I ever experienced such honesty from people when they were confronted about their faith. The Dominican culture is such that people will do and say anything to please everyone.

But, for once, everyone was real with us. It was a complete answer to prayers.

good news, bad news

2010-07-20T13:37:00.001-04:00

"You make beautiful things, you make beautiful things out of the dust. You make beautiful things, you make beautiful things out of us."
-Logan Martin Band, Beautiful Things

Everything is so simple in the Dominican Republic. The people of this astoundingly beautiful place are easy to love and cherish. They don't complicate things.

They have the sweetest, juiciest, almost coco-nutty pineapples (and don't even get me STARTED on their mangoes) because they are planted and purchased from the same place. They don't complicate their coffee with too much sugar (they don't dilute it with water either, making it thick, rich and sweet). More importantly, they don't complicate their lives with excessive possessions, or by being too busy. They don't have the opportunity to.

Christ's message is simple, in and of itself. These words that we worshiped together every night under the beautiful tiki hut remind me of this. When we shared the gospel with the people of Santo Domingo, we presented it as "bad news, and good news."

The bad news: All have sinned and fallen short of the glory of God. This sin separates us from God. There is nothing in our power that can release us from this sin. Nothing in this world that we can do to rid ourselves of it.

The good news: God love us, and takes care of us. He sent His son to die for us, offering us eternal life. If we confess with our mouth and believe with our heart that He is Lord, we are promised eternal life.

And there it is, the Gospel. Plain, simple, uncomplicated.

SO the opposite of how I feel right now.

The good news? I'm back from the Dominican Republic. Spent time with my amazing church and Dominican families. We all are so close when we are working together. Tengo gozo commo una fuete. My heart feels so full of life, love and promise. We made it back safely, and we all shared an amazing, life-altering experience that we are surely never to forget. Some great blogging material also surfaced, and that's (hopefully) what I plan to dedicate this week to (I don't really know if that's good news for any of y'all but, it's good news for me, anyhow). Further, I always felt like I didn't have an interesting story to tell, or anything of substance to write for a story. Now, I do. I don't know if it will ever pick up off the ground, but I've been inspired nonetheless.

The bad news? I'm back from the Dominican Republic. I left behind another piece of my heart. I also left behind my brand new camera that I bought solely for this trip and have no pictures (I did, however, find my camera in the first carry-on bag I packed before I switched "everything" over into a bigger bag. I swear, I'm so absent minded I could scream). I won't see my Dominican family for a year. My church family spreads apart over the year.

Less importantly, but still very bad news: American coffee stinks.

All things being said, it was a wonderful and convicting trip. Those wild horses will have a heck of a time trying to keep me away next year!

quien so yo?

2010-07-09T14:21:00.003-04:00

"I won't find what I am looking for
if I only "see" by keeping score. 'Cause I know now you are so much more than arithmetic. 'Cause if I add, if I subtract...If I give it all, try to take some back...I've forgotten the freedom that comes from the fact that you are the sum. So you are the one I want."
-Brooke Fraser, Arithmetic

Let me begin by saying, I cannot believe it is that time of year again. The time when I pack my big purple suitcase (lovingly named "Barney") and head for the Dominican Republic.
The time when I try to cram as much broken Spanish into my vernacular as possible so that I may at least partially participate in this ministry. The time when I wish with all of mi corazon (see? I do try!) that I could relish the rest of my life in rich missions. That I would be anointed by my Lord to spread love and life to other nations. To be a blessing to His Kingdom.

A whole year has gone by.

This trip is my yearly wake-up call. And even though I have experienced the beauty of this country and their loving and welcoming hearts twice before, these experiences are shamefully easy to be swept away in the depths of my mind. Only to be dwelt upon when I am in the purest of places (which, by the way, is still not so pure, and not so often).

Perhaps lessons from the Lord are like lessons in arithmetic. And, arithmetic is something that I struggle with. never was good at math. I was strictly a literary baby. I forget. I forget algorithms. I forget sin and cosin. Even on occasion, I forget the most basic multiplication tables. I'm sure that if I drilled them into my hopeless brain, I would remember their use and purpose. But, I mean, why were calculators even invented if we weren't allowed to forget these things?

But there is no calculator for God. You can't cheat your way through your lessons. You can't take an easy way out. These lessons I have learned can't be forgotten. The must not be forgotten. The must be drilled into my mind and my heart so that I may be reminded each day I wake up that I am a child of God and that I am seeking His glory and renown, not my own.

I'm just thankful that I have the privilege of being reminded of this annually. I'M SO EXCITED!

Blog ya later!

rise and sing*

2010-07-05T11:18:00.000-04:00

You manipulate the keys well
beneath your nimble fingers.
The melody is pure and bright
a carousel against the backdrop of night.
It's the fall of rain on a sticky summer sidewalk.
And the light that breaks my morning eyes;
the color that makes them swim and dance.

And I've seen the dark of your heart.
The heart that floats and bubbles on the water,
like trash that finds each other.
Its murky maker hides, sinister.

I pray that you learn to throw your voice to the sky.
That you shout to the clouds
That it echoes among the fresh, crisp blue.

That your wounds rip away.
That your scars vanish.
That what remains is truth.
Only the most pleasant and risen tune.

*for CSAS

happy fourth!

2010-07-04T19:43:00.000-04:00

"To the oceans white with foam."
-Best line from God Bless America, also fitting because I just got home from the beach. More on that later, I hope.

Oh dear blog, we have so much to catch up on.

It's so hard to keep something up when you feel like you have no readers and that no one really cares. Sustaining something that is purely for your own enjoyment, a little treat for the end of your stressful day, tends to take the back seat of the priority carpool.

But then, I think about nations of people who don't have the privilege to say what they mean and want to say (did NOT want to quote John Mayer there) and to publish it instantly. Even if they do have that privilege, perhaps they're fearful of persecution.

I'm sitting in my air conditioned den, typing on a machine, afraid of nothing. Well, nothing having to do with what my words might mean to the government or something crazy like that.

Anyway, sorry I've shoved you into the trunk of my little "priority carpool."

And HAPPY FOURTH OF JULY EVERYONE! Eat a burned hot dog for me!

the faja, you know, the dad

2010-06-20T09:48:00.000-04:00

"Fathers, be good to your daughters. Daughters will love like you do."
-Daughters

To the man who never fails to show me how much I am loved and how beautiful he thinks I am. To the man who, every year, would stuff straw in his flannel shirt to escort a Dorothy in little red, plastic shoes as Scarecrow from door to door on Halloween. To the man who plays hymns most every Sunday morning on our piano.

To the man who loves his Venti (iced or regular) coffee from Starbucks and his Tootsie-Roll pops. The man who dips into the pool every night without fail.

He's the man who taught me everything I know about technology and literature. The man who can kick everyone's bootay at scrabble, and crossword puzzles. He's the one I incessantly quote Seinfeld to. The one who puts up with my crazy musical singing, and came to every single Into Hymn concert. He cheered loudest for the Duke Dogs.

He's the man who loves the Lord and leads our family in a simultaneous fearless and hysterical manner. I love you, Dad.