There’s something monumental about finishing a diary.
Yesterday I wrote the final entry in a diary I’ve been keeping since last September. I usually try to end each diary with something poetic about life–how much it’s changed and how far I’ve come. This time I scribbled about mortality and thankfulness and then wrapped it up with a paraphrase of the verse on its front cover.
And now these three remain:
Faith, Hope, and Love.
But the greatest of these is love.
(1 Corinthians 13:13)
I hope that my diary embodied that verse in some way, even if only a little.
Many of the memories in my diary wouldn’t seem momentous to others. A lot of the entries are just about plain old life, people, and thoughts, and trying to sort it all out. But my diary isn’t for others to read (I dread the thought!). It’s personal. And that’s what makes it special.
I sometimes relinquish the task of writing in it. There are times when I either don’t know what to say, how to say it, or even whether I should say it. But somehow my pen always finds its way back to those blank pages. My diary knows more about me than I would like to know about myself. It holds more mysteries than I can solve. It’s not perfect, but that’s what makes it beautiful.
By keeping a diary, I’m telling myself something important. I’m admitting that life is not only worth living, it’s worth remembering.
“There is no such thing in anyone’s life as an unimportant day.”
–Alexander Woollcott
A bouquet of broccoli and Brussels sprout shoots from our thoughtful neighbor–It made my day.
I love the world outside my window.
Every day the sun rises and then sets again. Every year the seasons change–spring, summer, fall, and winter. Every few seconds we breathe in air and then exhale carbon dioxide. It’s all a routine. A continuous loop. We don’t often think about this loop. It’s as natural to us as…well…breathing. But whether we realize it or not, this routine gives us a sense of security.
Yet the world around me is so much more than a monotonous machine. It abounds with personality, quirkiness, and mystery.
It’s a world of patterns and paradoxes. Questions and answers.
It’s a world of unity and diversity. Simplicity and complexity.
It’s a world of countless shades of color. Countless angles. Countless songs being sung at the same time.
And what a privilege it is to live in it. To hear the birds sing the songs that God composed for them. To see the mother holding the baby that God has given her. To feel the sun shining down on me. To taste the salty sea.
To live is to be surrounded by God every moment of every day.
This is the world we live in.
Our Father’s World.
“The earth is the Lord’s, and all it contains.
The world, and those who dwell in it.
For He has founded it upon the seas.
And established it upon the rivers.”
Last Sunday found my family and me at Mount Cheaha State Park with some friends. Even though we were at the highest point in Alabama–2,413 feet above sea level–it was still a warm day.
It was October the last time I was at Cheaha, so the change in season was even more obvious to me. This time the sun was shining in the clear blue sky and the trees displayed their bright green leaves. Children splashed in the lake. There was no need for jackets anymore. Spring had made its arrival on Mount Cheaha.
We hiked the Blue Trail, a steep one mile trek up Mount Cheaha. I heard the peaceful sound of the gurgling creek running alongside the trail. It blocked the path at one point and we stepped on rocks to cross it. There were many trees down, due to the ice storm of a few months back, but the trail had been cleared well enough.
Despite the canopy of treetops above us, the air was still warm on the trail and everyone was sweaty by the time we reached the top. I kept thinking of my older brother who recently ran a 50K up Mount Cheaha. His race ended with the trail we were hiking. I realized once again how crazy–and amazing!–my big brother is.
The view from the top was beautiful, as always. We could see the rolling mountains in the distance, the lake where we had started, and the vast range of treetops that someone said reminded them of broccoli. We saw the small waterfall that the creek descended from. My dad splashed me with a bit of the cold water. A cool breeze finally swept the stagnant air. That felt good. Very good.
After hiking back down, we chilled out while the kids splashed in the lake and built sand castles on the small beach. Three of us gently swayed on a lovely, but partly-broken bench swing and chatted. The boys entertained us with their castle fights, and my little sister entertained us by acting as the mediator: “Guys! Stop fighting and work on your castles!” But evidently making castles wasn’t nearly as fun as destroying them, so the war raged on.
Time slipped by, and as we finally left Cheaha, it seemed as if we had been on a mini vacation. Just for an afternoon.
I suppose I don’t post many fictional stories on this blog. But I write fiction almost every day. In fact, I’m writing a fiction novel right now.
Yes, I just told you a big secret.
I’m going to title it “Don’t Write a Book in High School.”
Just kidding.
Actually, I’m thrilled to be writing a book. It’s an exciting, challenging, frustrating, and encouraging, roller-coaster-like experience. One of the problems I face is that writing is not my only school subject. If it was, then my high school education would be much easier, and I would have more time to write. But it isn’t. I have a list of subjects and courses to complete before I graduate high school next year. It’s a good thing. I’m thankful for that long list. I strive for a well-rounded education. But my mind still seems to struggle with the concept that writing isn’t the only school subject.
Sitting down and reading my senior year “to do list” is overwhelming. But I’m going to get through it, and I’m planning on writing my way through it too. I’ve just got to remember that writing isn’t the only school subject. Maybe if I keep typing that, my brain will finally register it. Maybe then it will be easier to break free from my long sessions of maniac typing to study astronomy and delve into a book on ancient history.
So the future for me looks like a long list of assignments, but I’m excited. I’m taking deep breaths. I can’t get stressed. This is fine. I am fine. And I will graduate next spring. I will. It’s just a matter of realizing that writing isn’t the only school subject.
There. Maybe I’ve hammered it into my head by now.
The festival of Passover is special in many ways. Not only does it commemorate the story of the Israelites leaving Egypt, but it also commemorates Jesus’ death upon the cross.
It’s a solemn night to remember the Messiah’s sacrifice, but it’s also a joyful night to remember that His death is not the end of the story. He rose again, conquering death and condemnation once and for all. It’s a night to celebrate that redemption.
Several families joined us in the celebration. It was a wonderful time of fellowship, so wonderful that we never even stopped to take pictures. Thus you will have to trust me that I’m not making all this up.
We youth (me being the oldest) were annexed to a table by ourselves for the Passover meal and were soon laughing far too much. Between pranks with horseradish sauce and cracking silly jokes about Bible characters, it was a hilarious time. One of the guys said it was one of the funniest meals he had ever had. Maybe it wasn’t the most reverent way to celebrate the Passover meal, but we definitely embraced the celebration side of the festival.
After the meal, we had a time of group worship led by my sister and me. Hearing the voices blend together in praise was beautiful. The first song we sang was “Passover Lamb,” a song my sister and I wrote two years ago, followed by “Lead Me to the Cross,” “Oh the Blood,” and “10,000 Reasons.”
After the praise time, we took turns reading the account of the ten plagues in Egypt. My mom and dad helped bring the account to life by tossing rubber frogs and Ping-Pong ball “hail stones” in the air, swatting people with fly swatters, and turning off the lights when the plague of darkness was read.
My dad then shared his testimony and we watched a few videos on the importance of Passover. By eleven o’clock the party was over, but for many of us the festival had only begun.
We now have the seven days of the Festival of Unleavened Bread to celebrate and the festival of First Fruits next Sunday. With the house free of leaven, I’ll be baking plenty of flat bread this week.
I suppose we’re a bit unconventional in our celebration of the biblical festivals, but what’s important is that we celebrate them the best we can according to the Bible.
It was a rainy spring morning. The sun hid behind gray clouds as I stood in the quiet kitchen, humidity seeping through the open windows. I could hear the birds chirping outside, their cheery songs lilting through the damp air.
I had a sudden inspiration.
It was the perfect time to listen to Gungor’s album Ghosts Upon the Earth. (Although I don’t endorse all of Gungor’s music, I do enjoy most of their songs on this album.)
I turned on the album and reveled in the beginning strains of “Let There Be.” As I continued to listen, I realized that it truly was the perfect match for the rainy morning. It harmonized with the birds outside and turned my thoughts to Creation–the beginning–the vast empty space brought to life by the the Creator’s simple, revolutionary words:
Let there be…
It’s moments like that when I’m struck by the transcendent beauty of music. Suddenly something I’ve listened to so many times before comes alive in some amazing way. It’s not just reaching my ears anymore. It’s resonating with my very being.
Inspiration.
That’s what the artist feels when he plays a song with all his heart. And that is what I feel when I allow my heart to get carried away too.
The sky brightens, the birds sing along–and suddenly–music bursts to life.
There are many things that I love about spring. And today I realized something else that makes spring special. Its something small. Something that goes mostly unnoticed, but something that has haunted me ever since my sisters discovered it in the back yard.
It’s wild onion plants.
Not only do I smell them and see them, but thanks to my two youngest sisters who have taken such a liking to them, I hear much about these smelly sprouts.
Just last night I was given one as a gift. My sister handed me a tiny box constructed of scrap paper and held together with lots of tape. A smile lined her face as she told me how to open the makeshift package. I peeked inside to find the tip of a wild onion with a wobbly smiley face drawn on it and roots flaring out like it had a bad hair day. Despite the smell of the gift, I was delighted with it.
Then the wild onions came back to haunt me again this morning. I was sitting on the back porch writing when my other sister handed me two precious onion plants with the command to “keep these safe.” After leaving me with the smelly sprouts, she ran off to toss onion stems at a squirrel in an attempt give him a “delicious meal.”
So, yes, wild onions haunt me. They sprout up in my yard, they pester me with their smell, they smile at me with Sharpie marker faces, and they even accompany my writing. And some how, some way, they bring a smile to my face.
I’ve lived in Alabama for six years now. Even though I’m not much of a southern belle, I’ve come to connect with my country surroundings. (I even know what okra is now.) And yet, as my mom was driving me through town last night, I saw something I’d never noticed before. I saw rolling hills in the distance beyond our little town. I stared at the view. How could I have missed that every time before?
A favorite shot from last Fall
Sometimes it’s the beauty right before our eyes that can be the hardest to see.This year I’m striving to notice those simple things around me–such as a landscape of rolling hills–that make life so beautiful.
So here are a few blessing from my day:
#1:The Weather
Today was gorgeous. The sun was shining, the wind blowing, and the temperature was a pleasant 65 degrees. My younger brother and I rode our bicycles on a local trail with our home school group. Simply blissful.
I came home from being out in the great outdoors today craving this salad. I had already cooked the noodles, so I threw it together and then came outside to sit on the deck and munch on it. Just what I wanted.
#3: The Clouds
And as I sat on the deck, I glanced up at the bright blue sky and saw this gorgeous array of clouds:
Yep, today was a great day to live in sweet home Alabama.
If you haven’t noticed already, my blog is pretty random. I post recipes, patterns, stories, songs, and as of today, hairstyles.
Hopefully I will have many more hairy inspirations to share in the future, but I can’t promise too much. I’m pretty laid back when it comes to cosmetics and styling my hair. Most days I let my hair dry naturally and clip it away from my face in the classic half-up half-down style. I also try to stay away from straighteners and curling irons due of their damaging affect on my hair.
And make-up. Well, I don’t usually mess with that either. Occasionally I wear mascara, but I can’t remember the last time that was. I guess I like just looking natural. Looking real. Looking like the girl that God made me. Not that there’s anything wrong with make-up, I’m just not into that right now.
But enough about me, and more about this hairstyle. It’s simple enough that even I can do it. And it’s also long-lasting. (It survived two action-packed Krav Maga classes the other night, all the while keeping my hair out of the way.) Too cool.
Side Ponytail with a Braid
Click on the photo to enlarge it.
1) Clip the front section of your hair away; pull the rest of your hair into a low side ponytail.
2) Using your fingers, make a hole right above the hairband. Flip the ponytail through the hole you formed. (Flipping it under, not over)
3) Let down the front section of your hair and braid it. Loosen the braid with your fingers.
4) Pull the braid through the slit in the ponytail.
5) Hold the ponytail and braid in place and carefully slide the hairband off.
6) Refasten the hairband, and you’re done!
A photo from a few years back. Some things never change.
While I listened to Restless Ones by Josh Garrels and baked Double Chocolate Muffins in the kitchen today, I pondered what I should post about. It’s been a while since I’ve written about my life, so here’s a bit of what I’ve been up to.
As I shared in my post“10,000 Reasons: A Thankfulness Challenge for 2014” I have been busy discovering the many things that I am thankful for each day. I haven’t missed a day of the challenge yet, although it does seem to be getting harder as the months go by. But all in all, I’m glad to be keeping a thankfulness journal. It helps me capture the special moments of each day and encourages me to look at the world through more observant and grateful eyes.
If I see something beautiful, such as a woodpecker on a tree or wisps of powdery snow falling from the roof, I write it down. Sometimes I have to be creative. And I’ll admit that I’ve even written down “white blood cells.” (My brother gave me a hard time over that one.)
Looking back at the things that I’ve written brings back memories already. I’m also excited to have family members and friends joining me in this challenge. Whether their goal is 1,000 or 10,000, I’m thrilled that they’re doing it too.
Besides writing in my thankfulness journal, I have my usual activities to keep me occupied–Krav Maga, cooking, baking, reading, writing, school, and piano (yes, I still play piano–quite a bit actually–I just haven’t gotten around to recording any songs lately).
And now for a peek into my thankfulness journal. Here are some things that I’m thankful for right now (the notes after the entries are not in my journal):
#710: Gilbert. Let me introduce you to our family’s pet goldfish named Gil. As of today, Gil has been with us for one month. He spends his days happily wiggling in his watery habitat, moving the marbles at the base of his home, and gulping loudly at the top of the water. We think he’s adorable. I suppose we’re easily amused.
#821: My Guitar. Lately I’ve been spending more time with my guitar. On warmer days, I enjoy taking it outside, sitting down by the large rock in our backyard, and strumming away.
#1,094: Figure Skating. If figure skating was the only sport at the Sochi Olympics this year, I wouldn’t have complained. Whether it was ice dancing or figure skating, I watched almost all of it!
#1,168: Blessings. The song “Blessings” by Laura Story has been in my heart lately. I enjoy playing it on the piano and singing it. Love that song!
#1,471: The Secret Keeper. I’ve been reading Beverly Lewis’ latest Amish novel “The Secret Keeper.” It’s good to read some fiction for a change.
#1,606: Mexican Casserole. Guess what greeted me when I came home after two classes of Krav Maga last night? Mexican Casserole. It was just what my starving belly was craving. I devoured it. There was nothing left to photograph, but fear not, I’ll be making it again and posting the recipe before long.
So there you have it–a glimpse into my little life!
