I love making lists. The more detailed the list, the better. (Read: The more chances I have to cross things off said list!) Although I have a deep affinity for creating lists, I do not have a Bucket List—that is, a list of things I want to do before I die. If you have one, I think you’re forward thinking and organized, and I’m a little bit jealous. As of right now, the only item I’d know to add to my informal and undocumented Bucket List is this: 1. Make a Bucket List So I have some . . .
It seems like all eyes are on April these days. You know April—the incredibly pregnant giraffe who gets the least private birthing room possible. For days, people have been tuning into the webcast, hoping their timing is such that they’ll be able to watch April birth the world’s newest giraffe. I haven’t watched any of the footage, mostly because, BEEN THERE, DONE THAT. I watched a giraffe being born decades ago and I feel like I’m just sort of “good” in that department . . .
I'm baaaaack! My husband and I returned home to dark clouds and snow after a gorgeous week in sunny Cancún, Mexico. It was as if Reality slapped our cheeks, looked us in the eye, and firmly instructed: "WAKE UP, KIDS. VACATION IS OVER." So that was rude. Before getting back into regularly scheduled programming over here, I want to share a couple of posts that were published elsewhere while I was away. I'd love for you to read, comment, share, let me know your thoughts, etc. First, . . .
In 6th grade, I tried out for the dance squad at my junior high school. The coaches taught us a choreographed routine, and then we had to perform it in front of a panel of judges the following day. In the horrifying case that we forgot a part of the dance, we were instructed to smile and bounce in place until we could jump in on the next part of the routine. I literally smiled and bounced my way through the entire two and a half minute routine. The whole dance moved so quickly, that once I . . .
Growing up, my family was heavily involved in a performing arts ministry at our church. One year, I was somehow wrangled into singing a [horrific] solo while wearing a gigantic sunflower on my head, complete with a hole cut out in the middle for my face. Sometimes saying “yes” takes us to the most unexpected places. I’m recalling this memory so vividly right now because I want to write about how we should be more like flowers. It’s a strange concept and not a perfectly formed analogy, so I . . .
“Dear God,” I would begin as I cozied up in the bed of my college dorm room, “Can you work one of your miracles and allow me to wake up weighing 30 pounds less?” My freshman year of college is when my struggles with body image really surfaced, and this was a very real prayer I would pray in response to my anxious disapproval of my appearance and the added weight I was carrying as a college newbie. Deep down, I knew my request was beyond ridiculous, but I believe in the miracles of God and . . .