Valentines day

Strange to say, but I am happy to be single this Valentines Day.
 No, I don't hate guys, nor am I determined to be an old maid. I really do want to get married, and I'd rather not wait 15 years either. But this year, I know I am supposed to be single.
How do I know? Well simply because I am single. I know that seems silly but hear me out. If I was living for my self, not following God, there is absolutely no reason I would stay single.
 But here I am. Your classic "loser" 21 years old, and staying home on Valentines Day. BUT I am so aware of Gods grace in that. He is writing my love story. He determines the who, what and yes the when. It is a struggle when the story doesn't start where I want it to, but if it did I would be missing out on something much better. So in a funny way, my current singleness is a reminder of God's grace in my life. He could have allowed me to pursue my desires, but he is keeping me. Saving me. He created me and destined me for a purpose. An awesome future waits for me, but an awesome now is here too! My future is secure in Christ, because I KNOW that he loves me. Even if I am single forever, or for 10 years, or even only 10 months, God has something beautiful planned for me. And yes, one day I hope to be that sickeningly sweet couple who make Valentines Day the silly, fun holiday that it is.

However I must say, these strawberries aren't hurting my contentment either ;-)

Cast your anxieties on the Lord...

Do you ever have this crazy nagging feeling inside that makes you want to write down anything and everything you think or feel? No? Oh.... Yeah me neither. That would be...weird.
Actually yes. I do. Somehow I feel like giving form to the words will help. Sometimes it does. When I see my thoughts and emotions in black and white they are less overwhelming. They are confined to the space of the page, no longer eating up all of my mind. But as much as writing helps, I forget the real way to rid my mind of fears. Prayer.
1 Peter 5:7 reminds us to cast our cares on the Lord. Because he CARES for us. Not simply because he is in control, or because he is the only one who is powerful enough to help. But because he cares. Wow. The one who has arranged the minute details of my life CARES when I feel alone. Cares when I am afraid and confused. And he listens, and carries me when my load is too heavy for me. Which is always. My endless supply of paper may help clear my mind, but ultimatly is powerless. Powerless to change my circumstance. Powerless to comfort me. Powerless to remove my anxieties. My God is powerful and loving. He bears my burdens and gives peace. If only I would take the time to humble myself to ask. To pray.



Prayer is the lisping of the believing infant, the shout of the fighting believer, the requiem of the dying saint falling asleep in Jesus. It is the breath, the watchword, the comfort, the strength, the honour of a Christian.




—C.H. Spurgeon

Say Hello to happiness!

And probably a new workout plan. You can also count on kissing skinny jeans goodbye because...dun-dun-da-dun.... It's time to meet my new Christmas present!!

Yes. My brother decided it was a good idea to let me play with fire!!!!
This recipe makes 4, 6oz Crème Brulèe:

6 egg yolks
1/4 cup granulated sugar
1 1/2cup heavy whipping cream
3/4 teaspoon vanilla extract

6 teaspoons granulated sugar

preheat oven to 300 degrees
in a bowl whisk together egg yolks and 1/4 sugar until the sugar is dissolved and mixture is thick. Add cream and vanilla, and whisk until blended.
The recipe I used said to strain the mixture and skim off any bubbles, but I didn't have very many, so I skipped that step.
Divide the mixture evenly into 4 6oz Ramekins, and place the ramekins in a pan. Pour water into the pan so that it covers the lower half of the ramekins.
Bake for 50-55 minutes, until the custard has set on the edges, but is still loose in the center.
Remove the pan from the oven and allow to cool. Move the Ramekins to the refrigerator and chill for at least 2 hours.
place the ramekins back in the pan, and sprinkle 1 1/2 teaspoons of sugar on each.
Then you EITHER broil no more than 5inches from the top of the oven, until the sugar melts, OR use your super fabulous, I can't believe I am allowed to play with fire, and I now feel like a real chef, torch. I am still working on the art of how one melts sugar evenly, without burning little spots on the top of your masterpieces, but I am sure my family won't mind me practicing!

AND voila!

I found that even after 2 1/2 hours in the fridge, they were not totally set, so next time I will let them set longer, especially since they are an easy make ahead dessert, and naturally Gluten Free =)
This recipe is also Twice as Nice, because with the leftover egg whites you can make one of my other favorite desserts! Come back soon for the recipe for meringue cookies, light, easy and also Gluten Free!

What do you do with your left over egg whites?

Pages Of Imperfection

Wrote this a while ago for a class, it kind of explains my writing process. 




         Her head jerks up, a shimmer of a bubbling thought is growing inside her mind. Hurriedly she rushes through the remainder of the task at hand and races up the stairs to her room. By now the thought is growing steadily, gaining momentum. she flops down on her bed, adjusts the pillows just so. 
          She brushes back the hair from her face, tying it back out of her eyes, digs through the nightstand cubby looking for the polka dotted case containing her reading glasses.They somehow make her feel like she knows what she is doing, they give her a sense of clarity, and not just because the page is in sharper focus. Perhaps it is because they make her seem older, and as though she is wiser, wiser than she truly is. There is, along with this sense of maturity a sense of urgency in her actions, as if there were a deadline looming though none exists. It is the frantic scramble of someone who has something on the inside that needs to get out. The shimmering idea, now fully grown bounces around in her head, fighting for all of her attention. It cries out to her, begging to be set free; to be given life and air and ink.

         Her thoughts sometimes flow into rhymes or poems, or narratives on the lives of others(real or imagined), and perhaps on occasion words to a tune she’s been humming all week. She may express pain over the loss of a loved one, or the excitement felt about the birth of a niece, happiness, and regrets can be found in these pages, as well as feeble attempts to describe the incomprehensible joy of forgiveness of sins. “Yes,” she thinks “there is nothing, good nor bad, that doesn’t seem to be better when laid out in black and white.” So, she settles down between her blue cased pillows, and gives her thoughts wing.
          Quickly she grabs a thin yellow notebook from the top of a stack of identical notebooks that has slowly grown on her shelf over the years. She couldn’t say why yellow exactly, just something about them drew her in, and made her want to write, to fill the empty lined pages with her thoughts. She flips through the filled pages, pages crinkled with the tears of sorrow and loss, past fears of failure, and pages filled with the ecstasy of hope born again. She glances over a sheet that she’s read a thousand times, the story so familiar it could have been real. The thought continues it’s nagging, urging her on till she finds a clean sheet. Gripping her black ball point pen she slowly forms her first careful word. The rush begins, and she scarcely knows what she is doing.

          She writes on, perhaps a dozen lines, or a dozen pages the words slow, and eventually stop. The thought no longer vies for her whole attention, its goading has stopped, and it simply lays there out in the open, vulnerable and unsullied by the reality of the technical aspects of writing. She lies back on the pillows and sighs. This is a sigh of relief and trepidation, for the words now safely out of her mind, are still restrained to the confines of the yellow notebook.
          From within the sticker clad covers each page still calls to her. Leaving her wishing to take them up once more, prune, refine, and, dare she hope perfect them. When she stops and thinks she wonders why she lets them sit in this unfinished state, freed from her cluttered mind, yet disorganized all the same. When she does find the time she views, with the harshest critics eye her fledgling ventures into the literary realm. Months, even years old works are re-worded, re-written, re-written again. Fingers hurting, and daylight long gone she glances at her clock and closes the notebook. She flicks off her light, and settles in with dreams of a day when she can truly feel that it is completed.

loss

Most people have felt the sharp sting of loss. In many cases it's sudden, abrupt, and the pain cuts through you, numbing you to all other feelings. I have felt it time and time again. It is the worst thing in the world to lose someone you love. At age 14 I would have sworn I needed time to prepare, to say goodbye, and then it would be OK. To know it was my last time seeing that person. To get a chance to hold their hand. To say I'd see them again. To be fully aware when it was time to let them go.

Today? I can honestly say it makes no difference. The knife still stabs through your heart. But instead of a happy memory of the last time you saw them, you have the days of wondering if this would be it. The years of not knowing if they'd make it to the next holiday. The dull ache of watching their memory fade and shatter. Sometimes you feel your heart is being slowly dulled to caring, but a slight glimmer of recognition, or a smile at the face of a great-grandchild is enough to remind you that you still care.

For my whole childhood my grandparents lived less than a block from my house, and 6 years ago we moved so that my aging grandmother could live with us. I got a first hand look at the slow and steady progression of aging and dementia. And this summer, she peacefully passed away. It was not sudden. No shocking news, simply the end of a life well lived. 85 years, yet it still seems too short.
I never thought that I would miss the hard things, having to help her with simple tasks, but I would gladly do it all over to have my grandmother back. She was a wonderful woman, the most generous lady I have ever met. Her gentle spirit comforted and nurtured us. Her love of flowers, books, sweets, and stuffed animals made a trip to Mamma's house any child's dream.

Not sure why I felt like writing this today. Some days it just hits you I guess. The reality that they are gone. That you have to wait for heaven to see them again. That they won't be at your college graduation, or your wedding. Never hold your children. All of my grandparents were amazing people. And I miss them all at different times. Its the memories that get me most often.

And then I realize that I have so many wonderful memories. To miss someone you have to know them. To lose something, it had to be yours to start. And they were mine. Wonderful, fun, loving, and memorable. But only mine on loan. Placed in life as grace, not something I deserved, not something I "ought" to get back, but a gift, a blessing. And I am so so blessed to have had them in my life. But I must say, I am looking forward to Heaven, where I won't have to miss them anymore.

Closed for Remodeling

Restaurants and stores so often use this phrase as a front for their real reasons for closing. Perhaps it was money problems, and they couldn't re-up their lease. Or possibly there was corruption, or an *ahem* pest problem. Or maybe things were truly just broken down. Faded, worn out and in need of refreshing. 

You may be wondering what on EARTH this has to do with  ANYTHING in your life. Well, I have a confession to make. It may not. But it has to do with my life. A lot actually. You see sometimes I want to be "closed" to remodel. When I see sin or failure in my life I want to curl into a ball, and ignore everyone. I want to hide my sin, and keep everyone out until I get it "fixed" 

But consider for a moment my construction metaphor. In many cases "remodeling" is an attempt to save face, a matter of pride. Red flag number one on my attitude.  

And even though I admit that I need change, refreshing, and an "upgrade", if I let no one in, who is doing the work? ME. Flag number 2. 

First of all, I am called to live in community, so I can't simply withdraw from interacting until I get it figured out. Did I just say until I get it figured out?  Yes, that's how I think. I want the credit, I want to be the one who remembered to read my Bible, or the one who was MORE maturity, the girl who has it together. I want the "safety" of not confessing my sin.

This thinking is subtle, and seeps into my head without me noticing. It starts well enough, with a desire to change and grow and before long I have a legalistic set of rules I made myself. 

If I have to fix myself, then conviction of sin becomes even more painful than it already is. It is a constant reminder not only of how I have already failed, but how I will fail again, because despite my vain attempts I know that I can't do it. Because of the sting of conviction which scripture brings, I withdraw from truly reading. But reading just for the sake of "keeping up appearances" lacks consistency and quickly loses its motivation. And if I could just read enough, or just not get mad at my siblings, or always respect my parents or just... "earn" my salvation. Lets not sugar coat this. That is exactly what I want to do. I hope to become a "new creation" like God promised. Just without God. 

I have struggled with this mentality for years, and some how in the middle of  writing papers and trying to combat my fear of  not earning the grades I want I was convicted that I am sliding into it again. I want to do it all. School, work, church, Christianity, friends, family. I want to do it, and perfectly and on my own too if possible. But it isn't. Not even close. 

Somehow the awareness of my inevitable failure at earning Gods favor is the most relieving letdown ever. A beautiful paradox. But my inability does not mean I will be like this forever, the same immature person forever. I will constantly be changing. Or should I say being changed. 

Phillipians 1:6 "being confident of this, that he who began a good work in you will carry it on to completion until the day of Christ Jesus."

So as of tonight I will fight to be OPEN for remodeling. Join me?

Autumn

Today is the first rosy cheeked day of fall. You know what I mean. Crisp cool air has finally broken through the muggy Maryland summer. Campus is a funny mix of outfits. Those who are trying desperately to cling to summer are shivering while they scuttle from one building to the next. Then there are the over-reactors. Bundled from head to toe as if snow was in the forecast. Fur lined boots, and knitted scarves are a personal favorite too, but their time will come a little later.
The third group, the one I am proud to belong to, are the "natives" although most come from colder places then Maryland. We recognize and welcome the arrival of autumn. Hoodies and jeans are the outfits of choice. But one thing is the same for all three groups: all arrive to class with pink cheeks. The brisk air bringing out a nice healthy color.
These are the days I love. Soups for dinner. I start my lookout for changing leaves. Stores stock their shelves with candy corn, pumpkin pie and crazy costumes.
Soon I will make my first gluten free pie, apple of course. Then I will know for sure that Fall is here! Sure, the calendar says we still have a whole week, but i know better. This is the beginning. The sign that just as it has every year, Summer fades to Fall. And just as I always await the arrival of Summer and it's lazy hazy days at the beach, I wait fir this. I look for signs of weather changes the instant school books arrive on my doorstep.
It just feels right to have cool weather for school. Mythology, morphology and mathematics are all more poetic when studied in a cozy chair with hot apple cider. Or under a fleece blanket.
As I write this I am reveling in the sweet cool air. Looking across campus. Enjoying the solitude of a picnic table nestled between two trees, still clothed in Summer splendor. The warm sun on my face when the breezes still. This is bliss.