Brooks = Commitment

Brooks Adrenaline GTS12 - 11.5D

It's been a long time since I bought new sneakers. I can't even remember when I purchased the pair of Adidas that will be on their way to a donation bin shortly since they are a size and a half too small and far too narrow for comfort. The price I paid for them also escapes me, though I'm sure it was probably pretty cheap.

A couple weeks ago, after having completed two weeks of the Couch to 5K (C25K) program, I knew that the hiking shoes I was wearing wouldn't cut it as the jogging time in the workouts increased and the walking time decreased.

I had a decision to make. I'd flirted with running in the past, purchased cheap-ish, ill-fitting shoes from the clearance rack at DSW, and given up before I'd even really gotten started. I had to decide whether this was another flirtation or if I was ready to make a commitment to running.

About a week and a half ago, I headed to Fleet Feet in Pikesville for a shoe fitting. The woman who helped me, did an analysis of my gait, took several measurements, handed me a pair of socks to use, and then dragged out a pile of shoes for me to try on. She gently placed each pair on my feet, tied them, and then let me take a lap around the store. The Brooks Adrenaline were the third pair I tried. Another woman came into the store as I was trying them; she was wearing the same pair. She didn't even ask to try anything else, she just asked for another pair of Brooks. None of the other pairs I tried even came close to the comfort I felt with the Brooks on my feet; it was as if I wasn't even wearing shoes.

We tried a few more pairs, making forays into men's footwear since my feet are so big and wide, but there was always some part of the shoe that pinched or rubbed or just felt wrong. The salesperson had me try the Brooks on a second time, just to be sure. I was.

With my Brooks on, I was ready to make a commitment: Running is now a part of my life...

...at least, until these shoes wear out.

Crazy Dance

For the past year, once every few months, I've had the opportunity to join my friend, Kris, on a trek up to her family's house in the woods. Others have come along on one or two of the trips but we get along fine with just the two of us.

It's a haven - a place where I can do almost anything I want to and that usually includes a whole lot of reading, talking, eating, and sleeping. This time, it also included some running, cardio, and canoeing.

The canoe ride was lovely. We saw two great blue herons up close, plenty of fish, some turtles, and a really excited kingfisher. We even brought our lunch and ate it on the water.

After our outing, I was waiting by the canoe while Kris went to get her car. Suddenly, I felt a sting on my back. I tousled my shirt and a horsefly half the size of my pinkie began flying around me. It landed and stung again.

The horsefly and I proceeded to dance. I picked up a paddle, flailed my arms, grunted and shrieked, and did everything else I could think of to get that blood-loving insect away from me. During this whole amusing scene, I didn't even notice that I must have looked like a crazy person to all the people waiting to put their boats in the water. And, even when I did notice, I didn't care.

Despite the fact that my "dance" must have made me look insane to those watching, it made me realize that I want to live my life not caring what people on the outside of my life care about my actions and choices - as long as I am making the best choices I can.

I love the Buchs' house in the woods. I always learn something while I'm there.

Habit-Forming

I've heard a lot of different rules of thumb about how long it takes to form a habit - estimates vary from as few as 18 to as many as 254 days, with the average being about 66 days. Apparently, there is a link between practice and progress (go figure). It seems that to actually form a new habit, though, you have to be ready to make a two-month commitment, at least.

As I was contemplating this information after my walk/jog this morning, I began to think of it differently. It may take two months to make a habit but, for me, it takes about one day to break it...maybe even one second/one decision that cascades into another decision and another. I am a champion at demotivating myself and, if I convince myself not to do something one day, it becomes that much easier to shrug it off the next.

So far, I have coaxed myself out of bed sixteen days in a row to work out - not including Sundays, which I've set aside for rest and recovery. Most days it hasn't been much of a struggle. In fact, I'm finding that morning exercise fits my motivation level and I enjoy the energy boost I feel from being active first thing. And, if I work out shortly after rolling out of bed, I don't have the whole day to talk myself out of doing it when I get home. An added benefit has been avoiding being outdoors in the heat of the day, which has been considerable for the past month and a half.

But, I have done this before. I haven't been a yo-yo dieter, with my weight bouncing up and down regularly, but I have been at this point before. I've gotten excited about exercise and healthy eating and even stuck with it for eight months or so two times in the past. Each time, some circumstance has given me a convenient reason to stop and I've climbed back up to the weight and down to the level of un-fitness I was before - a fact that can be incredibly discouraging to think about.

What I've realized, though, is that letting the baggage of the past weigh me down isn't going to help. I don't know how long it will take before I get to the point that I've truly formed a habit and it's harder NOT to exercise - maybe never. But, I'm committed to taking it one day at a time and not letting one bad day or one bad week or one bad decision derail my efforts permanently.

And I'm sure I can count on a little help from my friends if I do start slipping up.

It's My Body

It started in May. I had one last concert with my church choir and I needed to find a white shirt to wear. I don't like white shirts. I don't like clothes shopping. And I don't like buying clothes for specific events - it seems silly.

Anyway, I went to Target the day before the concert and found a top that fit. It wasn't ugly but it was sleeveless. I don't talk about it often (because I never want to be one of those girls who's constantly complaining about her body) but I've hated showing my upper arms for as long as I can remember. Even as a child, wearing swimsuits was a trial because I knew everyone could see my flabby upper arms and upper thighs and the stretchmarks that felt like a 10 foot high neon sign screaming "FAT." (If you've ever wondered, it's terrible for a kid to grow up worrying about such things.)

I bought the top, knowing that I'd only have to wear it for a few hours and that I didn't want to spend anymore time than I already had searching for a piece of clothing I'd be unlikely to wear again.

On the day of the concert, I reluctantly donned the top and packed a t-shirt so that I could change immediately after we finished singing. As I was driving, a funny thing happened. I don't know where the thought came from but, suddenly, I heard myself saying (OUT LOUD!), "They're my fat arms!" And, just like that, a weight dropped from my shoulders.

They are MY arms and why should anyone else's negative thoughts about my arms impact how I feel about them? My arms, however large or small, let me do a lot of amazing and important things that help others and bring joy into the world. They're my arms.

Then, a month later, I went to Wild Goose. (You might be asking yourself, "What does that have to do with anything?" Well, I'm going to tell you.) I went to Wild Goose... in North Carolina... in June... and it was HOT. I had dragged along a couple pairs of ill-fitting bermuda shorts but the heat and their largeness made wearing them unbearable so I went to Walmart and got some shorter shorts - shorts that might slip up a let people glimpse my flabby upper thighs. And I wore them without a moment's hesitation.

And, the best part of all...


...No one noticed or cared! Then I realized, they're MY legs!

There were explicitly body-positive messages at Wild Goose but it was the overall feeling of acceptance of people as they are that reinforced the things I'd already been thinking and feeling about MY body.

It wasn't long after Wild Goose that I started getting up in the morning to exercise. I've taken ownership of my body and now I have a different motivation to take care of it than I have in the past. So, now, here I am - loving my body for the amazing things that it can do instead of hating it for how it doesn't conform to artificial standards of "normal" or "beautiful." Why, just this morning I did the advanced level of my yoga workout with no problem. Yesterday, I walked/jogged 3 miles. And, a few days ago, I got through an intense Pilates workout without having to stop at all.

It's my body and I want it to last for a good long while even if I never get rid of the flabby bits that used to embarrass me.

My New Crush

It's not what you think, reader. This is not to be a gushy post about the new man in my life.

Over the past few weeks, I've developed a new crush. It's not on any man or woman or even a fictional character or inanimate object. My new crush is...




...exercise.

That's right, I said it. I'm crushing on exercise.

You remember what it's like during those first few weeks or months of a budding attraction...

It's like stepping into a whole new world. It's invigorating and intense. And just like every other time, this time feels different - fresh and bright.

My schedule doesn't matter to me, what matters is seeing my new object of infatuation. If that means getting up at 6 a.m. and going to bed before 10 p.m., I'll do it with no argument.

There is no limit to how foolish I'm willing to look in pursuit of this new beau, either. I'm even willing to sweat and that's asking a lot.

I want to talk about exercise all the time. Most of the time, I hold my tongue but I honestly can't understand why the rest of the world isn't as fascinated as I am.

There have already been some ups and downs and a little pain and I've wondered several times whether this growing attachment would blossom into long-term relationship.

Does exercise like me as much as I like it?

(So far, I think so. :)

Binging

I went on a bookbinding binge in the last few days and it resulted in another nine books. I'll be posting all but two to Etsy within the next few days.

The book pictured above reveals my continued love of rainbows. Anything arranged in color order leaves me with a sense of satisfaction. Once, during seminary, I even arranged my whole bookshelf according to the order of the visible spectrum. Every time I looked at the shelf, I was pleased all over again.

If you like what you see, hop over to my Etsy page and buy everything you see!

This Is What I've Been Doing Lately

To see more, hop over here: Kate E. Did on Etsy

A Room With a Couch

Drawing is not my forte, so ignore the messed up perspective.

Yesterday, after church, I spent some time wandering around Lancaster in a (somewhat) desperate search for a place... I stopped in some of my regular haunts, but none of them had what I was looking for. After one-and-a-half hours of futile searching, I returned home, still antsy and restless to find the room that existed in my imagination. Because I couldn't find my room in the real world, I decided to draw it. I got out my crayons (yes, crayons), and started sketching out my cozy nest. Afterward, I wrote this description in my journal:

"In my mind, there is a perfect, cozy room. It has a giant, cozy fireplace: big enough that you could cook a pot of stew in it. A stone fireplace would be best, but wood or brick would be fine as long as it's huge. On the mantle, there is a lovely painting or framed photograph, preferably something with bright, happy colors. Around the room, there are round wooden tables that hold lamps and photos and books. The hardwood floors are scarred by years of boot heels and are covered by hand woven rag rugs. Several bookshelves, full of everything from Shakespeare to C.S. Lewis to Ina Garten, line one dark purple wall. Yes, dark purple. Maybe with hardwood wainscoting.

"The most important part, though, the detail that would make or break this room, is the couch. The chairs could be straight-backed wooden affairs for all I care, but the couch (or, even better, couches!) are hugely overstuffed... so large that a person could disappear completely if she curled up in the corner with a good book.

"My room has a feeling of peace and comfort. Whenever someone enters the house it's in, he or she is immediately drawn to the comfort of this room. Music, conversation, and crackling fires are the only sounds that break the silence. One day, this room will be mine."

One day...

Twenty-Two

For those of you who don't get why my last two posts have had random number titles: it's advent - the beginning of the church calendar, the time during each year when we await the birth of Christ. Obviously, I'm already behind on posts, but I don't care and I don't think you do either.

Over the years, I've often wondered why we bother "waiting" for Christ's birth. It's already happened. What's the point in pretending? But this year, as I wait with some expectancy for a job offer, I am beginning to see the reason for this time of preparation. Sometimes we need to consciously slow down so that we don't miss the great thing that's coming. This measured approach to the Christmas celebration makes the day itself more meaningful and, in some ways, more joyous because we are reminded what it's all about. If we are mindful, our eyes should be wide open by the time Christmas Day arrives and no amount of consumerism or family angst or stress will be able to distract us from the joy of this season.

May all five of you be blessed with times of slowness and rest during this advent season.

The wolf will romp with the lamb,
the leopard sleep with the kid.
Calf and lion will eat from the same trough,
and a little child will tend them.
Cow and bear will graze the same pasture,
their calves and cubs grow up together,
and the lion eat straw like the ox.
The nursing child will crawl over rattlesnake dens,
the toddler stick his hand down the hole of the serpent.
Neither animal nor human will hurt or kill
on my holy mountain.
The whole earth will be brimming with knowing God-Alive,
a living knowledge of God ocean-deep, ocean-wide.

-Isaiah 11:6-9

Twenty-Five

"Because the poor are despoiled, because the needy groan, I will now rise up," says the Lord; "I will place them in the safety for which they long." Psalm 12:5

Go Ahead. Ask me!

Over the past few months, I've had interviews with several different churches for positions in youth ministry and/or Christian education. This post isn't really about that, but I wanted to let you know I'm jobless and that you should pity me, unless, of course, you are also jobless. In that case, we should commiserate. Or, if you're a church that's hiring, you should check me out. I'm thoughtful and articulate. Anyway, on with it.

Most of the questions interviewers ask are pretty standard fare (as is to be expected).

"Describe your call into Christian ministry."

"What is your vision of youth ministry?"

"How would you recruit and train volunteers?"

There are other questions that could only be adequately answered after weeks or months of thought and would be most effectively expressed in writing (maybe 5-10 typed pages), but that I am expected to answer on the spot in five minutes or less. Then there are the clever questions: the ones that seem deep, but really offer little to no insight into me as a person, employee, or minister. Some questions, though, make me think not only during the interview, but for a long time afterward. For the most part, it's the questions that seem most innocuous that have this effect on me.

During one of my recent interviews, a fellow asked a question of the latter variety: "What kind of music do you like?" I think it was meant to be a throwaway, something to lighten the mood.

It wasn't until after I'd insulted country music, divulged my love of bluegrass, and listed a few of my favorite Indie groups, singer-songwriters, and artists popular in the 1960s and 1970s that I realized it was a trick. Okay, he wasn't really trying to trick me, but he was definitely looking for a specific answer.

After a moment's silence, he looked at me (or my image on the computer screen) and asked, "What about contemporary Christian music?"

*Gulp*

I think the next words out of my mouth may have put at least one nail in the coffin of any hopes I'd had of working with these good folks. Perhaps I shouldn't have been such an elitist prig...

"I prefer not to listen to music that's marketed to a captive audience. Too many Christian groups are successful because parents won't let their kids listen to or good church folk feel guilty listening to or buying anything not labeled 'Christian.'  And, unfortunately, much music labeled Christian is a sub-par imitation of other music."

*Silence*

I know this is not a new rant. Every audiophile Christian and her brother has told us that music bearing the label Christian is (far too often) bland, uncreative pap (just like so-called Christian art - but that's a whole other issue). So, anyway, I won't get into that. What I'd like to do is offer some beautiful, honest, creative music written and/or sung by Christians who didn't take advantage of a religious label to boost sales. And I'd like to thank that fellow, who may or may not have intended to make me think for weeks after hearing his question. This one's for you!

Enjoy!

Please offer some of your own suggestions. I love to find new music or be reminded of great old stuff!

Try It, You'll Like It

Having grown up on the typical American diet of meat and potatoes (with an occasional foray into the world or rice), I wasn't introduced to tofu until high school. Not that I tried tofu in high school, but I heard about it and was convinced that it couldn't possibly be delicious. In college, I tried the "blackened tofu" that our cafeteria offered. It was detestable: firm tofu sprinkled with cajun seasoning and grilled. It even sounds disgusting.

Finally, in seminary, I was served pan-fried, extra-firm tofu and fell in love. Marinated in a small amount of soy sauce and sesame oil, I could have eaten it like popcorn. In fact, after using it to top our salads or stir fries, the extra bits would disappear quickly. These perfectly crisp, delectably seasoned bits of flash-fried goodness constituted the perfect re-introduction to a food I once considered unfit for human consumption.

Since my re-introduction, I've enjoyed tofu in many forms, but it wasn't until very recently that I prepared a recipe that included tofu for myself. Inspired by my vegetarian friend, Matthew, who promised to post any number of hippie tofu recipes on Recipe Awesomeness, I decided to post one of my own. I would love to claim this as my own creation, but it comes from The Commonsense Kitchen, by Tom Hudgens, my favorite cookbook of the past few months. This Curry Tofu Salad is terrific as a sandwich filling or served atop a delicious lettuce.

Ingredients:

1 pound firm tofu

3/4 teaspoon of salt, plus more as needed

1-inch piece of fresh ginger, peeled and thinly sliced

2 cloves garlic

2 tablespoons canola oil of other vegetable oil

6 large white mushrooms, wiped clean, trimmed, halved, and sliced

1 1/2 teaspoons mild or hot curry powder

1 small carrot, peeled and finely shredded

2 green onions, thinly sliced

1 medium stalk celery, finely diced

1/4 cup mayonnaise, plus more as needed

1 tablespoon yellow mustard

1 teaspoon soy sauce

1 tablespoon fresh lemon juice, plus more as needed

freshly ground black pepper

3 to 4 tablespoons chopped fresh dill, parsley, or cilantro (optional)

Instructions:

Crumble the tofu finely in a medium bowl, sprinkle with 3/4 teaspoon salt, and mix well.

Finely mince together the ginger and garlic. In a wide skillet over a medium-high flame, heat the oil. Throw in the garlic and ginger with a pinch of salt and saute, stirring, for 20 to 30 seconds. Add the mushrooms with a pinch of salt, then add the curry powder and cook, stirring, for another minute. Add the tofu, continuing to stir as the tofu heats through and excess water evaporates, 4 to 5 mintues. When there is no more excess water, remove from the heat and let the tofu cool completely in the pan, about 30 minutes. Add the remaining ingredients: carrot, green onion, celery, mayonnaise, mustard, soy sauce, lemon, black pepper to taste, and optional herbs. Taste for seasoning, adding more salt, pepper, lemon juice, or mayonnaise to balance. Serve immediately or refrigerate.

Ten Times Better than Kraft Dinner

Yesterday, I let you all in on my newest passion: good food. Well, the two best ways for me to share that passion seem to be sharing food and sharing recipes. Since I can't pass a plate through the computer screen, I'll do the next best thing - share a recipe.

Since mac 'n' cheese was the dish that finally convinced me of the superiority of fresh ingredients and deliciousness of cooking from scratch, it seems appropriate that it be the first recipe I share here. So, here goes!

Ingredients:

1 lb. pasta (any kind you like, but fun shapes are always better)

2 cups shredded cheese (2-3 kinds with complementary flavors, not pre-shredded - cheddar and monterey jack are good ones to start with)

3 tbsp unsalted butter

3 tbsp flour

1-2 cups milk or cream

salt (anything but table salt...blech)

freshly ground pepper (white if you don't like black flecks in your cheese sauce)

nutmeg

mustard

Bring a large pot of water to a boil. Generously salt the water and add the pasta. Stir to avoid clumping. Pay attention to how much time your pasta needs to cook. Overcooked pasta is one of the worst parts of boxed mac 'n' cheese. When it is finished cooking, drain the pasta, but do not rinse it.

As the pasta cooks, melt the butter in a large skillet over medium heat. When it's completely melted and bubbly, add the flour, some salt and pepper, and a dash of nutmeg (This is called roux, pronounced "roo." All the best cooking words are French). Stir continuously to ensure that the flour doesn't burn.

After about a minute, slowly add the first cup of milk. Using a whisk will help you avoid lumps in the sauce. When the milk is fully incorporated and bubbly, slowly add the cheese, a handful at a time. Stir in a figure eight pattern to avoid slopping the sauce over the edges. If the sauce gets too thick, add more milk. If it's too thin, let the heat work its magic of evaporation.

Taste the cheese sauce to determine whether it needs more seasoning. Add salt and pepper as needed. Some folks like to add mustard for a little tang. Hot sauce and garlic are more my style. When the sauce is finished to your taste, toss it with the pasta and enjoy. This amount will probably serve 4-6 people (more as a side dish).

Once you master this basic recipe (a matter of making it once or twice), experiment. One of my favorite variations includes onions, carrots and celery that have been sauteed in butter (a.k.a. - mirapoix, another fancy French cooking word). Another involves the addition of chopped ham or bacon. When I was working as a nanny, I would add a bag of mixed vegetables to the boiling water three or four minutes before the pasta was ready and brown some hamburger. Mix it all together and you've got the most "incredible hamburger helper" ever. I've never tried it, but I imagine various nuts and fruit could be delicious depending on the cheeses you use and your level of culinary adventurousness.

The point is, once you've got a recipe under your belt, you own it and can change it however you like. Go crazy, people!

Good Food

Over the course of the past couple years (particularly the past few months), I have become a bit of a food snob. No, I don't eat much in the way of exotic foods. Caviar and foie gras hold little appeal for me. My snobbery takes a different form; I can't abide mediocre food.

Why dump canned, boxed or frozen food into a pot and call it supper when only a little more work would produce an infinitely more delicious meal? Though I once hearkened to the siren song of time-saving convenience foods, the experience of scrumptious, yet uncomplicated dishes has convinced me that a little more effort is worth the abundance of flavor gained.

The dish that finally convinced me was macaroni-and-cheese. One night, I decided that Kraft dinner just wasn't cutting it anymore and purchased the ingredients to make some mac 'n' cheese from scratch. As the pasta cooked, I made the sauce, flavored with three cheeses, nutmeg and mustard. By the time the pasta was done, the sauce was also ready to go. In the same amount of time it would have taken to prepare a boxed mix (in which the pasta is inevitably overcooked and the sauce made from neon orange powder), I had a delectable, creamy, tangy, utterly satisfying meal. To make it even more satisfying, sometimes I add a little ham or some veggies or both! Of course, not all from scratch food takes the same amount of time as the boxed version, but the difference in satisfaction level between the two is light years apart, though. At least, for me.

So, anyway, I just don't get the point of food that's merely good enough. If we have to engage in a particular activity multiple times each day for our survival, isn't it worth our while to make said activity as enjoyable as possible instead of just getting it done?

Stop feeding yourself the slop the TV tells you is delicious. Buy ingredients instead of prepared foods. Make a fresh version of a boxed meal and marvel at the difference. Don't waste your time or calories on good enough. Life is too short for mediocre food. Join me in my food snobbery that demands robust flavor, wonderful texture and complete satisfaction.

Waking Up

Sometimes I hesitate to write my thoughts where everyone can see them. Words are so important to me - posting them for mass consumption can feel too vulnerable, like giving something away that I can never get back. But, today, I was overwhelmed by thoughts and feelings that flood my mind around this time every year. Fall is a restless time for me, a time when change seems not only good but necessary for survival.

This morning, I was thinking about the feast I'll be making for Sunday dinner and remembered that I needed to get some more apples for the bacon-apple crisp that I'm making for dessert (as if anyone will have room after the roast chicken, spaghetti squash with spicy eggplant and tomato sauce, home-baked bread, and cabbage salad). So, I set the alarm on my cell phone as a reminder and headed out to work. After hammering home some grammar rules with an exceptionally bright student, I headed home. Getting apples from the local orchard required a detour from my usual hypnotic route, however, and I soon found myself cruising down a small highway lined with flaming trees, empty cornfields, and signs for ham suppers (take-away only!).

The surroundings coupled with the perfect autumn afternoon light (that is never harsh because it's always sloping in rather than shining down), reminded me of fall days in my childhood when we would head to Burrville Cider Mill to watch them make the yummy brown liquid we were dying to sip. As we drove up the impossibly steep hill the mill sat on (which may only exist in my childhood memory), my brother and I would begin to salivate at the smell. While we were there we would enjoy as many free samples as we could sneak before being herded back to the car loaded down with apples and donuts and at least one gallon of cider.

That memory inevitably triggered another: this one from my junior year at Houghton. I don't remember who came up with the idea, probably Barry, since he was from the area, but a bunch of us took advantage of one perfect fall day by tromping around Letchworth State Park and visiting a local cider mill to get apples and pumpkins. I remember laying in the leaves and singing "How Great Thou Art" at the top of our lungs. I remember enjoying cups of hot apple cider once we got back to campus. I remember loving the people I was with and the sweaters and jackets we were wearing and the colors of the world around us.

My friends in seminary and I went apple-picking each year, too, at Terhune Orchard, where every weekend was apple festival. Every year, there was a new educational display to wander through, some bunnies to pet, incredible caramel apples covered in Reese's Pieces, and a necessarily lame corn maze, ruined by the impatient folk who walked through the stalks rather than finding their way out. I think I went three times my senior year.

Most of my best memories are from these months of chill and crunch and slanted sunshine. For many people, this time of year signals an ending. The awakening of springtime is long past, when skin is first experimentally bared after the long months of freezing. The heat and playfulness of summer have been extinguished. Winter lies just beyond the piles of dried leaves.

But, for me, fall is the time I wake up and want to move. I love winter. Maybe that's why I don't mind the first signs that she's on her way. Spring is lovely, but its usefulness to me is in that it starts the process that will provide abundant harvests as the summer dwindles. And summer, oh summer, how I loathe her heat and humidity. While most people dance for joy in the sunshine, I hide my delicate skin and sensitive eyes from the sun's burning rays, just waiting for the time I can once again don my well-worn hoodie and enjoy some time outdoors.

It's as if each leaf that falls is another message begging me to get out, to drive, to visit, to look, to walk and to listen. I revel in the perfectly crisp and juicy apples waiting to be plucked and eaten, the orange pumpkins and warty gourds and multi-colored mums that fill carts to overflowing at the local orchard, and the hay rides and corn mazes and hot cider by a fire while it's still just warm enough to be outside at night. Some produce comes in as early as May and June, but autumn is the real harvest season, when a sense of urgency pervades waking life, insisting that we put away all we can before it's time to hibernate. Fall is a time when we all get to nest like expectant mothers, anticipating the slower months of winter by stocking our pantries and getting out while it's still convenient and doesn't involve all the extra preparation of traveling with the threat of nasty weather.

Say what you like about this being the season of death and decay. Everywhere I look, I see life, life and more life.

Etsy Schmetsy: Wrapped up in Books

So, I never blog anymore. Whatever...I'm too busy making books and taking care of kids. But, just to share, one of my books was featured on this blog. Woot!

Etsy Schmetsy: Wrapped up in Books

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Great Point Lighthouse

Great Point Lighthouse, originally uploaded by kate e. did.

So Them

So Them, originally uploaded by kate e. did.

Two of my favorite people in the world asked me to take photos of them, so we had a quick shoot last night. This is one of my favorite photos from our time because it paints a brilliant picture of their relationship and personalities.

Also, it had been almost nine months since I took photography seriously and this shoot with Daniel and Megan reminded me of how much I love it.

Chapel Sermon

Hey, it's been an insanely long time since I've updated, it's true. But, just when you thought I was gone forever, here I am with a new distraction.

I preached in Miller Chapel on my birthday and if you click here, you can download the file to take a listen. It's only about ten minutes long and included my friend, Matt, reading the Scripture text. Unfortunately, the wonderful singing was not miked and is, therefore, not included.

Enjoy!

Purpose-Driven Choice?

I know I haven't posted in a while. Get over it. I also realize that I haven't followed through on my promise to write about my view of homosexuality...I'll get to it. Just let me find the words. Right now, I have something completely different on my mind.

I'm a little riled up about something; more riled up than I ever would have expected, actually. I'm rather disappointed in Obama's decision to have Rick Warren pray at his inauguration. There are many reasons why people object to this choice. Some are displeased because he has a problem with homosexual behavior. Others are upset because they don't think religion should be included in civil ceremonies. I have to admit, I agree with both of these groups a bit.

But, that's not my main objection to Senator Obama's choice. I think his choice is bland, made for political reasons and, thereby devoid of positive spiritual meaning. There's no way Obama could make a choice that would please everyone, but this choice may please too many. To my mind, Rick Warren represents pop religion. Honestly, I would be very surprised if Obama had been impacted by him in any significant way and that seems dishonest.

I am aware that Rick Warren has done charitable work in Africa and other places, but so have many other spiritual leaders that Obama could have chosen. I also realize there is something important about reaching out to and representing different demographics during the transition to a new administration, but I wonder if prayer is the proper venue through which to do so. And, if it is the proper venue, shouldn't he choose someone who would appeal to an even broader demographic than Rick Warren, such as a Catholic priest or a woman?

This morning, as I was discussing this choice with a friend and her parents and I was surprised to find that I began tearing up as I mused about why Obama hadn't chosen Jesse Jackson. Jackson wept over Obama's election, it would be a brilliant and meaningful statement to have him pray over Obama's presidency. Rick Warren just feels like the same old thing to me instead of a representative of the change our new president promised.

This doesn't seem like enough, but I think my thoughts might come together better in conversation. So, I'd love to hear what you think. Does it matter who prays? Should there even be prayer during civil ceremonies?