This Jordan of Mine.

We are more than conquers...
thru Christ.
in Christ.
because of Him.

I am a recovering victim.  Once lamed by the inflicting blow of another, it's hard not to interpret every false move by those around you as such.
I am very good at being a victim.  It's how I've coped.  How I've managed (in my mind) to avoid the responsibility I've resented.
But it's said that in Him I am more...
How?  Is this question rhetorical?

If circumstances were the sum of all we have, what a tragedy?!
Circumstances... the moving pieces I see...
Facts.  Culminations of situations.
One plus one equals two.
But what if one plus one equals eternity?
What if there is more than what I can see?

I am in a crisis.  Faith meets flesh.
I am waist deep in a strong current in a river and the other side looks less promising than before.
What did it look like before I entered this murky, liquid...shifting waters?  My balance unsteady.
What is lurking around my feet?
I feel vulnerable and threatened.  I feel panicked and trapped.
It's the worse thing to be in a river with a strong current when you forget where it is you're going and you doubt your ability to swim.

We were in Virginia one summer.  A group of us from college.  We were visiting the Brown family.  (Oh, they are such a great family.)
We were an adventurous bunch.  I loved it.  I felt courageous with these peers of mine.  All the neat things I dreamed of trying were now accessible thru them.  Simple things like sledding a steep, snow laden slope... chillin in hot springs high up in the Rockies... swimming after dolphins in the Carolina ocean...
On this particular summer day in Virginia, we were swimming about the James River.  The part of the river we were in was mostly calm.  Then someone said we should swim across to this island of sorts in the river... ok.  I'm game I thought.  We had just spent a week at the ocean.  I grew up swimming in lakes. (Btw, lakes are very different swimming than oceans and big rivers.)
I remember one of the boys saying to me that the current was strong where we would be swimming across and that I needed to just determine to swim and not to hesitate.  Hesitating would be the worst thing.  It would give the current just enough time to suck me in...
And it did. 
I cowered and hesitated to that first bit of resistance and that small island looked years away- I can't do this...
and I was gone.  Floating away faster than I could swim.  I was so taken aback I couldn't seem to recover.  I completely panicked.
Luckily, this guy with the warning was quick thinking and fast on his feet and before tragedy could strike a heavy blow, he pulled this solid, round, scared girl from the waters using brute strength and a really sturdy branch. 
He was my hero.

That story seems so important to me now.  It's like a picture of sorts of how I'm to approach these waters.  I must determine to cross.  To set my face like flint ... to resolve without doubt what is my goal... to rally all my resources... to will this one thing.  This one thing.
This one thing?
To cross this 'Jordan'.  To cross it because it's obedience.

fear. doubt. years of tragic happenings murky these waters.
I know there are Bull Sharks in here.
Piranhas.  Water Moccasins.  Angry Hippos.
All the shadows of my former wanderings.
The Giants I let run me off before... do they still live here?
The peoples, like communities forged together to accomplish this one thing of tattering me to mere fragments so as to burn me in a pile of dejection, will they be waiting on the shore?
(dramatic enough for ya?)

I am every bit as doubtful now as I was in the James River.
Unsure of myself and my ability. 
I thought I would die that day and that I do not exaggerate.
I very well could have.
But there was one there, aware of me.  Sensing my insecurity?
He was ahead of me, but watching me.  Caring that I got across safely.
Caring that I was safe.
And I was just trying to keep my head above water.

It may seem to some of you, I am sure, that I have been in the same place for a very long time.  In some regards, I have.  Healing is awkward and hard and exhausting and a sure killer of ego. I have willingly gone to so many places all along this river's edge with the Lord.  Anything to keep from getting into the water.
But... I am in and it is every bit as terrifying as I imagined.
And I am doubting and these currents are more unkind than any I have known.
They are severe.
They are unyielding.

What I am remembering tonight, as I 'wade' these waters...what I am remembering...recalling...
is the One who is with me.
The One who is ahead of me...watching...caring.  Caring that I am safe.  Caring that I make it across.

These waters are shifting everything.
From here the landscape looks to have changed.  This shore, too, looks years away. 
It is not.  It is just the point from which I look that has changed.
It is no further.  No closer.

I have to remember what I know.  What I knew before I entered in...
The fragrant breezes from across the way; warm bread and honey.
The skyline speckled in pink blossoms and thick green arms raised to Heaven.
The sturdy, sure hand that held mine.
That voice.
That deep... tempered... soothe my soul... steady my feet... all is right in my world... voice.
That voice speaking the promises of a land,
promises of a home,
secure and our own.
Our own home.
Not sand castles washing away in foamy tides.
A solid, strong, foundation secure, home.

I remember His face.  His compassionate features.
Love without words, just a tip of His lip...
just a tilt of His head...
just the gathering of crow's feet round His eyes, wherein all my future lies.

I have to remember.
The water's swells are beating me senseless.
I am so unsure- can I swim?
Remember... One thing.
Will One thing; get to the other side.
He is my lifesaver.  He is my hero.
He swims with me, ever watching.  Aware.
 

Sand Castles

(Allow me to preface this entry by clarifying that my intent is NOT to whine and cry to you about the present condition of my life for the sake of whining and eliciting your pity.  I share this place with you, not only as a means of confession and testimony of the mysterious ways in which He works, but also to encourage you.  As it has (I imagine) always been, suffering is something I think we avoid.  We try to undermine it's place and power in our lives, especially as believers.  We try to avoid it and often, like Job's friends, find a blame for it so we can fix it and make it stop.  But... it has it's place.  It's a powerful thing suffering, that brings about refinement that, I myself, could not see happening any other way.  Pebbles are smoothed by the crashing and thrashing around the water does with them against the river's bed.  And pearls are developed in the bellies of oysters as a response, a coping, a dealing with the pain of the sand that agitated them- that agitating sand becomes the pearl not because the oyster escaped the suffering, but remained and suffered.  Our pain is important.  Our suffering is important.  It's important to the Lord and should also be to us...  So, I am hoping and praying that my honesty, not only incites you to pray for me :), but also encourages you in your own suffering, knowing that you are not alone.  He is still good even when life is not.)


I have hit rock bottom.  I have hit it so hard I bounce up and hit it again.  I am shut down.  I am struggling to find the motivation to do the smallest tasks; shower, answer the phone, fold my laundry...
I am so far from the life I imagined for myself that I can hardly believe that this is real.  Surely it's a nightmare.
I am 'blessed'... what a tricky word. what a tricky, tricky word... we toss that word about so carelessly. We confine it so tightly within our own contexts and then continually misapply it, leaving others to feel...
cursed(?).
I have parents who let me stay with them, and honestly, were it not for them I would be homeless.  They are good to me.  The Lord is good to me thru them.
But... there is this disappointment and anger and bewilderment and frustration and ache and depression I can't shake off. 
This is not the life I wanted. 
I dreamed of a life (esp. by this age) full of travel and financial stability and maybe even a beau. 
 I had concluded that by this stage in life, I'd either be overseas neck deep in mission work or stateside with my own successful career.  Neither are true.
Since moving salons I've nearly lost all my clientele and couldn't begin to tell you why.
After 'losing' most of my friends to moves a little over a year ago, I coped with the loneliness and depression by spending money.  Money I had.  Money I didn't have... and now I am yoked to a debt I can not afford to pay because my business has dropped so much. 

Now before you decide that I'm doing nothing more than having a pity-party, bear with me.  That is not what I'm doing.  I'm just being honest.  Pouring out my heart.  Confessing.

This is not the life I wanted.  I dreamed of so much more.  And, yet, I look back and see how it has been my choice-making (for the most part) that has gotten me here.  WHAT?!
HOW?!! did I let this happen?  HOW?!! did HE let this happen?
May I be that honest?
May I be that open and raw?
I've got to because this notion I've been handed that we believers, we 'holy one's chosen of the Most High' just don't struggle with such base feelings and emotions- we don't give them any room and if you are struggling with them, then you should pray harder or read your Holy Bible more and fast or work in a soup kitchen is... erroneous.   
Mind you, reading your Bible more and praying more and working in a soup kitchen are great things and definitely offer perspective and encouragement, BUT they do not negate the honest, ugly struggle I am having and I am TIRED of this ridiculous and destructive notion that says we are not to struggle and suffer in these ways, or this way... this way that I am.
I am disillusioned.
I feel...
387 different things and processing thru them all, trying to, is exhausting and impossible.
I feel cornered.

My circumstances are nearly entirely out of my control. It feels even more extreme than that.
All these emotions come bubbling up to the top in light of my circumstances.
I feel out of control.
Raw. Wired. Zapped. Frenzied. Lost. Apathetic. Panicked. Numb.
and ... Rage.
I feel an insane amount of rage.  The one emotion I can't seem to pretty up with poetic arrangements or forced smiles.

I was my circumstances.  I let them define me.  
I was a successful hairdresser.  I was financially flourishing (ha!).  I was well liked.  Active social life.  The future lie ahead of me full of endless possibility.  I was ...
so stupid.  so deceived.
so in denial. delusional.
Because it was then, there in that place of comfort, that I tried to make permanent camp.

The tide is low.
The sand is just enough dry and just enough wet to build with.
So... I started building. One castle at a time.  An entire city of castles by yours truly.
They were pretty. Comfortable.  Roomy.  Gaudy.  Poorly built.  Excessive.  Chaotic.
But, at the time, I didn't see an issue with any of that.  They were mine and I had this belief, that when need be, He would come in and make them better.  He would bless them, because they were my hard work, and isn't hard work blessed?

GAG!!!

Obedience is blessed.  They were not sprung out of obedience.
They were mine.  My self-protective and self-reliant efforts.
Mine. Mine. Mine.
I could make something of myself. of my life. of my time. of my money. of my dreams. of my situations. of my tragedies. of my pain. of my desire. of my my my my my my MY LIFE!!
Why not?  It's mine, right?
I identified myself in these things.  Those sand castles like self-portraits.
self.  portraits.  My identity represented there in each one.  Just frail enough that you wouldn't expect too much, just successful enough to be acceptable, in some cases, considered miraculous.
The tide is high.
The swollen waters I could not hold back and all the portraits...
'hard' work... dreams... desires... money... myself in some sense...
washed away.
washed entirely away... you'd never know they were once there.

And now I stand at the ocean's edge bewildered.
unable to grab back from it's mouth the things it took, is taking.
I toy with the idea, the feeble attempt, to build new ones, but...
that foamy water like gnarled teeth that will just rip it all apart.
What am I to do?
I am angry. Angry with my dumb little self covered in fragments, deficits of all I did and didn't...
Wavering between awareness... if I close my eyes just right, I can still see my intricate, little homes.
But the Sun is too bright for me to linger there long.  My eyes hurt.  My heart hurts.  My feelings hurt.  Everything hurts.  A bad sun burn where any movement is excruciating.
I want to lie down and weep.
Wail.
Let the ache in my guts out- set it loose.
I want to cuss a hail storm.  Use words that shoot off the tongue like poison darts and aim them at myself. 
 I see a reflection in the waters edge... she is awful... she is small and weak and poor and needy and messy and round and lost and insecure and grasping and I loathe her...
I want to aim these darts at her. It's of no use.
The water keeps washing her up to me.
waiting. waiting.
for me to reach down and scoop her up.
Because that is me.
I am no sand castle.
I am ... small. weak.  needy.  messy.  emotional.  cripple.  round.  insecure.  small.

I scream at the water.  I scream at this Ocean and this Sun.
I bear against it an anger I can not justify.  Can you begrudge a fish for being a fish?
Yet, there is this anger... that I am not the Ocean. That I am not the Moon determining it's highs and lows.  I do not want to yield to it... to it's perimeters and rhythms...
I wanted it to yield to me.  To respect my lines and my desires and do as I told it.

My resolve wears thin and I have grown weary... of fighting against myself.
against this reflection the water hands me.

The Lord is patient and I can not fathom how or why, except that He is perfect and infallible and therefore sees fit to be so.

I wish I could end this... but I can not. 
I am in the midst of this struggle.
This identity crisis, crisis of faith... this purification of worship and proclamation of the One.
I am encamped in suffering and struggle.
I know many of the uglies that I wrestle with- the lies I bought into that have born the fruit who's poison is now being extracted from me.
I know with my God there is no turning or shadow, no wrong doing, no sin.
I know that so much of what I'm dealing with right now was self-inflicted... but some was not.
I know that He is using this, I can already see that... how He is changing so many things I thought were ok... they were not.
I know that He loves me. I know that He loves me... John 15...
But I know that head and heart are rarely ever on the same page... my head can see things that my heart can't yet comprehend.
I always thought transformation was ... easy. simple. neat. clean.
Have you ever watched the Chrysalis process? from fat caterpillar to light winged butterfly?
It is beautiful, but it is not simple, neat, or easy looking.
That may sound camp... but... it comforts me, because right now, I feel anything but simple or neat or clean or easy.
This season is the hardest I've yet to face and the reality of myself that is being exposed, is... awful and I've never understood my need for redemption as much as I do now...
so the picture of a Chrysalis is hope for me no matter how camp it sounds.
And more so are the words of the Lord...

 Psalm 127

    Unless the Lord builds the house,
    the builders labor in vain.
Unless the Lord watches over the city,
    the guards stand watch in vain.
² In vain you rise early
    and stay up late,
toiling for food to eat—
    for he grants sleep to^[a] those he loves...

Psalm 107
Give thanks to the Lord, for he is good;
    his love endures forever.

² Let the redeemed of the Lord tell their story—    those he redeemed from the hand of the foe,
³ those he gathered from the lands,
    from east and west, from north and south.^[a]

⁴ Some wandered in desert wastelands,
    finding no way to a city where they could settle.
⁵ They were hungry and thirsty,
    and their lives ebbed away.
⁶ Then they cried out to the Lord in their trouble,
    and he delivered them from their distress.
⁷ He led them by a straight way
    to a city where they could settle.
⁸ Let them give thanks to the Lord for his unfailing love
    and his wonderful deeds for mankind,
⁹ for he satisfies the thirsty
    and fills the hungry with good things.

¹⁰ Some sat in darkness, in utter darkness,
    prisoners suffering in iron chains,
¹¹ because they rebelled against God’s commands
    and despised the plans of the Most High.
¹² So he subjected them to bitter labor;
    they stumbled, and there was no one to help.
¹³ Then they cried to the Lord in their trouble,
    and he saved them from their distress.
¹⁴ He brought them out of darkness, the utter darkness,
    and broke away their chains.
¹⁵ Let them give thanks to the Lord for his unfailing love
    and his wonderful deeds for mankind,
¹⁶ for he breaks down gates of bronze
    and cuts through bars of iron.

¹⁷ Some became fools through their rebellious ways
    and suffered affliction because of their iniquities.
¹⁸ They loathed all food
    and drew near the gates of death.
¹⁹ Then they cried to the Lord in their trouble,
    and he saved them from their distress.
²⁰ He sent out his word and healed them;
    he rescued them from the grave.
²¹ Let them give thanks to the Lord for his unfailing love
    and his wonderful deeds for mankind.
²² Let them sacrifice thank offerings
    and tell of his works with songs of joy.

²³ Some went out on the sea in ships;
    they were merchants on the mighty waters.
²⁴ They saw the works of the Lord,
    his wonderful deeds in the deep.
²⁵ For he spoke and stirred up a tempest
    that lifted high the waves.
²⁶ They mounted up to the heavens and went down to the depths;
    in their peril their courage melted away.
²⁷ They reeled and staggered like drunkards;
    they were at their wits’ end.
²⁸ Then they cried out to the Lord in their trouble,
    and he brought them out of their distress.
²⁹ He stilled the storm to a whisper;
    the waves of the sea^[b] were hushed.
³⁰ They were glad when it grew calm,
    and he guided them to their desired haven.
³¹ Let them give thanks to the Lord for his unfailing love
    and his wonderful deeds for mankind.
³² Let them exalt him in the assembly of the people
    and praise him in the council of the elders.

³³ He turned rivers into a desert,
    flowing springs into thirsty ground,
³⁴ and fruitful land into a salt waste,
    because of the wickedness of those who lived there.
³⁵ He turned the desert into pools of water
    and the parched ground into flowing springs;
³⁶ there he brought the hungry to live,
    and they founded a city where they could settle.
³⁷ They sowed fields and planted vineyards
    that yielded a fruitful harvest;
³⁸ he blessed them, and their numbers greatly increased,
    and he did not let their herds diminish.

³⁹ Then their numbers decreased, and they were humbled
    by oppression, calamity and sorrow;
⁴⁰ he who pours contempt on nobles
    made them wander in a trackless waste.
⁴¹ But he lifted the needy out of their affliction
    and increased their families like flocks.
⁴² The upright see and rejoice,
    but all the wicked shut their mouths.

⁴³ Let the one who is wise heed these things
    and ponder the loving deeds of the Lord.

Lowlight. Highligh. Educate.

 "Do not muzzle an ox while it is treading out the grain," and "The worker deserves his wages." 1 Timothy 5:18

I wish I had the ability to condense more effectively or, that you had the time and desire to read novellas posing as blogs by me. *grinning*
But, we are busy people and I lack the ability to narrow down a long story and you lack the time to bear my rambling. So, let me cut to it...  as best I can.

'Doing hair' was not my first choice. I went to College. I studied Intercultural Studies and Missions. I, being a survivor of rape and years of sexual abuse, was going to travel to Africa and work with survivors there. Help take care of them. Aide them in healing and being restored to life.  Mind you, I had no desire to 'Christianize' or 'Westernize' African women or African villages.  I just wanted to love on these women and children and such... give them what I felt like I had been shorted.
But, after College... well, things changed drastically and I found myself arguing with the Love of my Life, Mr. J. He was telling me I should consider Beauty School. What?! No. No.
He wasn't the only one, though. There were several others.
But see, I had tried Beauty College once before. Years before. It was a last resort thing.  I was young and insecure and lost and desperate for something to do- at that time, I didn't think I could succeed in College.
*leaning in and whispering* I didn't realize then how smart I am. *wink* LOL!
But fer reals. . .
When He brought it up, I just couldn't understand. But, having finished College and again, finding myself with no 'better options', I went.

Six months into my Beauty School experience it hit... it hit like a fat chicken falling out of the sky onto my thick, fat head.
This is exactly what I'm suppose to be doing.

See, women are strange, wonderful creatures; our hair is the way to our hearts. I kid you not.
The minute I touch my client's hair, she just opens right up; of course, not every single time, but a majority. It's sacred and ... and... such a privilege.

Ok, so a touch of back story to really drive what I'm building up to here.

Just because things were the way they were and I bear no grudge against anyone anymore... people are broken and that's just the way it is. I can't change that or them.
But, I grew up feeling so ugly and deprived of affirmation and acceptance. I was a little girl who wanted to be pretty and delighted in; what little girl doesn't want that?!
Anyhow, because of the sexual abuse and other countless factors, beauty became this icky, sticky, yet desirable thing for me. But early on in my youth I had decided, by strong encouragement from life, that I was ugly and always would be. Ugh.
Then I met Him, my Mr. J. and it changed everything. He thinks me lovely and now I believe Him. Because, well... He's the trump card and no one else has to agree, because ... He's, again, the trump.  It was a long journey. Well worth it.
It was during Beauty College that I really began to deal with these killer lies. 
But did it really matter? What I believed?
YES!!! It mattered! It mattered because it effected every bit of the way I lived. I settled for less because I thought I was less. Other times I was hyper-vigilante, making sure I wouldn't be overlooked or taken advantage of ever again.
 In the abuse the very core of my person was violated and attacked and lied to about what makes up my worth and value. My beauty was marred with deceits I was too young to filter. My body became a billboard no matter what I did. My beauty was ruined. That's what I believed.
My desire to be beautiful never died, though, no matter how hard I tried to kill it.
 And then came these precious moments when someone would affirm me or tell me I was pretty and I... was like a plant, that awkward slow movement it does after it's been watered after having gone so long without it... ya, that was me. I was awkward and immediately clingy.
 But it brought about this... ache and soothing at the same time. I needed to hear it. I needed to be told and the Truth ruffled up every feather where every lie was hiding and buried and they began to fall away and I was lighter and lighter... and prettier. Yes, I promise you, I think the letting go made me pretty. LOL.

"Ok, connect it, Mandi!".  I hear you. (One day I'll be able to adequately condense *sigh*)

Beauty School, remember, six months in I realize this is exactly what I'm suppose to be doing?  Why? Because it became very apparent to me that you don't have to be a rape or abuse survivor to long or desire affirmation, or to want to be pretty.  Brokenness and compassion deficiencies come from a lot of different experiences, no matter how extreme or mild.
I was not the only woman like me; longing to be seen, really seen and appreciated. It took others helping me to see and now... here I was, entering into an industry where I would be able to reach those ladies just like myself, aching for the same things. I could do for them what was done for me, I could help them see; in a very gentle manner, where a level of emotional intimacy is just part of the exchange, I could affirm them.  I could tell them what they need to hear- just how beautiful they really are.
I tread lightly, mind you. I am careful and mindful of the individual I am encountering. They are not projects for me. They are not ... stepping stones to self-redemption.They are names and faces and lives and people and I listen and I respond with care and love and encouragement.

Now, I say all of that to say this...
It's easy to write off what we Stylists do as 'non-necessity'.  A luxury. A waste of money. A hobby. A frivolous endeavor. And it's easy, it seems, to assume that we are price gouging and ripping people off; surely what we do takes no real skill, because you can buy a box at Wal-Mart, right?
I hear women day in and day out make snarky comments about the cost of hair services.
I try to overlook it.
But, not today. Today I tell you all of that story, because I want you to know why I do what I do. I want you to know that so many of the Stylists I know are in it for the same reasons. We love to not only make women look good, we love to make them feel good. We love to encourage them. Beauty is not for the elite and I don't make beautiful women, I just do their hair.
We work hard. We aren't just curling your hair, we are listening to your lives. We are crying when you cry. We laugh with you. We rejoice with you and grieve with you.
Just this past year a dear client of mine lost her three year old in a tragic accident. Another lost her dad. That's just a couple. I grieved with them. I brushed their hair as they cried. It was therapeutic. Touch ministers. It calms and soothes and when life rips from you a piece of your heart, a part of your DNA... sometimes, having nice hair makes facing the World in your tattered vulnerability less scary. It's the one thing you can control.
I get the honor of helping in that.

We stylist don't get unemployment. We don't have benefits. We don't get great tax breaks. We don't get paid time off. We stay late, come in early... just so you can have pretty hair. We skip lunch so you can get that up-do for the party.
We do it because we love what we do. Because we love you.
We are passionate about hair, because we are passionate about helping you look, feel, be your best, for whatever reason or occasion.
It's what we do.
It does take skill.  There are conditioners, CONDITIONERS, that if mixed together, they can melt your hair. Can you believe that?! Tell me there is no skill involved, no need of education!
We know our color wheels and tonal values. Porosity and density and elasticity.
We paid. We studied. We continue to pay and study.

The average income for a stylist is roughly $20 grand.  Obviously, this varies depending on location, but nevertheless, that is not the income of a wealthy person; especially one who is uninsured, and pays nearly a 1/4 of that in taxes! 

Why am I telling you all of this?
I want you to gain a greater respect and love for your stylists. I want you to show them some gratitude. I want you to tip them bigger and better. I want you to stop making snarky comments that undermine the credibility of what they do.
I want you to know how much your stylist loves you and how invested they are in you... as a whole person, not just as a head of hair.
I want you to gain a respect for an industry, a job, a trade, a skill, a passion- for the Artist that is so easy to overlook and take for granted and yet, will be there to help you look and feel your best each and every time you call.
 

Greetings & Salutations

this is the foreigner of my dreams:)

I have been dreaming of starting this Blog for ages.  Time and fear prolonged fulfillment.  But, finally... finally, here I am, blogging. I have gone over and over in my head what my first blog post would be about... how do I 'break-in'? What do I say to start?  I feel like I'm on a first date with the man I'm hoping will finally be the man of my dreams; tall, dark, Spaniard with loafers and a yacht *giggling*.
Having come to no great conclusion on how to open what I'm hoping will be a long-term relationship with the each of you, I'm going to do what I would do if this were my first date with that handsome foreigner; I'm going to let you just get to know me, by just being myself.

This blog is so much to me... it's an opportunity to inspire and encourage... to challenge and redefine... to revel and savor... to express myself thru rich and colorful language and pictures and this enigma we call the Web. I hope to share with you a glimpse of the beautiful World I see and that through this, you might stop and think or even rethink about some things. I want to embolden you, my audience, to enjoy the lovely things around you more, or maybe even, for the first time.

i LOVE Gap dresses!

I am a lover. I am a lover of many things, particularly beautiful things, whether that be food, or fashion, or hair or poetry or really great music, I just love loveliness... rich flavors like dark chocolate oozing from the center of a souffle' or the smell of Chanel No5, the bright colors of spring and summer seen in so much of Gap's clothing, the feel and look of hair treated with Redken's Diamond Oil or a Baroque painting  I can't get enough of texture and smell and taste and sight. I am thankful that God created us with five distinct senses and I love to celebrate them all!

It's so easy in the culture, the times, that we live in (as I am sure it was with others) to limit our preferences simply because we are told to do so.  We conform. I am not a fan of conforming.  I dare myself, challenge myself, to live outside of anyone's conformity besides that of my God. It's a tragedy to let an invisible panel of people limit what we find appealing; thru advertisement brainwashing and useless Hollywood news, we overlook so much of what the World around us has to offer.  We often overlook ourselves, our own beautiful and unique contribution.  We decide we don't measure up to the, let's get real, impossible standard. WHO DOES?! *shaking head*

there really is an art to eating these...

That's why I am here... that's my goal, to challenge you to open your eyes a little wider and see- REALLY SEE. Too often we are too quick to judge and write things off.  Again, especially ourselves.
Ladies and Gentlemen, you have been uniquely made. You are the
only you.  Forgive my camp, but it's true. It's simple and true.  And the you of who you are should be embraced and appreciated, first by you, because if you aren't doing it, few others will.  I would like to, via this blog, encourage you and cheer you on in that endeavor.  And I'd also like to show you how you might dress, eat a strawberry, prep your hair for a picnic in July, dance unashamedly to Steely Dan, and just... stop. smell the roses. pick them. eat them. wear them in your hair.

isn't this just wonderful?!