I didn't know Tom Brady was playing in the Super Bowl until I saw him run onto the field for warm-ups.
I deliberately named my parent's cat, "Cat" so as not to grow any attachment to it, but that didn't work.
I love the Justin Bieber song "Baby", and that's painful to admit.
After going without coffee for 7 days, today I bought a small cup of Starbucks, took 3 sips, and threw it away. I threw Starbucks coffee away. Shame.
I'm leaving my roots in Dalbo at the end of February and moving to upscale Brooklyn Park.
Tuesday, February 7, 2012
Saturday, February 4, 2012
Promises, Promises
I've been blessed with 7 nieces and nephews, and usually, I pride myself on being an aunt of integrity to these children. There are times, however, when aunt integrity flees me. There was one such occasion recently when I shamelessly bribed one of my nieces to go to Target with me. (Who needs to be bribed to go to Target, anyway?) On this particular afternoon, her mother, who shall remain nameless, was eager to have me take my niece out for a few minutes. I needed to pick up a few things, and with an endless supply of things for my niece to look at, not to mention a dollar section, Target was the obvious choice.
However, in order to get her to leave the house with me, the promise of a trip to Target was simply not enough. It took a few others, including, but not limited to: treats, toys and Hello Kitty band aids. On the very short drive, it was as if my niece had already forgotten the promises I had so recently made to her. But why? I told her we were going to Target. At some point, she could even see Target outside the car window. The truth is, her suspicions were not eased until she had the treat, toy and Hello Kitty band aids in her hands. I can't blame her, because sometimes I'm like that too.
In fact, I've been forgetting some pretty important promises lately.
"He gives strength to the weary and increases the power of the weak. Even youths grow tired and weary, and young men stumble and fall; but those who hope in the Lord will renew their strength. They will soar on wings like eagles; they will run and not grow weary, they will walk and not faint." Isaiah 40:29-31
Last month, it seemed as if God was swinging some doors of opportunity wide open for me. I had a series of interviews with a company that I thought I really wanted to be a part of. I was careful (as I usually am, but sometimes to a fault), not to get my hopes up. So I followed His lead, slowly stepping through an open door here and there (one foot through... peer left and right... next foot through), until one day, the biggest door of all stood before me, and instead of slowly stepping through it, I ran with all the speed I had to jump through head-first. Only, as it turns out, it wasn't an open door at all. It was like one of those really clean glass patio doors that you don't realize is there until you run (smack!) right into it. I'm not sure, but God may have chuckled at that moment.
As I cleaned the glass of my face smudge, and tried to gather my pride about me, I became attentive to God's direction once again. It was as if He was saying, "Child, I wanted to make sure you were still listening, now let's get down to business."
"...if you confess with your mouth, "Jesus is Lord", and believe in your heart that God raised him from the dead, you will be saved." Romans 10:9
For a long time, I've been reminding myself to believe in God's promises to me. But in all my reminding, what I've forgotten is to live like I believe His promises to me. Instead, I've been living like a woman feeling sorry for herself, like a woman who has not been blessed, like a woman who has not been promised an eternity with her Savior. I can hear His questions, "Are you listening? Are you ready?"
I am ready. I might run into a few more glass patio doors, but I will remember His promises, and I'll be thankful for the circumstances I've been placed in, no matter what they are. I'll be my best and live like I have the love of my Savior.
"No, in all these things we are more than conquerors through him who loved us. For I am convinced that neither death nor life, neither angels nor demons, neither the present nor the future, nor any powers, neither height nor depth, nor anything else in all creation, will be able to separate us from the love of God that is in Christ Jesus our Lord."
Romans 8:37-39
However, in order to get her to leave the house with me, the promise of a trip to Target was simply not enough. It took a few others, including, but not limited to: treats, toys and Hello Kitty band aids. On the very short drive, it was as if my niece had already forgotten the promises I had so recently made to her. But why? I told her we were going to Target. At some point, she could even see Target outside the car window. The truth is, her suspicions were not eased until she had the treat, toy and Hello Kitty band aids in her hands. I can't blame her, because sometimes I'm like that too.
In fact, I've been forgetting some pretty important promises lately.
"He gives strength to the weary and increases the power of the weak. Even youths grow tired and weary, and young men stumble and fall; but those who hope in the Lord will renew their strength. They will soar on wings like eagles; they will run and not grow weary, they will walk and not faint." Isaiah 40:29-31
Last month, it seemed as if God was swinging some doors of opportunity wide open for me. I had a series of interviews with a company that I thought I really wanted to be a part of. I was careful (as I usually am, but sometimes to a fault), not to get my hopes up. So I followed His lead, slowly stepping through an open door here and there (one foot through... peer left and right... next foot through), until one day, the biggest door of all stood before me, and instead of slowly stepping through it, I ran with all the speed I had to jump through head-first. Only, as it turns out, it wasn't an open door at all. It was like one of those really clean glass patio doors that you don't realize is there until you run (smack!) right into it. I'm not sure, but God may have chuckled at that moment.
As I cleaned the glass of my face smudge, and tried to gather my pride about me, I became attentive to God's direction once again. It was as if He was saying, "Child, I wanted to make sure you were still listening, now let's get down to business."
"...if you confess with your mouth, "Jesus is Lord", and believe in your heart that God raised him from the dead, you will be saved." Romans 10:9
For a long time, I've been reminding myself to believe in God's promises to me. But in all my reminding, what I've forgotten is to live like I believe His promises to me. Instead, I've been living like a woman feeling sorry for herself, like a woman who has not been blessed, like a woman who has not been promised an eternity with her Savior. I can hear His questions, "Are you listening? Are you ready?"
I am ready. I might run into a few more glass patio doors, but I will remember His promises, and I'll be thankful for the circumstances I've been placed in, no matter what they are. I'll be my best and live like I have the love of my Savior.
"No, in all these things we are more than conquerors through him who loved us. For I am convinced that neither death nor life, neither angels nor demons, neither the present nor the future, nor any powers, neither height nor depth, nor anything else in all creation, will be able to separate us from the love of God that is in Christ Jesus our Lord."
Romans 8:37-39
Thursday, November 17, 2011
How Now Black Cow
A recent road closure and detour on my way to work brings me by a new farm. On Friday afternoon, as I was driving home, I noticed the cows out in the pasture. These cows, I had never seen before, and I've seen A LOT of cows. Not that I can claim any real knowledge of cows. Growing up in rural Minnesota, I've simply seen a lot of them.
At a quick glance as I was driving by, it looked as though the entirely black cows had something white wrapped around their bellies.. I took a second glance just to make sure I wasn't mistaken (I admit that I like to be right sometimes), and again, what I saw was a bunch of black cows, all with the same white stripe wrapping around their bellies. My first thought was, "Who would wrap something around a cow?" I couldn't come up with an explanation for why a farmer would put something like that on a cow, but I knew it was something unnatural. Because, no group of cows look exactly the same, right?
The first person I told about the cow phenomena was, of course, my mom. I knew she was driving by the same cows each day, and I needed her to confirm my suspicions about this shady cow farmer. So together, we drove by the cows in question one morning on our way to the cities (that's Minneapolis and St. Paul for those of you outside MN) for some shopping. As soon as she saw them, my mom declared that the white stripe on the cows was natural. In fact, in a mocking voice (much like my own...), she said, "What, do you think they wrapped those poor cows to keep them warm?" After recovering from the shock of hearing my own sarcasm coming straight from my mother's lips, I recognized the situation for what it was. The perfect opportunity for a bet. The perfect opportunity for me to be right.
The bet was this: After our day of shopping, we would drive by the cows a second time, but stop to take a closer look. Whoever ended up being wrong about the stripe on the cows would make dinner that night. If we couldn't figure it out, we'd go out to dinner. So after hours of walking in the wrong direction around IKEA (Have you ever gotten dirty looks from IKEA shoppers for walking against the flow of those arrows on the floor? I have.), we were on our way back to the cows. Not really considering how we might appear, we parked our car on the side of the country road and trudged through the long grass in the ditch to get a better look. I had to put my glasses on (that's how much I didn't want to make dinner that night) to investigate. Once in close range, it was very clear that each cow had an identical stripe of white hair (fur?) growing around its belly. What?! Ridiculous. *Someone is out there breeding *crazy striped cows, and now I have to cook dinner and admit that I was wrong.
*By "someone", I guess I mean the American Galloway Breeders Association, and by "crazy striped cows", I suppose I mean Galloway cattle.
Monday, September 26, 2011
Secrets of the Recipe Box
In search of a family recipe the other day, I came across the following...
Hot Dish. These recipe cards were just a few of many titled, "Hot Dish". My childhood memories are filled with hot dish meals shared around the dinner table, always accompanied by a bottle of ketchup (we really know how to spice things up here in Minnesota!). Though I didn't think it at the time, I cherish those memories... much more than a person should cherish macaroni and hamburger. My grandmother used these recipes to make dinner for her family (1 husband + 8 children), and wrote them down on a recipe card. My mom followed in her hot-dishing footsteps and eventually typed the recipes (pictured above) on her typewriter. And here I am, in September 2011, ready to scan them into my digital recipe collection. Just kidding, a true Minnesotan woman doesn't need a recipe for hot dish. She knows that all a girl needs for a good hot dish are the contents of her refrigerator and cupboards. Done. So now you also know one of the family secrets. Only, I guess it's not really a secret at all.
Hot Dish. These recipe cards were just a few of many titled, "Hot Dish". My childhood memories are filled with hot dish meals shared around the dinner table, always accompanied by a bottle of ketchup (we really know how to spice things up here in Minnesota!). Though I didn't think it at the time, I cherish those memories... much more than a person should cherish macaroni and hamburger. My grandmother used these recipes to make dinner for her family (1 husband + 8 children), and wrote them down on a recipe card. My mom followed in her hot-dishing footsteps and eventually typed the recipes (pictured above) on her typewriter. And here I am, in September 2011, ready to scan them into my digital recipe collection. Just kidding, a true Minnesotan woman doesn't need a recipe for hot dish. She knows that all a girl needs for a good hot dish are the contents of her refrigerator and cupboards. Done. So now you also know one of the family secrets. Only, I guess it's not really a secret at all.
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