Home sweet home (says Dibbs)

Well, Dibbs was happy to arrive home after a long visit with Grammy and Grampy.

His tail was actually wagging shortly after I brought him inside.

I think he was happy

a) to be out of the car,

b) to finally eat after being restricted so he could travel without getting sick this time,

c) to be away from those kittens who eat his food, and

d) to be away from those kittens who think his tail is such a fun toy.

Did I mention he's happy to be away from the kittens? What can I say, he's a spoiled only cat. Whatever, he loves me and I'm totally okay with that, even if he doesn't play well with others.

Anyway, I miss Grammy and Grampy (aka Mom and Dad), and good old Kansas (who is about to turn 150!), and I will soon miss the leisure of, well, not reading and writing pretty much all the time save for time spent sleeping, sitting in class, and--if you're lucky--eating something that actually qualifies as a "meal" or getting in a work out.

I know what you're saying, "Bailey, you're a total nerd, you're always practically bragging about how you're an old lady who reads and cross stitches and pets her cat and wants to be a writer."

I know, friends, but I have limits. Limits with margins! (Are you reading this, Pastor Dan? That was the topic of his sermon today, about living fully, serving God and His people, but leaving breathing space (i.e., margins) so you're not snapping at people all the time and, ultimately, not really serving people or God with a happy heart which is God's whole point of asking us to bother to serve in the first place. Okay I totally just summarized and probably botched what Dan said,

anyway!

If you go to this here linky (and scroll down a bit once you arrive safely there) you can watch Andy Stanley--the guy whose original sermon series Pastor Dan is modeling--talk to you about limits and margins. And then eventually when it's posted you can go here and watch Dan put his own spin on it.)

Point being. I like to read, yes. I love to write, yes (actually I love more so when I have written something than the actual act itself, but we're not getting into that now). But I also like to color (yes), watch TV, work out, occasionally be social (gasp!) and go out with a friend or two or ten, and then talk way too much and make a couple of people wish they hadn't come out with me. Ha ha. :)

So yes. I am a little frightened of re-entering the study-intense universe. But this break has been freakishly long and I need to just get a move on and quit whining, seriously.

And I'm hoping to do a major tear up cleaning, organizing, rearranging dealio on my apartment tomorrow. We'll see about that--that's the spirit, Bails!

Okay, loves from the newly displaced (?) Bailey and Dibbs. Chat tomorrow, same place, probably different time.

Communication problems

I'm pretty close with my parents.

Scratch that.

Really close. Especially for a 25-year-old.

So it seems strange when I have a Skype conversation with my dad.

Oh did I mention he's just upstairs?

We're not that ridiculous

(okay yes we are),

it's just that Dad just set up a Skype account, so he can talk to cuties like this:

and this:

and this:

(ugh, Belle always wins the cute contest! Spotlight hog.)

Anyway, so Pops needed a Skype tutorial, so he called his tech-savvy daughter. Oops, I think he dialed the wrong number.

A movie review brought to you by Grandma

Sometimes I feel I am equal parts 5-, 25-, and 85-years-old.

Par example:

Early this afternoon as I was getting ready to meet my friend Tom for lunch, my mom asked me if I wanted to join her and Dad for a movie later in the afternoon. Minutes later, she was on the phone and I whispered, "Is that Dad?"

Then she told Dad to hang on and asked if I wanted to ask him something.

I did, in fact.

"Can Tommy come to the movie too?" I asked.

(This was the 5-year-old in me.)

I went to lunch with Tommy, where we complained about job searching, crankiness as a result of break-up withdrawal, Tom's business plan. You know, grown up, twenty-something topics.

Then we went to see a movie with my 'rents, which I suppose is a mature, 25-year-old activity. Seeing an indie British film with your parents, on a Wednesday afternoon? Sure. We'll call that grown up.

I should probably be fully honest in my disclosure here and mention that after some chatty settling into my movie seat, as Tommy and I exited the theater to get popcorn Dad told me to run off some of my energy before returning to the theater.

So I relapsed for a moment into 5-year-old Bailey. See what I mean? Who am I?!

Okay, I will move us along to the 85-year-old portion of this post shortly, but first we will pause for a movie review.

Today we saw The King's Speech, with Colin Firth, Geoffrey Rush, and Helena Bonham Carter. It is the true story about King George VI and the speech therapist who helped him overcome his struggle with stuttering when he suddenly succeeded his living brother as king during WWII.

Friends, I cannot express enough how much you should go see this film. It was excellent. All four of us loved it. It was a wonderful story of friendship, it was funny, it was touching, terrifically acted. Seriously.

GO. See. It.

And yes, Riley Francis, that was Mr. Desplat's work you heard in the trailer (for those of you who breezed past it without watching the trailer, march your mouse back up to that link and watch it! This is the bossy 5-year-old speaking!). And you would L-O-V-E love the soundtrack as much as you will love the film itself when you

go. See. It.

Okay. Seriously. Go see it. Please. This is coming from a girl who has little patience for movies, and rarely solicits them.

Okay now moving on to the 85-year-old portion of my day.

This evening, while Dad watched TV after dinner, I continued work on my current cross stitch project.

I have been suffering from a mysterious muscle ache in my right hand and it occurred to me just as of late that it could be the result of cross stitching too much.

Last night I also cross stitched in the living room, while Mom and Dad dozed in front of the TV, and BooBoo slept on Mom.

The other day Patrick called and asked what I was doing for the afternoon.

"Well, I just made some tea, I'm gonna cross stitch, and take some ibuprofen because I'm kind of sick."

"That's a grandma afternoon!" he told me. "The highlight of your day is taking some Advil!"

Yes, Patrick, yes.

Well, I quite like my age-confused existence. And why am I not ready to go back to school, aside from the fact that the books and constant reading and writing will soon loom over me again?

Because I'm not done hanging out with my parents, who are my friends. Or our cats.

So there.

Yours truly,

Granny

Airport Celeb Sighting

I have a shirt that says, "Pour Que Tu M'Aimes Encore" on it in hot pink letters. For those of you non-Celine freaks, that is the name of her all time biggest French hit.

I was wearing this shirt at the airport today and the barista at the Starbucks who waited on me looked at it and began to read it aloud.

"Celine?," he said.

"Yes, I love her!"

And he says, wait for it...

"You look like her."

I said to the guy, "she's not exactly blonde," and he said, "no, but your face looks like hers."

NO I DO NOT look like celine dion, but if he wants to hit on me by saying it, I will take it! Perfect start to my day! I called my dad and woke him up at 6am to tell him. Needless to say, HIGHLIGHT of my day.

Oh this Crazy Life

You know that "How are you Feeling Today?" poster? Well today I'm writing in my own little emotional vote: Neurotic.

I just folded my underwear, friends. I'm pretty sure I haven't done that since I was 12, and even then it didn't last long, because I knew it was over the top.

I am just slowly coming to realize that I have not allowed myself to be even the slightest bit high maintenance since I was about, well, 12. In other words, I haven't allowed myself to make anything inconvenient for others, and unfortunately in the meantime I have often made things inconvenient for myself.

So I'm letting myself fold my underwear. I'm allowing myself to be a little neurotic. Because you know what? As much as I hate high maintenance(-ness?), I think that as humans we all need to possess it to a small, healthy degree. Healthy, people, meaning asking for 1/2 of a Splenda packet in your latte is taking it TOO FAR!! Ahem, I mean...

But really, this is huge for me, you need to understand. And I will not be surprised if I talk myself out of this in a couple of weeks, so you as my friends need to keep an eye on me. It is your responsibility to make sure I am taking care of myself and not eating fruit snacks for meals because I'm scheduling my social life in a way that interferes with my basic nutrition (although please note I might snap at you because I am in my 20s only the one time and beer and nachos really make a fine dining choice on occasion).

Growing up my family moved three times by the time I graduated high school. This made me 100% able to make friends, and has made me who I am and has grafted me to my family for life in a way that I will never want to trade in. But. I have tried to let other people's schedules and priorities interfere with mine. I wouldn't say I've allowed my values to be compromised, in fact I would argue those are stronger as a result, but at some point I just said, "oh well, I'll just do whatever's easier for everyone else." It's not that I don't have opinions (see what I mean, this back and forth talk? Neurotic. It should have been on the original poster).

Basically what I'm trying to say is that when you're 16 and your dad becomes a pastor and moves you for the 3rd time, you think, "I understand that this is the right thing, and that God's hand is obviously on this, and there's nothing I can do to change it. And besides, I'd miss my family if I didn't tag along with them to Kansas." But the problem is I've let that carry over to an unhealthy level. It hasn't been entirely negative in the shaping of my character, but it's time to start taking care of myself. Having some confidence not only in my own opinions, which I have practice at, but in my own ability to create motion in my own life, and the world.

Thank you to all of you for your continued support.* Keep it up, my awesome friends (seriously). And I will try to do the same for you.

*(Particular shout outs to Braden, Nick, and Sarah this evening. And Riley, for putting milk in the fridge. And Lorri and Phil, for providing the last of their milk before Riley replenished our supply.)

Oldest Kid in the Family

People are often intimidated by pastors. You should never feel uncomfortable around my dad. The man is 60, and here he is being slimed by the children at his church's school. I'm my father's daughter for sure, and I know he enjoyed this activity. When we go to wedding receptions, it is often just me and him on the dance floor. He's pretty much awesome, and a total kid. Love ya, Pops.

Lost

Kim leaves for the Peace Corps tomorrow. Corie leaves for Boston in August. The 'rents and sibs who I am so close to live hundreds of miles away from me. I won't lie, I'm feeling a little (or a lot) helpless at times. I fear what will happen to friendships, I fear that I will miss deadlines for big life choices for myself. Then I remember that God is in charge of the perfect timing and I am not, but for a person who doesn't consider herself a control freak, I guess I do desire a little bit of control in that area. It's not exactly a funny joke to me if I realize I should have taken the GRE 3 days ago in order to get into a program that starts in 2 years, and now I have to wait a whole extra year to apply (that didn't really happen, this is hypothetical. That said, I would not be even a little surprised if that did happen to me, hence my concern).

My mom was thinking out loud the other day and realized how long a year can be for someone in their lower 20s, and I was glad she had the epiphany because that is something I struggle for my elders to understand on a daily basis. To tell someone, "oh it's just a year of your life" when they are 24 years old: People. That is 1/24th of my life. To my dad that is only 1/60th of his life. Of course he can shrug it off better than I can. Hence my occasional panic attacks while steaming milk at work, feeling the sudden desperate need to run out the door, board a plane and fly to whatever city or country I want to spend my thirties in, chat up all the single men on the flight there, so that when we touch down I've got a diamond on my finger and we can cross that marriage step off the list.

This is not making a whole lot of sense.

I was telling my friend Brittani the other day that when I was growing up, I very rarely compared myself to others. Seriously. I walked into middle school and totally missed the memo about self-consciousness. I was like, "So...explain to me again why I'm supposed to stop enjoying myself because that girl has a boyfriend/is cuter than me/has more friends than me?" When I went to middle school I was so excited that I had seven teachers in one day. And a locker for my books? Sold. So really, it just didn't phase me. I think it's in my genes, particularly the set from Daddy. Dad's motto is, and it's not really a motto at all, it's a serious mantra for him: "Never give up your right to be easily entertained." What can I say? I'm a good listener, and an obedient one (note extreme enjoyment of locker ownership above).

But...in my twenties, it is SO HARD not to compare my life to others. I was talking to Kelly back in February, and he called me out on it and said, "Bailey, I'm hearing a lot of what your life isn't, but what about what your life is?" My answers to that question were a little lacking and therefore depressing, but it put things into perspective. All I seemed to be able to report to him was what my friends were up to--what made me jealous. In today's culture and world, you can do just about anything and everything when you're young. This is why all the older adults think it's so great to be this age (which, I'm sure the wise elders are right on a lot of things, I don't mean to get into a generation conflict here). I told Brittani, at my age I could be in the Peace Corps, married, single, with kids, without kids, in a steady job, in an unsteady job, in the Americorps, overseas, on the coast, in Kansas (check). The possibilities are endless.

Point being here, friends, this is what is on my heart. Just wanted to share--which is the point of this blog, so good work, Bails. Mission accomplished. I do hope that in reading, you guys come across feelings you can identify with (be it mad love for Celine Dion or frustrations in growing up). Much love and coalition to you.

Five O

Friends. Today is the day. This is the 50th post on The Daily Bailey! Thank you so much for reading! Someday when we are at post 8,000 you can say "I was a follower way back at post #50." To celebrate (and perhaps bore you a little bit), I am offering 50 random thoughts/things about me. Ciao until tomorrow!

1 I never get sick of the “Little Women” soundtrack.
2 Lynn’s daughter Claire gave me a kiss on the cheek today (and then ran away). She had been drinking apple juice so it was sticky. I had never realized how much she looks like Lynn until she got right up in my face to give me a kiss.
3 In fourth grade I put peanut butter on my armpits (and then ate it) in front of the whole school.
4 I look almost exactly like my brother Riley.
5 I have considered joining the ministry.
6 I secretly want to be on America’s Next Top Model.
7 I only like peanut butter about 2% of the time, and can only eat about a tablespoonful before I have to stop.
8 Green is my favorite color.
9 In middle school I wanted to be a dairy farmer in Canada.
10 I hate toffee nut flavoring.
11 I love lima beans, beets, and black jelly beans.
12 When I tell people I have three brothers, most of them immediately ask if I am the youngest (I am not).
13 I am terrified of peacocks and belly dancers, both for their sexual forwardness.
14 My favorite book ever is Traveling Mercies by Anne Lamott.
15 I hate to carry things or have things in my pockets.
16 I have never been stung by a bee.
17 I am extremely lazy. Truly. I sort of embrace it, but I’m also ashamed of it. Ironically I can be a very hard, tireless worker.

18 I lose my appetite when I'm scared, but gain one when I am bored.

19 I wish I could get lost dancing in a crowd of people every day.
20 I love to dance with my dad.
21 I hate the word “hubby."
22 I love the words “chevron,” “pedigree,” and “beleagured.”

23 I'm a definite advocate of seatbelts, sunscreen, and helmets.

24 I met Bob Dole in the second grade.

25 I love football. I dislike frisbee.

26 A kiss on the cheek (from anyone) makes me feel precious.

27 I am both a laidback free spirit as well as a contemplative crazy person.

28 I'm addicted to communication, but need my alone time every day.

29 I like when people are singing and the guitar stops playing and the voices continue a capella.

30 I find it fascinating that our toes naturally tap when we listen to music.

31 I think cows are beautiful animals.

32 I hate when I'm cold and have to pee at the same time.

33 I check people’s hands for wedding rings within the first 10 seconds of meeting them (both male and female).

34 I went almost 8 years without throwing up, threw up on Dec 19 2005, and haven’t thrown up since.
35 Beer is my preferred alcoholic beverage.
36 I feel off-balance if I don’t get a chance to read every day.
37 I have been on a rip-cord, jumped off a cliff (into water!), and ridden every roller coaster I have come across, but have not bungee jumped or gone sky diving.
38 My grandmother graduated from college at the age of 80.
39 I do not like to go to the doctor, but do not mind getting shots or getting my teeth cleaned.
40 I hope that the man I marry loves to cook.
41 I love children’s books. I also have a lot in common with the character Kristy Thomas in The Baby Sitters' Club series.
42 Rainy weather is my favorite kind.
43 I hope to live near water within five years.
44 In 2008 I threw away almost all of my jewelry and nail polish, then decided a few months later that I wanted them back.
45 I have worn makeup probably no more than 20 days of my entire life.
46 The song “Pomp and Circumstance” makes me cry. I hate attending graduations, but love to be the graduate.
47 I don’t know that I ever crave apples, but I eat them because I know they are good for me and I am not very creative with my produce selection.
48 When I was in preschool, my dad and I would recite our address and phone number, spell “SEARS,” and sing “There are Many Ways to say I love you” from Mister Rogers in the car.
49 The past few weeks I have changed bedrooms three times to accommodate for my guests, and Dibbs has found me each night to sleep with me.
50 I can’t believe I finished college almost three years ago.

Worm on the Floor

I don't know his name. Yet.

I have a regular customer who comes into Starbucks, who is rapidly approaching my top ten favorite customers list. I have discovered through conversation that he is a professor, of business related courses, I think, at a university that serves non-traditional students. He used to just come into the store by himself or with his family, but lately he meets his students there to work on projects, like he did tonight.

When my fellow baristas and I first encountered him, we were all a little put off. He came through the drive-thru and said, (I kid you not),

"I'd like a Venti iced green tea, with 90% tea, 10% water, no sweetener, and exactly 12 ice cubes."

Barista Nick used one of his famous sayings in response: "Is this guy serious right now?" So understandably we all thought he was a little high maintenance, perhaps mocking, and perhaps rude. Tonight he jokingly asked us if we were mocking him--ah, how far we've come.

The first experience with No Name Customer that really began to win my heart was on a particularly rainy day. First, he came in the store rather than through the drive-thru, so we got to experience a little more personality. We realized that while his drink order was still a little high maintenance, he was pretty funny. And he wasn't mocking us, he just has his preferences, and I think just likes to be playful. What really got me, though, was when he was leaving. He pointed to the ground near the entrance and said, totally deadpan, "Worm on the floor. Health code violation." (As you can imagine this still gets quoted by baristas on a weekly basis). I didn't believe him at first, but sure enough, due to the day's rain, someone had tracked in a (dead) worm on their shoe.

Since the worm visit, he's come into the store more and more, and he's even become more lenient with his drink order. I think he really just wants light ice, and strong, unsweetened tea. He trusts us, which I like. Some people watch us like a hawk while we make their drink, and let me just tell you right now if you're one of those people, just stop. It's ridiculous. It really is. Also, he's brought in his family, his students, and we've gotten to joke around with him and soak up the free humor he offers.

Tonight, however, he reached a new level of preciousness in my book. This past weekend I was working on my birthday, and Mr. Worm on the Floor was in our cafe working with some students. My parents' car pulled up to the store, and I was surprised to see my dad in the driver's seat because I thought he had left for the airport a few hours before. "What is he still doing here?!" I shouted. Worm on the Floor immediately put his hands up and apologized, "Oh I'm sorry, I'll leave." Well my dad came in and gave me a hug (it turned out his flight left later than I thought) and said goodbye.

So tonight I said something about my dad to my customer and he said, "I saw the hug you gave your dad, you're a Daddy's Girl." Precious, right?? Next time. I'm gettin' his name. Besties, we will be.

Hands

I have various memories from my childhood spent in church. When we used to sing the song "Down in my Heart" in Sunday School, I thought the words were:

I've got the love of Jesus love of Jesus
down in my heart
Where?!
down in my heart
Where!?
down in my heart
Tuesday!

The words are "to stay." (I think. Well the point is the words do not include "Tuesday.") Picture it, little Bailey (bowl hair cut), belting "I've got the love of Jesus TUESDAY!!!" You're smiling, I know you are. :)

I also used to think that a "sermon" was a person, an usher, to be exact. Mom would always tell us we could have gum "after the sermon," and she always passed out pieces of original Trident as the ushers were collecting the offering. Thus, I thought, "man walks down the aisle, then I get gum, he must be the sermon."

When I was nine, my family moved to Colorado and discovered an amazing church that was incredibly formative of all of our personal faiths. Most obviously illustrated, but no less powerful than the rest of our stories, is the fact that my dad walked in the doors of this church an engineer, and walked out five years later a first year seminary student. It was our pastor at that church who first asked my father if he had ever considered the ministry.

But I digress. My mom used to have this really thick hand cream, we're talking intensely thick, it was Neutrogena Swiss Formula, and she only ever had it in travel sized tubes. I figured this was because it was so freaking thick that it would take her a whole lifetime to use the entire thing. She'd put this stuff on our fingertips and I felt greasy for the rest of the day, it seemed. I remember her putting it onto my hands during church sermons (the part of the service where the pastor preached, not when the ushers collected the offering, to be clear. Though there might have been some Trident gum occasionally involved), and I think onto my brothers' hands too, but I remember more vividly watching her massage this Neutrogena lotion onto my father's hands during church.

Calmly (my mom does most things in a calm manner), but laboriously, she gave Dad a little manicure many Sundays. She always kept her eyes on the pastor, only occasionally glancing down to oversee her work, as if her brain and heart were the supervisor, her hands the obedient workers. I knew that Mom's focus was always with the pastor, so in love with her friend Jesus, His love in return so crucial to her every moment, thus deserving her full attention during the Sunday morsel of a lesson. Her heart was always in both places, of course, in love with my daddy and Jesus.

Her hands treated Dad's one at a time, one finger at a time. First she'd open the tube, swiftly put a dob on her finger, hastily like an expert, knowing exactly how much to use unlike her daughter who suffered from greasy hands in her grabby eagerness. Then she'd dab a little bit on each cuticle of one hand, then start rubbing one finger at a time, from the tip downward. Then on to the next hand. Dad always had a little grin on his face, enjoying the pampering, also looking forward like Mom, occasionally glazing over a little in response to the manicure's sensory grasp of his focus. But he was always listening, absorbing the words that he would one day form in his own style and share from the pulpit to a crowd including the woman holding his hand, the woman who has held his hand faithfully for 32 years. While Mom tended to Dad's hands and heart, Pastor Flannery and Jesus tended to Dad's heart and mind.

We remember things better if we have one of our senses stimulated while we take in some piece of information. A whiff of cinnamon can put each person in the world in a different place all at once. Thin, greasy fingers webbing their way through your own would magnify a preacher's words, I am sure. The fact that love was involved in this mix of lotion, sermons, and hand holding made the imprint impenetrable upon my father's heart, I have no doubt, even if he has no conscious recollection of this weekly ritual (I mentioned to my Mom recently that I remembered observing this interaction between her and Dad in church, and I'm not sure she even remembered the event).

Jesus washed his disciples' feet before he died, a concept I still don't quite understand, one I am honestly afraid to grasp fully for fear it will terrify me, to comprehend love so deep. I also can't comprehend the disciples' love for Christ, so devoted even while being chastised and tortured by others for their devotion. Nonetheless I regard this love as sacred and never want to let go of this man who washes my feet new every morning, every minute, every day. All He wants is our hearts, and He may have mine. Simply for giving me parents who love each other and myself and my siblings so much, shown in the way they hold hands in church, the way they hold our hearts and always have, and by giving us the best gift they could, introducing us to Jesus.

Last week I visited my parents during Holy Week, and my dad washed my hands during the Maundy Thursday service with the rest of the congregation. "Bling Bling," he said, gripping my hands in the soft terry cloth towel, "love one another as He has loved us."

Pass the Salt

24 hours ago I was at the beach. I frolicked in the water, got my jeans wet, and let my dad bury me in the sand. On the way to the airport I admired the wavy line of white on my jeans created by the salt of the ocean water dried on my jeans. Three hours later, about to touch down at my home airport, there was salt on my cheeks. I wasn't ready to come home, and now, 24 hours later, I'm still not ready to be here. :(

Matthew 5:13 says "You are the salt of the earth. But if the salt loses its saltiness, how can it be made salty again?" My confirmation verses were Matt 5:14-16, and verse 16 says "let your light shine before men, that they may see your good deeds and praise your Father in heaven." At the age of 13, I chose these verses because they certainly represented (and still represent) who I am--full of bubbly, energetic light. It hurts to cut vacations short, to have my parents on one end of the country and my brothers on the other, and come home to only a cat (though do not underestimate the value of said cat). But it is the diversity of my experiences, both with vacation beaches and everyday cats, that give me my unique saltiness.

I had a friend in college, Braden (not to be confused with my newest friend, also a Braden), who I discussed with once "the name game." This is the game where you say, "I am Awesome Abigail" or "Stunning Stefanie." Well Braden and I discussed the crappy selection of "B" adjectives--we got tired of saying "We are Bodacious Braden and Beautiful Bailey." So we did a little research, and Braden discovered the term "brackish: having a somewhat salty taste, esp. from containing seawater." While it may not be an appropriate description in the literal sense, we enjoyed that it described us as flavorul people. If you think about it, we actually always probably taste a little bit salty, thanks to our sweat.

I feel I am at yet another crossroad in my life (I feel like ages 20-30 are one big crossroad, can I get an Amen?), explaining my tears yesterday. Part of my sorrow was that I just plain didn't want to leave the beach, the sunshine, the break from work and everyday boring life. Another part was that I didn't want to leave behind my parents, who so seldom get to see their children, and who are such brave, faithful stewards to journey to sunny California in their late 50's. I wish my mom, who's so talented, could have the employment she deserves. I know that me being with her doesn't solve that void, but it can offer her a happy interruption to the waiting. I also don't know what's next for me in life, grad school, boyfriend? :), different job, travel the world, travel the country, stay put? If I think about it all at once (let's face it, I do), I get overwhelmed. And scared. Really scared. And sometimes sad.

The tough thing about being brackish is that you have to get wet in the cold ocean sometimes to earn that cool little design on your jeans. And in the meantime, you have to wait to dry. That salt line doesn't appear instantly. The salt is there, but it's invisible to the eye while it's wet. As cliche as it is, how true is it that when we're in the storm it's impossible to see the light behind the clouds? But the truth is that the light is always there. Jesus told us to let our light shine (and not to let Satan "poof" it out), and to keep our salty taste. Admittedly, sometimes when I read verse 13 I think, "What?" But I also like the poetic metaphor it offers. Being told that we are salt and light is encouraging always, even when it doesn't make perfect sense.

I definitely wouldn't erase my past good memories just because there are bad memories interspersed with them. It's a joke with my friends and family that I can't go anywhere without either seeing someone I know or making a new friend. I am this way partly due to my father's gregarious genes, but a huge chunk of it comes from the fact that my family moved to a new city every few years while I was growing up. With each move came the unpleasant task of asking, yet again, "Can I sit with you at lunch today?" and making annoying, empty small talk, but you know who I got to know over one of those public school lunch tables? Big Bird. Haha, no. My best friend Corie. All those times being tossed around under the violent surf lead to glorious baths in the sunshine on my favorite bed of all time--the sand. When I laid down on the sand yesterday (moments before Daddy Dearest began kicking sand on me), I told my mom, "This is heaven for me."

All of this "chin up, trust in God" talk is easier said than done, obviously. When I am in a storm, I become terrified. I fall silent or ramble on about silly things to keep myself from feeling like I'm drowning. What I learn every time is that I am not in fact drowning, but that God washes me in the salt of each storm at sea, and gives me renewed energy and personality to tell others my stories, and His stories.

While I know God never leaves me alone in a storm, it often feels the opposite, so it is important for us to remind each other always that we, in addition to God, are here for each other during our storms. Feel free to share with me your storms, and I'll lift them up in prayer for you. I hope this blog is a little salt lick for you to snack on during your next storm. God's blessings to you all, until next time.