love lead me on

Love lead me on

Where no one else has gone 

Faith keep me strong 

Love lead me on
- The Afters

I'm a fan of the band The Afters. Admittedly, I discovered them while watching the acclaimed MTV reality show 8th and Ocean. (Does anyone remember that show? Please tell me you thought it was amazing, too.) Their songs are simple and tend to focus on love or beauty. If you look at the rest of the song's lyrics, the person is saying that, "There's a million different ways to go/Only God can know where I will call my home." Mmm, I hear that. It's weirdly encouraging. Number one, the song just popped into my head today as I was thinking about my current life situation. And two, I'm not directionless after all. I'm on this river and wherever I end up has already been ordained. So yes, love lead me on.

on fruit

Love, joy, peace, patience, kindness, goodness, faithfulness, and self-control. Those are the fruit of the spirit. I've been humbled as of late about my 1st grader mentality about those characteristics (no offense to six-year-olds.) What I mean is that my mindset about the seriousness of what it means to be a Christian has really struck a chord with me. My ability to be kind (for example) should be evidence of Christ's presence in my life - his transformation of my life. Is this actually true? How does being a Christian translate externally to a world of people who consider themselves to be "good," "nice," or "moral?"

To cultivate these characteristics takes time. I'm realizing that more and more. After pursuing different avenues and trying to do this whole adult "thing," I realize that it doesn't usually pay off to rush. There is no ticking time bomb. I'm not going to explode (literally) if I don't become the person that I imaged as that six-year-old. Life is right now.

"Nothing is worth than this day." - Johann Wolfgang von Goethe

My mom has given me a book called "Cold Tangerines" by Shauna Niequist. It's a brilliant compilation of slices of life. She finds joy in today and the small things that create...life. I highly recommend it.

sleepy chic

For the past couple of years, pashminas have increased in popularity. They vary in color and texture and seem to always go with something. One approach is to put it on like you just threw it around your neck and ran out the door. It's haphazard-chic, I guess. Jessica Alba (as shown on the left) is a good example of this lackidaisical approach to fashion. In fact, when I think about it - that seems to be the trend. A lot of celebrities seem to walk out the door with wavy, bed head hair and a long white t-shirt on like they had just woken up. It's the best and most esteemed form of fashion. It's the "I-am-so-good-at-dressing-myself-I-look-like-I-don't-care-but-I-do" tactic. Tricky, Hollywood, tricky.

car door

The car door slammed shut. The sound of its creaky hinges caused a reactive twitch in the corner of her eye and she turned away from the sound. The engine turned over and eventually its grinding sound faded away.
She sat on the back patio fiddling with her cup of green tea. It had cooled off at least an hour ago. The tea bag floated at the top of its surface. She stuck her finger on top of it and pushed it to the bottom. A nuthatch hopped onto a nearby birdfeeder and began drumming its tiny beak into it.
Sitting up abruptly, she startled the small nuthatch into fleeing. He watched her from a safe distance as she crossed the patio into the dimly lit house. Almost nothing had been touched. The magazines laid almost pristinely displayed on the glass coffee table. The day she turned seventeen, her mother subscribed her to Southern Living. “It’s the only acceptable one, Calla,” she had said off-handedly. Almost ten years later, each month brought a myriad of home décor and cooking ideas.
“Have you ever even read one before, hun?” Gray chuckled as he had tossed one back onto the table, landing askew from the others.


She thought back to their interactions that day. She had been angry, but worse than her anger was the sadness. It had taken her a full 30 minutes to get out of bed that morning. She had lain in bed, listening to the shower running and then Gray’s electric shaver. She turned her back to the bathroom door as he rummaged around the bureau. He sat down on the bed and put on his socks. His hand rested on her knee and she turned her face towards him. “What?” A stray hair got stuck in her eye and she rubbed at it.
“We really need to talk about this, seriously.” She rubbed away the irritated tears from her eye and sat up. His face gave away his surprise at her sudden resolve, but she didn’t respond. “Cal…I want to work this out. We can work this out.” She cleared her throat, looking up at the ceiling. She hated silence and was the type of person to fill it whenever possible. The dim light from the nightstand lamp cast a shadow onto half of his face.
“Yeah, we’ll talk. Tonight.” Gray seemed pleased with her response and a small smile crossed his freshly shaved face. She resisted the urge to place her hand on his cheek. Instead, she nodded and kicked off her covers that were suddenly incubating her.

She was distracted all day. Her professor stood in the front of the room. He asked her a question, but she didn’t hear him. “Calla? Did you hear me?” She looked up and apologized, asking for the question to be repeated again. She had a 12-page paper due in 5 days. The extent of her research was a cursory Google search. She could envision her tasks creating a long list, but she lacked the motivation. Her last class ended at 4:00 and then she walked the half mile to her job at the bookstore.

“Calla, go home.” She looked up as Mrs. Miner peered at her over rimless glasses. “You’re wasting my time and your customers…and yours.” Calla fidgeted with a ball of rubber bands and realized she’d been staring out the window for the past 30 minutes.
“Oh.” She released the rubber bands and wiped away an imaginary dust bunny on the work table. “I’m really sorry, Terry. I haven’t been myself today and I’m just…” Terry waved away her explanation and gingerly patted her shoulder.
“Go home.”

She tossed her tote bag onto a kitchen chair and drummed her fingers on the counter. He wouldn’t be coming home for another hour, she thought. She got out the red kettle and poured a cup’s worth of water into it from the faucet. It was unseasonably warm for March, but the thought of berry infused green tea was enticing to her. Her eyes glanced outside the window to see a family of finches hopping in the overgrown holly bush. She started humming when the front door opened and closed.
“Gray?”
“Hi.”
“You’re home early.” She turned around, wanting to greet him at the door. She remained in front of the stove instead. He set his briefcase on the floor and draped his blazer on the back of a chair.
“Yeah, I got a lot accomplished this morning and didn’t stop for lunch. I thought it’d be okay…and I needed to come home, too.” The kettle started whistling and she shut off the burner. The hot water created puffs of steam.
“Let’s talk.” She led them to the family room. Her pile of magazines was untouched. She sat down, legs crossed in the striped arm chair. He sat down on the couch. After a few moments he picked up a Southern Living.
“Have you ever even read one before, hun?” She shrugged off his remark by rolling her eyes.
“Okay, let’s talk.” He looked nervous and he even loosened his tie. It was the burnt red one that his aunt had given him last year. She continued looking at him boldly and unashamedly this time. He could only think of two words.
“I’m sorry.”


She didn’t know if she wanted him to tell her how long he had known her or if she was in love with him. Nothing really happened, he insisted. He had no intention of ending his marriage for her. She took some small satisfaction in that fact. It was a satisfaction that she knew would manipulate her into prideful thinking so she tried to discard it. He had inflicted a great deal of damage. She grasped her cup of tea and felt the heat radiating into her hands. The askew magazine remained in place. She sat up and walked towards the back patio.
“Calla?” He followed her. A nuthatch lighted down onto the holly bush. He watched the couple remain in silence. Gray dragged one of the slightly rusty lawn chairs to sit next to his wife. They watched the sun move westward, still no words to narrate their thoughts. “Are you hungry?” She shrugged her shoulders apathetically, but felt a slight gnawing in her stomach. “I’ll get us some take-out. Chinese?”
“That’s fine with me.” He got up and fished for the keys in his pocket. Walking towards the driveway, he hesitated a moment to look at her. Her eyes were looking towards the horizon.

time makes bolder

I'm older, it's true. TWENTY-FOUR. It seems much older than 23. Obviously, but it even sounds older. It's not really early twenties anymore. Or is it? Is 24 still considered to be an early twenties age? I was discussing the age with one of my co-workers. 24 is a very significant number. It's the number of hours in a day and also the name of a TV show. I'm excited about being 24 and all that this year may hold. I hope/plan to say the same about each birthday I celebrate. Getting out of bed one day, I hope I'll say - "77 is going to be a good year."

calories (un)wanted

I really like french fries. If they weren't so incredibly bad for you, I would probably eat them at least once a day. Why is that? Why are some of the worst foods, the ones you crave the most? I would love to crave...oh, I don't know...green peppers. Yes, one day I hope to crave green peppers. But I guess until that day comes, I will have to force myself to eat salads and run on the treadmill.

At the same, there is a level of satisfaction in taking care of yourself. I tend to sleep better, wake up more refreshed, and have less of those "these-pants-look-unflattering" moments. Sometimes the hardest thing and the right thing are the same. Thank you, The Fray.