Divine Imperfections

Awkward & Still Totally Awesome: GOLDen Edition

Grrrrr... this is actually post take two, thanks to a stupid faulty internet feed.

The good news is, it'll be an abridged version.

 

It's time to let the Catscratch Fever out of the gym bag. And no, my secret is not that I'm suddenly a huge Pantera fan. It's that, I joined a gym. A gym with Zumba. 

Zumba: an excuse for middle-aged rhythmically challenged women (and two men) to shake their butts to obscure latin music (and a few well-known pop hits as well).

For those of you who know me - who know I spent all of February alternating my time between the couch and the drive thru line at Mickey D's - you KNOW what a giant miracle/ridiculous idea this is.

I am definitely not a gym kind of a gal.

Paying good money to sweat in public is not my idea of a good time. In fact, a month ago I would have paid good money NOT to sweat, much less shake my rump, in front of relative strangers.

However, a lot can change in a month. My metabolism and energy level for instance. And so I do think this came as a necessary change.  (Turns out I'm not the only one sucked into this absurd world recently.)

Anyways, I wanted to check in sooner, post the news as a quick, put me on the Prayer Chain sort of thing. But frankly I thought it might be a passing phase. And I wanted to make sure it stuck. 

And while it's still early to tell if this will be a lasting endeavor... after purchasing two new pairs of Yoga pants, I'd like to think my commitment level has moved to at least a 7.5. (Which is a point and a half higher than when I first spoke to a gym rep.) And that makes me feel pretty good. Afterall, I don't know what says "I'm in it to win it" like purchasing No Nonsense socks. 

Literally.

 

While they're not nearly as cute as the polka dotted versions I wore on day one, I do think they lend some credibility to my sporty challenge.

And though this is gonna be an uphill battle, and I'm a long long way off from reaching my fitness goals (namely to be able to take out the trash without getting winded) there is already tons to report after just a week.

And, since I missed Awkward & Awesome Thursday, I thought I'd play catch up now with a special Golden Edition if you will (since I am now a card-carrying member of Gold's Gym, get it?).

Here's what I've picked up on so far, about life in the Fat Burner Lane on the treadmill. And it comes with a promise to check back in with a fuller report soon.

 

Awkward: When the guy beside you burps during Zumba class and instead of learning the sweet dance moves you spend the next song figuring out what he ate for lunch. (Old shoe with refried beans I'm pretty sure.)

Awesome:  When the guy in your Zumba class does the hip swivel move... too funny!!

 

Awkward:  Back sweat! Surely there is nothing so ladylike and classy in all the world as sweat stains on one’s lower back. 

Awesome:  Yoga pants... they only SEEM like a really bad idea until you try them on.  They are in fact quite forgiving.

 

Awkward:  Knowing the guy on the adjacent treadmill thinks you’re eyeing the meatheads near the pull-up bar. 

Awesome:  Knowing you’re actually eyeing the 78-year-old beast man show up all the young guns.

 

Awkward:  Realizing you ate twice as many calories as you burned, just during dessert. Dang Blue Bell pints. NO ONE ever eats the serving size. 

Awesome:  Realizing you don’t care (or that it was worth it at least). I mean, Cookies & Cream is Cookies & Cream.

 

Awkward: When you go to pull your head phones out and something crusty falls from them. I believe with all my heart it was a sticker, but I also believe with all my heart that the gym manager who was watching thought it was a year’s worth of ear wax. Super awkward.

Awesome:  After trying four different treadmills and having to ask for help, finally figuring out how to work the radio thingies which enabled me to watch - and listen to - TV for the first time in weeks. Not counting an episode of Chopped over the weekend at a friend's.

 

Awkward: The painful way pigtails hit your face while Living La Vida Loca in Zumba.

Awesome:  Finding a spot next to the only girl in class LESS rhythmic-ly gifted than you. And while I am certainly not one to throw a "You can't Somba" stone, it is nice being reassured that you are not the absolute least gifted "dancer" in all of Central Texas.

 

Awkward:  Looking like a crazy addict hopping from treadmill to treadmill trying to find a TV that worked (before asking for help).

Awesome: Laughing so hard at Parks & Recreation that you didn't care your fellow gym goers thought there was Speed in your Gatorade. Did I mention it’s been weeks since I watched TV?

 

Awkward:  Expecting to show the old folks up in step aerobics, only to discover those grannies can step you under the absurd little tables/benches...

Awesome: Realizing that your gym cares enough to find the very best instructors, and by best I mean they searched the world to find this lady. And let me tell you, when every muscle in your wimpy legs is burning there is nothing like hearing "Push it Momma" screamed at you by a psycho with a microphone and machines for thigh muscles.

   

Now, I don't have a clue what exciting endeavors you might have bitten off this past week. But I hope with all my 30-year-old heart that you will enjoy every last morsel of what life has to offer.

In my case, it might just be a red velvet cake bite purchased at one of my favorite coffee shops. A cake bite that will totally be worth an extra twenty minutes on the StairMaster Monday. Right?

Happy Saturday!

The stuff of dreams

So, tonight I set out to do the same sorta thing I do every Friday night. Namely, and maybe some, and later.

 

But then it hit me. What am I wasting my time around here for when I am exactly one meeting away from living a dream.

I mean, honestly, how could a casting director NOT give me the part, when I'm so clearly, um, melanined for the gig.

An uncanny resemblance don't you think.

And hey. If that didn't work out there's always...



Either way I think it's a win.

It's a thought anyways. And odd one albeit, but a thought nonetheless.

 

Hope your Friday night has been the stuff of dreams too.

 

 

*Green Mes compliments of Queen Helene. Other photos, compliments of Google search. (You can click the photos to see hear what they're all about.)

 

Just when you think it can't get any better

I like Switchfoot. A lot. In fact, I once left work early and rode in a car filled with practical strangers to see their concert on a moment's notice.

Clearly, I like Switchfoot.

But... and I mean no disrespect to the surfer sound responsible for most of "A Walk to Remember" and just about every inspirational video created in the late '90s...

I LOVE Jon more. 

 

So glad to get that off my chest.

What can I say? I was always more of an acoustic kinda gal anyways.

 

And that is life.

Just when you think it can't get any better... 

Sometimes, occasionally, miraculously it does.

 

Happy eve of the day before the day before the weekend friends. Here's to being hopeful.

Tossing Pennies

It's been a weird week so far. A rough week so far.

Ever have days you just WISH everything could be simple? Be EASY for a while?

Well that's today for me. 

I WISH so badly life could just be easy. That maybe if I ran back to El Chico in McKinney - a place with a giant fountain in the center of the dining room - I could toss coins in the water until things just fixed themselves. As a kid I always remember that being such a joy, throwing coins into fountains.

But, as an adult, I realize (whether I like it or not) that even if I had the time to make the drive, and all the pennies in the world, making WISHES never fixes anything. It can be fun, especially if you like hearing the plunk of the metal hitting the water (which I do), but it can't fix a thing.

 

Since my iPod came back from the Land of the Dead (the void under the passenger's seat) I've been listening to a bunch of old, random mixes. They represent a million (like two) heartaches, a lot of silliness, and the general nostalgia of yesteryear. 

 A lot of the mixes are fun, and happy. But today, this song came on as part of the "Jenferder's Emo Kicks" playlist, which represents the brief phase in my life when I finally embraced black nail polish, Converse and very dark hair dye.

   

 To be perfectly honesn't the best phase for me. I looked a bit harsh. And felt quite a bit worse on the inside. It was a time when life, in many ways, felt cold, empty. And so, it seems fitting that this song - unlike those on my cheerier musical concoctions - is not the easiest song to listen to. 

Unlike so much of the music I generally like to listen to, it doesn't make me feel better. In fact, it does quite the opposite. Listening to this song makes me feel even more sad. It makes things seem even worse. Almost hopeless.

But, I'm sharing it today not to make everyone sad... but because it reminds me of some hard truths... truths that none of us really LIKE to hear, but that maybe we NEED to anyways. Truths I know I needed to think about today.

 

Easier doesn't always mean better. And simplest isn't always the best.

Sometimes, rather unfortunately, the only way to truly get past pain/difficulty/frustration is to go straight through it.

Not hide from it. Or try to outrun it. But go right through it, trusting that there is something worthwhile waiting on the other side, and someone Faithful walking alongside.

Unlike tossing coins into a fountain, I know that placing my faith in my Father has proven results. Because for thousands of years He has been showing up when His children need Him most, I am trusting He will be real, present where He is needed now.

Because He was able to part the seas back then, surely He can still create a path where none seems to be now. 

And knowing He was long been faithful to forgive fools,  makes it a little easier for this foolish girl to go before Him now, begging Him to overlook the fact she occasionally places too much stock in her pennies.

 

This week instead of pouring more pennies down a well... I am truly sending prayers up to my God... or making noises at least, and trusting the Holy Spirit to translate them on my behalf.

And what I'm praying for is not the quickest, easiest "solution." I'm praying for a MIRACLE. I'm praying for something that's infinitely better than what I could WISH for. I am praying for something only God can do.

I don't know about you, but I think it's time I take a giant step away from the wishing well and move forward in faith.

How I pray we might all have the courage to (if nothing else) inch forward, in faith.

"Until you love yourself you'll never change. Run away, run away. But that won't make it any better."
Plain White T's 

 

Can I say one thing?

Please? Just one thing I think you really need to hear?

 

And it is. It's going to be alright.

Also, I LOVE YOU. But that's just a bonus thing, so you can't hold it against me.

V-Day

As promised... PICTURES! A screenshot to be exact. A screenshot of moi, looking like an idiot in my very own Photobooth!

To say I'm excited would be a great understatement. But really guys, I'm excited! 

In case context clues were never your thing, "I bought" a laptop this weekend. Which means this post is being typed not on my slimy ol' iPhone, but on my shiny, new computadora keys. If there's an award for using multiple languages in a blogpost, I'm gunning for it tonight. And if my neighbors ask, NO, I am not posting this from their Wifi account!

Anyways, though I got to play the idiot stuck lugging a 20 pound 150 pound printer (gift with purchase) around the mall Saturday, technically the new computer was purchased for me by my Uncle Sam.

I mean he wasn't there to watch as the tech guy completed the whole transaction using nothing but his smart phone (so crazy!). But he did foot the bill, which was fairly nice of him.

And I can't really explain why. It's not like we're particularly close. I only spend a couple days a year consciously aware of his existence. To be honest, he's not even my favorite uncle.

In fact, he's the one I generally try to avoid sitting beside at the family reunion. And I know better than to mention his name in a lot of circles, he has a bit of a reputation you see.

But there's a lot to be said for my Uncle Sam.

Yea he wears bad suits, and likes to see his name in print. He rarely knows when to shut up about hot button issues. BUT, he's on a first-name basis with Stephen Colbert (which is nerdily cool). He always has really impressive facial hair. And, at least once a year, he seems to pull through in a pretty big way. Last year, he paid down my Visa. This year, he gifted me a new computer.

It was a weird feeling too, receiving something so nice. Especially after spending last weekend literally counting change to pay for my fast food purchases. Walking out of the illusive Apple store with a laptop in tow (and without the security alarm sounding) was like a dream come true. Not to mention long-anticipated. Let's just say Sisqo was still a pretty big deal when I got my last computer. So yea, it was probably time to move on.

Soooo... all that to say, thank you Uncle Sam. Your kindness really could not have come at a better time, namely the week before what is generally my least favorite holiday of the year. Spending the weekend surrounded by family, friends (and now clicking away from the comfort of my bed) really has been a wonderful way to commemorate the days before the one most people will be celebrating this month

 

Thank all of you too, for bearing with me, during what has been a LONGGG transition. For enduring photo-less post after photo-less post. Crazy, extra-random rant after even-more random rant. It really is a wonderful thing to be able to get things off your chest AND know there are confidants out there who are cheering you on. :) You guys Ya'll are awesome!

 

And I'd like to wish you a very Happy Whatever It Is You Feel Like Celebrating Today. Yea, call it Valentine's Day if you want, so long as you are celebrating not the candy hearts and the flowers, but the LOVE in your life. Be it "a special someone," or a lot of them... friends that can always make you laugh,  family members willing to move furniture or who can't move at all but still manage to be great company... or even a pretty silver laptop brought to you by strange ol' Uncle Sam... LOVE is always worth rejoicing in and thanking God for!

Happy V-Day! (And happy tax refund season. ;) )
jen 

 

*I will rejoice in today! Really I will. And I will congratulate you on your beautiful flowers...
But... that doesn't mean I can't stick my tongue out at all you love birds while I do it. :)
Hit it Mandy.
  

I'm not gonna Write you a LOVE song

I have probably shared the following song before. But I'm gonna share it again tonight.

'Cause I LOVE it. And 'cause I promised you LOVE songs. But, probably most importantly, because I myself am not a songwriter.

I've tried it a few times. To put my thoughts to music. But not only do I strum a guitar like Johnny Cash (but without the swagger to back it up). I also sacrifice emotional depth for the easy rhyme everytime. And so, unless it comes to changing the lyrics to Bright Eyes songs, which you can ask my sister - I'm pretty good at - I must rely on others to so eloquently (and beautifully)  put my deepest (and most intimate) thoughts with a melody.

And having said that, it would be silly to say "I couldn't have done it any better myself." 'Cause really, that's now well-established.

But I do want to go ahead and say "Thank you Ginny Owens. Seriously. This one really warms my heart (which is a particularly good thing this bitter February... brrrrr)."

 

 

It's such a beautiful melody I think. But also, such a wonderful reminder of what really matters in life, which just so happens to be something I've been thinking a lot about this week.

WHAT really matters?

Well I can assuredly tell you it's not what you drive. Or where you live. It's not what you eat (though that can certainly help). And it's NOT what you wear.

It's not what you can rent to entertain yourself. Or what you can do to try and escape yourself.

It's not how much money you've got. Or how much security you feel.

It IS, I believe, who and how you LOVE and are LOVED. That's it. All of life summed in one word. LOVE. It is all that matters after all. Carrie was right. At least I think so. And I'm pretty sure the Bible tells me so.

I can do a lot of things with the breaths I take. With the choices that are laid before me. I can go a lot of places. Meet a lot of people. Make a little money. Drink a LOT of Coke.

But at the end of the day. And definitely at the end of my life, ALL that will really matter is the LOVE.

That's all. It's everything.

Love, sweet LOVE.

Sometimes LOVE looks a lot like stalking

I wanted to title this one "It's me again Margaret," 'cause that's sorta how I feel. Like some creep that just keeps popping up in your newsfeeds with ridiculous stuff to say about LOVE and life, and how hard it is to use kitchen appliances.

But, then I thought naming my post after a Ray Stevens song is pretty strange/obscure even for me. So instead I'm just gonna reference it incessantly, okay?

Plus, it's not like I'm technically a stalker or anything. I just creep around the interweb, seeing what you all are doing at all hours of the day, trying to stay connected in my own pathetic (but at least perfectly clothed) ways. Well, I'm mostly clothed, I try to be clothed at least. But life doesn't always work the way we plan, right? Keep reading.

Anyways, all this nonsense has got me thinking that even though we might not care to admit it (for risk of being slapped with a restraining orders I'm sure), sometimes LOVE looks a lot like stalking. I mean, I know celebrities might disagree. And ex-boyfriends who have been circled at work by giggling girls in their sedans. But really? Who doesn't do a little cyber creeping in the name of LOVE once in a while? If you ask me, LOVE looks a lot like stalking.

At least if you're a mother on Facebook, or a blog follower like me.

So there you have it, a confession of sorts. But mostly a jest. Sorta a jest. I believe the word I'm looking for is...

Anyways... in honor of Mr. Stevens and the stalker in all of us, here are a few things you would have picked up on had you been peering through my windows this weekend. Which, coincidentally, you totally could have done. 'Cause after opening them to enjoy the beautiful sunshine Saturday I couldn't figure out how to close my blinds. That's right, apparently my domestic ineptitute extends all the way to roller blinds. Yay me. So yea, I'm a stalker's dream. Again, yay me.

Anyways again, here's my not-so-quick weekend recount.

Yesterday I ate 2/3 of my meals from bowls to prove my allegiance to this great country of America. I really wanted to eat a bowl of ice cream last night to further fulfill my patriotic duty (te-he) but instead I went with the also classic choice of frozen Thin Mints. I think Uncle Sam understood. Sometimes, as much as you love your country, you just don't want to go with dairy.

On a related note, I don't have cable. I don't even have rabbit ears. I have a RedBox half a block away, and a Hasting's several streets from that. So, other than a few Tweets about something I think they're calling American futbol, I know nothing of what happened outside the walls of my apartment - or Hastings - over the weekend.

That's right, instead of watching boys beat each other up, I watched men gruesomely kill one another, and developed a girl crush on Mary Louise Parker in the process (she is really funny in "Red," in case you were wondering).

Last week I also finally took the plunge and began a legit 30/30 challenge. After months of literally stalking Kendi's blog, I finally decided to jump in on the fun. Only, I am quickly realizing that peering at fashionable people doesn't change your own genetic DNA, or the contents of your closet

So, instead of looking incredibly cute every day last week, I looked like I felt. And I felt like I should have done laundry before embarking on this endeavor. Well, should have done laundry and purchased boots that could hold up to the snow, and also this shirt (only in blue) just because. But I didn't. I just dove in. Willy nilly style. Which has begun to pose some problems.

For those who don't stalk fashion blogs, the 30/30 simply means I'm wearing the same 30 articles of clothing every day for a month, or until I've come up with 30 outfits. I'm not allowed supposed to shop in those 30 days either. Yea, yikes!

And, if you knew me prior to 2011 you probably know this is hard for me for a number of reasons, namely...

1.) I'm not a huge fan of outfit repeating within a calendar month.

2.) Prior to my graduation from high school (at which point I finally learned how to do my own laundry) I wouldn't wear jeans more than once without washing them asking my mom ever so nicely to wash them for me.

3.) I haven't gotten crazy truly creative with my color/pattern combinations since my pink and teal Umbro short and character tee ensembles of the 90's.

So, needless to say, this is like camping for me. Like roughing it. Not 'cause I'm highly fashionable and am using to dressing up everyday. NOT AT ALL. But because...

1.) I've now worn the same chambray shirt at least 3 times in 7 days. (And I'm pretty sure my coworkers have noticed. If not by sight, by smell.)

2.) But I can't break down and wash it, not when laundry is $2 a load, so all my jean products are now having to tough it right along with me. Meaning they're not being washed EVER - or at least 'til I go home this weekend where laundry is free (and comes with Sunday lunch).

3.) Yesterday I wore orange, white and blue. Not 'cause I thought it was fashion forward. Or cool. But because those were the only items still hanging in my special 30/30 section of the closet. So, yes, instead of wearing normal people clothes, yesterday I wore an orange corduroy skirt, a white button-down, a blue sweater and a scarf that miraculously tied all those colors together.  Sadly though, even the miracle scarf could not explain why I was wearing a sweater with orange sandals, a day after my porch had been covered in snow. Only in Texas is what I say about that.

To help passersby make sense of my strange ensemble, I also wore a look on my face that said - "Hey world. Is it incredibly obvious that by my own self-infliction I'm working with approximately 1/8 of my usual wardrobe, and without a washing machine?" In other words, "Can you tell all my practical clothes are either hanging neatly in a forbidden section fo my closet, or not-so-neatly stacked up on my kitchen floor waiting to be cleaned?"

Though no one answered my rhetorical question, I did get some strange stares at Hasting's. And as many of you know, strange looks at Hasting's are at least 12 times stranger than those you might see at say the ever-so-busy Redbox in front of McDonald's.

At first, I wondered if it had to do with my outfit. If they were indeed saying "yes" with their eyes to the questions I dared not ask out loud. Then, I thought it might have to do with my hair. I did trim my own bangs last week. :/

Getting desperate for answers, I wondered if it had to do with my magazine selections. Yes I was reading a couples magazine called "The Nest," without a ring on my left finger. But Emma Pillsbury was on the cover; I couldn't help myself.

It turns out, though, it wasn't any of those completely illogicall things that caused not one but two teenage boys to do circles around the Arts/Crafts section of the book end of the store. They were seriously hovering as if Martha Stewart's Encyclopedia of Crafts were the new Scot Pilgrim graphic novel.

And, as it turns out, I'm pretty sure I was the culprit, as somewhat evidenced by their migratory patterns when I got up to leave after learning the real reason for the stares.

I'm 89 percent certain their strangeness had to do with the not-so-subtle depth of the slit up the front of my skirt. A slit I hadn't thought about until after I sat down. So much for modesty.

Though it was an honest mistake, and House Beautiful did try to come to my rescue, it was too little too late (and it's a big magazine people). I high-tailed it out of there. Never to return to Hastings again. I really need Netflix.

Ah well, is what I say. If Willard can win LOVE with nothing but a trench coat and a pay phone, I suppose I can steal hearts with only 30 items of clothing? Even if the bulk of them smell like my kitchen floor. Right?

My newfound coworkers are not gonna mind at all if I keep showing up in the same striped sweater, blue jean shirt, and leopard cardigan for three more weeks, right?

Well, have a wonderful Monday evening. Enjoy your ample closets. And, know that I LOVE you.

Really, I do. Not in a creepy, stalker way. Just in slightly stalker way. I promise.

:)
jen

 

LOVE deeper than the holler

Before we go throwing around the "L" word, I think maybe it'd be beneficial to take a long look at just what it is.

To do this, I of course am going to have to take you back to 1992, when an awkward girl in big glasses moved to a new school in the boondocks of the world (a.k.a. Princeton, the two-stoplight town many of you still call home).

While I grew to adore the home of the fightin' Panthers, the world's sweetest sweet tea and the cutest little salad bar in Collin County... there were two things that made my skin crawl when I first brought my mapcolors and permed blonde curls to a classroom in what is now Lacy Elementary.

First, was the little boy who stalked me after school.

I wasn't exactly sure what love was at the tender age of eight-years-old. But I was certain it wasn't a spiky-haired-boy who embarrassed me in front of my dad, by following me out to our minivan every day for a week, asking me incessantly, "Will you be my girlfriend? Wanna be my girlfriend? Hey you, do you wanna go out with me?"

Humiliated, but fed up, Friday afternoon I finally dignified him with a response. My ponytail swished violently as I turned to give him his long-awaited response.

"NO," I shouted in his face. And then I pulled our heavy gold door shut. That took care of that.

But even after that crisis was diverted (and shoved beneath layers of secrets not to be whispered of until well-into my senior year of high school) I still had one much bigger (and that's not just a joke about his height) problem to deal with. Something awful that kept me from embracing my new hometown. And that was a little institution called...

COUNTRY MUSIC!

Unless you were raised in a small southernn town yourself. Unless you went to school surrounded by people with mullets, and wearing t-shirts that put Garth Brooks not just on a level playing field with the American flag, but IN that flag...  I truly cannot describe to you just how prevalent country music was.

Particularly in the early 90's. Particularly in Princeton. But other than my elementary best friend, who listened almost exclusively to oldies, I don't think I met a person who disliked country music between 1992 and 2000. For several years of my life I was left to suffer in silence.

And I can't begin to describe to you how awfully bad I hated it. (But I'll try anways, 'cause frankly, it's kinda fun.)

Country music seriously made me ill. Hearing it on friends' radios, or teachers' stereos, stirred within me uncharacteristically violent feelings. And... unlike the little situation with the crazy, stalker boy... I feared, this case of loathing would never be resolved.

My previous school had been incredibly sophisticated and urban you see (in the ghetto heart of Fort Worth - which I didn't realize until much later has been lovingly dubbed as Cow Town - and with smelly good reason). The kids there wore cool baggy pants. And listened to rad hip hop music like Paula Abdul. Not Patsy Cline.

I of course, didn't listen to either. This was smack-dab in the middle of my Sandy Patty days, you see. Amy Grant's Heart in Motion was the craziest my musical inclinations got.

But still... I could handle people talking about criss crossing their clothing and in later years "mmm bopping" their way down the halls.

I could not, however, handle the violin, whiny rantings of folks like Wynonna Judd. Ick!

Thankfully, though, without me doing much to remedy the situation, my heart finally softened around junior high. Not for the poor heart-broken boy mind you. AS IF! :) But for the dog, beer and Momma filled croonings of 90's top country stars.

I blame Deana Carter and the girls on my seventh grade volleyball team for the early stages of my demise. Though wildly inappropriate, learning the lyrics to "Strawberry Wine" was like a rite of passage for pre-pubescent girls of my era.

But... the person I blame thank for transforming what began as a schoolgirl crush into a full-fledged LOVE affair with country music, was none other than Mr. Randy Travis.

I mean, come on.

He may not have the jeans of Tim McGraw, or the crown of "King" like George Strait. But that voice. So very deep. And that hair. So very high. (Holy, as Dolly would call it.) You really have to admit that Mr. Travis is one charming man. And, he hasn't faded into obscurity over the years (like so many pop stars do). He has churned hit after hit, year after year.

So yea... it was Mr. Travis and his hillbilly friends that changed my mind about country music. And, surprisingly, I'm actually really glad they did.

It can be cheesy, sure. And it's laden with twang, of course. But at its best it's also simple. Honest. And sweet. At times incredibly sweet, bitter and otherwise.

As they say, there ain't no party like a West Coast party. But there ain't no LOVE song quite like a country love song. And, if you dare to try and disagree, then clearly you don't watch enough infomericals by Time Life.

 

Now. The big question, of course, is why get into all that? Right?

Why on earth have I been droning on about country music? What has that got to do with anything? Right?

Am I actually trying to brainwash the world into LOVING country music (by world I mean 20 of you)? Has that been my ulterior motive all along?

No, of course not.

The reason I got the overwhelming urge to share all these silly facts with you, is actually because one of Travis' songs came to mind this morning, and I couldn't shake it from my mind. And I didn't want to either.

'Cause it popped into my unpredictable brain while I was reading the verse of the day that Air 1 is kind enough to send me each morning. A verse that does a pretty unbeatable job of describing the greatness of God's love. And I think that both the song and the verse, are an awfully nice way to think about LOVE. Something that truly is incalculable. And yet... something undeniable all at the same time.

These strange, "meandering" thoughts may be all over the place. But... and this is a huge STRETCH... so is the LOVE of God. And while one might be incredibly annoying. I'm so grateful that the other, is omnipresent, in the most comforting, remarkable way.

"And may you have the power to understand, as all God's people should,
how wide, how long, how high, and how deep his love is." Ephesians 3:18, NLT

As I re-read it now, it's funny to me that the verse doesn't really say anything. I mean, it doesn't say His love is as deep as... the tires on a really nice John Deere. Or as wide as... your ex-boyfriend's Momma, who liked to drink her beer from a barrel (doesn't that sound like an actual lyric? JK)...

In fact, if I were grading this verse (I'm a professional grader now, by the way) I would probably give it a D. "You should really complete your thoughts," I'd say.

But somehow, I think the mere fact that the author takes time to encourage us to understand the depth, and width and height of God's love, speaks "volumes" (math humor ;) ) about just how magnormous God's LOVE must truly be.

And, in fact, in this particular case, I think the bigger problem would be to try to qualify it any more than that. 'Cause there's no possible way to do justice to something so big. It can't be measured, and yet, we must continually examine how vast it is.

We're encouraged throughout the Bible to spend our lives in pursuit of knowing that LOVE. Sharing that LOVE. Living that LOVE.

And I, for one, am glad that it's a life pursuit without a calculable finish. That it's a life pursuit much bigger than I can realize today. And much bigger than I'll be able to understand 19 years from now.

Ayways, those are my thoughts on that... scattered as they may be, I hope you'll take comfort in knowing you are surrounded by a love too big to describe. But one that Travis' words sort of hit on, I think, in the following classic.

Take us home Travis.

 

I truly hope everyone is staying warm, and that maybe today you might take time to thank God for the deep, wide, lofty LOVE that He gives. LOVE that only gets better (and seems so much bigger) with time.

Love,
jen

Why try?

I think too much. And write too much. and quite frankly, I try too hard a lot of the time.

To fit in. To be funny. To be perfect. (Which, by the way has yet to work out for me.)

And that - all the stupid striving - is precisely why an hour and a half into my attempt at a blog post, this is all you get.

Funny thing is, yesterday, after a particularly rough/strange/crappy weekend... I prayed a quiet, simple, honest prayer.

I asked that God might let me see myself through His eyes instead of my own.

'Cause the thing is, my eyes were picking on me yet again, for a million perceived (and actual) flaws. Tearing me apart, imperfection by imperfection, until all I could see standing in the mirror before me was a shell. A gross, messy shell of a person that at one time - seems like ages ago - radiated joy. And also, did not have grey hair.

Well, I had mostly forgotten about the prayer by the time I was getting ready this morning. My hair was as psychotic as ever. The bags under my eyes just as pronounced as they were the day before.

But... and I really didn't realize it until I gave up on my proper blogpost and decided to link this little video instead... God answered my prayer!

'Cause on my way to work this morning, before the coffee had even entered my bloodstream yet, these words were sung over me. Like a sweet wake up call. One that made it possible to go to the bathroom without wanting to lock the door and cry. That made it possible to pass my reflection without wanting to be someone else.

"It's not about what you've done, but what's been done for you!"

Those words, aside from being great lyrics by Tenth Avenue North, were my answer to prayer.

And this evening, as I typed and typed and began banging at my brain and the keyboard trying to find the words... (how QUICK I am to forget) God graciously answered again. Not because He needed to, but because He is gracious and good.

"Why are you striving these days? Why are trying to earn grace?
Why are you crying, let me lift up your face. Just don't turn away.
Why are you looking for love?
Why are you still searching as if I'm not enough?
To where will you go child, tell me where will you run...
'Cause I'll be your side wherever you fall. In the dead of night, whenever you call.
And please don't fight these hands that are holding you. My hands are holding you."

Maybe it doesn't seem like a big deal to you. Maybe it seems like I'm making a lot out of very little. But as I've said before, I think joy comes from perspective.

And for me, today, those words meant a lot. Because they meant being able to look at my life through fresh eyes, through eyes that aren't demanding my love. But offering it.

 

Trying to earn love is exhausting. And often devestating. I should know, since I already 'fessed up to being an over-tryer.

But being offered love. Freely. Unconditionally. Eternally.

With no strings attached. No demands of perfection.

That is life-chaning. Mind-blowing. Wonderful.

And I hope and pray with all that is in me, that you might accept that sweet gift. That I might accept that sweet gift.