Two Peas In a Pod

These two have become such good friends.  Kolby keeps Hutch company while we are away.

A Tad Bit Redundant

You think a smoke detector losing its juice is bad...

Party!

Wrapping up our month long series of delving into "What is Christianity all about, anyways?", our youth pastor closed us with the opportunity to accept Christ.  And praise Jesus, two of our girls accepted Christ!!!  There was a huge party thrown in Heaven last night for these two beautiful girls.  Two other ladies recommitted their lives, and several others realized where they needed to refocus.
God is miraculous!!!

Let It Rain

What does it actually mean to be real? Does it simply mean to show one's true colors, or does it go deeper?  Living in a big city has taught me a few things, and yes those things do extend beyond a general dislike of traffic.  People do what they can to succeed.  This may apply to a job, a relationship, even a position in line at the grocery store.  If they can get ahead, they will--and they won't look back to see who've they've left lying flat on their face.  Something else that happens is that people lose their individuality.  They conform to what is expected--they become an entirely new being.

It took me almost the whole first semester of college before I realized our campus was hemmed with mountains. One morning, after a heavy rainstorm, the sky cleared itself of swirly smog revealing a beautiful snow-capped mountain.  I can remember stopping dead in my tracks to take in the site and being in awe of the fact that I'd never before seen this enormous picture before.  Thanks to the rain, LA showed me her true colors that morning. Exotic light shows and Starbucks on every street corner couldn't hide her original beauty.

Much like LA, our lives begin to be covered over with a smog of expectations.  We are told to be leaders, not followers.  We are told we haven't fully lived until we've tried things outside our comfort zones.  We are told we deserve happiness, and with happiness our dreams will come true.  Our lives are covered with smog.  What might show if we allow the rain to wash over us? So often we get caught playing the game of life rather than living it. We are told to be "what they want" in job interviews or laugh away hurtful comments. Is it really that important to cover up our real selves with a fake smile and nod?

I find myself wondering who I'd be if I set aside the expectations. What might happen if I didn't hide behind my smile? What would a coworker do if I said "not great" in response to a "How are you?" 

God created us hemmed with mountains...so why do we allow smog to cover it up?

One Year Ago...

Hutch came to work with me for the first time one year ago...and he continues to be the work mascott.



Never Let It Go To Waste

I am notorious for allowing fruit to go bad.  Bananas slowly earn their blackened bruises, and the apples...well the poor things just age and get saggy.  Gross, I know.  But the good news, is they never go to waste.  While I may not attempt to peel the limp banana for a healthy snack, I will certainly stick it in the freezer for later treats.  Bread, muffins, smoothies, pancakes--the options are limitless.  And thanks to yesterday's experiment, I now know that softened apples (far from rotten, I promise) make perfect apple pie.  Yumm!
Happy President's Day, Mr. Washington...I baked you an Apple Pie.

As I was cutting the pie, Jesse asked me, "Did you take a picture first?"  Apparently he has been aware of my habit of capturing these insignificant details of our life for our blog.  I'm sorry to say that my mouth-watering appetite for apple pie stopped me from grabbing my phone for a quick photo.  But you can believe me when I say this one was the best looking one I've ever made.  :)

Finding Peace

The clock told me it was far too early to rise from my pillow, but Hutch felt otherwise. Knowing I had at least two more hours of sleep left on the menu, I decided to try the only thing I knew to work…rubba-tummy. (Term coined from my dad)

He removed his furry rear end from my face, where he’d earlier considered a reasonable place to plop, and allowed me to cuddle him close. And so we laid there, him with his tongue fallen to one side due to the harmonious tummy rub, and me fighting as best I could to fall back asleep. Before I knew it, my alarm clock was singing and we’d slept soundly.

It’s these moments—now please don’t laugh at me—that make me long to have a baby. I’ve never been a Mom, so for those who do have children of your own, you may think I’m crazy. She has no idea what she’s talking about, you might think. And you’re right…I don’t. But I do know that ever since I can remember, my instinct to nurture and protect has been off the charts. My first baby doll barely has a face left on her rubber skin due to the dozens of kisses and hugs. As my friends transition from newlyweds to parents, I fight the urge of jealousy. I muster up excitement and smile when they share their good news. Deep down it hurts, and I find myself questioning Why me? And it’s then that God whispers, I have a plan for you.

His plan may not be our own, but we can find peace in knowing it’s THE plan.

Strange Puppy

Hutch was a tad bit squirrelly last night.  He showed off his Wild Puppy skills at least three times, and if that wasn't enough, he decided to try out a new hide-and-seek spot.  Too bad the cords got him.

Yes...that is an old school Nintendo right there. :)

We Mourn. We Dance.

It is the difficult days--the ones where nothing seems to go right--that we can begin to understand our blessings.  Our attention is peaked when we desire nothing more than something to be in our favor, and it is it at that point we realize there is a bounty just waiting for our attention.  Yesterday was a peculiar day.  While Whitney Houston's "I Will Always Love You" played at least one hundred times on the radio and dozens of red blooms were delivered to our office, I was recovering from a difficult phone call and a lingering cough.  Perhaps that doesn't sound so bad--and it wasn't.  It was not my day that was so difficult, but a friend's.

A friend of mine from work has been struggling with her husband's failing health.  For the past seven months she has watched him go from a fairly healthy 70 year-old man to a spindle of bones and a failing mind.  Recently his dementia has worsened, leaving peculiar thoughts in his head.  He has decided he's marrying his wife's coworker, Heather, and he's relentlessly called every family member and friend to spread his good news.  We've been able to chuckle about this, until yesterday.  He called me and proposed.  It was their 30th wedding anniversary yesterday.  No words could convince him that I already had a husband nor he a wife.  It took me saying firmly that I would not marry him, ending the conversation with him in tears.  I was spooked a bit, but mostly just hurting for my friend.  I called her to keep her informed, which only broke her heart more.  Her world is falling apart.  Her difficult day continues on.

Psalm 30:11 talks about God turning mourning into dancing.  Watching my own family endure health complications and experiencing Jesse's struggles with him have helped me see that God is capable of just that.  Sometimes He speaks to us through a beautiful sunrise.  Other times, he sends us encouragement through others in a note.  Without those difficult days, or weeks, or months, we cannot fully understand His love and grace.  We need perspective even if that means hurting to gain it.  And with those difficult days, will come dancing.

The Not So Mushy Gushy Stuff

Did you ever think your Happily Ever After would mean breakfast in bed every morning and butterflies in your tummy every time you kissed your prince?  I'm not sure if it was my overdose on Disney's portrayal of love or just wishful thinking, but I thought something very close to this.  After being married for almost five years, I've come to realize the importance of love itself.  Not the rapid heart-beating kind of love that makes you feel like you're swimming in a field of roses, but the consistent, thoughtful love.  The love you can depend upon with your husband or wife, through the good times and the bad.

Today, on this red-filled day called Valentine's Day, I am thankful for my husband, Jesse.  He has been faithful to me during some very difficult trials, and he's been a model of grace.  I can see Jesus' love in his actions.  I'll sacrifice my Happily Ever After dreams of yacht vacations and 24-7 romance for that any day.

Learning to Pray

In an effort to answer some hanging questions from our the young women in our small group, we are undergoing a month long "Christianity Crash Course."  I suppose that's not the best term for it, but essentially, we're giving them a rundown of what a relationship with Jesus is all about.  Last night, one of our youth pastors talked about prayer.  For someone who is new to the idea of prayer, it's an awkward and uncomfortable commitment to make.  Who wants to talk to air?

But Jess made it simple and completely opened my eyes to something I've never thought about...and we're supposed to be doing this for the students...

She took the Lord's Prayer from Matthew 6 and showed us a format for prayer.  Just like we use MLA or APA for formatting papers, we can use the Lord's Prayer (LP) format for talking to God.
Five categories:  Worship, Petition, Forgiveness, Guidance, and then added in, Thanksgiving.  I don't normally format my prayers, but after last night's lesson, I think perhaps it would be a good practice to model my talks after Jesus' prayer.  He gave it to us for a reason...
Funny how I walk away from a high school lesson with plenty to think about until the next week lesson. :)

1-2-3, Here I come

I sat down here this morning with every intention of pouring out my heart in a creative fashion.  The eloquent vocabulary was sitting on the edge of my tongue with her legs a'swinging;  But the moment I opened the screen to begin telling my tale, she jumped out of sight.  And now, I've lost her.

I have no words. 

Pizzazz

Midnight Plum (not black)

Sometimes we need a little pick-me-up.  Usually for me that means a mocha from Starbucks, but last night, I needed help--desparately.  Apart from sounding like a man for the past four days, I was feeling gross and very unfeminine.  So, what better thing to do than to paint my nails with a fun new color? I've said it before, and I'll say it again...it's the little things...

Hello, Tuesday

It's my second day working from home, and I'm beginning to feel antsy.  I hope that's a sign I'm on the mend.  I better bounce back quickly, or folks are going to think Andy has replaced his assistant with a raspy-voiced man who sounds like he's drowning in snot.

Hutch has been taking good care of me.  He hasn't left my side all weekend.

The Story Behind the Title

A blog of many words wouldn't best be described by the title: When You Say Nothing At All.  This particular blog may be better described with something like "Chatterbox Central" or "The Talk Depot." But there's more to our title than what some might presume.
For some, it's just a song title. For Jesse and me, it's a beginning. I've been a fan of Alison Krause for quite a few years, and I can remember the first time I heard this particular song. My Dad and I were in the car, and when he caught a few of the lyrics, he turned up the volume. After the song, we discussed the meaning. I can remember him telling me that when a man loves a woman so deeply, he is able to prove it without convincing; without telling her. His actions show his love.  This song has always had a special place in my heart.

Zoom forward about ten years: I was dating a guy named Jesse Field, and we were at my parents' house out at WildHorse Canyon. We were playing a board game upstairs, and I absentmindedly hummed the tune to my ever favorite song. It was my turn to play, and as I realized I'd slipped and started singing the words, I saw that Jesse had frozen. I didn't think too much of it; I just figured he was being his normal goofy self.  Later that evening he explained his reaction. Prior to meeting me, he had told his friends that if a woman ever sang that song to him, he'd know she was the one.

And so...well, I guess that just about sums it up, doesn't it.

Favorite Picture Of The Week...

Life doesn't get much better than that...

The Art of Phlegm

We all know what phlegm is. And up until today, I've mistakenly been referring to it as flem. Sometimes it makes home in the nasal cavity, turning a putrid green, sure to scare any faint-at-heart away. At other times, this substance moves in to the lungs. He has a party, causing any breath taken to be accompanied by a clatter and rattle. Phlegm has many aliases--sputum, snot, boogies, loogies. All of which I'd prefer to never experience...but as the story goes, life is not fair.

My dear friend, Phlegm, chose to visit me on Friday. Before I knew it, he'd unpacked his bags in my lungs, and no matter how kindly or harshly I order him away, he stays. What those Expectorant boxes don't inform its patients of is one eentsy-weentsy detail. Women are not born-hockers. Sure, we may have impressed boys by how far we can spit. And some of us may even know how to zoom a spit wad to the front of a classroom (my hand is raised), but few of us delicate creatures can hock a loogie. I've spent all day following my husband's instruction, perfecting my guttural and most disgusting effort to rid my lungs of my tenant. My designated spit cup remains empty.

The training continues on...

Dogs, Dogs, and More Dogs

Walking Lito and Hutch last night

It's nigh-night time!!!

Time is Flyin'

Did January actually happen?  I'm pretty sure its 31 days must've been decreased to 2 because I can't recall them.  We are bound and determined to make February move at a snail's pace.  We're holding back the reigns with all our might, for we will slow this clock down...at least we'll try.

Sorry...I have no pictures to share.  The past two nights have consisted of dinner, 30 minutes of tv, and then off to bed.  I'll get there sooner or later though.

The Ups, The Downs, and The In Between

One of my favorite activities during recess was playing on the teeter-totter. My best friends and I would race to the tallest, most dangerous one, oftentimes pushing others aside to get there first. Out of the three available, the middle one was the best. Its red paint was nearly all chipped away, but it still held great appeal. It felt like hours before the recess whistle blew, signaling our return to class. The wind would blow through our pigtails as we soared up high, our little bodies bouncing when the friend below struck the ground. The higher the bounce, the better. We had a thrill for danger as we knew it, and we enjoyed every second of it.

It has been years since I’ve played on a teeter-totter. Now that my legs are longer than the distance to the ground, I’m not even sure I’d like to sit on one, out of fear of ruining my treasured memories. But there is definitely a teeter-totter called life. One moment, there are pigtails blowing in the wind. The next moment, we're plopped down in the sand. Contrary to what The Home Guide to Health might say, I’m pretty sure I can’t blame it on hormones.

Life is up, and then it’s down. There is middle ground of course, but it’s the extremes we remember. Our achievements and successes stick with us, while our failures and pain lingers. But there is one constant balance beam in the middle of our teeter-totter. It doesn’t walk away; it doesn’t even budge when we hit the ground. Imagine a teeter-totter without a middle balance. It wouldn’t work. And neither would our life work without a stable hand guiding our way. He is there when we are up. And He is always there when we are down.