Tongue Tied

When I was younger, I had a slightly different view of salvation. I accepted Christ as Savior when I was a small child and spent my life in church and Christian schools. To me, it was sort of like "I'm saved. End of story." But now I see it differently. I see layers to my salvation. It isn't so much a one time deal as a process that continues throughout my life. Now I'm not saying I'm any more "saved" than I was that moment when I confessed that I was a sinner and needed Jesus to redeem me. But I don't feel like my story ends there, but rather begins there. I'm convinced that every believer, especially those who were saved at a young age, will come to a point as they mature where they must make their faith personal, deeper. Where they need to fall in love with Jesus. Where he becomes more than a Savior, but also a lifestyle. A lover. A mentor. A friend. A constant choice. I came to that point shortly after Thing One was born. Several factors

Perhaps I should start out this post by declaring for the record that I am not pregnant. Because there may come a point where my dedication to the topic of this post makes you wonder. Today's post is about......homemade chicken quesadillas. And my undying affection for them. These are a special treat around here. Because they take like an hour and a half to make, it's not very often that I'm making these for dinner. Every so often though, I get a hankering and I throw caution to the wind and trash my kitchen and spend an enormous amount of time just to get these on the table. So worth it every time. My husband declares undying love for me whenever I make these. It's the bacon. If I were to wear bacon-scented perfume, he'd probably never go to work. My children love all the cheese. They sneak handfulls of it from the grated pile while I'm cooking. I remember doing that when my mom cooked. I love warming the tortillas in melted butter. That's definitely the s

I want to write. I have lots of things swirling around, floating in my brain, words that are hovering just over the keyboard needing to be written. They keep taunting me, saying "Write me!! Before you forget!!" Problem is, they're in story form. I really struggle with writing fiction. Nonfiction, namely blog posts, is where I excel. I'm a one trick pony. I have always struggled with writing fiction. My sister, who is adept at writing novels, says after the first fifty pages, usually they write themselves. Which doesn't really help me since I have the end of my story completely planned out, yet I have absolutely no idea how to start. Which is why I usually just crank out a blog post to satisfy my writing needs. But this is the first time in my life a story has just kept nagging me. Usually my ideas dim after a few weeks, or even a few days. But this one has just stuck. Perhaps it's because I'm living some parts of my story and I need a way to purge it. I&

It's VBS week here in my world, which means I have little free brain space left to write anything coherent. I'm supposed to be coming up with ideas for my junior high class' presentation at the closing program Friday night. Yeah...nothing's coming. We have a reputation to uphold since our class' part is usually witty and funny, and here I am drawing a total blank. Just. So. Tired. I love VBS. Well, I love VBS when I'm actually at VBS. When I'm there, it's fun. It's singing songs I love and jumping around and being a kid again. But as soon as I come home to my neglected house and peel off my very sweaty clothes, and think of the mountains of laundry I'm avoiding and the script I should be writing, VBS sure does seem like work. It's always worth it though. Every year, a child who desperately needed it hears the Gospel. And every year, I learn a valuable lesson too. And I get to be part of an awesome band. And there are also cookies. So I guess

So, this is my husband. He's been in my life since I was thirteen. That was a long time ago. I've now been with Seth longer than I lived without him. For over half my life, my heart has been his. Not that it's always been an easy road. Highschool brought some tough times. Big fights. Other girls. Jealousy. Flirting. Three paged single spaced notes (front and back, of course). I still like to write, but thankfully I've advanced to more creative things than those letters. Marriage hasn't been a cake walk either, but not because we fight or anything. We actually almost never fight. And our "fights" usually consist of me rolling my eyes and him giving the silent treatment for five minutes. I don't know how we've escaped arguing. Don't all couples argue on occasion? I guess I'm too lazy to find interest in maintaining an argument, and he's too much of a people pleaser to let me be mad at him. For whatever reason, we have a pretty peaceful ma

So, I have this sister in law, Lydie. Lydie and I often find ourselves musing about the fact that our husbands are nearly the same person. Those brothers are more like twins. They have the same idiosyncrasies, a lot of the same interests and hobbies, the same habits and facial expressions. It's crazy how alike they are. Lydie and I will be talking and one of us will mention something our husband said or did and immediately the other exclaims "Mine does that too!" While we married basically identical men, Lydie and I are very opposite in most aspects of our lives. Lydie is a doer. A fixer. Up at the crack of dawn, always on the go. She enjoys exercise, yardwork and home remodeling. Not only enjoys them, but actually does them. She makes it a priority to stay fit and active. She loves hosting parties. She's dark and beautiful and exotic looking. Then, there's me. Next to Lydie, I look like a walrus taking a nap on a rock. I am not a morning person, unless we're

I haven't been much for blogging lately. It's not that I don't have things in my life I want to write about. On the contrary, I'm bombarded with ideas for essays and novels right now. Stress will do that to me. The actual writing and posting of such ideas, however, has been spotty at best. But in the interest of staying in the game, I'll post an essay of nothingness, which I'm sure is your very favorite kind. Random things you should know: I spent the morning at a mall in Pittsburgh the other day and spent way too much. Another side effect of stress I suppose. But I'm having a hard time feeling bad about the things I got. I spent the weekend with old friends and feel both refreshed and utterly exhausted. We should do that more often! I should be making lunch for the four children under my roof right now. I'm thinking about weeding the yard. Which is a huge step for me in the process of actually doing something in the yard. Usually I don't even think

My writing triggers: Freedom, by Michael W. Smith (the entire album) Rolling acres of farmland Cemeteries Reading a really good book Watching a really good movie Long car rides My grandparents' house Looking at old family photos Old houses or mansions Rain Ghost stories Museums History Reading things I have previously written Chocolate But let's face it, that last one pretty much triggers any activity in my life. What are your creativity triggers?