And this is the confidence we have towards Him.

I got to begin my regular prayer meetings with my friend Lacey yesterday, and it was so so so refreshing! There we were, coming before God, sitting by a tree in the Grove, fellowshiping with our Creator.

A couple of verses that have really stuck with me are from 1 John 5, verses 14 and 15:

And this is the confidence that we have toward him, that if we ask anything according to his will he hears us. And if we know that he hears us in whatever we ask, we know that we have the requests that we have asked of him.

I have never had so much confidence before the throne of God before. He is so good to us. He hears everything I tell him.

Lacey and I mentioned how we have seen fruit from every single one of our prayers, and how amazing it is to see prayer be so evidently effective. I think the Lord is taking our hearts and the more we fall in love with him, the more our will aligns with His. So that every thing we desire is in his will, and our powerful and mighty God is faithful to fulfill his goals and promises.

I can already see some of the things the Lord is gonna do here at school, and I cannot wait to join my Jesus in his efforts to heal the brokenhearted, bring hope to the hopeless, and to be glorified for His name's sake.

Summer in a Nutshell

Wow. This summer... was the best summer of my life.

I can't even begin to talk about all I've learned. I've spent two months of my summer in beautiful southern France living the dream life, traveling alone, working everyday on vineyards, exploring, experiencing God in the most powerful way.

As I quoted in my frentures blog,

I have had the best summer of my entire life. The Lord has been so faithful to teach me. I have loved every minute of bonding with Frenchies, being with those vines alone for hours on end, working harder than I’ve ever worked, eating more than I’ve ever eaten, praying more than I’ve ever prayed, singing with strangers, laughing with strangers, learning to love animals again, frolicking, independence, crazy chaotic travel days alone, train rides ruled by pondering and itunes and the prettiest views ever, hiking on those bluffs on the rocky coast, the Mediterranean, joy, sunburns, learning about other cultures, learning about my own culture, learning what I love, seeing how beautiful our God is, how He never leaves me, how He wants me to have the best life ever, and how that is exactly what I have.

I couldn’t have asked for anything better.

I spent so much time working alone and in prayer. God taught me so much about myself from spending so much time alone, and taught me an incredible amount about my heart within a short period of time. I have never seen God work so much through prayer, even answering prayers overseas within a day. He really instilled in my heart the truth that He is always listening. That time in France was indescribable. What a God.

Then I spent a week with a few of my best friends in northern Italy. Best friends. Beautiful views. Adventures. Shopping. Amazing food. Giggles. Best way to end my stay in Europe.

I came home and went straight to a ten day camp meeting, where the Lord was faithful to meet me there and be so real with me. I clung to Psalm 34 and could not stop reading or meditating on it. He encouraged me through lots of older people who reached out to me. He showed me that He would never leave me as my best friend and lover of my soul. That time was so real.

Then I got to come home and spend almost three weeks just being at home, which was really needed. My time was mostly taken up by catching up with old friends, cleaning (or trying to clean), running errands, babysitting, resting (a... lot), and eating yummy food.

Andrea came to visit me too :).

I don't think I could have asked for a better summer. Wow.

2012, you have a lot to live up to.

But hey, maybe my school year will be even better :)

Packing up.

Well. I'm packing.

It's moving pretty slowly. Today was supposed to be devoted to putting all my stuff in boxes to head over to school, but it has been more dominated with singing/ performing/ dancing to the jazz music playing over the house speakers, having a 2 hour lunch break, thrift store shopping, lying on the couch with my mom, looking at Kate's pictures of us in Italy, Etsy, and eating lots of yummy food. We had a feast tonight. Around late afternoon the couch was calling me and my mom's name, so we had a good few Food Network sessions. I popped some popcorn over the stove with olive oil and a sprinkle of sea salt, making it the best popcorn ever. We brought out the fresh strawberries, and the goat cheese we bought on Thursday at the farmer's market. We toasted tonight to some Drappier as my last night being home, and my dad had some creme de mures for me to add, just the way I'm used to at the Swiss family's house in France :). We even opened up some chocolate from a chocolatier they visited in San Fran.

Some of my favorites of Kate's photos:

after shopping in Milan in front of the cathedral :)

Anna's friends pool that we went to in Italy... in the middle of vineyards.

Me and A on the train :)

being models in Venice

The new brand of chocolate I tried tonight:

So.. I never really got around to packing. But I guess that's what tonight is for.

But it was a good last day at home.

Last night I went and visited my friends Davis Ann and Brad :). We went to a really fun show together in downtown Birmingham, with Derek Webb and Sandra McCracken. We sat on floor pillows and they sang folky hymn-y songs and talked about how they met. I love cute marriage love stories :).

Being with Davis Ann was as encouraging as ever. It was a good way to spend part of my last weekend in Bama.

So.. off to college tomorrow? Still have so much to do. Not too concerned about it though.

1/5 life crisis.

So, I've basically realized this summer that I have no idea what I'm going to do with my life.

I have so many passions, and I like so many things, and they all sound great. I don't know which one I would be best at, which career I can help the most people with, or what God wants to do with me. Right now I'm thinking med school. Because I know I can work hard enough, and if I can achieve that, then I need to go for it. But I must say, other less challenging career paths are definitely tempting.

I know what I want to do in the long run. I want to be like Jesus. I want to serve people. I want to start a children's home or a children's clinic or tell the elderly and the widows about Jesus. I want to take care of people. But what is the means of getting there? That's what I'm wondering right now.

A few ways I've been encouraged through my career crisis:

-I don't know where this illustration came from, but once somebody told me of a man standing underneath a fruit tree, and he was looking at all the beautiful fruit that he could pick. But he had such a hard time deciding which delicious fruit to pick from the others, because they were all so good-looking. So he just stood there and couldn't decide, until all the fruit were rotten, and he ran out of time to pick a good fruit.

So basically, I just need to pick a fruit. Because they're all good.

-Leading onto my next word of encouragement...

I told my friend Maddie about my qualms about my future. And she reminded me that a career does not define our servanthood in Christ. I asked her, "well, don't you think we each have a calling on our lives?" She wisely responded, "Was Jesus' calling to be a carpenter?" And from that, we can ask, was Paul's calling to be a tentmaker, was Luke's calling to be a doctor?

No, Jesus' calling was to love. Paul and Luke's callings were to share the gospel. It did not interfere or depend on their jobs.

My calling is to love. My calling is to be a servant. My calling is to be like Jesus. I can do that whenever and wherever I am.

- I have had some of the most incredible opportunities for ministry and pouring into other people this summer. And I didn't have to be in any career position to do it. I do my very best to give myself to the Lord's work each and every day. And that is enough for Him to work!

-When I pray about what study path I need to go on, what kind of graduate school I need to attend, what career I need to end up adopting, I receive peace. I have a big peace in my heart that God is going to reveal that to me at the right time, and I am going to look back and think, "Wow, he is so faithful."

A really great poem by George Tersteegen, that I wrote about a year ago on my wall in my bed-closet:

Let Him lead thee blindfold onwards,
Love needs not to know;
Children whom the Father leadeth
Ask not where they go.
Though the path be all unknown
Over moors and mountains lone.

My Father's leading me. I don't need to feel the pressure of knowing where exactly I'm going. He'll tell me when I need to know.

I miss my brother.

I haven't seen Ed in two months... he's been studying in Jordan. This week he's in Jerusalem, seeing the sights.

We get to skype him every now and then. I especially miss him now, because I'm back at home and he's not. His good friend Phillip has been over and has been hanging out with us, and I think when my family and Phillip are together, we really start to miss him. Andrea, Phillip, Ed and I, when we're all in town, usually go to TCBY and get the daily $2.29 specials. Every single day. So, lately, it's just been the three of us. Poor Phillip has been out-gendered.

So, he's missed. Good thing we go to the same school!

Here's a picture of Ed joining us for Sunday lunch. We decided that the four of us kids are going to go on a trip to Europe together next year. Now all we have to do is pick a time and a country :).

If you're interested in seeing what he's up to in the Middle East, click here.

Sweets sweets sweets.

My sweet neighbor Anna helping us sprinkle cupcakes. I was the icing girl and she was the sprinkles girl! We had too much fun making a mess.

So, let's name the homemade sweets that have been in our house for the past week:

1. Peach ice cream

2. Peach tart

3. Coffee ice cream

4. Brownies

5. Tres leches cake

6. Turtle cheese cake

7. Pound cake made with duck eggs

8. Mini white cupcakes

... And there are three of us. And my parents are twigs.

It's been crazy. We're just now starting to make our way to the end (with some of my friends' help :) )

I made the tres leches cake as a belated birthday cake for my mom. It was so fun! I'm so proud of how it turned out.

First, I made a coconut chiffon cake, which was fun. Then, I split that into layers for the filling of the "three milks". I soaked the layers in a coconut syrup that I made, and in between the layers was a pastry cream. And guess what? This was the first pastry cream that I cooked that I didn't ruin during the first trial... since like 5 years ago! I was so excited. The third milk would be the whipped cream on top. Oh, and I added some caramel in between the layers :)

There's my caramel!

After assembly

After assembly and refrigeration, without the whipped topping

Finished with the whipped topping (It says "I heart JJ", referring to ma mere)

My dad making his peach tart

My mom sprinkling her cupcakes in the foreground, and my dad making his peach tart in the background. I swear..

Peach tart! Yummm

After my cake is happily received!

So in conclusion, I think I'm gonna start running tomorrow.

Caprese Salad.

So, the other day, I wanted to make a Caprese salad. We had delicious fresh tomatoes and mozzerella. All I was missing was some good basil, and I knew it was growing somewhere in my backyard. I don't know if I was too sleepy or if I was just plain ign'ant, but I couldn't recall what basil looked like. So I decided that it would be a good idea to tear off leaves of candidate plants and put them in my mouth to taste them. I guess my smelling technique wasn't going very far. Anyway, so there I was, for about five minutes, tearing off leaves of plants growing in my garden and chewing them and spitting them out.

I forgot that the tornado came. And knocked down our fence. And our trees. And all forms of keeping privacy. So when I looked up, I saw a man in a truck over in the street by our yard... just staring, bewildered at my backyard mosying and munching.

I guess it didn't help I was in my boxers when it was 2 pm.

Anyway, I finally found the basil, and my salad was delish.

Camp meeting.

the 'main tabernacle' service

The Lord is so faithful. Camp meeting was exactly what I needed after being away for a couple of months.

I go to a holiness camp meeting in Georgia every summer for ten days. I've been going for about six years now. It's where I was baptized, it's where my relationship with the Lord took a turning point, and it's where some of my best friends have stemmed. Talk about a place to soak in encouragement.

Some highlights this year:

Even after sermon after sermon and after corporate worship, the Lord never fails to teach me when it's just me and him.

What God taught me this year was sweet and encouraging. And as simple as His messages were, they struck my heart with a reality that has never sunk in before.

Thursday when camp started, before arriving I decided to go to the state park next to the campground to hang out in my eno and spend time in the Word, preparing my heart before I dove into it all.

There, I read these verses and couldn't leave them:

I give them eternal life, and they will never perish, and no one will snatch them out of my hand. My Father, who has given them to me, is greater than all, and no one is able to snatch them out of the Father's hand. I and the Father are one.

(John 10:28-30)

God had already kind of been teaching me this, but this verse broke my spirit. He really has us! He really isn't leaving us! This whole summer, I saw the Lord's faithfulness like I had never seen in my life before. I had been overwhelmed with a joy of his promises fulfilled like never before. And now He was telling me... that I'm never leaving His hand.

I pondered this, wept over this, loved on this truth for the rest of camp meeting.

Every time I'd go into the Word, I couldn't help but start out with Psalm 34. I could go on and on about what God's been teaching me through this Psalm, but a couple of verses that I spent a lot of time on, verses 4 and 5:

I sought the Lord and he answered me and delivered me from all my fears.

Those who look to him are radiant, and their faces shall never be covered with shame.

Outside of my time in the Word, God showed up in so many ways at camp. I saw so many prayers answered in friends' lives, people released from bondage, sweet sweet worship, and so many sermons that made me want to live like Jesus. Now I just want to be like Jesus more than ever.

Sometimes I'd go to the early morning prayer meetings, where it's usually me and 80-year-olds and then a couple of middle-aged people, and every time I went I was so encouraged by these prayer warriors. The first morning I went, I met a couple of people before we got started, and during the prayer meeting these men and women of God decided to pray for me. For me. I was so humbled and amazed by their genuine love of God and for his children.

Here are a couple of other pictures from the week:

This is my best friend Meredith. We pretty much had the cabin to ourselves this year, and we had a blast cooking, blasting music and dancing, being girls, watching movies, snuggling, and having people over. This night in particular, we decided to skip a main service and come back and get in our pajamas and watch Ratatouille and eat cookie dough. Amazing decision.

late night card games on the Padgett Porch

This is our friend James. He came to hang out for a couple of days and we had so much fun with him! What an encouraging brother in the Lord. I think this is when we cooked some pasta for lunch one day.

Sunset.

So, after camp, a big group of us decided to go to Six Flags before leaving. This was our little clique for the day, and we got drenched by thunderstorms in the park. So we ran out to our car, grabbed food, and made a pb & j sandwich bar at the only shelter we could find, which was the ticket office. We had so much fun. These guys rock.

Things to do Today

1. Go to the farmer's market at 7 am.

2. Make a yummy chiffon cake.

3. Make yummy things to turn that chiffon cake into a pastel de tres leches.

4. Send off some packages to people I love.

5. Memorize a song on the piano.

6. Write a couple of letters to France.

7. Leave Andrea lots of text messages so that when she turns on her phone for the first time in 3 weeks after coming back into the US she'll feel really really loved.

Things I want to do today but I probably won't:

1. Respond to a couple of phone calls.

2. Start unpacking from France and camp meeting and start cleaning my room.

3. Read my book.

Parents.

I. love. my. parents.

I've only been home probably for a total of eight days this summer, but when I've returned home every time, they are the one thing that makes me feel at home more than anything else. First to my couch, which is saying a lot.

A few things that have made me appreciate them in the past week:

1. Their food. The first day I came home, I was welcomed to eggplant parmesan and peach ice cream. My dad even made an apple tart for dessert that night. Plus, we have a surplus of tomatoes and eggplants and peaches, which will soon not be a surplus :)

2. They are so cute. They told me all about their trip to San Francisco they recently took. They're like little kids again... they visited wineries, took bikes across the Golden Gate Bridge, went to Chinatown and made their own fortunes inside of fortune cookies, visited chocolate shops, went whale watching... they are so adventurous and precious.

3. We're the best movie-watching, couch-dwelling team ever.

4. My mom and I were driving home from Mississippi yesterday, and for three hours we had girl talk and ate trail mix.

5. I can say... anything in front of them and they understand me.

6. I wish I could quote some of the things my dad has been saying this past week. He doesn't realize it, but he's quite the character when it comes to talking about France and wine and food. We've discussed wine epiphanies, the best Kir Royales, parchment paper, French (of course), and duck eggs in pastries. I. Love. Him.

7. I think my dad and I might have exchanged a total of 12 cannibal-themed jokes back-to-back in passing one time in the living room.

8. They never pry, never nag, they just let me live my life. And they love love love it when I share it with them.

9. Basically, I have two bffs at home.

The Lord gave, and the Lord has taken away. Blessed be the name of the Lord.

It was a typical humid summer camp meeting night in Flovilla, Georgia. The speaker at the tabernacle had just preached on serving the poor. My friend Chaslee and I were convicted as fourteen-year-olds, and decided to take necessary steps to live out the Gospel as best we could, being young'in's in high school. We had happily chosen to support a child through Compassion International. Representatives were present at the camp meeting, and displayed on tables hundreds of packets of children's profiles from ages four to fourteen from all nationalities.. their faces just calling your name and asking you to "sponsor me". Chaslee and I chose a nine-year-old pretty girl from Indonesia. The packet appropriately told us she was a good student, she lived with her mother, and it included some of her hobbies as well. We decided we could combine baby-sitting money and make this actually happen. So, we asked our parents, they consented, and we were ready to have a new friend.

Later that night, we were walking back down to where the table displays were, and every packet had been taken. What a miracle! All those children were about to be given education, medicine, food, and most importantly, the Gospel!

And then... a man walked up to me. He had a packet in his hands. This was the only packet that had not been selected. He was trying to find anyone and everyone to sponsor this little black Colombian boy. I read his information. His name was Jose, he wasn't doing too well in school, he was six years old... that means I'd have to support him for a long while... his picture almost looked like he was pouting... I declined the invitation to sponsor. But this man pleaded with me. He took a look at my purse and asked me how much it costed, and then told me that instead of buying a purse I could support a child for a month. I mean, this man was being on the verge of bothersome. But, having no backbone, I took the packet, sighed, and tried to think how I could pay for a second child.

I wish I could find that man now and thank him for annoying the heck out of me. It didn't take long for me to realize that Jose was one of the biggest blessings for me in my life.

He was mine. He was my child. I would write him during class in the ninth grade, I would draw him pictures, and he would draw pictures back. It didn't take me long to realize he was one of the prettiest children I had ever seen. I loved nothing more than when Compassion would send me a photo update, and I could see how much he had grown. He always had the same expression on his face, his bottom lip pouting a little bit, lips closed, big bright eyes. I'm assuming he was missing some teeth, and that's always why he pouted. He always stood up straight like a tall, proud, man. He knew who he was. He told me about when he would visit his grandmother in the neighboring village, what he was learning about Jesus, his favorite Bible verses, always thanking me and telling me he loved me and was praying for me.

I started to pray for him everyday. Letters are one of those things that make me happy, but when he sent me letters, it made my week. We would write about every other month to each other.

His most recent letters included phrases like:

"You are very special to me"

"Please pray hard for me"

"I love you very much-- receive hugs and kisses!"

"God is good to me, and I thank him, I have everything I need"

"I thank God because I am growing"

"I look forward to your letters"

"I miss you"

"I would really like for you to visit"

Can I just say, this little child knows where to push my emotional buttons? I can't think of a sweeter, more genuine child. His most recent letters brought me to tears.

His last request, for me to come visit, was something that had been on my heart for the past year. There is a sponsor trip going in October, and I was trying to find every way to save up my money and go see my boy.

Nine days ago, I received a phone call.

Jose's family has moved him to another village where there is no Compassion sponsor site. Compassion communicated to them that Jose could no longer be sponsored if they moved away. The family took this under consideration when they made the decision to move locations.

I was a wreck. I couldn't stop crying all weekend. That was my child. I was going to see him. He loved me. He was the one child I cared more about than any other. I prayed for him everyday, had his picture in my wallet. And now it's all over?

Communication with Jose was cut off. It was his birthday a couple of weeks ago. That was probably the last package he got from me.. if it got there on time. He just turned twelve years old... Wow. He's so big. He was only two years younger than I was when I started to sponsor him.

Through this past week, though, as upset as I've been for letting go of my favorite boy, the Lord's peace has reigned in my heart. He has spoken to me through this situation.

"Sarah, if you love this child this much, can you even imagine how much I love you?"

Through my concern about where Jose has gone, if he'll be okay, my disappointment in the fact that I can't talk to him, the Lord has shown me his feelings for his children-- How much he wants to talk to us, how he doesn't want anybody to move us away or block communication, how we are His.

The Lord gave, and the Lord has taken away. What an amazing blessing that this pouting, unchosen, beautiful Colombian boy turned out to be. We both have experienced the Lord's blessings through this relationship. Through my sponsorship with Jose, God has reaffirmed in me his calling for me to care for the unchosen, picked-through children of the earth. He was given me the confidence to see that no other field of work will be as satisfying as making relationships with children who need the Lord Jesus.

Thank you, Lord. Through it all, thank you.

artsy.

I found a gem today.

On the side of the Lyric on the Square in Oxford, is a little store called Amelia Presents. Can I just say, this place is a dream come true. It's a craft store, which has collected the works of random artists in big cities and has brought them to one place--- notebooks, wallets, cupcake supplies, notecards, postcards, journals, paintings, pictures... and it's all adorable. Today I bought cute little recipe cards for a friend, and the lady that owns the store was so kind to hold a wallet I'm keeping my eye on for next week. (Eek!) I've told myself I'm only allowed to buy one thing each time I go there.

But, anyway, I love pretty things and this place is a gold mine of them.

More pretty pictures and info here.

fractured.

What I had originally believed to be a cramp in my right food had developed into too much of a perpetual pain to rest as a simple muscle ache. I tried to ignore the pain that had begun Tuesday afternoon, but by Wednesday it was as easy to ignore as a kid pulling at your sweater. So, becoming a little concerned, and with the help of my father, I had an appointment scheduled with a doctor at a local orthopedics clinic. As I was sitting on the clinical bed with my naked right foot lumped up on the end, I read the doctor's face as he plopped down in a chair in front of me. Uh oh.

"It seems to me that you have a stress fracture. No more half-marathons, no more running. You can swim and bike, but I'm making you wear a boot for everyday use. Oh, and I'm writing you a parking permit."

Um. Excuse me? I had already decided I didn't have a stress fracture. It couldn't be. It was going to be tendonitis.

No. Running?

Sunday was going to be a big day. A 5k. And I was going to make my best time yet. I run every day. I can't just stop. I have another half marathon in two weeks. I can't just quit.

Well, yes I can.

I can quit, kicking and screaming if I have to. My bummed feelings and tears shed today caught me off guard. If you told me 2 months ago I wasn't allowed to run anymore, I would deem you as my best friend.

Well, times have changed. Running is an acquired taste; it takes time to become friends with it. And I had become friends with it, alright.

I'm worried now, I'm worried I'll have a lot of built-up stress and energy, and I won't be able to get it out. I'll try swimming this next week, but I have a feeling I won't be satisfied.

I'm learning from this. Kicking with my bootie on and screaming, I'm learning. It's probably a good thing I'm taking a break for a while. I'm wondering if I was starting to put too much dependence on de-stressing with the running method. I think most of my self-confidence was coming from running. So maybe it's good to take a healthy break.

So, I thank you, God, for every circumstance you turn into your glory. In this little trying season of mine, I'll learn what it's like to really put you as the solution of my every need. When I have a stressful day, I won't turn to running first, but I'll give my day to you in prayer first. When I feel bad about myself, I won't go and try to burn calories, but I'll remind myself of how beautiful I am in your eyes, and how I'm truly your Beloved one, whose body is blessed by the mere fact that you chose your Spirit to dwell in it.

As much as I am bummed about my new anatomical dilemma, I am thankful to be reminded that nothing satisfying will continue to last except for One. And it's the only One I need.

"Lift up your eyes to the heavens, and look at the earth beneath; for the heavens vanish like smoke, the earth will wear out like a garment, and they who dwell in it will die in like manner,

but my salvation will be forever, and my righteousness will never be dismayed."

-Isaiah 51:6

God, take away my low spirits and replace them with an irreplaceable joy that no worldly achievement could measure up to.

13.1

Before dawn we begin our race. There are thousands surrounding me, most over the age of 30. No one is in a sour mood. My corral's ribbon is broken, I cross the starting line, and we're off. I quickly lose Katie and Sarah, but I decide to continue nevertheless. The dark aura in the Gotham City of downtown Atlanta is lit up by the exhilirated runners, and the fans cheering on the side of the street. Only on such a day would the families dare to hang out next to the alleyways of crime-ridden downtown. The regular loiterers also take part in the spectating. My shins are sore.

I pass couple by couple, middle-ridden downtown, middle-aged man by middle-aged woman. Am I going too fast? I don't feel like it.

Mile two arrives. I've only gone two miles? And thus, I pass the first Gatorade station. And only then do I realize the bliss of a swig of the energy drink. I grab a cup from a volunteer as I run past, my hand bumping along with every stride I take, the gatorade swishing over the rim as I bring it to my parched lips. About half of the liquid makes it in. I throw aside the cup dramatically, among the hundreds of other paper cups on the street, as I push forward.

The first four miles were probably the slowest. Gotham City before dawn gets old real fast. Downtown soon evolves to neighborhoods, however, and night becomes day. I now look forward to every Gatorade station. My shins have lost feeling. So have the blisters on the insides of my feet. We pass an MLK monument, a Publix, and the Carter Center.

At the Publix, the spectators were hilarious. There were naked cowboys, men with lettuce on their heads, all running with us and yelling for a little while.

Families on balconies and on their front porches reclined, smiled, and waved, petting their dogs or attending to their toddlers, holding up signs or sipping on a beer.

A runner in his 20's pushes his friend jokingly aside, which in turn causes his friend to face plant into a street sign, collapsing to the ground. The other runners respond in grimaces and in "Ooh"'s and "Ah"'s. The guy gets up and begins to chase after his friend with an angry "Hey man, come here!", but then halts after a few steps and laughs. Everyone, relieved that the young man was only kidding, laughs along with him. A bit of entertainment during the fifth mile.

There is a huge hill as we approach the prettier parts of Atlanta, upon which I pass many middle-aged women in teams, encouraging each other with comments like, "Gwenyth, I'm feelin' good" and "We got this, Sue". When passing good ol' Ponce de Leon, I spot my favorite Urban Outfitters store. Memories rush into my mind of past Atlanta shopping adventures, and this gives me enough of a delightful kick to push on.

I survive from Gatorade station to Gatorade station, now picking up a cup of Gatorade and a cup of water, both sloshing in rhythm with my strides in each hand.

The miles go by faster.

Now I'm on mile 12. One. More. Mile. I skip the last Gatorade station to focus on my speed, but the faster I go, the longer this mile seems to last. There is hill after hill. Before each one, the spectators dishonestly assure us, "It's all downhill after this one". Jerks.

The track does seem to level out, but the running area also becomes more narrow. At this point, I'm at a sprint. I pass person after person. It's crowded. I've developed a weaving technique to get past every one. I spot the finish line coming up. I sprint.

It's over? Wow.

I reluctantly halt my sprinting and transfer into walking. I'm in shock. I receive my epic aluminum blanket cape and I am dressed with my Publix medal. We are shuffled into a line, handed a plastic bag, and then encouraged to fill our bags with a half mile line of goodies handed to us by the volunteers. Bottles of chocolate milks, bananas, yogurts, trail mix, pretzels... it's all heaven. I've already chugged a bottle of water and a chocolate milk.

My shins are still numb. I am victorious.

Beauty Through the Eyes of Children

Sometimes we just need to stop and stare.

This summer at camp, I was a counselor for 13 precious (most of the time) 8-year-olds. During the middle of the session, I had been assigned to take these girls to Sequoyah Caverns, some caves in the hills of Lookout Mountain. It was there that the Lord taught me a good lesson.

Coming off the nauseating and sweaty bus ride to the caverns, I confess that I wasn't in the peppiest of moods. But my girls were excited, so I tried to maintain an attitude similar to theirs.

As we entered the caverns, the temperature soon dropped 40 degrees. That dry, cool environment was so refreshing, and it lifted my mood a little. It's funny how a change of environment can affect my mood. But I soon forgot about how comforted I was by the dropped temperature... there were other things to think of. It was another counselor and I in charge, and that was it. So, as soon as we got into that cave, my "mommy mode" came on, my eyes were constantly dashing from girl to girl to make sure they weren't touching something they weren't supposed to be touching, my mind was constantly counting them up, my own thoughts drowning out our guide's words so that I could keep looking out for the kids. Maybe it was because of this preoccupation, or maybe it was because of my past experience splunking, but I was not too impressed with these caverns. My mind was constantly busy thinking of my girls, but at the same time, I was bored.

And then, for just a moment, I stopped paying attention to the girls' actions and the group count, and I started paying attention to them. They were freaking out. They were so amazed by this cave, constantly shouting "WOAH" and "Sarah look at this!", pointing, looking up, looking all around, with their jaws dropped. Their eyes were wide and their little hearts were overcome with the grandness of this cave, the beauty it had to offer them, the adventure that it provided.

And at the moment also, the Lord taught me so much. He used these girls as an instrument to show me how important it is to maintain a childlike spirit. We may be somewhere at a point where we feel weak and tired, and the Lord may offer us a refreshing alternative. We take what he's given us and appreciate it for a split second, but then we go back to worrying. We are more occupied with other things, when sometimes the Lord just wants us to stop and look up. He wants us to see Him with childlike eyes. He wants us to say "Woah". He wants us to show others what we've discovered. He wants us to see how big He is. He wants our hearts to be overcome with his beauty. He wants us to go on an adventure with him.

As we go about our busy bustling lives, I am thankful to be reminded that sometimes my God just wants me to look up with a childlike spirit. As we grow older, we become less and less amazed with things around us. Things that used to be phenomena when we were children are now just run-of-the-mill. I think it wouldn't be a bad idea for us to just stop focusing on the little things and remember our purpose. Here Jesus is, giving us an opportunity to glorify him and enjoy him forever. Wait, why do the other things matter again?

Spoiled Chocolate.

(Pictured is myself as a 15-year-old in a kitchen adventure with Valrhona in Chocolate Friands)

I shuffle my feet down the stairs into a hidden, lower level, humble store a block away from Dupont Circle. As I open the door and probe into the 200 square feet store, my senses pay no attention to the dingling of the entrance bells, the paper I just dropped, or the chapping winter air on my cheeks-- they are now centered on one thing. The smell.

What is so brilliant about the smell of chocolate? Good chocolate, I mean. The roasty-ness, the sweetness, the deep, dark sensual aroma... I have never smelled something so.. thick.. in my life. But in the room, or any where when you smell chocolate, the smell isn't overwhelming. It's complicated yet light. It's refreshing. It's chocolate.

I scan the pristine shelves lined with the contrasting dark-colored chocolate. I see my favorite names. I see brands that make my heart go pitter patter. Amedei. Valrhona. Michel Cluizel.

I've been using Valrhona Manjari for baking for the last 3 years. Manjari is the perfect one for baking-- it is smooth and rich, but it has enough of a bite at the end to give an edge to any chocolate dessert. Now, if I am making a confection, like tonight's truffles, I'll go with an Amedei Chuao. Just because Amedei is so incredible.

The Chuao amazes me. I still have not gotten over how complex a flavor can be from a simple cocoa bean. (Well, maybe the bean isn't so simple at all). The hint of dried fruit (raisins to my personal tongue) is overwhelming. How can a chocolate taste so much like something from which it is so dissimilar? Beats me.

As far as milk chocolate goes, my recent obsession is Valrhona Jivara. Its deep, nutty aroma is way past any other brand I've tasted. I must admit, I haven't ventured far with my milks. But after Jivara, I am encouraged to try more.

The problem is, once you've experienced the magnificence of the cacao bean, it is hard to return to those convenient store candy bars from which no true essence of the bean can be detected. I'm afraid I've been spoiled by chocolate, and it will be hard to return. The problem is, as the shopkeeper at that incredible store in D.C. stated, it isn't real chocolate. Now-a-days, what I taste when I bite into a Crunch bar isn't chocolate, but just lots of butter and sugar. I'm not saying I never eat candy bars, because there are times when I crave those delicious ingredients, but when I want chocolate, I don't go to Texaco.

Thus, I am ruined forever. And I continue to ruin others when I hold tastings. Tasters' senses become awakened and addicted, just as my own nose and tongue had the time of their life years ago. After the tastings, the usual comment I often hear is "I'll never go back."

So, taking a step out into the first-class chocolate world is... well, bittersweet. But I am not remorseful for my chocolate discovery, I am purely thankful. It has enhanced my culinary adventures, opened up my tastebuds, helped me appreciate aromas, and has caused me to see the beauty and complexity in such a small simple bean. And little wonders like these enable me to glorify God a little bit more.

Life Lessons With Every Step I Take (Or Lack Thereof)

I have been cursed with malfunctioning feet. I detest their innate ineptness to follow what the rest of my legs are doing. They just can’t seem to keep up. Furthermore, I assume that my sore behind is more disappointed in their lack of agility. My feet have defined the story of my life. They have determined each path I take. I have to admit, without my slow toes, my life would be much less interesting.

I can remember in ballet class as a five and six-year-old, being the “slow one” of the class. I was simply offbeat. Correction: my feet were offbeat. I had everything else in order, my arm movements, my spins, my twirls—it was just the feet that didn’t match up quite right… which probably made it worse. It was because of these same feet that my dance career came to a halt. Once during practice, as I rose to perform a potentially graceful arabesque, one foot wanted to go up with the other, causing me to fall perfectly on my left ankle, issuing a sprain and a refusal from my teacher to continue teaching me pointe lessons. And that was that.

During my middle school years—you know, during those times when you think the whole world is always looking at you, because you are all that—I was quickly humbled by a lesson taught by my own feet. I had just picked up my lunch tray and I was headed towards my lunch table. And of course, I thought everybody was watching. So I quickly shuffled towards my destination as a result of my self-consciousness. My feet moved too fast for me to notice the convenient yellow “wet floor” sign on the ground. The next thing I know, I am on the floor with a bruised bottom. It was like a movie scene; I can still replay it in my head: In slow motion my feet slip under me. Balance is escaping me as I flail my arms in a backwards circular motion, forgetting that those arms were once uplifting a tray full of messy food. With a shocked face, my mouth twisted and ajar, and brows furrowed, I land on the floor with ketchup and gravy and mashed potatoes flung all over my face and clothes. I look up and every face in the room is exploding with deriding hysteria. The boisterous clamor of laughter is but a whisper compared to my panicked thoughts of embarrassment and shame. I decide to fight the tears back. Instead, I get up and “laugh it off”.

My feet have always been at my side to guide me in learning life lessons. After the lunchroom incident, falls seemed to be less embarrassing. The rest of my middle school days were followed with plenty more trips of ever-improving humility: in P.E. class, in the hallway, in front of my church congregation when I tripped and spilled the offering plate in front of the altar… you know, the usual.

Once, at school Mass, We were filing out of the chorus pews in order to go down to where everyone was receiving the Eucharist. I don’t really know how it happened, but my feet apparently skipped a step going down, but left my head suspended at the same height, just high enough for me to knock my head forcefully on the back of a piece of wood that juts out to display the hymn numbers. I don’t really know what that experience taught me exactly, but it sure did wake up some students who otherwise would have not paid attention for the rest of the service. Maybe this is how God is using me.

You know, through all the hard times I’ve had with these awkward feet, I really don’t give them enough credit. I guess there havebeen good things that have occurred because of my cinder blocks that attach to my ankles... like the fact that a man, who would not otherwise be paid, is training me for goalkeeping, because my footwork is like that of a pregnant elephant. Also, I would have never gotten to meet cutie “Charles” in the library if I hadn’t accidentally run into him, causing him to spill his coffee. Maybe, because of my feet, we’ll meet one day and get married, because he’ll remember me as the charming, approachable, klutz who ruined his study session, but remained as a replay in his mind because he knew that I was the love of his life.

So, maybe my feet are almost a blessing rather than a curse. Because I quit dance, I started up French lessons. And I’ve probably gotten way further with that course than dancing anyway. Because of that trip in the lunchroom, I have a few friends that really love to recount the tale to anyone who hasn’t heard the story of my famous fall. I’ve decided, that because of my feet, in the end, I’ll be married to Charles and live in France with friends who think I’m extremely popular and approachable because of my willingness to “laugh at life”. I’ll be the subject of embarrassing stories, keeping in mind the countless amount of people I have helped through struggle, such as the poor goalie trainer or the monks and nuns who used to be sleeping kids in church.

Thanks, feet.

"The Marketplace" painting

b market painting
Originally uploaded by peanutbutter423

And thus.. the result.

Barcelona Marketplace

barcelona market
Originally uploaded by peanutbutter423

A sight to see, that's for sure.

I decided to paint after this picture that I took.

Dancing With Alice.

I walked into Caring Days facility, a daycare center for the elderly and the mentally disabled, expecting it to be a normal day of volunteering. I had been going to Caring Days for some time to do volunteer work, and I had grown to love working with this community. But today was different. As I sat down to assist some ladies making crafts, there was one particular woman at the end of the table with wide, empty eyes. I noticed she was very well-groomed, and she had classy, attractive features. For a few moments I had mistaken her for an employee, but when I introduced myself to her, she smiled at me and attempted to respond, but I couldn’t understand any of the words that came out of her mouth. She was apparently not able to speak. Despite my lack of understanding, I glanced down at her nametag and smiled at her, saying, “It’s nice to meet you, Alice.”

She smiled back, started rocking in her chair, and began to babble some more. She was very reserved, and the other old ladies were divided in their attitude toward her. Some were concerned and attentive; others were annoyed and distant. Sometimes she would try to get out of her chair and walk towards the door, and one of the employees at the facility would gently sit her back down. Again she’d commence to rocking back and forth, uttering unintelligibly, but one time, she had a frown on her pretty face. During this rush of emotion, she did not seem to notice those around her. One of the employees explained to me that she was ready to go home to her husband. This poor woman touched my heart, and I decided to remain close to her until it was time for her to leave.

As closing time approached, Alice became more and more impatient to leave. I decided that the best way to ease her stress was to entertain her, so I asked her to dance with me. There was music playing in the room, and I was willing to do anything to ameliorate her mood. When I asked her at first, she looked down and otherwise did not respond. When I got up and started to dance, though, she looked up at me, and began to smile. I extended my invitation for her to join me once again. Then, slowly but surely, she got up out of her seat and danced with me. We danced not more than a song or two, but these few moments put her at ease for the remainder of her stay.

When her husband arrived to take her home, he explained to me that Alice was suffering from dementia. She used to be a brilliant schoolteacher, but now her life had turned another direction. He told me how difficult it was to find someone to assist her for extended hours during the day. Her condition had changed both of their lives dramatically. He explained that she is the same woman he married a long time ago. But now, just as if she had suffered from cancer or another disease, she had been afflicted with a debilitating mental condition. His gaze on her and the tenderness of his voice displayed his love and devotion to his wife. Sometimes it is hard to imagine how someone could persevere and sacrifice so much for a person. But as I took in the way he felt towards Alice I began to understand. I recounted to him how Alice and I had danced today, and he smiled and replied, “Yes, she loves to dance.”

When I left Caring Days that day, I did not realize how much of an impact Alice’s story would have on me. Since then, I have often thought of Alice. That particular day at the facility awakened in me an otherwise dormant concern for the elderly and the mentally disabled. Before I viewed these individuals’ conditions as distant and unrealistic, but Alice showed me that anyone can suffer from a mental illness. Alice was a joyful, spirited, brilliant woman, and something unfortunate had caused her life to change forever. Alice, a sweet spirit trapped in a failing mind, has softened my heart and changed my outlook. Now, when I go to Caring Days, I do not see the needy elderly stereotype with which we often stamp them, but I see a group of individuals who are real human beings who have quite possibly lived the lives that we all hope for ourselves. That one day with Alice has caused me to be more aware of others’ hardships, and it has rendered me a person of better understanding. This was a dance lesson that taught me much more than a few steps.