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?