Chili and mi Madre

When I was in the third grade I learned a lot more than most of the kids my age. Or, at lease I hope not too many of them had to learn the things I did.

I learned that if mom makes $800 a month and rent is $500... we don't have enough money for legit groceries much less eating out.

I learned that $300 is more than enough when you spend your dollars wisely.

I learned that just because you don't have a lot of money, doesn't mean you're poor, it means you have a lot of room to be creative.

There was a project in the third grade that our class did. It was a fun one (at least I thought so.) Each student brought a dish (for real food) that represented their background. The Latinos brought in yummy tamales and enchiladas... the Italians brought in lasagna and pasta. But for those of us who didn't really know what we were.... we just signed up for "drinks" or "plates" ... That is, until my mom heard about the project. We maybe didn't have a lot of money, but we certainly were not bringing drinks when we could make something for cheaper and would be a lot more fun. I mean, have you seen the price of soda for 30 kids?

But who am I? That was the blessed day I found out that I have a heritage. You may think this is a lame realization... but I was really discovering from whom I came, for the first time. Behold.... I am a Choctaw! Native American and have the paper trail to prove it. (This information would come in handy later in my college years... *Scholarship*)

But what does a Choctaw bring to her 3rd grade potluck? If you were able to answer that question at all, with any sort of answer, you did better than we did. We could not think of how to even find what to bring. Then my mother... stroke of genius... starts talking it out and looking though our kitchen cabinets. On the counter she puts each find with an explanation of how it *totally* works.
Fist potatoes, because we grew our own food and had to make a little go a long way. Then ground beef, because we hunted our food and used every part of the animal. Then she grabbed a can of chili. The stroke of genius kind of ended there, but the creativity continued.
By the time I showed up to class we had a thick meaty chili served over mashed potatoes. It was a little bit embarrassing, cause I knew that we made it up and just knew my teacher would call us out and we would have take our made up dish home in shame.... but then part of me was proud. We used logic (sorta) and what we had available to make something great. And it was great. All of my class mates thought my dish was the best. They all wanted to be Native Americans after that, I told them they would have to settle on being just American.

But how does this rant apply to our lives today? Well, I'll tell ya. Tonight, I made my husband a traditional Choctaw meal, complete with mashed potatoes and chili. And even though I quit my job today, we are a creative bunch, and with God's help we'll make it.

I am so thankful for a mom who taught me how to work with what I have, to be content in all things, and above else, to pray. I remember coming home from school one day to an empty fridge, empty cabinets and my mom cleaning up looking for change to get food for us. We went on a search party and suddenly a depressing situation became a game. We came up with just over $5.00 by the time we searched the whole apartment. When we opened the door to go to the store, there was a box of groceries at our doorstep, we were able to eat of the provision of God. That night at church when everyone was leaving to go home, I was looking for my mom. I found her at the altar crying. I didn't go up to her, but watched her from the back of the sanctuary. There was a friend of the family sitting in the back, waiting for his wife, and he asked me if I was alright. I told him my mom was crying and I thought I should go to her. He told me to sit and wait, She was working it out with God, and needed her tears to express how she felt. As I sat there looking at her I started to cry as well. Jesus had been so good to us, he had provided. I had nothing to give in return, so I gave Jesus my tears.

Life happens, and it is easy to forget what we have and who gave it to us. I know that when I was hungry, God sent his people to feed me. How could I not do the same when I have what someone needs? Even if I have nothing, I can give. Tonight, I give Jesus my tears.

Cookies, Tradition, and why I like going to church

As I type this cookies are baking in the oven. Which is strange in itself, cause I cook, I don't bake. But here I am baking cookies, Chocolate Chip ones. Mmm. While I was making them, mixing the ingredients and thinking about who to send them to, and then started thinking about a few things.

I REALLY like eating cookie dough. Mostly cause I like butter but am too repulsed to eat it straight... but cover it in brown and white sugar and add some vanilla... I am liable to eat it all.

I was reminded that my bestie makes cookies all the time. She tastes the ingredients as she goes along and can tell how the product will turn out by the mini taste tests along the way. I like this method!

Throughout the year at random times my Bestie will bake with her family, usually kinda random (in my mind) but one thing is FOR SURE, when Christmas times comes around they will be making cookies. Lots and lots of cookies. Its their tradition. Somewhere along the way I became part of the tradition. Not that I go to the house and make cookies with them (I'll have to do that someday!) but I am a recipient of said cookies. I eat them over a long span of time. Making them last as long as I can. I share only when I am caught eating them and then only out of common courtesy, not cause I am stoaked about sharing MY cookies. I digress...

So then I started thinking about family traditions with my family. We play this game, Christmas Eve Gift. I think I blogged about it before... But its not as nice as it sounds... We get into this game. The basic idea is on Christmas Eve, when you see or talk to anyone in the family- the first person who says "Christmas Eve Gift" to the other member wins. The loser has to get the winner a Christmas Eve gift. Now some quirks to the game is that there unwritten rules... Not that there are ANY rules actually written... but... You can begin play as soon as the clock strikes 12. When in confusion about who said it first, its whoever says it second, or loudest or whoever gives in and accepts defeat etc... and the kicker... in all the years that I have played this game, I have won countless times (Im pretty stealth) and have only actually received a gift twice. Once from my Uncle, who game me 2 pieces of candy and a pencil, and my Papa who gave my a candy bar... it was a King Size and everything.

But the game wasn't about the presents, or lack there of, it was about the tradition. We play this every year. We call each other from different states, different time zones. Maybe it is about winning all the little matches between members, maybe just a way to connect during the holidays.

Random thought, Christmas Eve is also my sisters birthday, but we showed no mercy. I wonder if anyone in the family has ever said "Happy Birthday" before we screamed "Christmas Eve Gift" waking her from a dead sleep....

All this thought of tradition got me to thinking. Whats the big deal? Why do we care SO much about traditions? Why do I kind of like it when I get a call at 2 in the morning from a family member screaming 3 words at me? Why do I savor the cookies so much? (Besides the fact that they are AMAZING?) Why do I care if people call me on my birthday? Or on a different note, why do I like traditional hymns so much? What is the appeal of the church in the traditional context? Why do we observe the 4th of July?

What makes tradition so appealing? The more I though through it the more personal it became. I like tradition because it makes me apart of something bigger than myself. To have tradition means to have community. And we were created for community! Tradition without community is merely habit. I like being apart of traditions because it makes me feel more connected and alive to the people around me. It tightens the bond, lessens the gap of distance and time.

I can sing Amazing Grace join the choir of thousands who have sang it over the past hundred years. I can eat a cookie and feel the love of a family hundred miles away. I can speak words to a family member I haven't seen in years. This is my community, my tradition.

But how do they start? My husband and I were very excited about coming up with traditions. We would start with our first year and do all this crazy stuff that we would teach our kids and hold to for our whole life.... and then life happened. Ideas we had before were thrown out the window. I worked a 12 hour day on Thanksgiving and on Christmas I was throwing up. I was in a different country for July 4th, Easter was bitter sweet. It was a rough year. But we did it together. We succeeded in making a tradition. Our tradition: Be together. Its my favorite one.

Something I find interesting is that so much of our culture is very interested in breaking traditions. Non-traditional. We pride ourselves on it. For many good reasons, but then again, for maybe some poorly thought out reasons. When it comes to church, there has to be some elements of tradition. I think the parts I like most about church are the traditional parts. Communion, Fellowship, hymns etc.

I never would have thought I would say this, but I like traditions.

Thoughts?

Risk and Danger in the Walk

Today I went for a walk. I didnt walk on the path. I had no traceable route. I just walked. I didnt have my phone. I didnt even walk beside the path. I made my own. At one point I walked straight through a baseball field. I even crossed the street not at a crosswalk. Scandalous. I know.

This may not seem like a big deal. But for me, it was. For many reasons:

1. I was walking. Which, if you think about it, is a form of exercise. Which I don't usually do. But it is the 2nd time this week. Maybe we are on to something here...

2.) I went off the path. I have firmly held for a long time that paths are made for a reason. The distance is measured, so even if I dont know how far I walked who ever built the sidewalk would know. They would have it all measured and direct. But walking on my own path there was no distance measured. I could have walked 5 miles. Or maybe 1/4 mile. Who knows?! This is frightening and it happened.

C. No traceable route. I could have been murdered. I had no route. I didnt tell anyone I was going. I didnt take my phone. I was free from it all. Just me. (And the key to my apartment tied to my shirt, securely hidden.- well Im not a idiot!) More than a few times did the thought cross my mind that I could be kidnapped. But that was all part of the excitement.

d- I walked across a baseball field. This has always been a big no no. walk around, not through as to not mess up the field. I have respect for a good baseball field. Mind you the one I walked through wasn't nice, but conceptually it was wrong.

5. Jay walking?! Isn't that against the law? need I say more?

I have known for a long time now that I am, in fact, a little bit of a control freak. I rarely ride in the passenger seat, as I like to drive. I follow the rules, I'm hardly even ever rude to people. And if I think I am I apologize before they even know I was rude. I calculate risk in everything I do. I don't dream to big unless I put the dream in a realistic time frame from the start. I may be planning a big nice vacation, but I know it wont happen until 2016- if we save on schedule.

I make lists in my sleep. For everything. To be organized. And it still bothering me that I tried to go against myself and number the list above funky. I don't like it. But now I wrote about it, so I'll keep it. It now has a reason for being that way.

I met someone a while back. And the more I get to know this person, the more I realize how different we are. A recent conversation went like this:

friend "Hey. What are you up to today?"
Me "Oh, not much. Grocery shopping. Home. Dinner. What are you up to?"
friend "Not sure. Im thinking I'll go see a friend. Maybe get a tatoo. We'll see."
Me "A tatoo? Really? How fun! Of what? Where?"
friend "Not sure yet. I have a few ideas, but we'll see."

ok. wait.

Did you catch that? Maybe get a tatoo. Not sure of what. or where?! I have been thinking about getting a tatoo for over 10 years now and havent... for many reasons. (I can provide a list of reasons if you'd like.)

And this friend is just gunna go. Just waltz into a parlor close their eyes point to a body part and say what they'd like a tatoo of. (ok, maybe that was a bit dramatic.)

But it got me to thinking. I would really like to be more sporadic. More of a jumper than a calculated risk taker.

So today I did. I went for a walk. Craziness ensued.

Bookends

There are times in life that really make me think. Times where everything stands still and I am lost in the moment. I can usually count on these times happening at big occasions. Like weddings, when someone dies and in those few times I have seen a baby be born.

Always at the start of something new. The opening of a new chapter in life. Or the end of one. The bookends.

The bookends are important. They are the focal point in a glance. The way we judge books by their cover. If someone is born into an abusive family, mom is on coke, dad is deadbeat- then it is easy to view the life with sadness. Doom the life from the start. The bookends are bad, so the book must be. Where if someone is born into a right standing home, both parents are happy church goin folk- what a celebration of life! This child is destined to be great. Beautiful bookends.

But what about the stuff written on the page? The ups and downs the twists and turns the exciting parts. What about the stories that tug at your heart and wish you could solve all the problems?

There are times in our life when we have big choices to make. What we do in those moments how we handle ourselves is what shows our character, builds our character. Our choices show who we really are. Even if it is something we got ourselves into, there is a moment in time where we have to make a choice.

There was a time in my life where I was seeing a man who I really liked. He made me smile so much. We would make each other laugh. We could talk for hours. I learned so much from him. He learned a lot from me. We would go to lunch- and we never had enough time cause we were so lost in getting to know each other. He was older than me *cough*twicemyage*cough* but it was ok. I fell for him. Even though I knew it would never work. I enjoyed the mystery. The adventure. I even became good friends with his wife.

Donald Miller has a book on the elements of story. It is a really good book called "A million miles in a thousand years" In the book he talks about how we have to make things happen. We cant expect our life to be full of adventure and have great stories to tell when we are old if all we do is sit in front of the TV. We cant wait for our story to happen. If we want a good story then it requires an aspect of risk. It requires us to own up to the hard truths about our daily lives and make the difference.

Kind of makes me want to quit my job and move to Africa. Or New York. Scratch that- I would really rather not live in NY.

We have to make our story.

Im not good at being super transparent. Which is a good thing if you want to protect yourself and a bad thing if you want anyone to know the real you.

For example- the story of the man above. Raise your hand if you knew that? Very few. I dont know who reads that but you may still be in shock that it happened- or better yet, that I posted it on the interwebs.

Anyway.

I am a planner. I like to make to-do lists and do them, in order. I like to figure out how a person works and operates and then associate with them in a way where there are no surprises. I like to be in control. [this is not a good thing] So when things happen, when life happens and I am not in control. When I didnt plan far enough in advance. I freak out a little.

I shut down. I get introspective and wonder at what I am supposed to do. I try frantically to make a plan. My brain races. I get lost in myself trying to figure out the next game plan. I try to see the bookends. I try to figure out what the last chapter says so that I can get the story back on track. I blog to find out what I am thinking.

Right now I am at a loss. Here are the facts in list form:

Death in the family
Separation from family
New home
New friends [how to relate? how to get to know them?... more on this later]
work - what am I doing?

the list goes on, but I just got scared that someone might actually read this so I stopped.

Sigh. When there is so much going on in my head and heart how do I organize the information in a safe way?

I want to get it all out and then look at it and only pick up the good pieces. But its all apart of me so there is nothing I can really give up.

I am looking at the bookends of my life and sizing it up. My story may have to over compensate for the bookends.

How do I make the story good? How do I make it interesting?

And there, there is my fatal flaw. I really do live as though I am the one writting it. I think I can make it all well. Figure out the last chapter but I cant.

I just hope that I dont ruin too many other stories in trying to figure out my own.

Thoughts on Indebtedness and Life

I am so thankful and highly indebted to many of my friends. I was aware of this indebtedness not long ago. I have an outlet in friends. Im these friends I am free to talk, to joke, to be myself and know that at the end of the day, I will still have friends. I look back on some of the things I have said, done and joked about and wonder that I am not alone and destitute. To these, I say thank you.

Jeff, the love of my life! I am so indebted to your kindness and generosity! You have borne the scorn of many my haste decisions and still choose me over all others. You are faithful to me and have taught me the truth in friendship and love. I am so in love with you!

Garrett and Paul who were my first lasting friends at Vanguard, thank you for putting up with me and pressing though. For being a constant friend even when it was hard. I know now that I was the awkward attached clingy girl who was by no means modest in my opinion and emotion and lacked the reserve I should have had. I made you both awkward more times than we can count. I know that those experiences have led us to the depth of relationship that we have now, but I wonder if it would have been a bit more mature, had I been.

Val, Boo and Keck- I think so highly of each of you and respect you to the greatest degree. I would not be the woman I am today without such encouraging friends as you (if that is a good thing or bad thing I am still working out- however please take it as a compliment rather than accusation.) You have heard my raw opinion on life, love, religion, relationships, flowers, men, and school more often than any others ever dare. You accept me, and disciple me and you have the right to do so. You are my closest and dearest friends though distance has come between us. I know, should ever the occasion arise, that I can come to you in an instant.

Isaiah, my heart is grieved over the chasm between us. I know not how to repair and mend the situation. I don't know if it is possible, or wanted. I do not know where to begin or what to say. My silence had been one of thought, concern and grief, not indifference. However wide the distance now, does not change the impact of your friendship with me in the past. You taught me how to think about things that I never thought to think of. Question what before was unquestionable and look at life through lens of other colors. It is for you I am thankful to high degree, and miss more than words can express.

There are so many others that I am indebted to for teaching me friendship and who have walked life with me when there was no reward in it for them. I do not understand this commitment, but know that for them I would do the same. Not for the debt, but for love.

_______________________________________________________________________________________

Christmas

A few years ago I made the realization that if i wanted to be a certain person in 5 or 10 years, I needed to start becoming that person.

So I thought about it. I thought about who I wanted to be. What kind of character? What is important? What do I want to value? And then I took a good hard look at my life. I thought about who I was. What did I think was important? What was my character really like? What did I value?

What a shocker! It would be nice and easy to say that I was who I wanted to be, but alas... I was far from! So I started small, let those small things become habit and second nature and then worked on more stuff.

Then life happened. I forgot about my list and started trying to put out fires instead of living intentionally. The things that were habit, were second nature... they started to fade. I started becoming a person I didn't want to be without realizing it.

Until today. I realized it today.

I was hanging up 9 Christmas cards that we received from various friends and family. Some had heartfelt thoughts inside, some where the picture kind, but all of them reminded me that I wanted to send out Christmas cards every year. And I didn't.

I almost cried. I know that a lot of people don't send out cards and its not a big deal, but in my mind, people who send out cards have it together. They are on top of things. They planned for Christmas cards to be sent out and then executed the plan.

I feel inadequate.

And yes, Christmas cards are what made me rethink my entire philosophy on life. Who am I? What do I want to be? What kind of person?

Those are hard questions when I then have to face them and answer that who I am is in fact NOT who I want to be.

I want to speak truth into people's lives, even when its hard.
I want to be positive and loving.
I want to love on people who think they don't deserve it.
I want my husband to come home to a clean room.
I want to make the bed everyday.
I want to keep trash out of my car.
I want to keep in touch with friends.
I want to send out Christmas cards.

Small things really, but they are small things that really say something about a person. Defining things that mean a lot. If not to anyone else, they are important to me.

I wonder if it is socially acceptable to send out Christmas cards after Christmas is over? Would they then just be misplaced greeting cards?

Who do you want to be? Who are you now? What small changes can you make to move towards the person of character that you want?

Confessions

I am that girl.

I live with my friends.

I hand over a huge wad of coupons at the store, and smile.

I sing really loud in the car.

I make faces in the mirror when I brush my teeth.

I cried today hearing the story of the walls of Jericho.

I enjoy facial-expression wars with a certain 1 year old.

I adore waking up to the sound of giggling girls in the other room.

I could listen to stories for hours on end.

I miss my friends and family, but am so happy where I am.

I would wear jeans and chucks everyday if I could.

Crisp cold air makes me giddy.

If it is raining, you can bet my heart is happy.

I want to be the best wife imaginable to Jeff Weltman.

Speaking of, I have the most amazing husband.

Watching a 3 year old learn to spell is fascinating.

I admire Delaina Butler, and want to be like her when I grow up.

Christmas has always been sobering for me, but I look forward to a happy Christmas, one day.

Cheese-Its and apple sauce is a favorite snack.

As well as Blue Doritos and cream cheese [warm].

I dream about having my own home and decorating guest rooms.

In everything I try to find a game or adventure.

Eating out is a treat and always special.

I will randomly dance in the kitchen, simply because its my favorite room in a house.

Dancing with Brooke and Madeline is super fun.



I am that girl.