(children from the House of Hope orphanage in Kenya)

"Christ has no body on earth but yours,

no hands but yours,

no feet but yours.

Yours are the eyes through which

Christ's compassion for the world is to look out;

yours are the feet with which He is to go about doing good;

and yours are the hands with which he is to bless us now."

-Saint Teresa

Christmas Month

"For to us a child is born, to us a son is given, and the government will be on his shoulders.  And he will be called Wonderful Counselor, Mighty God, Everlasting Father, Prince of Peace."
-Isaiah 9:6

Mike and I put up our first Christmas tree together.  There is snow expected for this weekend.  I have already wrapped a few gifts.  Christmas season is here, and this verse opens up my heart to what we are celebrating this time of year.  The names given to that tiny baby that was born thousands of years ago fill me with awe and hope.  Wonderful Counselor.  Mighty God.  Everlasting Father.  Prince of Peace.  Let the celebrating begin!

Thanksgiving 2010

I have so much love in my life.  Which means I have so much to be thankful for.  I am blessed far more than I deserve...

I love my husband.  I love waiting by the peephole in the door, because I am so excited for him to get home.  I love doing life with him.  I love when he jumps on the bed, takes out the trash, and lets me chose the record we listen to during dinner.  I love waking up early in the morning, weather it is to eat a bowl of pumpkin oatmeal and then go back to bed, or to go for a run before the sun comes up.  I love Neenah, and my family.  I love watching Mike make his dad laugh over the stupidest jokes.  I love being surround by my family full of boys, cooking for them, and being amazed by how much they can eat.  I love the daily reminders of my mom.  I love learning about grace through sorrow.  I love good books, sweaty yoga classes, and expensive coffee.  I love the quiet moments, the moments when I am still enough to hear God, and humble enough to listen.  I love being able to laugh, then cry, then laugh again.  I love the path that the Lord has placed me on.  Despite all my fears and frustrations, He always shows me that his plan is better.  I am so thankful.

On being thankful

On this Monday leading up to Thanksgiving, I want to leave you with a small passage from the book "The  Holy Wild" by Mark Buchanan that I came across while doing some reading.  This simple story stopped me in my tracks and forced me into prayer.

In a little dirt-floored church on Sunday evening in Uganda, the village pastor asked if anyone had anything they wanted to share.  A tall, skinny African woman from the back danced to the front.  "Oh, brothers and sisters, I love Jesus so much," she said.  "Tell us, sister! Tell us!" the Ugandans shouted back.  "Oh, I love Him so much, I don't know where to begin.  He is so good to me.  Where do I begin to hell you how good He is to me?"  "Begin there, sister!  Begin right there!"  "Oh, He is so good.  I praise Him all the time for how good He is.  For three months, I prayed to Him for shoes, and look!"  And with that the woman cocked up her leg so that we could see one foot.  One very ordinary shoe covered it.  "He gave me shoes."  The Ugandans went wild.  They clapped, they cheered, they whistled, they yelled.  But not me.  I was devastated.  I sat there broken and grieving.  In an instant, God snapped me out of my self-pity and plunged me into repentance.  In all my life, I had not once prayed for shoes.  It never even crossed my mind.  And in all my life, I had not even once thanked God for the many, many, shoes I had.

Jesus, give me a heart like the Ugandan woman, quick to praise You, and quick to humble myself. 

I would like:

a mini muffin tin
new SmartWool socks
an old, weathered, dining room table
angel food cake with fresh strawberries
a kitten

That is all for now.

Faces of Beauty

I am so excited to have my first writing piece published on a site that is doing some awesome things.  Check out facesofbeauty.org to read my take on what makes me beautiful!

http://facesofbeauty.org/

“God is not a belief to which you give your assent. God becomes a reality whom you know intimately, meet everyday, one whose strength becomes your strength, whose love, your love. Live this life of the presence of God long enough and when someone asks you, “Do you believe there is a God?” you may find yourself answering, “No, I do not believe there is a God. I know there is a God.”
                                                                                                                      ~Ernest Boyer, Jr.

Father

This afternoon I was at our local coffee shop, enjoying the rainy skies and a good cafe au lait.  While there my attention was drawn to a little girl, probably about 4 or 5 years old.  She was wandering in the back of the coffee shop by my table, when she started to cry and looked afraid.  She continued to slowly wander around, crying, and calling out for her dad.  "Daddy!  Daddy! Where are you!"  Her dad came out from around the corner and picked her up in a big hug.  "I'm right here, what's wrong?"  "I got lost, I couldn't find you, I was scared."  Her father simply wiped her tears, handed her a cup of hot chocolate, and all was right in the world again.

As I was sitting there watching this little girl calling out and searching for her father, and was hit by the comparison to my own life and my relationship with our Heavenly Father.  I can't count the number of times I have felt lost in life, wandering, crying out for God to help me.  I have felt utterly and terribly alone, questioning if I would ever be found again.  Many times I am lost and wandering because of my own sin and selfishness.  But just like the dad today in the coffee shop, God calmly finds me, wipes my tears, and puts me back on track.

After seeing the Gospel being played out before me at the coffee shop I spent some time in Luke 15.  I would encourage you to do the same, when you find some quiet time.

"Then Jesus told them this parable: "Suppose one of you has a hundred sheep and loses one of them.  Does he not leave the ninety-nine in the open country and go after the lost sheep until he finds it?  And when he finds it, he joyfully puts it on his shoulders and goes home.  Then he calls his friends and neighbors together and says, 'Rejoice with me; I have found my lost sheep."


I literally fell in love all over again with Jesus as I was reading this.  How sweet is it that the God I serve would leave the ninety-nine in search of one.  We are that valuable, that precious, that beloved, that God goes to all lengths to find us and save us.  And not only does God leave the whole flock in search of one sheep, but he rejoices when that sheep is found.  I take such joy and comfort in knowing I have a Father who is constantly searching for me and loving me, despite how far I wander off the path. 

Confessions

1. I get really upset when someone takes "my spot" that I eat lunch at every day.  While I grumpily take the second best spot to eat lunch next to my favorite spot, I am silently cursing the poor person, wondering how they could possibly have the guts to steal MY spot.  It really is the perfect place to eat your lunch: next to a big window, comfy chairs, a little table.  I need a sign to mark it as my territory!

2. I like good food.  I love to cook.  I like going to restaurants and trying new things.  I like real food, made with good quality ingredients.  But, one of my favorite treats is a McDonald's ice cream cone.

3. I am mean to my husband while I sleep.  I get grumpy with him.  I kick him.  I demand he gets me a glass of water.  I huff and puff when he reads from his iPhone.  In my defense, I am totally oblivious to this all, and don't remember a thing in the morning.   

4. My running shoes smell bad. 

5. I think I know why my running shoes smell bad... I will wear my athletic socks for multiple runs, and not wash them in between.

6. I judge both wine and books by the cover/label.  Yes, I am fully aware that great books and awesome bottles of wine come in unassuming packages, but why can't they try a little harder to make it look more appealing?!

7.  I spend too much time on the Williams-Sonoma website.  Mike's store is also right next to one, which means that I need to stop there every time I am in the mall to see Mike.  I currently have a long list of W-S goodies that I desperately need.

8. When I am stressed or anxious, my first reaction is to do something drastic to my appearance, say die my hair, pierce my nose, or a get a tattoo.  Thankfully, the furthest this has gone has been cutting off my hair.  If I ever come to you after a long day of work insisting that I want to put a hole in my eyebrow, don't let me!

Scarves galore!

http://www.scarf-shop.com/collection.html


I don't need any more scarves. I really, really, don't need anymore. But when I saw these from the Scarf Shop all of my beautiful scarves disappeared from my mind, and I now long to own one of these in every color.  So do me a favor: if you don't already own an absurd amount of flowy neck ware, buy one of these.

I love the way that memories paint a picture of your life. By just being still and thinking for a few minutes I can relieve so many significant moments...

...It's the last day of first grade at St. Margaret Mary's elementary school. It is a bright, sunny, warm June day as my mom and I walk out of Ms. Kay's classroom for the last time. As we reach the parking lot I can't hold it in any longer and I start to cry. "I don't want school to be over, I love school!" I couldn't comprehend a whole summer without my classroom, teacher, books, and learning.

... Early morning in the fall of my freshman year at Carroll. I am terribly homesick, but trying to push through it and make the most of my first months of college. Mornings were the hardest, I still had the whole day to get through. I lay on my back in my loft, crying, missing the familiarity of home, dreading another day at school.

... I'm young, 4 or 5 maybe? It's summer and my brothers and I are outside playing with my godmother Monie while my parents are out for the night. They all decide it would be the perfect time for me to learn to ride my bike without training wheels. As dusk settles into our neighborhood I ride my bike for the first time, amazed by the feeling and so proud of myself.

... I am 15 years old, and it is the Wednesday before Thanksgiving. Winter is slowly replacing fall, and the late afternoon skies are grey. I get off the school bus at my stop, and Mike gets off one stop early to walk part of the way home with me. My hands are sweaty inside my mittens. I like him, and there are butterflies in my stomach. As we reach the corner where we go our separate ways, 15 year old Mike, my future husband and love of my life, stops, turns towards me and grabs my hand and says "This year, I am thankful for you". I then proceed to float the rest of the way home.

... I am 19 years old, it is August, and I am standing at the kitchen sink washing out the vases from the many bouquets of flowers sent to my mom since she was admitted to the hospital a week ago. I am home alone, waiting to hear from my dad about the results of her exploratory surgery that morning. I feel good, hopeful even, and hum to myself. My dad walks through the door, and simply with the look in his eyes and the words "I'm sorry, Sarah", we are thrust back into the world of cancer.

... I am sitting at the kitchen table in my grandma's small kitchen. She places a plate of white bread smeared with real butter, cut into triangles, down in front of me. We then sit and gaze out the window, watching the birds at her feeder. Later that afternoon I put together a puzzle with Poppy, my grandp. It is the one with Mickey Mouse baking a birthday cake, the same one we put together every week I come over.

...I am 22 years old, standing in a dressing room surrounded by mirrors at my first wedding dress fitting. I am alone. I look at myself in the mirror, in the dress that I will wear on my wedding day, and I am overcome by a huge range of emotions. I hold back tears of both grief and happiness. I can't decide which emotions outweighs the other: the pain over having to buy my wedding dress alone, something that should be done with my mom by my side, or the excitement and anticipation that in a few short weeks I will be getting married, surrounded by everyone I love.

...It is a Sunday, about 5:00pm, and just like every other Sunday for as long as I can remember I am at my grandparent's house. Their house is full, of both family and love. The men are on the porch watching TV or huddled around the snack table. My grandma is in in front of the stove, mashing potatoes and proclaiming that she "peeled 15 pounds of potatoes to make these, because my Sarah likes them!" We all sit down around the long dining room table. They place my cousin Kelly and I on opposite sides of the table, probably because we wouldn't get any eating done if we were next to each other. I look around the table and feel nothing but contentment. I am loved.


I could keep going forever. Each memory is so distinct, so different, yet they are all connected on this strand that runs throughout my life. I am so thankful for them. Memories are what make life so full.

Living with Mike has really boosted my cooking confidence. When I cook or bake for him, I honestly feel like the best chef in the world. While I do consider myself to be half-way competent in the kitchen, the reality is that Mike has come straight off of 4 years of college living filled with Subway 5$ footlongs and bowls of stale cereal. Last weekend we were heading to a movie right after he got off work, so I made him a quick sandwich for dinner. It was pretty much as simple as it gets- honey wheat bread, stoneground mustard, sharp cheddar, and ham. You would have thought he had died and gone to heaven! Over a sandwich! I wasn't even trying! I have lost count of the number of times Mike has sat across from me at our little dinner table and has proclaimed "This is the best (insert meal here) I have ever had!". So, it may or may not be true, but acording to my husband, I am a pretty damn good cook.

But, instead of sharing one of Mike's favorite meals with you (and there are many), I'm going to share a recipe for something that Mike won't even go near. Bran muffins. I know, I know... am I 80 years old and constipated? Bran muffins get such a bad rap! They have been my favorite since childhood. I loved them so much that on my birthdays my mom would make up a fresh batch for breakfast and I would be served one with a candle in it. Who wants Cinnamon Toast Crunch when you can have a homemade bran muffin?! Give these humble muffins a chance. They are hearty, healthy, and keep you regular!

Bran Muffins

1 cup boiling water
1 cup bran flakes
1/2 cup margarine
3/4 cup brown sugar
1/4 cup white sugar
2 eggs
2 cups buttermilk
2 1/2 cups flour
2 1/2 tsp baking soda
1 tsp baking powder
1/2 tsp vanilla
2 cups All Bran cereal
1 cup raisins (optional)

Preheat oven to 400 degrees. Pour boiling water over bran flakes and let stand. Cream margarine and sugar together. Add eggs one at a time and beat well. Add buttermilk and mix one minute. Gradually add dry ingredients and mix until blended. And vanilla, bran flake mixture, and All Bran, mix gently. Store in covered bowl in the fridge for up to 6 weeks. Bake at 400 degrees for 20 minutes.

Harvest

"So lets not get tired of doing what is good. At just the right time we will reap a harvest of blessing if we don't give up"
-Galations 6:9

The perfect verse to carry me through October.

Pumpkin Smoothie

Make this now.

It is the very essence of fall in a cool, creamy, good-for-you drink.

I love tricking myself into eating a serving of vegetables while it feels like I'm eating pumpkin ice cream.

Fall Pumpkin Smoothie

1 cup canned pumpkin
3/4 cup plain yogurt or milk
3-4 ice cubes
1 tsp cinnamon
1/2 tsp nutmeg
1/4 tsp ginger
1 scoop vanilla protein powder (this is totally not necessary, just makes it more of a meal and adds some sweetness- instead of the vanilla protein powder you could substitue a frozen banana, 1 tsp vanilla extract, cocoa powder, some sugar- anything to add a little sweetness)

And thats it! Go make yourself one, and then wrap up in a big blanket on the couch and enjoy this awesome season!

beautiful.

Beauty:

As I grow older, I have become more certain of what beauty is (yet I still have a long way to go to make these truths take root in my heart). It isn't found in the aisles at Target, on the cover of a magazine, or on the screen in front of you. I am beautiful simply because God made me so. Not because of the clothes I wear, my haircut, or the number on the scale. I am beautiful because I am sensitive, caring, and passionate about what I love. I am beautiful because of who I am, and Who made me. I am learning to embrace that. When I look in the mirror I see my mother, and I am proud of the woman I have grown up to be. Beauty is my 90 year old grandmother and the stories she has to tell. Beauty is the dad working hard all day at his job, and coming home to spend time with his kids. Beauty the boy coming in last at his high school cross country race, yet holding his head high because he gave it everything he had. Beauty is sitting down to dinner surrounded by your family. Beauty is so, so much more then what our culture tells us it is. Thank you Jesus for challenging that.

September 18, 2007

September 18th, 2007

Last Saturday marked three years since my mom died after a courageous battle againts cancer.

September is hard for me. The weeks surrounding that date on the calendar are filled with a lot of emotions. It is difficult to explain grief to someone who has never really had to deal with it before, and it is so unique for each individual. For me, it comes and goes in waves. September is usually a time when I am hit with tidal waves of grief.

I feel like I have gotten to the point in grieving where I am past the raw pain and emptiness and can now think of my mom with a deep longing and love. In the past weeks I have found myself mourning what I am missing since my mom died. She wasn't there to see me get my nursing pin. She was not there to zip up my wedding dress and tell me I was the most beautiful bride she had ever seen. She won't be there when I have my first child, and I have so many new-mom questions. She won't be there. For the joys and the struggles. That is the painful truth of it.

But it is ok. If I have learned one thing as a result of my mom's death, it is just that. I am going to be ok. My family is going to be ok. There is no other choice really. I have to keep going, one step in front of the other, one day after the next. When my mom was sick her biggest urge to me was to not let her cancer stop my life. I was to keep going to school, keep suceeding, keep living life, keep being happy, keep doing the things I love. The same is true now. I work through the grief, and keep living and loving my life.

So, I am ok. I am more than ok. God is so good to me. I have Mike. I have a beautiful, loving, supportive family. I have friends that love me and hold me up. I ache for and miss my mom everyday. I long for that day when we are reunited in heaven. But until then, I can rejoice in my blessings and the truth that I have a God who conquered death!

"Seek, O believer, that every good thing you have may be an abiding thing. May your character not be writing upon the sand, but an inscription upon the rock!"
-Charles Spurgeon

My prayer today is that these wise words be true of me. I long to be a woman of constant, abiding faith. I want to fight againts a faith that waxes and wanes during the smooth and rocky seasons of life; that gets blown off course during the storm. I want to look back on my life and see that I loved and pursued Jesus just as hard during the pain as during the joy. I pray that I continue to root my life upon the Rock.

Two posts in one day!

Someone take me here now, please.

I love all drinks served warm that contain caffiene. I am usually just a plain coffee or tea type of girl, but every once in a while I like to spice things up with some chai. Now I'm not talking about that gross powder that you mix into milk after you heat it up in the microwave, or the super-sweet syrupy concoctions they make at Starbucks. I'm talking about the spicy chai tea that you steep and add milk and honey to. Like most young, post-college, newly-weds, Mike and I try and save money wherever we can. Due to my love of food and cooking (as mentioned previously), our grocery bill can sometimes already be outrageously high, so I have started to make my own chai tea mix. And I have to say... I think I am on to something here. I am going to give you the basic formula, but play around with it! I won't give away my secret additions... any good cook has to have a few tricks up her sleeve!

Basic Chai

3/4 cup dry black tea
2 teaspoons ground cinnamon
2 teaspoons ground ginger
1/2 teaspoon ground cloves
1 teaspoon ground nutmeg
1/4 teaspoon black pepper
milk (regular, almond, soy, whatever floats your boat)
honey

Mix dry ingredients and store in an air-tight container. Use one teaspoon mix per 3/4 cup of water. Steep tea as normal. Fill glass 2/3 with tea, 1/3 with milk, and add sweetener to taste.

Simple things make me happy

I love a lot of things:
Jesus
Mike
Ice cream
Old houses
My mom's monogram necklace
Coffee (especially when drinking in good company)
Anthropologie
Cereal
The color yellow

Two things I also really love: cookbooks and Ball jars.


I love love love cookbooks. I would have a whole library full of them if money, space, and Mike allowed. I love food, I love to cook, and I love to read, and this is where cookbooks come in. My perfect quiet evening would involve a stack of cookbooks, my recipe notebook, and a cup of tea. Also, a cookie. I love them all; old and new. I love the ones passed down from family members or bought used- the pages are stained and bent, notes written in the margins. I can imagine the love that went into the meals and treats that were made from that book. Old church cookbooks have the best dessert recipes- those ladies know how to bake! I love getting new cookbooks, flipping through the glossy pages, lusting over the beautiful food photography, planning out hundreds of meals that probably will never be made. There is something even better than cookbooks: old recipe boxes. I will boast that my grandmother and my mom were not only the best women I have had the privledge to love, but also the best cooks I know. There is nothing like lifting the lid on my mom's big wooden recipe box, flipping through the cards in her handwritting, and recognizing all of the meals she made throughout my childhood. I have a strong connection between food and emotions, and I think that is where my love for cookbooks comes in. There is something so comforting and relaxing about them for me.


There is also a soft place in my heart for glass Ball jars. You know, the ones that you find when your grandma asks you to clean out her kitchen cupboards. Yes, odd, I know. But they are so charming! And so practical! Need a glass for juice in the morning? How about a vase to put those daisies your sweet husband just brought you in? Want the perfect container to store your flour/sugar/coffe/rice/anything in? Grab a jar! The same as with cookbooks, if space and Mike allowed, I would fill my house with glass jars. My very favorite jar is tinted green and holds my button collection.

I guess I am a simple girl, and simple things like books and glass jars make my day.

Rain, and what comes after.

"See!" The winter is past; the rains are over and gone. Flowers appear on the earth; the season of singing has come, the cooing of doves is heard in our land. The fig tree forms it's early fruit; the blossoming vines spread their early fragrance. Arise, come, my darling; my beautiful one, come with me."
-Song of Solomon 2:11-13

Everyone has stormy seasons in their life. I have had a few, or maybe just one long extended rainy season filled with ups and downs, periods of light rain and times of heavy thunderstorms. In the midst of winter, it is hard to imagine what spring feels like. It is difficult to picture green trees and warm nights when you are surrounded by snow drifts and howling winds. But our God is good, and he keeps all of his promises. We can have hope during those rainy seasons of our life. For me, in the years since losing my mom to cancer, I have felt God whispering to me to hold on, whispering to me about what comes after the rain.

So much good comes from rain. The beauty we experience every summer would not be possible without the rains of early spring. God uses those hard times and situations in our life to sanctify our hearts, bring us closer to him, and to glorify his name.

I feel like I am finally starting to grasp this. I feel like my heart is slowly starting to unthaw after a hard few years of winter. I am beginning to see the flowers that have come from all the rain in the past years. And it is so good.

My Wedding Gown

I recently got married, 48 days ago to be exact. To my highschool sweetheart; the most handsome, funny, intelligent, man I know. Our wedding was perfect. Now, I am fully aware that every bride probably thinks her wedding was perfect. But mine really was, I promise you. I couldn't have asked for anything more; for a better day. The rain clearing, the ceremony, the flowers, the food, the dancing and music, our family and friends, the pictures, the lake... the list goes on. I loved so many details about our wedding day, but one of my favorites was my wedding gown. (I love calling it my wedding gown. Not wedding dress, but wedding gown. The word gown brings to mind images of Cinderella, and fancy occasions worthy of an article of clothing that isn't just a dress, but a gown.) I love my wedding gown so much that I mourn the fact that I will never be able to wear it again! While we were back in Neenah last weekend for the 4th of July, I snuck into my dad's closet to sneak a longing peak at my beautiful dress. It is just as perfect as I remembered it to be. The layers of lace, the delicate cut, the beads. But I also noticed more- the hem was dirty. It was dirty is such a good way. Dirty from walking down the aisle on the arm of my dad, the strongest and most gentle man I know. Dirty from standing in the grass next to my new husband and making a covenant before God with him. Dirty from dancing and eating during a night of celebration and happiness. My dress was lived in. It has a story.

I love the way God uses the image of marriage to remind us of his promises to us. The book of Revelation uses this picture so beautifully:
"Then I saw a new heaven and a new earth, for the first heaven and the first earth had passed away, and there was no longer any sea. I saw the Holy City, the New Jerusalem, coming down out of heaven from God, prepared as a bride beautifully dressed for her husband. And I heard a loud voice from the throne saying, "Now the dwelling of God is with men, and he will live them. They will be his people, and God himself will be with them and be their God. He will wipe every tear from their eyes. There will be no more death or mourning or crying or pain, for the old order of things has passed away." -Revelation 21: 1-4

I can't wait until that day when I will meet Jesus. When he is all I see at the end of the aisle. I will walk towards him in a dress with a dirty hem. A dress made dirty by living life. My hem will be stained from dissapointment and hurt. Dirty from fear and failure. Dirty from self-centeredness and pride. Stained from tears and sorrow and grief. But as the Lord promises, He will wipe every tear from my eye and take me in, with all my dirtyness. He will take all of my sin and ugliness, and I will give him all of my pain and grief.

So exactly like I walked down the aisle on my wedding day, with tears in my eyes and breathless with anticipation, I will continue to walk through this life getting dirty, knowing Who is waiting for me at the end.

Raspberries

Mike and I had a sweet morning together, spent getting up early, hitting the farmers market, then sitting in the sun outside one of our favorite coffee shops. While walking around the square, lusting over every single fresh vegetable that I wanted to take home with me, we walked past many stands selling raspberries. It is raspberry season, finally!
I have been realizing more and more in the past year the deep emotional pulls that seemingly insignificant objects have on me. Like berries. Raspberries always bring me back to my mom. Passing the stands lined up with fresh, ripe raspberries made me miss my mom in a deep, sweet, aching way; a way that I can't really put words to. My mom loved raspberries. I can picture her, sitting on her end of the couch at the end of a summer day, eating a bowl of vanilla ice cream with fresh raspberries on top. And now I can't escape it. Raspberries will always be associated with her. And I am thankful for that. God has blessed me with small daily reminders of my mom. I can't drive past a Culver's and see the flavor of the day is something to do with raspberries and not stop and get some, because I know if we were together, that is exactly what we would do. I am learning to embrace the aching and longing that things like raspberries bring. I am learning to even love it, look forward to it. Those moments bring me back to her, they make her present, here, real. I also love raspberries, like she did. And this summer I am going to eat them until my belly is full, as well as my heart.

Welcome. I am new here also, so we are in the same boat. I am not sure what the future with hold for us... The adventures of discovering my new city and job? Recipes and book reccomendations I want to pass along? What Jesus is doing in The Hughes' life? We will see!