Eating Well: A State of the Mind

You know, food is one of the most interesting things we interact with daily and yet so infrequently recognize for its multi-faceted features. It’s a necessity. It’s beautiful, colorful, natural, or unnatural. It’s comforting. It’s filling. It’s exactly what we want. It’s exactly what we need. It’s a “solution” to all kinds of emotions – boredom, fear, grief, nervousness, excitement, anger, celebration. It’s misused. It’s delicious. It’s greasy, dry, brittle, flexible, chewy. It’s served frozen or bubbling hot. It’s created for the purpose of sustaining you. It’s been manipulated into worship of the body. It’s spicy, sweet, bitter, tangy, pungent.
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Not Girly, but Feminine

I’m not a girly girl. I never have been, but for years I wanted to be one. I envied all things girly girl, but not anymore. Don’t think I hate girly girls. I don’t. Actually, if anything, I respect them. I don’t know how they do it with matching accessories, jewelry, and lipstick for every outfit. Their manicured hands and pedicured feet are lovely, and a sweet smell always encircles them. So many are incredibly sweet, and I’ve felt loved so many times because of their kindness and etiquette. I am absolutely serious when I say I can’t even imagine
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Governed by the Memoir

I love a good memoir. They’re raw, funny, sad, and real-ish. I say real-ish because memoirs are given more creative liberty than autobiographies. No one actually remembers all of those conversations, and sometimes what we remember isn’t exactly what happened. However, memoirs are based on truth, or at least the truth according to the individual writing it or according to how the individual perceived it as truth. Sounds vague, right? But the thing I love about a memoir, not only me but we as Americans love, is that the memoir is the embodiment of experience. Here in America, we worship
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The Revolving Door

Being in-transit gives everyone the grumpy face. That’s all there is to it. When I lived in Florence, SC, my hometown and a small town of about 45,000 people, we Florentinians used to talk about how Florence was a revolving door type of town, especially for people aged 18-30. People came, stayed a season, and then left again. As a long-time member of the Florence community, the revolving door made things difficult. I always took forever to get to know someone, as I am often tongue-tied and awkward with new people. By the time I would start to really love
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I Don’t Want to Die When I’m 100

Do you remember ever believing everyone died when they reached 100? For a period in my life, I definitely thought everyone lived to be 100. I was reminded time and time again this week of how we often view life like children, as if we are all invincible with all the time in the world. In a funny way, I was reminded of how we think we’ll live so long when we’re young. I think most people have seen this video of the little girl who doesn’t want her brother to grow up. I avoided it on Facebook for a
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Respect Your Children – the fine line between passive parenting and giving grace

Whoa, whoa, whoa. Doesn’t the Bible say for children to obey and respect their parents? Yes, yes it does. Ephesians 6 to be exact. But Ephesians 6 also says, “Fathers, do not provoke your children to anger, but bring them up in the discipline and instruction of the Lord” (ESV). For the longest time I had no clue what this meant, and while I’m sure I don’t completely understand it now, I do feel it makes more sense. When he was younger, E was an easy child. He never threw a temper tantrum, didn’t say ‘No’ to everything as a two-year-old,
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Let’s Be Honest – Grouchy Mom

I’ve been chewing on this quote from Kevin DeYoung’s book, Crazy Busy, for over a month now. “We go day after day, crazy month after crazy month: worried, upset, anxious, troubled, fussing, worked up. Every stain, every school project, every dirty sink, every surprise guest, every surge of responsibility becomes a cause of great panic. To paraphrase Titus 3:3, we live as slaves to various passions and pleasures, passing our days in chaos and envy, hassled by others and hassling one another.” I am so guilty of this type of busyness. Every time E spills something, every time I have
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Let’s Be Honest – False Necessities

Every day, I feel as though I need a cup of coffee to survive. If I don’t have my cup of coffee, I have a pretty killer headache around lunchtime. I also pretty much compulsively check my Instagram feed daily. Sometimes, three times a day, but sometimes only once. I get really absorbed in reading a book, and I love either a dessert or a glass of wine after dinner (lately it’s been the glass of wine or some cheese). But these things won’t literally sustain me. They may make my day better, and I may rely on them for
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Let’s Be Honest – Hoarding

The other day I was singing the lyrics, “I don’t know what they want from me, it’s like the mo money we come across, the mo problems we see.” The boy E was confused. He, of course, had never heard of the Notorious B.I.G., nor had he heard the song, so he wanted to know what I was singing and why more money led to more problems. It was pretty unfathomable to him. I tried to explain how the more money and things we have leads to more responsibilities and things we have to tend to. Conveniently, I’d been reading
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Let’s Be Honest – My House is a Circus

Most of the time, my house is a circus starring a cat, a dog, a 4-month old, a 9-year-old, a husband who works 1.5 jobs, and my own bag of tricks. I’m too busy. Even as I sit to write this post (and plan on posting it later next week), I’m watching Martin play, eating leftovers from last night and keeping an eye on E as he works through a math speed drill. This is about as peaceful as my day gets. I have laundry going, and I’m racking my brain about what to make for dinner, what to buy
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