Remember that time when you could run 5 miles at a time?

I stare at myself in the mirror and sigh. This is not what I like to see. Another sigh. Since I got my clean bill of health from the surgeon two weeks ago, I have slowly started doing 'real' workouts. You know the kind that raises your heart rate so that you can't carry a conversation, sweat drips down your face, and your muscles scream at you the next day. Last year my workouts were limited due to back pain and pregnancy.

I have been trying to ease my way back into a regular routine of working out 4 to 5 times per week. It hasn't been easy. Mostly due to my self defeating thoughts. It goes something like this:

"Remember when you were working out five times a week. You could run four or five miles at a time. You did regular HIIT workouts."

"Yes I remember. But I had a herniated disc and baby this year. It's ok that my body isn't what it used to be."

"Yeah, but you could do so much before: push ups and burpees. Remember how easy the Jessica Smith TV workouts were, and are now difficult for you. Remember doing the challenging workouts on Fitnessblender?"

"Yeah, yeah. I remember. I was fit. My clothes were looser. I could do a lot more."

"Now, you're still not in your old clothes. Those are your fat pants."

"They're barely my fat pants. Just a little bit more, and they'll be loose again."

"Mmmmhhhhhmmm. You had Tali 8 months ago. You still have 10 more pounds before pre-pregnancy weight. And then some after that."

"BUT!! You're forgetting about my brain tumor. It messes with my hormones and causes my body to think I'm pregnant. It's hard, nearly impossible, to lose weight until my hormones get corrected."

"Fine. I'll give you that. But still..... you're not happy."

"Yeah, I'm not." 

Sigh. This is unfortunately what often goes through my mind as I start working out, or when I see myself in the mirror. The problem doesn't lie in my lack of knowledge or low self esteem. I know the truth. 

"Finally, brothers, whatever is true, whatever is honorable, whatever is just, whatever is pure, whatever is lovely, whatever is commendable, if there is any excellence, if there is anything worthy of praise, think about these things." Philippians 4:8

I have to choose to set my mind on the lovely, pure, commendable, honorable, just, excellent things. 

Working out is good for my body.

I am have done a lot in the past, but where I am at right now is ok. There's no shame in it. 

It doesn't have to stay this way. I don't need to compare myself from the past to the present.

Focus on today. I did a hard workout. I had sweat beading down my face. My body is getting stronger with each day. Every workout I do, helps strengthen my back, which helps prevents herniation. Every step forward is progress, even if it is a small step. 

My happiness is not going to be tied to a number on the scale, the size of the jean, or measurements on my body. My joy is tied to Christ. And he is satisfying. 

So the next time, I start to hear the defeating, negative thoughts. This will be my response:

"Shut up. You're wrong. Today is a new day. I will choose joy. I will choose to think about what is good."

O Christmas Tree, O Christmas Tree

One of my favorite traditions, that was started by my mom, is collecting a new ornament each year. Since my very first Christmas, my mom purchased a new ornament for me. Over the years I have collected enough ornaments that I could probably decorate an entire tree with just my own! My mom's goal was that each child would have a good sized collection for when they moved out. 

I love opening the decoration box and seeing the ornaments from my childhood. My mom would let us choose our ornaments each year. They reflect our likes and personality. Beauty and the Beast is my favorite childhood movie, so I have many, many ornaments of Belle. 

One of my favorite ornaments is Kirsten from American Girl dolls. I loved the Kirsten books and own the doll. I remember getting the ornament from Hallmark and being extremely excited to hang it on the tree.  

When Kim and I got married, he didn't have any ornaments. His family never had a Christmas tree. I was determined to buy him ornaments. Or our first tree was going to look pretty girly. The past six years, I have purchased several ornaments for him, mostly comic book related. Any spider-man ornaments are his. And there are several!

I knew that this was a tradition that I wanted to continue with my girls. Each girl has their first Christmas ornament. With Jessie I was able to buy a set of ornaments that created the cutest train. 

With Tali I bought a cute, little bear with the year stamped on it. Of course, I bought this ornament after Christmas last year, because everything is half off! I put it away in my decoration box. And totally forgot about it! 

After thanksgiving I was on the hunt for a Tali's first Christmas ornament. So I bought this cute little picture frame one. Then we I opened the decoration box, it hit me! I had already purchased a first Christmas ornament. Oh well, she has two now! 

Each ornament is special and tells a story: our first home, first Christmas together, an amazing dad, favorite movie character, a special nativity scene. Every year I get to relive memories, tell my own daughters about my childhood, and build new memories of their childhood. It is definitely a tradition I recommend starting. And it's never too late to start. 

Sounds and Smells of Christmas

I love Christmas: the music, presents, decorations, parties, cookies, and most important, the memories. As my girls grow, I get even more excited about Christmas. I look forward to sharing Christmas experiences and creating  memories. Each year that passes provides new opportunities for me to give to them. This year I am loving the ability to bake with my oldest, Jessie.

Last night I was able to bake cookies with Jessie. We made peanut butter blossoms. It is so fun to have her help stir, pour in ingredients, lick the beaters, and squish the chocolate kisses into the cookies. It warms my heart to make memories together, just like my dad and I did.

My dad knows how to make 4 things: german pancakes, french toast, any type of grilled/bbq meat, and sandbakkels. Every Christmas, from the time I can remember, my dad would make sandbakkelswith us. Sandbakkels are Norwegian sugar cookies. It's a basic recipe of sugar, butter, flour, and an egg. You know, the good stuff! You take a quarter size ball of dough and squish it evenly up the sides of special Sandbakkel tins.

The cookies are baked for 9 minutes and make the house smell amazing! Once cooled they are crisp, sugary deliciousness! I love them!

Every year my dad takes out the tins, and I know it's Christmas. Once I was big enough I would help him squish the dough. Sometimes we would watch a movie while we made cookies. Sometimes we would just talk. It didn't really matter. We were making memories.

My siblings would help as well. Leah always tries to eat the dough. John can eat several cookies at a time. Normally a batch of sandbakkels don't last more than a day or two. We started doubling the recipe. I get requests from friends for these things all the time. We even served these cookies at our wedding! It's a part of our family history.

Sandbakkels will be passed down to my girls, and hopefully their children. When I moved out, my parents gave me my own set of tins. My dad has my great-grandmother's tins. It's a tradition that continues because it has meaning. The cookies are delicious but it's the memory of being with my dad, watching "It's a Wonderful Life" and knowing that I was making the same cookies as my grandma, and her grandma, and her grandma once made, that make Sandbakkels so special.

The memories of time spent together are the real treasures in life. I can't wait to continue to make more memories with my little ones.

Examining my own heart towards Ferguson

The events in Ferguson and with the Eric Garner case, has me thrown for a loop. I don’t know how to feel, what is right, what to do. I’m reading different accounts, listening to lots of opinions, and my heart just wants peace. I want the answer, but I know it is more than a one answer problem. There is complexity and years of systemic problems that don’t only include our justice system but the education system and the disarray of family households. It makes my heart sad.

Part of me feels guilty for being born white. I did not ask to be. I had no control over the color of my skin. I don’t want to feel guilty for my pigmentation. Mostly, because I don’t think it helps solve any problems, it just makes me cower in the corner afraid to say anything for fear of insulting or looking like a idiot.

Part of me didn't understand white privilege. I do believe I am privileged. I grew up with two parents who loved each other, constantly sacrificed to take care of my siblings and I. My father worked two jobs most of my childhood. My mom stayed home to home school us. I had godly examples of what a mom and dad should be like. I was instilled with values of respect, hard work, and kindness. I was given responsibility at a young age, and was expected to fulfill my duties. I was given discipline when I needed it.

Part of me has a hard time understanding a lack of trust of police. Once again, I was raised to believe that the police were good. If you needed help, they would come. I was taught to obey and respect police officers. I had a healthy fear of them. I didn't want to get caught doing something I wasn't supposed to, and I definitely wanted the police around if I needed them. I always had a high respect and admiration for police officers. And in some ways, I still do.

This is not a normal childhood for many people. I realized this clearly when I started working in a low income school. Many of the kindergartners who came through my door needed all the things I had growing up: love, discipline, encouragement, safety. It broke my heart over and over to see what I saw. I made it my purpose to give my kids a safe, loving environment where they would be encouraged, disciplined and respected. I hope that they understood my love for them.

I always felt my privilege came from how I was raise, not because of my skin color. We were poor for all of my childhood. I lived in the neighborhood with nightly shootings. We were not allowed to play in the front yard without a parent. I was the only white girl in the neighborhood. I went to a community college with people from all shades and backgrounds. Diversity felt pretty normal. I never felt like I got ahead because of my race.

In fact, I knew that if I did not work hard, I would never be able to go to college. My parents didn’t have the money. I studied hard, got good grades, applied to a university after spending two and half years at the community college. My grade point average gave me a scholarship for over half of the tuition per year. Throughout this my college years, I worked 15 to 20 hours a week, lived at home, and paid off as much as I could of my college debt. I escaped university with $14,000 in debt and a bachelor’s degree.

In the past, when someone would say that I was privileged because of my skin, I felt insulted. I worked hard to get to where I am. My parents had nothing. Nothing was ever handed to me. I remember the days when my mom would cry over a bill she didn’t know how she was going to pay. I remember my parents receiving help through the Birch Gleaning Service. I didn’t think that my childhood constituted privilege.

But as I think over my initial feelings toward being told that "I'm privileged," I wonder if I feelt insulted because of the color of my skin or my pride. To have someone say that I am privileged, in some ways insinuates that I haven't done work to get where I am now. I have worked hard. And that is the point. My pride is insulted. It isn't about how much work I did. Or what was handed to me. It's about what God has given me or allowed me to have. The glory shouldn't go to me. It's not about me. And that's a sobering thought.

Not only has God been the one in control, and so I can't and shouldn't take credit for my hard work, but I also have not experienced much of what others have. I have never been profiled. I have never been pulled over by the cops because of how I looked. I have never been assumed guilty. I’m a tall, red head. I stick out like a sore thumb but never in a negative way. I can see how my privileged childhood and skin color could afford me experiences others may never get or could get. I can see how growing up in certain situations, and always feeling like there was a strike against you, would set you up for failure. Add an imperfect justice system and sinners, and there is a case for privilege.

So what do I do? How do I respond? Honestly, I have felt like that I don’t have the right to say anything or do anything. I haven’t been in their shoes. I couldn’t possibly understand. But that logic is false and is merely an excuse to not do or say anything. Many people have never suffered a year’s worth of debilitating back pain like I have, but that doesn’t mean their advice or encouragement isn’t true or helpful. I can’t crawl into my invisible turtle shell and close my eyes to what's around me. 

Right now, I think my first response is to check my heart. Where are my biases? Am I thinking correctly? This soul searching has been prompting my heartache. It’s much easier to just turn off the tv, don’t read blogs, not engage in what is happening. There are people out there hurting. I can’t stand idly by and pretend I don’t see it. I want God to get my heart right, so that when the opportunity arises to speak and act, it will be out of a humble love. I need to turn to the Savior who has gone through it all, understands the hearts of everyone, and gives everlasting peace.

Honestly, examining your own heart is not pleasant. Asking God to show you where your biases are and sin is at, hurts. I don't want to think that I am prejudice. I don't want to think that I may have been thinking wrong about myself. If I don't look at my heart, then I won't change. I won't become more like Christ. I'll stay stagnant. If I want to continue to be sanctified I need to be willing to look at heart honestly, and allow God to point out what he wants. I need my Savior to give me his eyes, his love for others, so that I can empathize, and love like He does.

Search me, O God, and know my heart!

    Try me and know my thoughts!

 And see if there be any grievous way in me,

    and lead me in the way everlasting!

Psalm 139:23-24

Photo Credit

Our Christmas Craft for 2014

Every year my husband and I make gifts to give away to friends and family. Most of the time our gifts are homemade goodies. I have a killer cinnamon roll recipe, from the Pioneer Woman. Or I make dozen of delicious Norwegian Sandbakkles. One year we made Kahlua. I am not one to repeat myself. I always like looking for something new to try, except for the Sandbakkles and cinnamon rolls. Those will always be repeated!

Like most women, I was perusing Pinterest and found the cutest nativity. I clicked on the link and found that from the site, Dream It, you could buy the wooden blocks. Once I got the hubby's approval we decided to make 15 nativity scenes for friends and family. We had to purchase the wooden knobs separately. We found the best price for a large volume of wooden ball knobs was through American Woodcrafter Supply Company. Craft Warehouse had assorted sizes of wooden stars and the craft wire. We bought all of our wood paint from walmart for fairly cheap. Through the website where we bought the wooden blocks is a pdf of the tag.

The price break down was:

$1.50 per set of wooden blocks

.20 cents per piece for the 1" ball knob

.41 cents per piece for the 1 1/2" ball knob

.66 cents per piece for the 1 3/4" ball knob

.40 per piece for paint (We spent $1.50 per bottle for the wood paint. We had 4 colors, plus a glitter. And there was plenty left over.)

.26 cents per wooden star

.26 cents for craft wire

.10 Cents per gift tag

$2.00 roughly per piece for shipping of the wooden blocks and the knobs

Total per piece = $5.79, add a little bit extra for tax here in WA. I would round it up to $6 per nativity set. I had left over string from a previous project, and used our printer to print out the tags. The biggest expensive were the blocks and knobs. However if you were to make a large amount, or go in with another family, it could possibly get even cheaper.

It was definitely a successful project, albeit time consuming. We started in early October with painting each block. Our three year old even helped paint some of the pieces. It was easy for her since each block was a single color. We painted the stars silver, and then added a coat of silver glitter paint.

My husband was the brains behind attaching the heads. He drilled a hole in each body piece and inserted a wooden dowel. He added wood glue to cement the head and body together. Jesus' head was only glued on. The star was attached by drilling a small hole in the shoulder of Joseph and the star, then using wood glue to cement the pieces to the wire. The entire project took 6-8 hours over several weeks.

I loved this nativity because of its simplicity and durability. Many of the Christmas decorations we have are off limits to our little ones. This nativity was durable enough for my three year old to hold, without fear she would break it. I also loved that it was a project the entire family participated in. Every year as I look at our nativity I will think of the time we spent together.

Not what I had planned.

My baby is 7 months old now. It's also been a full month since I stopped nursing her. Normally, I would have nursed Tali until a year or when she wanted to stop. Jessie was too busy crawling and getting into trouble to nurse by 11 months. She self weaned. But with Tali it was completely different.

On October 21, my back seized up. I couldn't walk. I asked my mom to take me to the emergency room, but when the time came to leave, I couldn't even stand without excruciating pain. They called the ambulance to come and get me. That morning was the last day I nursed Tali. I knew there was no way I could hold my baby. Let alone, sit a position where she could nurse without causing more pain to my body.

Suddenly, I had lost an intimate experience with my daughter. There is a closeness you develop with your child when you nurse them. At times, nursing can be a drag. Your kid is with you all the time! But the trade off is a closeness and connection that can't really be described. When I had to suddenly stop nursing, I felt like I was losing a connection to my baby.

The next week, after my trip to the ER, I could barely move from the couch. I couldn't sit. Lying down was the only way to stop the pain, along with several types of drugs. I couldn't nurse Tali. I couldn't even hold her. While the pain consumed most of my attention, the nagging thoughts of losing my bond with Tali filled my heart.

My mom and husband had to take care of her while I watched. It was a bit of an emotional roller coaster. In my head, I knew that Tali was fine. I mean, look at the girl! She's almost 20 pounds of pure cuteness! Nursing is the best thing for babies, but my little one is doing fine. I was thankful that I could nurse her for at least the first 6 months.

My heart was worried that she would forget me; our bond would break. I wanted her to want her momma. It was hard to see other people take care of her. I couldn't lay her down at night, change her diapers, feed her, pick her up, or carry her for the first couple weeks.

By God's grace, there hasn't been a lost connection, just silly worrying on my part. My daughter still wants me. She still likes to snuggle. I'm able to do more with her, except for lifting and bending over to pick her up. We are adjusting to a new way of life.

And that's ok. It's ok that I couldn't nurse as long as I wanted. It's ok that I couldn't take care of my daughters like a 'normal' mom would. It's ok.

I say this because I built up ideas in my head of what I wanted, or how things should be. By now, I should expect that God doesn't operate in the way I want. And life never goes like the plans we make. In the end, the path God leads us down is better. It's probably going to be harder, a bit more scary, but filled with joy beyond imagination.

Once again, I have to rest with my daily bread. Today I am good. Tomorrow may bring loads of trouble, but I'm not going worry about it. Instead, I'm going to snuggle with my two little stinkers, and thank God that I will be able to lift, and bend, and chase them around soon.