in which food makes me angry 8.January.2009

Maybe it started last night when I instant-messaged my husband:

“my motivation to cook supper is falling out of the window….  can it be a palio’s night maybe?”

So we went out for pizza.  It was fine.  Under twenty dollars, easy, quick.  It was fine.

But I knew I had to face grocery shopping today, so I finished out my menu for the next week, and went on my way.  I only needed meat (yes, I know:  I never need meat) for a couple meals, so I thought I’d just knock the whole grocery list out at Whole Foods.  The list wasn’t too long, after all.

One complimentary sack of cookies, two trips to the bathroom for my potty-training two-year-old, and over an hour later, we checked out.

One hundred eighty dollars.  Seriously?  One hundred eighty dollars? I mean, sure, I picked up a few extras: a new bottle of raw agave nectar (It’s cheaper than honey.), some raw carob cacao nibs (I had always wanted these when I was on the raw diet and just found them today, only to find out I misread the package and they weren’t carob. At least they really were raw.), a new mint plant for my pot (surely it will produce mint for many months to come!), some extra Food for Life bread (it’s cheaper at Whole Foods than at the standard American grocery store).  Things like that.  They weren’t stupid, unnecessary foods.

But I left angry.  Isaiah and I were not on good terms.  I really just felt like a hamburger.  That is, I felt like eating one.  You know, I do pretty well with the whole eating-sustainably-grown-meat thing until I’m in a bad mood.  Then I think to myself, “You know what?  It is all just hopeless.  I try to be a good steward of what I eat, and I end up being a bad steward of my money.  I am a lost cause.  I may as well just eat fast food.”  Do you feel sorry for me at all?

Anyway, as it turned out, there was no mouth-watering hamburger joint between Whole Foods and home, so we got tacos.  Isaiah liked that.  And I sucked in my Coca-Cola like it was a drug.

On the drive home, I decided that at the soonest opportunity possible, I needed to take a course in organic gardening.  Really, it seems to be the only reasonable way to be be a good steward of earth, body, and money.  And I have failed enough in my own gardening that I think I could use a little help.  It was a little spark of hope, thinking about taking a gardening class, but still… I still had one hundred eighty dollars worth of groceries in the trunk of my car.  Today it didn’t make me feel much better.

Isaiah spilled his fast food water when we got home.  I yelled at him, which hurt his feelings, so he cried.  I felt more like a hamburger than ever.  That is, I felt as lowly as ground beef between two pieces of bread.  So I told my little boy I was sorry, held him a few moments, and admitted to him that it was only water.

We were on better terms when it was finally naptime.  Isaiah smiled at me before I left his room.  He forgives and forgives.

I set off to the kitchen to do some baking.

Sometimes I slap myself over the head for thinking I have to make food from scratch* — like the pecan rolls I want to serve to some valiant moms of toddlers tomorrow.  I mean, pecan rolls?  Really?  The expense is no less than a simple can of Pillsbury whatever-rolls.  And the work is enough to make me dread my entire day.

But then, in the middle of kneading, I looked down and saw my hands working the dough on my wooden board.  My arms hurt; my breath came out in little puffs.  The exertion grounded me.  I felt human again.  It was like the simplicity of hands in dough — working it, working it – washed away all my guilt and self-hatred for failing again and again in the food department.  If I could only only make bread, and see a few ingredients and a little elbow grease somehow turn into this beautiful, simple staple of the human diet, I could see transformation in grocery shopping, in growing food, in my rocky rollercoaster of a soul.

*One exception to this – an occasion when I never feel like I’m biting off more than I can chew — is when I make this beautiful recipe for crusty, chewy artisan bread.  It is so easy.  Believe me. You should try it at least once.  And the result is something you might buy in a good bakery.  And the best part is that it makes four loaves, only you don’t have to bake them all at once because the dough stores in the fridge for up to two weeks!  Mmmm.  I am salivating right now.  Oh, bread, how do I love thee?  Let me count the ways…

courage to create 15.November.2008

Today I’m taking inspiration from my husband, Kyle, who posted a collection of notes and reactions to Twyla Tharp’s book The Creative Habit: Learn It and Use It for Life.

I’ve never linked creativity to risk, but tonight it makes sense to me that taking risks may help me live more creatively.  It’s fear that keeps me from living life more creatively and passionately.

This year and probably next, we’re living in a rental house.  But if we ever end up in home we own again, I want to create an art wall.  I’m not talking about a wall where artwork is hung.  I want take a whole wall of our house, and let it be turned into whatever the members of our family want it to be turned into.  Everyone can and should contribute to the masterpiece.  Old things can be covered up (though I’d like to take pictures of the wall — maybe every night — to help me remember how the wall used to be), and any art medium can be used, including the writing of text and the posting of photographs.  Hopefully the wall would always be an artistic representation of what our family looks like at that moment.  It would be a way to relieve frustrations, celebrate joy, and commune as a family.

But it’s risky, you know?  It would mean you’d have to give up the idea that your house can look like a decorator’s dream.  Beige paint, begone!  And then you’d have to admit to yourself that it’s okay if the wall isn’t pretty.  And you’d have to be okay with visitors seeing all your struggles and ideas splashed up against the wall.  Yeah, it’s risky.  It’s scary.  But just think:  isn’t it scary to think that whatever beauty that could be expressed on that wall may never have a chance to be released unless it has a canvas?

A few weeks ago, a friend asked me if I had ever heard of relactation.  I hadn’t.  But I went home and scoured the internet for all the information I could find about it.  I discovered that I could train my stagnant breasts to produce milk again.  With enough regular demand for milk, the supply could be rebuilt.  I could actually breastfeed our adopted baby!  Though the process of training a baby to nurse when he has only been bottlefed may turn out to be grueling, the opportunity for bonding through breastfeeding is invaluable.  I imagine this is a little crazy to some people.  But even if I face failure, how can I not try to take advantage of something so perfect?

Today on NPR’s Studio 360, green architect William McDonough spoke of the inspiration he takes from nature.  He admits that humans have pretty lame design skills:

“I reflect on the fact that it took us 5000 years to put wheels on our luggage.  So we’re not that… smart as a design species.  But if you look at a tree and think of it as a design assignment, it would be like asking you to make something that makes oxygen, sequesters carbon, fixes nitrogen, distills water, provides habitat for hundreds of species, accrues solar energy as fuel, makes complex sugars and food, changes colors with the seasons, creates micro-climates, and self-replicates.”

Yeah, my God is creative.  He’s an artsy guy.

I grasp the scrap of paper that is my hope of relactating and breastfeeding our new baby.  It’s a small innovation, a small hope, a humble dream.  But it is my risk; it is my bit of innovation and creativity.  I’ll trudge through weeks of sitting at breast pumps and sopping up leaked milk.  I’ll remember what full, sore breasts feel like.  And I’ll take that scrap of paper and pray for it to be turned into art.  Dare I hope it could become something as complex and beautiful as… a tree?

an update on nothing 28.September.2008

Well, this is a post on something, after all.  It’s a much-belated update on my 30 29 Days of Nothing.

What a month this has been!  Full of blessings and bounty — far from nothing!  There was so much bounty, in fact, that I expected to look back at my five resolutions in my original post and have to tell you that I failed at nearly everything.  But today I read my resolutions again (they had always been in the back of my head, but I couldn’t have told you exactly what they said), and I realized we had met almost all our goals!

1. No lunches out except Sunday.  One dinner out per week, with no drinks or appetizers: On this one, I messed up twice, I think, with the lunch thing.  But the lunches were not unplanned splurges in a moment of weakness.  They were both lunches out with friends, for social and relationship-building purposes.  Justified, or not?  (I could have cooked those meals, after all.)  As for dinner, I think I succeeded 100 per cent on that one!

2. Meals planned around grocery store sales. Eh, I tried.  But I don’t really enjoy going through fliers.  So, how’s this?  I planned a meal, and then found the grocery store that had that item on sale — beef stew meat, for instance.  Since I have decided that buying all organic produce is not conducive to saving for an adoption, I am buying most of my conventional produce at the dirt-cheap Korean market.  Meat, though, kind of freaks me out at the Korean market.  So, I’d either bypass the meat altogether, justify a really good meat sale at Kroger or Albertson’s in the name of frugality, or when feeling particularly sustainable, I would go to Whole Foods to get a small serving of the good, organic, free-range stuff.

3. Stay under budget on groceries by at least $50. Everybody say “Wooee!”  Wooee! I am officially done getting groceries for the month.  And guess what?  I am under budget by $105.  Yeah.  I will attribute this in part to the bounty of food my parents brought from Kansas, but I could also argue that our grocery budget was more stressed because we had two weekends with houseguests.  It all balances out.

4. Limited electricity use, including air-drying clothes and turning off lights. I’d say the month was about average in this department.  I wasn’t exactly a stickler about turning off the lights — not more than usual anyway.  But just to make up for it, I am sitting in the darkness with my laptop right now.  And then there was one weekend I totally broke down and used the dryer for two loads of laundry, which I almost never do.  I enjoyed the luxury and felt little guilt.

5. Cloth diapers. The next weekend I broke down and used disposable diapers on Isaiah during the day.  I did feel guilty about that.  Other than that, I stuck to my guns.

As I’ve said, I didn’t feel very deprived during September.  I received bounty.  The hardest moments were in the late afternoon when I was tired and felt like doing anything but cooking.  Those will always be the hardest moments.  Perseverance is rewarded when I realize that in our budget, we were able to pay for a three-night stay at a condo in Breckenridge, where we’ll be two weeks from tonight.  If I had planned better, maybe that money could have gone to someone in need, rather than to give ourselves some late luxury that we missed out on this month.  But whether we had done this experiment in September or not, we still would have taken our mini-vacation in Breckenridge.  And now it’s paid for.

I believe these exercises can and will become habit for me.  In the kitchen, I have become less scared of cooking from scratch.  I have learned a little more about balancing frugal shopping with ecologically responsible shopping; I don’t have to feel guilty about buying organic milk or zucchini.

But I can do without a weekly coffee shop indulgence.  It’s a nice and perhaps much-needed reward on occasion, but I don’t have to do it to satisfy my consumerist cravings.  As Suzy recently reminded me through the words of Gandhi: “We must live simply so that others may be able to simply live.”

All discipline is hard in the outset.  But the fruit it bears will sustain not only our family but maybe also many others.  That’s my dream.

resisting the “blue-screen universe” 12.September.2008

This is the time when Isaiah lies down for his nap, and all I want to do is quit… for hours.  The avalanche of undone work may pummel me when he wakes up, but for now, all I can think of is the moment.  I decide it isn’t worthwhile to fight.

Tonia from study in brown had this to say today:

“our modern world homogenizes the years: air-conditioned, ever-green, halogen-lit.  we rise to the beep of an alarm clock and not the sun, stay awake late by the light of a blue-screen universe, measure progress by the numbers in our checkbook.  but we were not made to live this way.  though the circle of time and season is written in the heavens, laced through the branches of every tree, carved into the earth by seed and stalk and fruit and grave, we have forgotten how to join it.

every day is not the same day; the cycles of the sun and the moon and the twirl of the planet are a cadence on which we can be carried, a beat we can lean into, pulse, sway; a rhythm we can dance with instead of resist.”

Maybe tomorrow will be a day of rest.  But today I will dance.

trash-picking: mission failed 8.September.2008

I chickened out.  I’m kicking myself over it.

Monday morning is the best morning to take a walk around the neighborhood because that is the day all large “trash” items are put out on the curb to be taken to the landfill.  It’s sick really, to see what people consider trash.  Oh, there is honest-to-goodness trash out there: limbs from trees, splintered boards, packaging (though even that could be reused; almost everything can be reused).  But sometimes there’s perfectly good stuff.

One day I picked up an old wooden ladder and a plastic frog sandbox… and proceeded to drive away with such excitement and embarrassment that I whipped out in front of an oncoming car.  The car was going slowly enough to wait for this crazy trash-picking lady.

But seriously, what are people thinking?  This morning, one house had an overstuffed armchair, at least eight plastic patio chairs, a glass patio tabletop, and a couple plastic trashcans.  Come on, if they haven’t heard of Freecycle, couldn’t they at least donate the stuff?

It was that armchair I was eying.  I was imagining how I singlehandedly would lift it into the trunk of my car, grab a few patio chairs to stuff next to Isaiah in the backseat, and drive away with glee.  But there were cars in front of the house, and I just knew someone would see me.  I know.  Dumb.  What a weenie I am.

Too bad I wasn’t sensible enough to use my courage to just knock on their door and ask them if I could take a few things off their hands.  Is that the first step in combatting America’s waste?

living with lists 4.September.2008

I have tried FlyLady.  I have tried winging it.  I have sent myself on many, many guilt trips.

The thing is, my dear mom has a housekeeping plan for her house that left no room for failure.  If she planned to clean Friday, she cleaned Friday.  Her follow-through rate is amazing.  Mine?  Not so good.

FlyLady wasn’t so bad.  I have to say, it was motivating… in a cute sort of way.  Attitude and self-image were of high importance; I have a hard time arguing with that.  But the emails.  Ugh.  The emails drained me before I even got started.  I think you’re supposed to forget about the daily missions if you don’t do them for the day.  But I saved them.  I had piles and piles of uncompleted household missions that stared me in the face every day, reminding me that I would never catch up.

I abandoned FlyLady shortly before Isaiah was born.  And, well, the house has been a disaster since then.  I clean, oh, once a month?  I don’t know; I don’t count anymore.  But it stinks (literally, as of yesterday)because, you know, I like a clean house.  But beyond that — way beyond that — I’ve been wanting to seek God’s purpose in my daily life.

I believe one can know the big picture of needing Christ, and maybe even be motivated to love and evangelize those who don’t know about his saving grace, without inviting Him into the everyday.  But what about eating, sleeping, and getting groceries?  What about cleaning the toothpaste-caked bathroom?  What about changing your baby’s wet diapers (I’m not even talking poop; that takes some grace!  Pee is the mundane for me.)?  What about washing the car, ironing, sending the laundry through its cycles?  Where does God come into our lives during those moments?

Ann at A Holy Experience has been blogging about ceremony in recent days.  Read her words from her post “Live a Celebrated Life: the beauty of ceremony”:

If we consider an occasion meaningful, we develop a ceremony to duly recognize it. Simply, ceremony is a repeated action that marks important happenings: always candles on birthday cakes, centerpieces for Thanksgiving, vows on wedding days.

And yet, isn’t every day important? Do not all of our acts warrant ceremony?

Ann goes on to describe God’s way of creating ceremony in our lives: the sun rising and setting in splendor, the stars decorating the night sky.  So, too, we can mark the beginning of a new school year with bright, sharpened pencils; begin a meal with a prayer of joy and thanksgiving for a generous God; grace our ironing time with a blaze of music.

But how can there be ceremony if there is no mundane task to deck out in grace?  We can set out to only enjoy life, throw our work and schedules to the wind, and thank God for what prosperity may come.  Or we can embrace the mundane as opportunity for everyday beauty, for seeing the fruit of labor ripen and bless our lives because we tended it with diligence.

I’m good at imagining diligence.  I can make lists like no one’s business.  Don’t believe me?  Please see the following example.  She is one of (at least) three lists that will guide me in my housekeeping tasks:

Monday

Sweep/scrub floors (Kitchen and Living room)

“Spring” cleaning: Choose task(s) from monthly list (another list for another day!)

Clean out fridge and microwave

Tuesday

Clean bathrooms: counters, toilets, baths, showers

Dust everything

Clean kitchen counters

Plan weekly meals

Make shopping/errand lists

Check grocery store sales

Clean out purse

Declutter top of dresser

Isaiah’s bath night

Wednesday

Run errands: grocery store, post office, library, gifts, etc.

Pay bills; balance accounts

Write thank-you notes and letters (including MOPS)

Go through mailbox

Declutter and organize desk; File papers

Email Mom and sisters

Clean out car

Toss old magazines

Thursday

Vacuum everything

Scrub bathroom floors

Declutter washer and dryer

Hobbies: cards, photo albums, knitting, creating art, etc.

Friday

Sweep tile floors; Spot scrub as needed

Wash car, if needed

Laundry: wash, dry, fold, put away

Ironing

Change bathroom towels

Shine mirrors and glass

Date night

Saturday

Work on household project, if needed

Garage/Yard Day

Clean kitchen counters

Take bath; Shave legs; Wash hair

Isaiah’s bath night

Sunday

Go to church

Rest, worship, play

Write rough weekly to-do list

Empty all trash and put out trash barrels

Whew.  Now that we’ve got that over with, let us all agree that I know the work that needs to be done around a house.  But I also know the guilt of seeing my lack of checkmarks at the end of a day.

I have approached this new homekeeping project asking God to help me keep the beauty — His beauty — in it.  Today, I decided that I may hand-write the entire list in my journal, paste pictures I love beside the daily tasks, and use the list more of a guide than anything.  I will grace the list with encouragement from the Encourager Himself:  “Commit your works to the LORD, and your plans will be established…. The mind of man plans his way, but the LORD directs his steps.” (Proverbs 16.3,9)

More than anything, I don’t want my cleaning of my house and planning meals to rise above my desire to make our house warm and inviting — not only for guests — but for my family.  I want joy and peace, goodness and love to reign here.

That is why I want to add ceremony to our lives.  So to my daily task list, I add:

• One hour of reading with Isaiah (yes, it’s a lot, but it’s so precious and important)
• One hour enjoying nature
• Time with God, early in the morning
• Thirty minutes of reading for pleasure; thirty minutes of writing
• Singing and reading Psalms with Isaiah every morning

These look like more tasks to accomplish, but they give us something to look forward to.  They motivate me for things that would otherwise be drudgery and rigidity.  They compel to me to let myself experience grace and rediscover purpose when all I can focus on is what I have done or haven’t done.  The lists are just for me; God isn’t giving grades.

day two (in which beans bite me in the butt) 3.September.2008

This morning, I spent only $52 on groceries for the week, and that includes a meal for guests on Sunday.  Last night, I had soaked dry pinto beans in water, so I could boil them this morning.  It’s cheaper that way.  I planned my four morning errands, feeling confident and completely on target with all of my goals.

I forgot I was a catastrophe waiting to happen.

My beans were done cooking at 8.45 this morning.  That is the time I left home with Isaiah to go get the tires rotated and balanced.  After hitting the library and two grocery stores (where an unearthly wind flung the car door against my legs whenever I would try to get Isaiah out of his carseat), we went home.  I remember thinking it smelled funny in the garage.  And then I remembered the beans.  Oh, the beans.  They only cooked an extra three hours.

My frugality slapped me in the face.  You don’t understand how much chocolate cake I want to eat right now.

But in the spirit of gratitude, I must say I am thankful for (7) the chilly wind gusting through our house right now.  It has earned my forgiveness.

30… er, 29 days of nothing 2.September.2008

My dear blogging friends, I am joining yet another challenge from the blogosphere.  Owlhaven is hosting 30 Days of Nothing, in which she challenges readers to cut back on all superfluous spending for the month of September.  Giving up a weekly latte or dinner out, saying “no” to snacks from the grocery store, cutting back on electricity usage – any and all of these things are fair game in order to participate in the challenge.  You can apply the challenge to as many areas of your finances as you like.

I wasn’t going to participate.  After all, I want a cute new skirt, and I would really like to pay somebody to help me with my dreadlocks this month.  But God spoke to me about money this morning when I was reading in 2 Corinthians, and I knew it was okay to give the challenge a try, even if I am a day late.  Looking cute will have to wait.

My 30 29 Days of Nothing will mean that I will plan low-budget meals, and try to only go to the grocery store once every week.  We will have meatless meals at least once a week as well.

I will refuse to eat a lunch out except for Sunday.  My single dinner out per week will not include the price of a drink, appetizer, or dessert.

I will plan my menus around grocery store sales.

I will NOT go over budget in my grocery store expenses.  In fact, I will try to underspend my grocery budget by at least $50.

I will be more diligent about limiting electricity use.  I will airdry all the clothes.  I will turn off lights when I leave the room.

I will be a stickler about making Isaiah wear cloth diapers during the day, unless he’s in someone else’s care.

That’s an intimidating good start, don’t you think?  I may make more resolutions as the month goes along, and I will try to post updates on how things are going.

In the meantime, and in other news, I am in the process of recreating my housekeeping schedule and developing new sleeping patterns.  (Don’t I have ridiculously high hopes for myself?  I never learn.)  I hope to post a copy of my insane task lists in the coming weeks.  My new sleeping schedule says I must go to bed now because I am tired.  So, goodnight!

in pursuit of gratitude 13.August.2008

I woke up angry.  Or I arrived there quickly.  Isaiah was standing beside our bed a few minutes before six, saying, “More milk?”  We give him what he wants at that hour — fill his little cup and tuck him back in bed with his blankets.

In minutes, he was back by my bedside.  He wanted to go night-night with mommy.  Figuring it was the only remaining chance to get him to go back to sleep, I pulled him up beside me.

He didn’t go back to sleep.  He tossed and turned, drank his milk, touched my face with his hands and then his feet.  “Stop,” I barked at him.  He smiled at me in return.  Things were not going well.

At seven I gave up, angry.  Angry that I could not have my quiet time with God this morning.  Angry that Isaiah would probably be grumpy later on in the day because of his shortage of sleep.  Angry because as hard as I try to get up earlier in the mornings, Isaiah keeps getting up earlier, too.  Angry because I felt like God owed me a few minutes of solitude and preparation time before having to face the day.

These words from Ann’s blog, A Holy Experience, greeted me as I checked my blog feeds this morning:

“Give up
the bitterness, the anger, the sadness

for what isn’t,
that you wish you had.

And embrace the gift of what you do have.

For therein

is really what you want more of:

Joy.”

-Elizabeth Elliot

My heart sunk with remorse at my anger.  What would have been my most convincing argument toward God — God, I won’t even be able to meet with You alone this morning! — was crushed in the realization that God had not allowed Isaiah to go back to sleep.  What I had was a happy boy, an awake boy, ready to greet the day.  And I could not even be thankful for his health and his happiness and the night of rest God had already granted me.  Instead, I propped up my worthy idols and asked God to worship them.

Today, I am going to join the Gratitude Community and start making my own list of One Thousand Gifts.  I’ve loved reading other bloggers’ lists of gifts from God, but I’ve resisted starting my own list because (sigh) I like to be original and different and not give in to the trends of the blogosphere.  But I give in.  Because my gratitude is worth nursing more than my pride.  I released my idols this morning and stepped into the day with my little Isaiah.  I took him to the park, and in my head, I began to form a list…

1. 73 degrees at 9 a.m.  Ah, sweet relief from the heat wave!  The soft warmth of sunlight on my face, and the morning air rushing over my face…

2. My little boy in pursuit of friendship.  His little hand cupped inside an older child’s…

3. The delight that splashes across his face in watching a black lab…

4.  The familiar faces of women in my neighborhood.  Their presence convinces me I am not a stranger here.

5. The bread dough on my stove, slowly, slowly rising…

6. The anticipation of seeing my husband tonight…

a proverbs 31 wannabe 7.August.2008

I read Proverbs 31.10-31 as much as any chapter in the Bible.  Maybe it’s because that’s my lot in life right now — a homemaker, a home organizer, the female force of our family (nice alliteration, eh?).  And it motivates me to see the beauty that this woman makes of her family’s home.  The people around her are more whole because of her.

Tonight I read The Message version for the first time:

A good woman is hard to find,
and worth far more than diamonds.

Her husband trusts her without reserve,
and never has reason to regret it.
Never spiteful, she treats him generously all her life long.

She shops around for the best yarns and cottons,
and enjoys knitting and sewing.

She’s like a trading ship that sails to faraway places
and brings back exotic surprises.

She’s up before dawn,
preparing breakfast for her family
and organizing her day.

She looks over a field and buys it,
then, with money she’s put aside,
plants a garden.

First thing in the morning, she dresses for work,
rolls up her sleeves, eager to get started.

She senses the worth of her work,
is in no hurry to call it quits for the day.

She’s skilled in the crafts of home and hearth,
diligent in homemaking.

She’s quick to assist anyone in need,
reaches out to help the poor.

She doesn’t worry about her family when it snows;
their winter clothes are all mended and ready to wear.
She makes her own clothing,
and dresses in colorful linens and silks.

Her husband is greatly respected
when he deliberates with the city fathers.

She designs gowns and sells them,
brings the sweaters she knits to the dress shops.
Her clothes are well-made and elegant,
and she always faces tomorrow with a smile.

When she speaks she has something worthwhile to say,
and she always says it kindly.

She keeps an eye on everyone in her household,
and keeps them all busy and productive.

Her children respect and bless her;
her husband joins in with words of praise:
“Many women have done wonderful things,
but you’ve outclassed them all!”

Charm can mislead and beauty soon fades.
The woman to be admired and praised
is the woman who lives in the Fear-of-God.
Give her everything she deserves!
Festoon her life with praises!

Be silent, you feminists.  This is as high of a calling as they come.  Would I could be to my family what this woman is to hers.

The only problem is, I look at this portrait and think: Is she real?  Is this even possible? Shouldn’t I, as a daughter of the Almighty, a temple of the Spirit, be able to pull off a decent fraction of these qualities?  But instead, I get about one thing done a day.  I “make about a dollar” (to quote Donald Miller in Blue Like Jazz).

The time is swallowed up by some faceless behemoth, and I am left at 12.09a.m. in the darkness, typing, hoping that by some drizzle of grace, I can do better tomorrow.