Eleven Weddings and a Cocktail

I have been blessed beyond measure with lovely friends. I don’t think I could be more happy for and proud of them, even if I tried. People joke about the movie 27 Dresses when they realize how many weddings I’ve been apart of over the years (and I’m only 23, mind you). Let’s see, this summer alone, there’s been 3 backyard weddings, 5 church weddings, 1 wedding at a Manor, 1 beach wedding, and 1 barn wedding. Needless to say, my wardrobe has stepped it up a notch in the dress department. That being said, watching the Lord work through their relationships has touched my soul. They give me hope. Love exists.

All that aside, here’s the truth. Your wedding day is only the most important day in the world to you. We love you, but we love lounging around and watching the Reds more. But soak it in and drink it up, my bride friends, because the only other time you’ll have a day that’s all about you will be your funeral. And you won’t even be there to enjoy it. Cheers.

the thing about clenched fists

Another season is just around the corner. Summer is putting it’s finishing touches on 2010 and slowly allowing autumn to swoop in and amaze us once again with her beautiful colors and smells of bonfires and cider. It’s awfully polite of Summer to pack it up and leave so soon, although it leaves girls like me a bit heartbroken. Not because fall isn’t fabulous. And not because we don’t appreciate the pure fallen snow Winter promises. It’s simply because Summer is good. And between you and me, Winter overstays it’s welcome.

Kids remind me of this. Children run around the play room, grasping their favorite toys. It’s innocent, really. No matter who comes along or what else comes their way, they don’t let go. The problem arises at the swing set. In order for children (or lets face it, adults…because who doesn’t enjoy a good swing?!) to enjoy the swings, they have to surrender their toys in their fists. Then and only then can they hold onto the chains on the swings and kick their feet and laugh and play, pretending to fly away.

Everything under the sun has a time and a place that is so perfect, we can’t deny it. Things change. So have I. I’m learning that the secret is to keep up. Staying teachable is absolutely indispensable. Every season has something beautiful to offer, and if I don’t find it and delight in it soon enough, it will be gone. And sure, there will be other blessings in other stages of life, but each is unique and I don’t want to miss it.

On the flip side, I also find myself dwelling on the blessings in the past and wishing so badly they were still here. See, you can’t receive many blessings with clenched fists. It’s not how life works. There are times you have to surrender the toys and grab hold of the swing. Otherwise you’ll never feel the wind in your hair as you pretend like you’re flying away…

A Bootin' to the Gluten

Goodbye, sweet gluten.

Let’s venture back. We’ve all been there. We’ve all experienced something so bittersweet. Something so good, yet so bad. Take Sun-In, for example. Who didn’t want to be blonde in the 90′s? We sprayed and sprayed that lemon juice and flower extract all over our innocent locks in hopes to become bleach blonde legends like Princess Diana or Zack Morris. Over time, however, we had to face the truth. The “lighter, sun-kissed” hair we were once longing for had evolved what was left of our hair into brassy, overused garage broom bristles. I, for one, felt a little foolish. And orange. Very, very orange.

Unbeknown to me, I have indulged in you, Gluten. I delighted in your flavors for over twenty years. You have been my midnight Baja Chicken Chalupa and my Papa Johns pizza crust and my Cinnamon Toast Crunch…oh, the Cinnamon Toast Crunch. You deceitful son of a protein.

It came to my attention a few years ago that you were my personal Sun-In. You were the promise of satisfied taste buds and fast food forever. Now, you’re nothing more than an inconvenience on the road and a pricey grocery bill. Sure I stay skinny, but not without turning down my own stinkin’ birthday cake. Do you have any idea what it’s like to look a kid in the eye and tell him you can’t make a purchase from his lemonade stand because the maltodextrin would lead to an inflamed small intestine and a night on the toilet?

In the beginning, I felt so defeated. Every aisle I would forgo in the grocery store would talk about me behind my back. So did the people who judged me every time I read a label before I decided if I should put the particular brand of peanut butter back on the shelf or in the cart. But what I’ve come to claim is the fact that I’m one tough gluten free cookie. And be it bitter or bland, at least I can wash it down with a glass of milk.