Translucently.

{image captured from our backyard right after a severe thunderstorm}

 In search of the epic, I have failed. The cliche and continual pursuit of the "like" button bereaves me. I am finding the more I pursue my word of the year, the more I find myself obscure.  Perplexed for a spell, I have felt a sadness for the pep rally of empty bleachers and unused megaphones.  I have lamented over the basketfuls of unspoken for party favors and the unclaimed cupcakes of me still freshly made and waiting.

But, then real & good decided to set in. They brought all that was needed to make this yearly commitment to myself worthy.  They offered me the gift freedom. Unaccounted for in all ways that matter not; present in all ways that matter most.  I shied away from the words on screen and dealt with the words of my heart.  I simply unplugged and underachieved in the world of accountability to the stranger who reads.

I've still kept my journals and posts.  I just found myself at peace with but one set of eyes looking them over.  Privacy has been a fit I have most enjoyed wearing.  For climbing inside myself has been beautiful & perplex. My thoughts-turned-words have deemed themselves precious.  My mind took the notion to wind around who I am and why I do.  My time at rest was really what it should be.  The rat race of me is slowly under construction.  And, it feels good.

As I creep slowly back into this space, I do so with hesitation.  Part fear & part fret of giving justice to just what my words mean to me exists within.  Their worth along with the images they are entrusted to hold a validity in my heart.  Their place in this world is not mandatory; their place in my life most definitely is.

So, see through me.
Obtain my image, but not my form.
For the details of each of us really are the real & the good.
My soul seeks it.


.mac :)

{before the sun}

God speaks to me in colors. Subtle shades share their secrets; intense inks keenly reach into my soul.  I can feel their presence.  Moreover, I can hear the stories they tell. Rich with desires deep.  Pale lying in wait for the potential permeating glow.  Still in solemnity, pastels swirl with ones much like the other melding tranquility and finding center.  My insides are better because of their place in my world.

I woke up to 37 early.  Well before the sun and my alarm clock.  It was a resolute awakening from a slumber on the surface of me. No glitter pops or fancy heels were in my future.  No hoopty-hoops and holla-atchus either.  I woke with a clarity magnified by a sweet peace on my day of me.

His breathes were so sound and serene amid the wee hours.  I took the time to press in against him only to find warmth and my favorite spot for snuggling.  Right underneath his ear lobe and a little before his jaw line.  My nose knows the spot. Deep in a world of dreams, he was unbeknownst and  bothered none by my invasion of him.  I was careful to pull the covers close around his broad shoulders only to slide out from the bounds of the place I share with my husband.

Routine knows the way around a 37 year old.  They have an established history of friendship together you see.  It seems their camaraderie manifested oh about year 33.  Nighttime regimens like lip balm of the specific brand, wrinkle cream slathered, reading before bed, checking the weather and coffee pots programmed all fit right nicely with multi-vitamins, reading glasses, bi-weekly grocery trips, favorite fabric softeners and bill paying day. It was no surprise that I maneuvered with ease into my clothing and perfected my dental hygiene all in a bathroom of darkness.  Thirty-seven has a way of just knowing the proximity and placement of everything.

I sidled into a cold car and was off at an early pace.  On my agenda before full-on day break was a grocery store trip, a 4 gallon Weigel's milk stop along with a gasoline investment and a 3 mile run at that.  My morning was still and in motion.  My mind worked methodically and with a continuous melody too. 

And, behold, there were gifts. For me. Each one wrapped in kindness and given to me by strangers.  A lady dressed head-to-toe in a neon green public works uniform at Weigel's held the door for me as I left laden with 4 gallons of milk with just 2 hands for holding. A man lying flat on the floor still in full pursuit of hefty shelf stocking at Wal-Mart took the time to ask me if I needed any help once he spotted my quizzical look of wherethehellisthewheatgerm.  With a bright gladness, his tired eyes guided me to the next row over only reach to the back of the top shelf for me and place into my hands the desired product.  A multitude of goodmornings and howareyous.  Eye contact and smiles found me head on.  It's as if God was saying, "I love you, dear one.  Welcome into your 37th year on My calendar."  With each face I met, I said a silent prayer of thanksgiving for the simple goodness spread in a world capsizing all too quickly to hate and hurry.  

She was rushed.  I watched as her eyes met her watch at least 3 times in a matter of 2 minutes. In her son's hand was a carousel of bakery made cupcakes.  In hers, a box of Capri-Suns.  I knew today was just as much his as it was mine.  Beyond the wrinkled forehead and stress filled eyes, this Mama's heart knew that today he deserved to celebrate.  A mother's love will fight time and push around boundaries for their little one.  I knew the check-out line accumulated was not in her budget of minutes.  

It was as if I was outside of myself as I watched them from behind me.  Her foot tapping.  His happy transfixed gaze with pride filled eyes at each hexagon shaped sprinkle scattered atop the tiny cupcakes through the plastic container's view.  Her shift to and fro of the Capri-Sun cardboard box's weight. I operated on His time.  "Happy Birthday, man!"  I said.  His smile exploded from his face as if to say, "How did you know?"  Her smile was there briefly but faded quickly as she loitered on the noted boisterous basket of groceries I had in a procured state in front of them in line.  I reached out to pat him on the shoulder leaving my buggy ahead and abandoned for I, too, was in queue for the next active customer status.  

Today was his 8th birthday.  He loved Legos.  He couldn't wait as this was his last day of school before Spring Break.  They were watching a movie that afternoon in school and he was bringing cupcakes and Capri-Suns to celebrate his birthday with his classmates.  As his excitement filled my ear's space, I watched for an abbreviated moment as his Mama melted into his magical.  Her face forgot about time and for just a tiny bit, she remembered exactly why she was in this line.  For him.  Yes, for Him.

My heart catapulted out of my chest with joy for this little 8 year old boy and his Mama.  A Mama who was reminded of the good she has within, better yet, for the good she is giving out to the hands and feet she gave life to a mere 8 years ago on this day.  With a warm spacious energy, I found my hand on her shoulder congratulating her for the 8 year old masterpiece that belonged to her.  She thanked me kindly with a glow that only a mother can emit.  

With that, I moved ahead to my space in line and in my completely offhanded, energy driven "Meghan Fashion", I began to make the sound that trucks make when backing up.  

"BEEP.  BEEP.  BEEP.  BEEP."

"In honor of one wonderful Mama and her birthday boy, I give you my space in line." I announced.  Relief filled in the wrinkled spaces of her forehead.  "Oh, thank you!  Are you sure?" immediately were the words expelled from her being.  I insisted.  The little boy never took his eyes of the hexagon shaped sprinkles.  The cashier actually had to use the scanner gun to ring them up as he asked to keep them in his hands.  

Off they went. 

Their day beginning before the sun.  

On my way home, I opted for the sunroof open.  It was crisp.  Quite the acute form of cold for the second official day of Spring.  I won't forget my hair whipping loosely in the wind that flapped downward into my interior console.  My sweatsuit felt warm and snuggly against my skin.  My fingers were tapping some off beat rhythm I had no recollection of. But, they tapped on just the same.  I could smell my moisturizer on my face as it wasn't even a full hour old from being applied.  Its smell wrapped over me.  It gave me a feeling of completeness I really can't explain.  

On a back road in our small rural sorta-new-to-us tiny town, I topped a hill, and He smiled at me. Tears streamlined down my soft cheeks of 37 as I opened yet another gift.  My car slowed to a stop.  I grabbed my phone and took the above picture as my heart had every right to open this one with each single paper tear.  

God speaks to me in colors. Subtle shades share their secrets; intense inks keenly reach into my soul.  I can feel their presence.  Moreover, I can hear the stories they tell. Rich with desires deep.  Pale lying in wait for the potential permeating glow.  Still in solemnity, pastels swirl with ones much like the other melding tranquility and finding center.  My insides are better because of their place in my world.

Yes, routine may know the way around a 37 year old.  But, it seems the older routine and I get, there is  another One we are beginning to know our way around.  The potential glow of the One who wakes before the sun is one I am proud to call friend.   Blessed are the ones able to give and to receive. Thank you, God, for my colors.  For Your stories, too. A new year of life I do declare.

.mac 

{start to finish}

Life is a collection of yesterdays.  And, all too often life's pace has a way of leaping us ahead of tomorrow and even already into next week or month sadly enough.  Prior to the purchase of a fancy camera or an iPhone, I took the time to document a day with the boys from start to finish here. With no words and just pictures, this 4 year old memory is one I cherish looking back on.  Now, with both the treasures of a fancy camera and an iPhone, I decided there really are no excuses for not capturing the heartbeat of our home on a daily basis more often.   No editing.  No fancy.  Life.  Real & right before us.  Happening.  It is my hope to manage memories a little more meaningful by using the gift of wicked awesome from one Mr. Steve Jobs.

I give you our 3.11.13 from start-to-finish:

{from left to right by rows}:

• I began my day in prayer.  I was on Day 21 of my 40 day prayer challenge reading this book.  It talked about praying for the discernment of God's will for your life.  I liked that it spoke of your will being for His glory.  I long to be more unselfish in my walk. He is working on me in big ways here.
• I then went to take the recycling to the garage.  Once there, I looked over to see my car freshly washed on Sunday afternoon by Kenny.  I stopped right then, snapped a picture and then thanked God for the sweet gift of a clean car from my husband.
• Math time outside with basketball and chalk was just after spelling & writing time.  Hit 2-Solve 2 is our drill.  Eli and Casey both are blowing me away with their math skill comprehension.  They get it.  They love to show they get it.  Their accuracy and proficiency is a blessing and a joy for this teacher/mama.
• Inside for carpet math.  Time & money.  Brother check and Mama monitor.  Challenges.  Quarter till.  Quarter after.  Half past.  1:07.  8:48.  Change back.  Rockstars.   
• Casey Face helped me make sandwich bread pizza for lunch.  We made a community plate and pretended we were eating in a restaurant.
• Two men delivered flowers to my doorstep.  I love getting flowers!
• After lunch, Eli wanted to count money and give himself challenges all on his own. The power of self motivation is noted here.
• We stopped to take an hour break from school so I could finish up some sewing.  I snapped this picture from my sewing studio window.  Eli is in camo gear with a muscle basketball shirt and combat helmet. Casey is from head-to-toe in Superman costume.  They are pretending they are in battle.  
• I finished 2 Nantucketts during this 60 minute time span.
• On the way to the post office, Eli brought his Harry Potter book he is reading independently.  He is on the 2nd book of the series.  At a red light, I snapped this picture of him laughing at something funny in the book.  
• On the way home from the post office, it started raining.  
• I received this image from my best friend.  It is of Jeremiah 29:11 that I sent to her in the mail.  She sent this picture to me thanking me for sending her encouragement and letting me know that OCD in her put it in a ziploc bag so it wouldn't get messed up as she planned to carry it in her purse with her at all times.  I stopped and thanked Him for her and the joy she brings my life when I received this text.
• I'm wearing navy on my nails this week.  Had a little fun with my index finger and pinstripes. 
• Upon returning home from the post office, I read with each boy for our reading time.  Snapped a picture of reading with Casey on his bed. It was sheet washing day, so we piled atop a naked bed and sprawled out to read.  He is mastering huge words.  His intonation is just the best.  He loves getting into  each character in the story.  Reading is becoming a joy with him.  I love that he has "b" snuggled up under him while reading.  This serves as a soft spot to this homeschooling Mama.  "B" wouldn't be in his classroom.  "B" makes everything possible to Casey.
• I timed myself 3 different times during the day for 5 minute intervals to stop in our living room and fold laundry.  It stayed their until it all was folded by around 9:00 PM and then just moved into piles in each bedroom to be put away the next day.  I liked that I didn't let it overwhelm or consume me to finish.  Laundry is a priority.  It is not THE priority.  Love the image of Jack & Jill, our cats, piled up sleeping together in the recliner.
• Evening time we began our monthly canvas project.  Art time brings out the best in my boys.  Their mood settles and lifts.  Teamwork beams out of them, too.  I love that they talk the entire time about their plans for the project bouncing ideas off one another
• I joined them in painting working on some dreams I have for myself.  This mess serves as sweet reminder of what together looks like.  I left this mess just right where it was to go workout with Kenny. I enjoy this time together with him.  We endure.  We sweat. We are making the choice to make our bodies stronger.  
• While monitoring Casey's bath, I drank a glass of wine and sat on closed toilet seat and talked with him.  I also sent this picture text to 3 of my girls in a group message toasting them to friendship.  I loved that I got 3 pictures back from each of them as a toast back.  Sometimes these sweet easys are the love that lifts us most.
• I love the blueberry cheesecake candle burning in my living room.  It is my absolute favorite scent I sell.  I decided to snap a picture and spread the word on my k.Mac Facebook page about the upcoming sale of this scent.  Impromptu & all.
• I snapped this picture in my socks and on the wet concrete of my back porch.  It was as if heaven was smiling down and saying, "I can hardly wait for you!"  After this, I came inside, finished folding laundry and watched The Biggest Loser with the entire family.  We then had our family devotion time where we finished our first devotion book together.  Prayers and boys to bed left time for Kenny and I to talk with sleepy eyes and in between yawns about our day in tidbit fashion.  I showered, lubed up with an excessive amount of wrinkle cream and then snuggled my guy until dreams found me.

Start to finish.  Life's yesterday. Thank you, Steve Jobs.

.mac :)

{divulge}

Look at me.  I'm in an overcoat and it's all cinched up.  You realize I know what's going through your mind. Clairvoyance and me are twisted sisters.  Where on Earth did she find that coat?  There ain't no telling what get up she's got on up under there.  How does Eli keep a straight face when he photographs his Mama every month?  Does Goodwill realize she could be like the blonde Target girl in the Christmas commercials from 2011 for their company?  She's is for real that out there.  I mean does she really get obsessive amounts of joy from good deals and donuts.  Scratch the donut part.  I said that. Not you. 

February was my month to divulge.  If you sit long enough on that 7 letter display, it can leave you feeling sneaky.  At least it did me when I sat down to decide my words of each month for 2013.  I hemmed and hawed over February.  My gut said, "Divulge is your word. It fits."  But, my social innards said, "Fool, what are you doing?  You know they already think you're a fruit loop for these monthly parades already."  I let them internally hash it out for a bit, and then, like The Rock, I decided to lay the smack down on good ole social innards.  My girl, Clairvoyance, tells me street-like and all the time,  "Haters gonna hate. Go on and do your thing. I'm out ahead of you, remember? I got you, Boo."

So, I'm divulging.

For those all new to this monthly-merry-round, go here to read about my new word for 2013. It'll be all the cliff notes you need.  Then you can go ahead and skip on over here to read about my word for January.  And, if you're feeling totally inspired and ready to shop Goodwill and completely up for re-vamping your life in a real kinda way bored and need some more things to divert your attention from the pile of work on your desk, the heaping dishes climbing out of your sink or that huge project you are excessively behind on, then by all means, go here to read all about my 2012.  

You've already scrolled down to see what's under my coat, haven't you?  Clairvoyance tells me all her secrets. Told you we were tight.  Consider yourself buh-usted.  Divulge means to make known.  I loved that in my dictionary it has this in parentheses (private or sensitive information). How many of us keep our own set of parentheses nearby and handy for the yucky parts of our lives?  Guilty.  I told you she tells me everything.

I give you my story board mission for February:

Romans 12:2---Game changer.  Clairvoyance tells me all the time. Your score card is in His hands.  Remember that.  My place & my face on this globe is for getting out the glory of Him.  Giving it in doses large.  And, moving out of my own way when my sour gets the best of me.  The mind is a powerful place.  Lots of room to let ugly set up camp if you aren't careful.  The camp counselors at Ugly Camp have dreadful uniforms, too.  They wear horns and carry pitch forks.  Poof.  BE GONE.  I am His.  Game changer.

Dump---I suck at a lot of things.  I am good at some too.  This month I chose to focus on not letting the not-so-nice parts of me control who I am.  I am noticing that the more I focus on what I can't do well, the more my heart holds unhappiness.  Moreover, the more my mind suffocates the goodness that I do possess.  And, before you know it, I am captive to myself.  Stuck in my own muck.  I'm wallering in it and completely coated in nothing hopeful, helpful or positive for myself or others.  February was my month to dump it.  Dump out the honesty of my yucky in so to speak. So, here I go. I'm flippin' the script on divulge.  I'm taking that sneaky connotation and knocking it down with the out & out truth.  Consider my parentheses exposed:

(                                                                             )

• I am my biggest enemy.
• I wrestle far too much with perfection.
• I struggle with rest both inside and out.
• I am stubborn with change.
• I steal happiness from myself.
• I second guess excessively.
• I say sorry way too much and for unnecessary things.
• I struggle with being confident in conflicts.
• I am not a great listener.

There.  I dumped it to all 4 of you who read me.  And, better yet, I dumped it to God. He reads me by the way. And, He is rocking my socks off.  He slammed this doozy that follows into my prayer time this month out of no where:  

Your attitude exudes you eternally, Meg.  Your body will wrinkle.  Your health may fail.  Your circumstances will fluctuate. You will develop chin hairs that you must pluck incessantly. Your Mom did die. Your boobs will sag. Your money will come and go. Your children will grow up and move away.  But, your attitude is eternal.  In every phase of life.  With every circumstance.  Your attitude is your constant.  

BAM.  

Camp Ugly is now closed for renovations.  

Expect---good things.  Change comes about when we put our foot down on the fickle of us.  It's that deciding moment when we just stop the excuses of I can't exercise or I don't pray as much as I should or I can't save money like I need to or I wish I had more friends, but I don't or I want to be happy, but I'm just not.  We stop them.  All of the excuses.  We take stock in what our heart really desires, and then formulate a plan for change that best fits the goal. The solutions are never found if they're never really sought after, are they? The work put in has been uphill for me as I have begun this expectation shift.  But, without a doubt, I am seeing the good things.  My dumping along with my expecting is one helluva tag team combo slowly moving me towards a much needed mind makeover.  Fickle is easy.  It's safe & snug all surrounded with excuses.  Writing down my specific ever-excuses (the ones I have made forever on the things I say I want to change) and tackling them with a clear action plan is working for me in big and evident ways.

Express---if I felt it, I said it.  Too often I sit on my heart.  I either do one of two things:  

1. I'm lazy and don't follow through on something tugging at me to share. 
2. I worry about putting myself out there too much and what people might think.  

I sent text messages, made phone calls, put cards in the mail, looked people in faces.  I did all of this to swim the upstream of my heart's inhibitions.  Laziness and fear are my proverbial what has she got on under that coat.

Allow---God in on it all.  Like for real this time.  I have ugly cried on His shoulder, remember?  I will do it again if needed, too.  This month I placed myself in the passenger seat.  I turned over the keys and just buckled up.  I asked specific and big things of Him for myself and others.  I expect His answers will come.  And, I am allowing Him to do great things in me and in those others, too.  For Him.  I love how gentle and open the word allow leaves me feeling.  I told all my tricky.  I divulged my deep.  I blurted out my busting-at-the-seams happy to Him, too. I am allowing him in on it all.

Accommodate---my schedule and my work flow.  My family needs me.  I need them.  It was time I looked at ways to hone in on making more of my days for the benefit of all involved.  My days started earlier and my time became more regimented this month.  Quitting times were enforced and set times for work, play and school were maximized.  I realized this month that little times reserved for let down can do wonders to your mindset.  By reconfiguring how our day ran from start to finish, I not only accommodated more efficient work, but I also intensified my joys.

My mannequin story board for February:

My morale:

Random notes of the above:  

I like nail color  A LOT.   I know every name of the Insanity workout video crew and I pretend we all high five after every workout.  Butterfinger Blondies are da bomb.  I'm a hippy at heart.  I've missed writing hand written notes.  My boys are best friends.  A new water cup is a treat.  So are K-May Apple Fritter Donuts.  Talking for hours on the phone to a friend you haven't spoken to in 18 years totally rocks.  Kids have it all figured out.  Good books make good moves in you.

I give you my morals from February:

Everything is better...

when you live outside the shadows of you.

One of the most profound things I read this month came from my 6 year old.  In his free write journal about the human body, he wrote this:

1 life. 

 1 body. 

 He "givs" it.  

One.  

Gift.  

Noted, Casey Face.

Thank you, boy.

A sprinkled assortment of the Goodwill markdowns I found this month:

Leather full length jacket:  $9.99 1/2 off weekend 

Ralph Lauren seersucker shirt for Eli:  $1.99 1/2 off weekend

Gap boyfriend jeans:  $2.25 1/2 off weekend

Cream leather jacket:  $4.99 1/2 off weekend

Old Navy jacket WITH TAGS: $2.25 1/2 off weekend

Ralph Lauren khakis for Eli:  $1.99 1/2 off weekend

Um, read'em and weep {please note original tags still on along with the original price}:

Yes, this happens:

How'd I do this month?

Ensemble statistics:

coat:  $9.99 GW

leggings:  $5.00 Wal-Mart

sweater:  Limited brand $2.25 GW

leopard print tank:  $.25 GW

scarf:  surprise gift from Kenny {made by one of his sweet office ladies at school}:  FREE

boots:  $20.00 going out of business sale in Chattanooga 2011.

TOTAL OUTFIT INVESTMENT:  $37. 49

And, your thoughts, please?

Sneaky?  

Heck no.  

Seriously honest and ready for her best yet?

You bet. 

Gotta scoot.  

Me and my homegirl, Clair, are full-on looking into the crystal ball March of me.  She and I are becoming just so close.  I've even given her a nickname.  Clarity.  Twisted sisters for life.  

.mac :)

{layered}

{Butterfnger Blondies}

Who gets philosophical with desserts?  

I'll give you 3 guesses.

I've been thinking about layers.  They're pivotal.  Without a doubt, the one-atop-the-other is a fixture in life.  From a physical perspective, humans are comprised of an intricate collection of body system layers that work together to maintain life.  Learning a task comes in a layered progression too.  From watching a skill modeled, to guided practice and then finally independent trials, new information grows and gives birth to dendrites.  Knowledge is now appropriately allocated & freshly present in our brains.  Designers dig layering too.  The world of art thrives with the influence and placement of layers in compositions.  Beauty speaks to us in three dimensions.  And, this building notion runs rampant inside the mixing bowl as well.  Wooden spoons twirl roundabout while flour dusted recipe cards detail the progression of the caloric goodness to come.

Layers matter. They heed depth. They challenge perspective.  They increase stature and validate base.  Layers infuse texture into the world of one dimension. As humans, we are shaped by texture.  Molded by what we take in; melded by what we give out. Each year of life adds yet another coating to the beginnings of us.  

I long to to build upon my base. I want each layer sweeter than the next of me.  Sweetened by the who I send out from the wholeness of my story.  With my actions. With my thoughts.  Through my smile and in my eyes too.  I want it all rich.  I crave it for myself just as much as for the ones I scatter out to.  I remind myself often that the underneath is just as necessary as the on top & now.  It's there for a reason.  My job is to continue on working towards the delight of my 3D. 

Surely, you didn't need all 3 guesses now did you?

.mac :)

Butterfinger Blondies

Ingredients

1 cup butter
1 cup light brown sugar
1/2 cup granulated sugar
2 tsp vanilla
2 eggs
2 1/2 cups all purpose flour
1 tsp baking soda
1 tsp coarse sea salt
2 cups coarsely chopped Butterfinger Bars (approx 16 “Fun Size” bars) 

Instructions

Preheat oven to 350°
Cream butter and sugars in mixing bowl.
Add the vanilla and eggs and mix until incorporated.
On low add your dry ingredients (flour, salt and baking soda) until just combined.
Stir in your chopped Butterfinger.
Spread in a 9×13 baking dish and bake for 25 minutes until center is JUST set.
Remove from oven and cool completely.

Preparation time: 5 minute(s)
Cooking time: 25 minute(s)

 

BUTTERFINGER BUTTERCREAM:

Ingredients

1/2 cup room temp butter (1 stick)
1/2 cup vegetable shortening
2 1/2 – 3 cups powdered sugar
1/2 cup chopped Butterfinger Bars (approx 4 “Fun Size” bars)

Instructions

Cream the butter and shortening together until smooth.
Add in you powdered sugar on low speed.  Turn speed up to medium and mix until smooth
Stir in your chopped Butterfinger. (I sprinkled mine on top rather than stirring them in!)
Spread on your cooled blondies

Preparation time: 5 minute(s)

#2 DONE

February 2013 will be held forever in my heart cupped hands.  God moved.  In me.  In my family.  In my boys.  He took these 28 days to shine.  It was a light so harvesty golden that I couldn't help but glean His glory. It was a light so simple & subtle that my eyes had to peer intently with a convicted precision to find it at times too.  And, finally, it was light like a flashlight unveiling the creaky floored attic of my insides.  Shining solely on the cobwebbed corners of my state.  With waft-like waves flailing, my hands had no choice but to physically knock down the evidence of complacency and neglect.  God moved.

My book for February was unofficially chosen by Kenny.  He came to me sometime in January with the idea that we read this book together.  We've never read the same book at the same time.  He had just recently finished In a Pit With a Lion on Snowy Day and wanted more of what Mark Batterson had to say.  I liked the idea of reading the same content at the same time, so I jumped on board.  I jumped on board is an understatement.

I want to speak to you in truth now.  I say you, but I know all too well it's just as much spoken as a resounding reminder for me regarding the cultivation of spirit and just exactly how God-awesome that is when you feel it.  Naysayers, beware.  This is for you too.  I speak it boldly and with a whole hearted conviction for all of us.  The weary.  The misplaced.  The misconstrued. The skeptic. 

I began reading this book when my heart seemed fastened in a dark and clouded place.  Dark like my expressions filed under "h" for honest here.  Clouded like no solutions in sight.  This uninvited guest known as "WTH is happening to me" was present when my red puffy eyes first met the printed text of Mark Batterson.

God infused.  Timely.  Targeted for growth.  Nail on the head.  I heeded these words.  All of them.  I listened & leaned.  I began unraveling the many inconsistencies of me.  

And, it felt so good.  Like fresh colored play dough clean and smooth in my hands, I  began shaping.  Forming new objects of myself.  Shredding away the extraneous scraps that no longer needed attachment.  Re-thinking the design.  Experimenting with the supple smush of second chance.  That's called grace.  

Poignancy personified itself.  In my thinking. In my believing.  In my direction.  In my faith.  To the  weary, the misplaced, the misconstrued and the skeptical naysayers, I experienced a God interested in making me His on a more personal level and for a greater purpose. He came through with a resounding, "I need you. I need your heart, your energy and your gifts for things far more important than being pungently saturated in your puny imperfections of this world."   

This book was a catalysis.  Kenny's simultaneous-book-read request was too.  The church we have consistently been visiting for the past 18 months chimed right in as well.  Coincidence?  No.  Powerful in the presence of the poor in spirit is exactly more like it.  His timing is almighty and undeniable.  Naysayers beware.  Grace knows no bounds.  Hand over your heavy.  Ask and He will absolutely defy your doubts.  My February is proof.  

Currently, I am reading this book as a follow up.  Kenny is taking the challenge right along side me.  I am overwhelmingly humbled and fervently grateful for Kenny's place in all of this.  I needed scooping up.  This isn't the first time.  This man comes through like clockwork.    

My prayer life is changing.  These prayers are specific.  They are abundant and resolute.  If you are on my list, I am giving you over to Him in high detail every.single.day.  

I can't wait to pray.  Did you hear me?  I CAN'T WAIT TO PRAY! It is my most favorite time of the day.  I fill up pages in my journal.  I talk out loud.  I cross off and re-write.  I accessorize my dreams with Him.  

I am seeking His face and His will like never before.  God knows me.  All of me.  And, just in case He doesn't, I am making it a point to tell Him more than I ever have.  In wait for big answers in my story book of requests to Him, I feel clear headed and hopeful.  But most of all, reliant.  I am learning more and more this walk is not meant for easy.  It's meant forever.  Moving with an eternal motive and saturation of His glory in this skin, that's what life is.  

Naysayers, beware. I speak boldly and with a whole hearted conviction for all of us.  The weary.  The misplaced.  The misconstrued. The skeptic. Grace knows no bounds.  Hand over your heavy.  Ask and He will absolutely defy your doubts.  My February is proof.  

.mac :)

Mixed Breed

I like to cook.  I love the mixing and the motions that go into making something yummy.  Creating with food is rewarding.  I mean, I get nothing soulful from spaghettios in the microwave other than easy clean up, less time in the kitchen and processed awesomeness. And, you?  I would like to report that I have a steadfast scientific art to meals in our home, but I don't.  Yes, in my secret life of "Meghan the Great", I  would mimic the handful of friends I have who grade out  beyond rockstar. I have friends who plan their meals and grocery lists on a monthly basis.  I have friends who are utterly wicked freaktastic at clipping coupons and stockpiling like motha truckas.  I even have a friend who has pre-made homemade pancake mix in mason jars with the recipe twined around the top for guests who visit her family's home.  Coincidentally, her handwriting happens to be on the recipe card above.

And, I LOVE THESE FRIENDS.  I look up to them.  They inspire me to be more intentional.  More connected to our family's money and what it provides to the nourishment of our bodies.  On running a family fluidly, I am a mutt of sorts. I am.  I absolutely love the German Shepard pedigree status of creator/artist that I am.  But, I totally cross bred that gift with a scattered/semi-composed/quasi organized Chihuahua down the road.  Ewww, right?  I am but a fledgling in the "art of planned".  How about that for an oxymoron?  I aim to work on it.  I do.  Scratch that.  I am working on it.  S    l    o   w   l   y.

This recipe is one of my all-time easy favorites.  I beam each time I make it.  My taste buds bounce right out of my mouth just thinking about this concoction.  My sweet homegirl, Trisha, first made this dish for me at my house.  Allow me to explain how rockstar she is.  She and her daughter, Camdyn, came to stay with Eli and me the weekend before I was due to have Casey.  {I was big.  I was CAP LOCK PREGGERS. ABOUT TO POP IS AN UNDERSTATEMENT.  Go here for a looksee.}  That particular weekend Kenny, along with Trisha's husband and 11 other men, were on their annual cabin retreat.  Trisha took it upon herself to bring Camdyn down to stay with us just to make sure we were okay.  She drove 4.5 hours with a 22 month old and had a car LOADED with groceries to cook for us for the weekend so that I didn't have to. {And, she left me recipe cards for each meal she cooked.}   What the what?  I know.  That, my friends, is called friendship & compassion in action.  She will forever rank as one of my role models in so many ways.

I beam because this dish is freakin' awesome to taste.  It has fresh cilantro.  Need I say more?  Yes.  You garnish the dish with fresh shredded Parmesan cheese.  Um, I need a moment.       There.  I'm back.  I love this concoction because it's healthy too. I like LOVE donuts as much as the next doll, but I clock in overtime on things that I know my body deserves.  Good food makes me feel good.  Wine does too.  Moderation peeps.  

But, honestly, I would say the high marks this meal receives is for the memory it signifies each time that I make it.  I think about Trisha.  I think about her character and her selfless heart.  I think about a grocery laden car with a 22 month old and 4.5 hours just to help me.  To make my life a little easier.  Safer.  Just in case.  It's these people that I praise God for.  Not just then, but now too.  Those people that aren't necessarily a part of your everyday, but in your every now & again that provide a pillar of strength to you.  Through their outstretched arms and God given gifts, they press in upon your heart.  They make you more.  And, they don't even realize it.  It's just them. I am thankful for these connections.  I'm thankful for God's placement of so many outstanding characters in my walk here on Earth.  Through them, I learn so much about His love.  The Chihuahua in me is ever grateful for my homegirl, Trisha.

Black Bean & Salsa Noodle Soup

• 3 cans (14 oz. each) vegetable broth
• 1 jar (16 oz.) salsa
• 1 can (15 oz.) black beans, drained. (I use 2)
• 1 can (11. oz.) whole kernel corn, drained
• 1 package (5 oz.) Japanese curly noodles or spaghetti noodles
• 1/3 cup chopped fresh cilantro
• 1 tablespoon lime
• 1 teaspoon chili powder
• 1/4 teaspoon pepper
• 2 tablespoons shredded Parmesan cheese

1.  Heat broth to boiling in large sauce pan.  Stir in remaining ingredients except cheese.  Reduce to medium heat.

2.  Cook 5-6 minutes, stirring occasionally until noodles are tender. Sprinkle with cheese.

6 servings
220 calories
2 grams of fat
8 grams of fiber
0 mg cholesterol


.mac :)

{life jacket}

This life is one wave after another, Eli.  It's rockin' the boat.  It's diving in when you're just not sure of the water's temperature.  It's moving.  Forward.  Backward.  Forward again.  Even the calmest waters have the consistency of rhythm; there is a current deep within us all. Ripples run through us. It's His master plan.  The ripples.  The ever churning swirls beneath.  He put them in us all.  To be stirred.  To create a noise and to make a splash.  Be purposeful in your endeavors.  Don't shy away from the unknown. Stay not in the boat out of fear.  Yes, it's true.  We are designed to sink.  Without physical motion in concordance with an astute awareness of our surroundings as well as our breaths, we will plunge deep.  Be purposeful. Aware.  Ready.  Ready for the awesomeness of the ride. The peaks and the pits. The wind and the water around you. The weightlessness inside the movement. Freedom.  Hold on all while you're letting go. He forever will be your life jacket.  

Make waves, Eli Garrett. 

Make waves.

Mama :)

{week 48:  my 2 in 52}

{brand}

{shirt in hand posted about here & here.  Stellar purchase might I add.}

I've been thinking a lot about the word brand lately.  Thinking long spells on this 5 letter example of synergy, it's true.  This ponderation has consumed my precious times reserved for journaling and meditation cleaning the blasted kitchen after dinner and folding never ending piles of laundry.

brand |brand|

noun

1 a type of product manufactured by a particular company under a particular name : a new brand of detergent.

• a brand name : the company will market computer software under its own brand.

2 an identifying mark burned on livestock or (esp. formerly) criminals or slaves with a branding iron.

• archaic a branding iron.

• figurative a habit, trait, or quality that causes someone public shame or disgrace : the brand of Paula's alcoholism.

Both definitions have me consumed.  I'm on a see-saw with these 5 letters maneuvering my weight shift just enough to balance each meaning into a harmonized state of equilibrium with myself.  You see, brand is a big deal to me.  What with my booming entrepreneurial Goodwill spokes model pursuit and then again with just the who I want people to know is the quality behind k.Mac, the digestion of 'name' is critical.  I look for brands.  I scour encyclopedia-ed racks of used garments & accessories on quite the regular tip.  In musty-overcompensated-with-Lysol drenched establishments, I seek out the notable variety.  The Ann Taylor.  The infamous Banana.  The Gap.  The Limited.  The Boden.  The Ralph Lauren too.  Like a hungry lioness, I patrol the purged and reprocessed with skilled strategy.  And, once in sight, I collapse vehemently on the golden prize of brand.  I look not for stains or tears until phase 2 of my procurement process.   Experience settles it; keenly, brand and I are acquainted.

My pursuit of the "low miles; one owner" wannabes is not bigoted, mind you.  I am abundantly the ambassador of equality when it comes to style worthy potential. Into the buggy goes anything that fits the possible bill of 'real darn cute'.  It's phase 3 where the rubber meets the road of ready-or-not recyclability with regards to my wallet.

And, this is where this post sits nicely down on its haunches of just what the heck I aim to say.  I'm noticing.  Yes, this see-saw ride is doing more than just creating a dizzier best dressed of me.  Brands that are well known for their tags {high end name brands} leave me with buggys of much smaller sizes and yet with more room for wiggling.  Their fit is truer in form.  Their shape is contoured and suitably appropriate.  

Articles of clothing that one would consider a sub-scale in the hierarchy of fashion have a tighter fit with a higher numerical output on the tag.  Their fit is awry more often than not.  Sleeves are a tad shorter.  Inseams are a bit snugger.  Length is inevitably an issue.  Brand, swift & clever-like, pontificates its two-sided teeter-toter masterfully.  No weight shifting needed by me; equilibrium has arrived.

brand |brand|

noun

2 an identifying mark burned on livestock or (esp. formerly) criminals or slaves with a branding iron.

• archaic a branding iron.

• figurative a habit, trait, or quality that causes someone public shame or disgrace : the brand of Paula's alcoholism.

The mark you leave.  What will it be?  Truer in form or snug in the inseam?  Will you concern yourself with the number on the inside secretly wishing your could wear your article reversed outward for all the world to see? Is that your reason for living this day-to-day?  To feel that your innards are synonymous with a number on a tag?   Will you seek the good in quality even if it means rummaging or waiting it out until the perfect piece finds you with the pocketbook to purchase?  Or, will you satiate your substance with the sub par to sidle through your everyday?  What will be your brand?  

And, what about others?  Will you be able to spot their stitched tags of upscale?  Will these woven brand names of theirs make more of you?  Or, will you settle for the issue of odd length and premature ending sleeves only to say your spoken for and somewhat supported?

With sounds of classical music playing and fresh flowers filling my writing nook hands swimming in dishwater and befuddled by where the freakin' match to the umpteen millionth sweat sock is, I ponder my brand.  I ask these questions whole heartily and-in-the-face dead on too.  I want to be a brand of stature.  Me.  I want to be the true fit.  The tag reached for.  I want to be that for myself and for others.  I want it just as much for k.Mac too.  And, my biggest wish?  My biggest wish is that no matter where I am situated, I can always be found.  On Goodwill racks.  In storefronts on mannequins under spot lights galore.  Or in driveways for Saturday morning yard sales.

Me.
{my brand}

.mac