Of listys and buckets

Well hiya.

For some reason, I've been inspired lately to create a bucket list of sorts, although I am LOATHE to call it that since I hate the idea of my impending demise hanging over my head. (what if I finish the list? Do I then die from lack of goals? YIPES.)

At any rate, it occurs to me that while I was at school and penniless I let go of making new dreams. I think this happened for a few reasons:
a)I was SO busy! I almost had no time to think about eating, let alone creating goals other than getting endless papers in to my teachers on time.

b)I was penniless, and when you are penniless it seems more responsible not to create too many unattainable dreams. Most dreams require money as well as effort/time, and since I had none, I thought it easier to save myself the heartache of LONGING. For example: I stopped going to the mall. Seeing the latest fashions, and shiny new pretty things was hard on me since I knew I wouldnt have them. (This sounds selfish, and maybe it is, but I'm being honest-so why dont you lay off the judgement, ok?)I think there's something to that whole losing your dreams idea, but I dont think I have to unpack it all right here. Maybe you can go watch that scene from the Shawshank Redemption where they listen to the Opera music in prison-it pretty well sums up what I'm thinking about all that.

Here are a few of the things that have made my list so far:

*ride in a hot air balloon
*Go to Ireland
*have a signature cookie recipe (to be passed down and kept in the family)
*own a piano
*learn to play piano
*write something worth reading
*own and wear cowboy boots
*take a vow of silence (even if for only a short retreat)
*pan for gold
*complete a race (running or biking or skipping-i care not what sort)

I'm sure there will be much much more. And I am excited to share the events and stories as I cross things off my list-except for that cookie reciepe. You'll have to pry it from my cold, dead hand.

Love love love.
(and life goals)
Jess

August Brings

A. Greer is beautiful. (and very, very small.)

B. Our nation is about ready for an actual political revolution, i think. Its either that, or become England.

C. I need more yoga, and less junk food. And dare I say it? Maybe less coffee.

love love love.
(and happy cabin vacations)

A verry Merry UnBirthday to me...

Since I know you've all been agonizing about what to get me for my UnBirthday, I have compiled a dream list and am posting it below. Feel free to send any items along with candy of all sorts.

*a record player
*vinyl for said record player:
-Michael Jackson, Thriller
-The Monkees
-Neil Diamond
-Disney music of any kind (vintage!)
-Does Mumford have vinyl?
-Elvis
-Anything else really, I like music (old and new!)

*Jared Andrew Schorr paper cut art
*new sewing machine
*GoPro video camera
*Chanel nail polish
*bookshelves for my book geekery
*new pretty journal

Ok, enough dreaming. Back to the salt mines!!

Love love love.
(and pretty little things...)

All we need is...______________.

I think if you have read my bio, you'd understand that I am a christian, but I feel like it is important to note that I am also a Christ-follower. I think that many churches/Christians/people would have us believe that there is no distinction between the two, but that is where I have to disagree.

Here is my back-story:

I grew up in a Christ-following family with christian role models that taught me about grace, love, the value of hard work, what beauty is, and how to be thankful for each day. As a family, we went to a very traditional christian church where I learned a lot about the Bible and scripture. I also began to be comfortable with guilt, the same way you begin to be comfortable with that splinter you just cant get rid of. You do everything you can to avoid it, and when that’s not possible, you ignore it. (reminds me of this verse) My “walk with God” was running on schedule right up until the day I realized the splinter had worked its way into my heart and was slowly killing me.

I had done everything that I thought was expected of me. I did my best to never let any of my christian peers down, and sacrificed my happiness every chance I got. (Don’t worry, this isn’t one of those martyr sob stories. Keep reading.) But I felt empty. I didn’t feel any closer to my Creator, and I felt as if I had no purpose. When my marriage dissolved, I felt like a failure. In my mind, I had done it by the book, and still managed to let everyone I knew down. My guilt was overwhelming, and I no longer had the support I once had from my church, I had been excluded.

Life got better (as it always does) and I re-discovered a real relationship with my Creator. Not one based on promises that I won’t ever mess up again, but one based on the knowledge that I will make mistakes (some big and some small) but that my Jehova Jireh will continue to love and nurture me, even so. My new relationship is so freeing. So full of grace. I no longer feel a constant pull of the guilt chains that used to bind my soul-instead I feel the love of the One who created me with purpose.

If only christians could learn this love. The love that Jesus talks about when he tells his apostles to love each other, and mankind. He explains that the world will know the Jesus followers by their love-not the denomination of church they attend, not their squeaky clean past, not by their sexual orientation, not the bumper sticker on their car,-but by the love they can show for humanity in His name.

I don’t claim to have all the answers. (or any, really.) I don’t think Im really meant to have them. But what I do know is this: Jesus was not exclusionary, he was revolutionary. He showed love, understanding, and grace to everyone he met, and THAT is what its all about.

When naming your frog...

It is not a little known fact that I love animals, and always have. For example: my first word was “doggie”. While I am no longer a strict vegetarian, when I was, my Dad said he’d known since I was little that I was going to eventually be a herbivore because I neither liked nor understood the meat eating habits. Also, I have always had an uncanny way with animals, and I think it comes from my self sacrificing empathy. (Although, my current dogs may tell you differently. But anyone who has ever had a gaggle of bird dogs will know what I mean when I say that they are energetic, and shit heads. And sometimes energetic shit heads.) That being said, here is The Tragic Story of George the 10th, and His Untimely Demise.

From the age of about 5 to 9 I lived in Charlotte, North Carolina. It was an impossibly humid place to grow up, and because of the humid climate it was filled with all sorts of interesting flora and fauna. The house that we lived in on Elm street (right around the same time the “Nightmare on Elm Street” movies came out-took me about 3 years to fall asleep after I accidentally saw a trailer on tv) had a yard that backed right up to a wooded area. “The Woods” is what the kids in the neighborhood called them, and they were teeming with all kinds of birds, squirrels, bugs and any type of creepy crawly thing you can imagine (and some you cant).

I loved living in the middle of all this ecosystem activity, and would spend almost all day outside watching the birds, and following bunny tracks. My favorite thing to do (other than spinning in circles while singing) was to catch frogs and name them. I’d catch one, keep it in a jar until I could decipher its personality and give it a good name. Then, once it was properly named I would send it on its hoppy way, feeling good that I had just helped that poor nameless animal feel loved and find its purpose. (Please don’t try to psychoanalyze that…it’ll get you nowhere. I’ve tried.)

The frogs were always around, but especially after it rained the ground would be littered with them. (It is also important to note that I would scream in the car if we tried to pull in our driveway and I hadn’t yet had my chance to try to clear it of any and all frogs by stomping and waving my arms. The ones that got squished after my heroic efforts were the stupid ones, and therefore I chalked it up to Natural Selection.) So one drizzly afternoon I was in my normal routine of catching frogs, naming them things like “Hopper”, “Lefty”, and “Jennifer” when I stumbled upon the most beautiful snail I had ever seen. It was crawling on a mushroom, had a round shell and the coloring was iridescent or mother-of-pearl with a blue hue. I picked it up by the shell so as not to get slimed and ran to put it in the empty aquarium my mother kept on our back porch so that I wouldn’t bring things like that inside.

The snail was beautiful, but after a while it was boring. It did only snaily things, like sliming the glass and crawling up leaves. When I decided to try to find more, I was rewarded by finding 9 others, very similar in coloring and all equally beautiful. Because they were all so similar but majestically beautiful, I decided to name them all George, and give them number variations 1-10. (George the First, etc etc etc) I was very proud of my beautiful George collection, and twirled around the yard, singing an Ode to George that I was making up on the spot, so you know it must have been good. Right when I had finished my last stanza devoted to George, my Dad came out to the back porch, and probably said “Whatcha doin, Punkin?” I went running up the steps to tell and show him the story of the Georges (and probably sing him my Opus) and half way across the porch I felt what can only be described as a squicrunchish. I froze. In horror, I looked under my right Jelly shoe, knowing what was going to be there, but hoping it was not true. There under my pink glittery Jelly was a squished snail. I ran over to the aquarium to count my Georges to see if the one I had squcrunished had been mine, and found that yes, one was missing.

As a 6 year old, and having never lost a loved one yet, I was devastated. I wept uncontrollably for hours. Yes, it is likely that I was tired and hungry from having been outside all day. And yes, crying over squished snail seems now a little silly. “But,” as I explained to my totally confused Dad, “George the 10th was my favorite. I had high hopes for him….and then I KILLED HIM!” I made my Dad get all the other snails out of the deatharium (I now saw it as) and set them free in the Woods where I wouldn’t be able to slaughter any more of them.

I cried as I said goodbye to my Georges, but I learned something important that day. Always put a lid on your aquarium. Or maybe it was to never name anything if you couldn’t be trusted not to kill it.

scratcher ticket idea:

Here it is: a picture of feet with differently painted toe nails. You scratch a couple of the nails to reveal a prize amount underneath.

The game is called: "YOU PICK COLOR!"

pondering

A. Well, hello blog. It's been a while.

B. I am going to get some new tattoos soon, and have decided at some point my eternal love for coffee will be bodily documented via tattoo tribute.

C. Have been writing again.

D. Longer post to come.