New Years Resolutions and such

I'm sitting in my newly married sister's house in Oklahoma. After an 11 hour drive yesterday, we're all just relaxing today. It's a nice break.

2010 is over. I feel really good about that. God taught me so many things...there were triumphs and disappointments, wins and losses and hard things to learn, but I'm grateful for 2010. I'm also grateful that it's over.

For 2011, my chief resolution is to be a better witness. I'll be the first to admit that aspects of my recent behavior do not lend themselves to the cause of Christ. This will be my primary focus for the new year.

I'm reading a book I got for Christmas, Quivering Daughters, by Hillary McFarland. Hillary has been a Godsend to me for the past few months...while several people were key elements in my healing process, Hillary's influence and graciousness helped me work through my emotions and let go of my bitterness. Her story is amazing...the ease with which she forgives and loves and gives grace constantly inspires me. Please read her book.

I hope 2011 is wonderful for all of you. I'll be enjoying taking it easy in cold Oklahoma with my sisters, almost-sister and cousin for the next few days. God bless you all.

Love,

Shelley

My Own Personal Saboteur, or Why CJ Is My Least Favorite Sister

My sister CJ has been married and gone for almost two months now. So naturally, I thought that it was time for me to start taking over a few of her many responsibilities, one of which is making the world's most amazing bagels. So yesterday, I asked her for the recipe, which she kindly (or so I thought) posted on Facebook for me. Here is what posted:

Bagels, in small terms for Shelley.

5 c hot water

2 T yeast

Dissolve yeast in water.

Add:

8 scant cups flour

Cover and let rise till doubled in bulk and very bubbly.

Add:

3 T yeast

1/4 c honey

8 c flour

It's ok if you can't stir all the flour in. Turn it onto the counter and knead it in until dough is very firm and stiff.

Divide into 32 equal pieces. Roll each piece into a ball. Poke a hole in the middle of each ball and stretch out the hole till it looks like a bagel. Cover and let rise till they're as big as you want them.

Fill dutch oven about halfway with water. Boil. Reduce to heavy simmer. Put bagels in the boiling water. Boil on each side 2-3 minutes.

Put boiled bagels on baking sheets that have been greased and sprinkled with cornmeal.

Bake at 425 till they're done. How long? I have no idea. Just till they're brown and look done.

If I had been a little bit more intelligent (if you know me, say nothing), I might have caught the malicious glitch above. But I did not, and I made my bagels, following this recipe exactly. I only had to call her ONCE to make sure I was doing it right. She evilly assured me that everything was going just fine. Feeling rather good about myself and my bagels, I put the first batch in the oven. After a conspicuously long time of them not looking done, I finally pulled them out, only to realize with horror that they were ROCK. HARD. Blerg. I must have overbaked them. No problem, I'll get it right the second time around. So I put the next batch in and hoped for the best. In the meantime, I crack open one of my fossilized bagels, found it to be slightly soft in the middle, and tasted it...or, I tried to taste it. What I tasted reminded me of water. Or dirt. So in a frenzy, I call my dear sister--the sister I rely on for nearly everything, and thus went our conversation:

CJ: Hey! Did they turn out okay?
Me: NO!
CJ: Why? What did you do? (Notice how she tries to pin this on me)
Me: I don't know! The first batch came out and they're completely hard, so I thought I had overbaked them, but I tasted them and I can't taste anything! Was I supposed to put salt in them or something??
CJ: Yes! Of course you were!
Me: Well it's not in the recipe you gave me.
CJ: Yes it is.
Me: No it's not. I'm looking at it right now.
CJ: Oh no.....oh crap.....
Me: What?
CJ: I put yeast instead of salt!

At this time, I'd like to invite you to revisit the recipe above, and notice that yeast appears twice in the recipe--the first time, like normal, dissolved in water. But the SECOND time, my friends, THREE EXTRA TABLESPOONS mixed in with honey and flour. You guessed it--that yeast was supposed to be salt. Which accounts for the bagel being rock solid, the lack of flavor, and the fact that they were ENORMOUS.

Me: ARE YOU SERIOUS????
CJ: *uncontrollable laughter with interspersed "I'm so sorry!!"s*
Me: I hate you so much. What am I going to do with 32 huge hard nasty bagels??
CJ: *see above*
Me: You are the worst sister ever.
CJ: Oh my gosh, that's so disgusting! You put five tablespoons of yeast in the bagels??
Me: Don't try and make this about me. WHO is the blonde sister now?!

So 32 bagels (some cooked, some not) went into the trash. It is my firm belief that CJ felt threatened by my mad baking skills and didn't want me stepping on her finest work, so she sabotaged me on purpose. She would do that. You know she would. She's just that evil.

Ugh.

I miss her so much.




Love,
Shelley

free to be me

Sunday was, for the general public, Halloween, and for many Christians, Reformation Day. I am a fan of both. Don't be fooled--Reformation Day isn't a "Christian response" to Halloween. It's actually older than Halloween, and they just happen to fall on the same day of the year. It's not anyone's fault that Martin Luther picked October 31, 1517 to nail his 95 theses on a church door. Well, I suppose it's Martin Luther's fault. But I just want to make it clear that I have no problem with kids dressing up and asking people for candy. I've had some great costumes over the years. At 5 I was a kitten, at 8 I was a ballerina, at 13 I was Trinity from The Matrix, at 14 Beth and I were each other (it was awesome, btw), and last year I was a hippie. I really committed to that one, too, abstaining from shaving my legs for almost 2 weeks before Halloween. Yeah. This year, however, I wore no costume. I was happy being me!

After a church service at which I thundered out A Mighty Fortress Is Our God, my siblings and I (sans parents who are greatly missed on their wonderful vacation) went to a Reformation Day celebration hosted by some wonderful church friends of ours. We had such a great time fellowshipping with so many other believers. A couple hours in to the party, the host gave a wonderful presentation on the Reformation, and the life of St. Augustine. At the very end of it, he said something that has stuck with me, primarily because it has been on my mind so much for the past several weeks. He was wrapping up explaining how Christ saved us out of death because we could not save ourselves, and that because of Him, we are not held by death or bondage. "That is freedom in Christ." It most certainly is.

Like I said--this topic has largely occupied my thoughts as of late. Too many times I have seen freedom in Christ neglected and replaced with human bondage. Too many times I have seen that human bondage consume entire families to the point where they stifle their own children or ostracize their friends. It breaks my heart. I am so thankful to God for a) the freedom He has given His people, and b) for allowing me to realize and take hold of it! I don't need a formula or a list or a method. I need Christ. And since I have Him, I am free to be myself, free to live for Him, free from feeling like I'm "not doing it right."

Anyway, it was so wonderful to hear those words spoken in a large setting on Sunday night. I write about freedom in Christ in my journal constantly, and I talk about it occasionally online or in my own home, so it was nice to hear it from someone else's mouth. And no matter who you are, it is always something beneficial to be reminded of. I left that night remembering for the thousandth time over how grateful I am for my freedom, and how I can't even imagine living without it. It must be such a sad existence.

I hope you all had a wonderful day on Sunday, whatever your preferred holiday.

Love, always,

Shelley

wedding post part 2

I had every intention of writing this BEFORE the wedding. As Mraz would say, I'm the best definition of good intentions.

Oh, my sister's wedding. I don't know where to begin. I have seen few days as happy as this one was. And rightly so. My sister CJ deserves every happiness in the world.

I remember a time when CJ couldn't get out of bed for a whole year. The house stayed dark and quiet. I watched her become progressively weaker and sadder. I remember thinking, "Why in the world is this happening, and when will it end?"

Seeing CJ's beaming face on Saturday is something that will stay with me forever. Her unimaginable trials will always be a testimony to God's unfailing love and protection, and now through it all, CJ is a strong, healthy, talented, beautiful woman after His own heart that I am so blessed to call my sister.

As it should have been, the day of the wedding was perfect. She, of course, looked absolutely beautiful, the setting was pristine, the weather crystal clear and bright, and (much to the concern of my mother) nothing went wrong. Nothing? Nothing. Like I said--it was perfect.

It should go without saying that the goodbye portion of the night was hard. After a good half hour of crying and hugging, CJ and Tony Longenbaugh walked through dozens of sparklers to their getaway car, and then they were gone. I can't talk about it.

I'm so grateful for my sister and my new brother. Dok, you'll always be my twin. :)

Love,

Shelley

wedding post part 1

Well, by the end of the week, my sister Cathryn will be married. The first of the "B team" to say "I do." She'll be leaving behind her younger siblings and joining the ranks of the fabulously married ones. And she'll be moving away. :( But we're not thinking about THAT right now! We're thinking about how busy this week is! I took Wednesday through Saturday off from work so I can do bridesmaidy things. Monday is almost through, and it feels like it's taken forever. This morning, CJ coerced her two bridesmaids (Beth and me) into cleaning the disaster that calls itself the game room at my house. {Yuck.} Then I abandoned them for several hours, opting instead for what turned out to be a very distracted and unnerving shift at work. This evening will see a lot more cleaning. Tomorrow I'll work for the better part of the day...after working 9-5:45, I'm not sure how much cleaning I'll want to do! I'm taking the night off! ;)

Things will get more exciting the closer we get to the weekend. I'm so excited about all the people coming into town for this wedding! My BCF (Best Cousin Forever) Courtney who is all of 4 days younger than me will fly in on Thursday! She's the greatest. :) Also coming on Thursday is my {newish} fantastic friend Hayden, flying in all the way from California! I can finally put a face with the phone number--we'll have such fun. Of course, these two wonderful people don't compare to how excited I am that ANNIE IS COMING. I can't believe it's been a year since I last saw my sister and her beautiful family. I can't wait to see my baby niece! I am ecstatic. Thursday, Thursday, Thursday. Come quickly, please?

Saturday is going to be an unforgettable day. I get to stand up in my "twin" sister's wedding...I get to help her on the best day of her amazing life (more on this in wedding post part 2). So, so, so many people I love will be there. Of course, the one person I desperately want to be there won't, but c'est la vie maintenant. The day will be incredibly special, and I can hardly sleep at night, partly from excitement.

Stay tuned for part 2 of this post, coming to you Thursday or Friday!

Love,

Shelley

"This is a story of boy meets girl, but you should know up front: this is not a love story"

Over the past two months, I have experienced nearly every emotional state imaginable--all jumbled together, sometimes confusing one for another, not seeing where one ended and another began: love, anger, fear, disappointment, bliss, confusion, denial, hope, hopelessness, impatience, abandonment, recklessness, calm, heartbreak, vindictiveness, pride, spite, serenity, selfishness. I can honestly say that the better part of July, August and September have collectively been the most stressful time in my life. But God has done so much in my life in this time. More than I ever imagined. My post about grace could not have come at a more appropriate time.

Back in June, I reconnected with a young man with whom I've been friends for the better part of 8 years. Long, complicated story short, we realized we had feelings for each other that went deeper than friendship. That was in the middle of August. Choosing a method that I respectfully disagreed with, his parents asked us not to communicate at all until such a time when he (and they) felt confirmation from the Lord that this was what He wanted for us. Well, it must not have been, because we didn't exactly adhere to their request, resulting in communication once again being severed, this time with more hurt and heartache. Rough emails were exchanged between children and parents, no one walked away unscathed or faultless. Not wanting to end things badly, I sought him out yesterday morning, thanks to an extremely supportive friend. We talked for about an hour, clearing the air, saying what needed to be said, and parting on excellent (if wistful) terms.

I don't pretend to know what will happen in the future. All I know is that I love him dearly, I'm crushed at the way things turned out for us, I want things between our families to be okay, and I miss being his friend more than I can say. Before it all got complicated, I could talk to him about anything. He was with me when I smoked my first cigarette. We had the most interesting and stimulating conversations. Now I can't talk to him at all...that hurts. It can't and won't last forever, this I know. This will move out of the present, into memory, and we will move on in grace, love and friendship. And someday, he and I will go to Orange Cup, because apparently I'm the only person in all of San Antonio who hasn't been. :) God has a lot in store for both of us, and I take comfort in the fact that nothing surprises Him. He knew every move we would make, every word we would say, every time we would lose sight of Him, every time He would make us find Him again. It's a good feeling. He will never leave me, nor forsake me.

Love,

Shelley

on everything

>>>My room is a mess. Mainly because I'm never home for a long enough period of time to clean it. Also because the speakers on my computer are not great, and I refuse to do anything time consuming without a lot of music to help me.

>>>My hair is straight. Feeling adventurous, with hair still wet yesterday morning, I ran a brush through it for the first time in I don't know how long (curly hair is not meant to be brushed). After which I blow-dried it and straightened it. And guess what? My hair is getting LONG. So I repeated this process today, liking the way my hair feels as it brushes across my shoulders. It won't last long though, it will most likely be back to its curly, barely manageable self tomorrow.

>>>My journal is filling up. So many things to write in it. I like my journal more than I like my blog. Most of my thoughts either aren't worth blogging, or are not purposed to be blogged.

>>>My piano is suffering through my mood swings. Days of neglect followed by days of much love and attention. The latter has been the past few days, although at the moment, most of my preferred music is lacking a little something [read: someone] special.

>>>My anticipation is mounting. In less than 50 days, I get to meet my beautiful niece Savannah, see my wonderful sister and co., and stand by my "twin" sister as she gets married. October 9th is going to be an amazing day.

>>>My God is continually preserving and strengthening me. He loves me forever.

well it goes without saying

Been too busy to blog lately...summer does not = summer break.

I have the privilege of lending my soprano-ness to a choir that will perform at two fundraising events for Voice of the Martyrs. VOM is a wonderful organization and I am proud to be a part of this, but the rehearsing is a trip. Fortunately, the two events are the last two Fridays of this month, so we're almost done!

Ann Taylor hired me as a stylist/sales associate, which is fun. When I was a little girl, I would have fainted from excitement if I knew that at 18, I would be required to get moderately dressed up for work, and spend hours styling people. I also think I would have been shocked if I knew that I would come to resent wearing high heels at the end of each day. Mais c'est la vie, n'est-ce pas?

Today is the first day all week that I am home for dinner. Well, really, it's the first day all week that I've been home period. I've been looking forward to today for that very reason, but now that it's more than halfway through the day, I feel like I need to be doing something. I'm not sure I know how not to do anything anymore. All I've been able to do all day is think--which I haven't had time for all week. It's odd.

Well, I've knocked out two items on my list of things to do. Good for me.

I think this is my most aimless, undirected post to date. Time to go find something to do.

Love,

Shelley

from where i sit you're one of a kind

I did it. What did I do? I graduated high school, that's what. While I did not have a formal graduation, I did have a formal senior recital, at which my father handed me my diploma.

I started planning this recital a year ago, after my conservatory's Grand recital--I had just wrapped up my junior year. My piano teacher introduced the idea of doing a senior recital to me, and my thought was, "I have a whole year. I can SO do this. This will be fun." Historically, I do not get nervous before piano recitals, competitions, festivals, etc., so what did I have to do except practice and be excited? My other constant thought was, "I wonder what kind of person I'll be at my senior recital." I thought about that a lot.

So for the next year, I worked diligently on putting together and polishing my repertoire. But before I knew it, my year was almost over. As June 5th got closer and closer, the pressure kept building and I was getting more and more worried and stressed about it. But my parents, teachers and friends all assured me that it would be fine. So I practiced for hours every day, even escaping to the conservatory to play uninterrupted.

Finally, I woke up on June 5th at 9 o'clock, after spending a marvelous night with my sister Beth and three of our closest friends. I got up, took a shower, had bean and cheese tacos for breakfast (compliments of Beth and Chey who left the house without us knowing, and came back with armfulls of Taco Cabana), did my hair and makeup, practiced my pieces for the last time as a high school student, we loaded up the cars and were off to Castle Hills. When we got there, I tried to helpful as my wonderful family and aforementioned friends set everything up, but each time I ended up walking around aimlessly with shaking hands and pounding heart and butterflies in my stomach.

4 o'clock got closer and closer. I got dressed and was told to go hibernate backstage as guests started to arrive. So I had Beth (who was out greeting people) put her phone on speaker so I could hear everything going on, while I was locked away, with nothing to do but marinate in my own nerves. I had a couple visitors--sister CJ and friend Samuel came to check up on me and wish me luck one last time. Then I heard Pawpop voice the opening prayer, I heard Mrs. Woodard introduce me, I felt myself walk down the ramp, explain my first song choice, sit down at the piano bench and think to myself, "Well, I guess this is who I'm going to be at my senior recital." I sent one last prayer heavenward for peace and strength, and I played. After each piece, I left the stage and came back to more applause. I don't really remember what I was doing in my 1/2 minute backstage between pieces. I remember that it felt like a dream. A surreal, intense dream in which I was doing what I know best, and all of the people I love and who love me were watching.

Before I knew it, I thundered the last G of Chopin's Ballade in G Minor, lifted my fingers from their ivory friends and breathed an enormous sigh of relief and gratitude. I took my last bow, came to meet Mrs. Woodard and knew that my legs were shaking and my face was flushed. Dad read from Colossians, handed me my diploma with Mom, prayed, I handed my two amazing piano teachers flowers, then went backstage to change for the third time. Sisters CJ and Aubrey were waiting to help me and make sure I was still breathing (I think I was).

Once I had changed clothes, I went out to my reception, where I spent the next 2 hours being hugged and complimented by close to 200 people who I am grateful to call my family and friends. I was shaking and ridiculously thirsty. Once it was all over and the last guests had left, I collapsed into a chair beside my mother and felt the feeling return to my body.

When it was all said and done and cleaned up, some of my siblings and our good friends went to have dinner and see Letters to Juliet (which was terrible, mind you). Then I came home, talked with my parents about the night, and after lying in bed with my mind racing for about an hour, I fell asleep, waking up in exactly the same position the next morning (being an extremely light sleeper, this NEVER happens to me).

Being the human that I am, my recital was rife with mistakes--tripped cadenzas, jazz chords, a [graceful] transition from triplets to sixteenth notes, a clumsy page-turn, and 8 measures that I up and skipped, but the fact that I did it at all is kind of awesome, isn't it? I didn't have to play a senior recital. I didn't have to memorize 90 minutes worth of music. But I did! And I'm so grateful for that. God gave me a talent, and I got to share it with so many people. I'm ecstatic.

I'm also ecstatic that it's over and I feel so optimistic about where my life will take me, post-high school. It's gonna be great. Want to come?

a violent grace

Today is Easter. The time when we eat lots of candy, wear pastels, take family pictures and, most importantly, of course, commemorate and celebrate the resurrection of Jesus Christ. He is risen, He is risen indeed.

So ruthless He loves us

So reckless His embrace

To show relentless kindness to a

Hardened human race

The joy that was before Him

On the Man of Sorrows' face

And by His blood

He bought a violent grace

We were dead, but Christ died that we might have life in Him. And not only did He die a human death, but He conquered death.

After a Holy Week as busy as l'enfer, which included a full week of school, some planning for my senior recital, two music practices for separate events, an attempt at bowling, a wedding rehearsal, rehearsal dinner, girls night out post-rehearsal dinner, wedding (for which I was in charge of all ceremony music) and Easter Sunday music, I decided to wrap up the week by pulling out the table in the kitchen, only to have it knock into the preceding bench, causing the bench to kindly smash the top of my foot. Never in my life have I been so close to screaming obscenities*. I was convinced my foot was broken. After waking up from my flexeril-induced siesta, I'm not so sure it's broken. But one thing's for sure--I'm going to have a beast of a bruise.

*In the presence of children*.

*And their parents.

My birthday is in 2 months. 2 months left to be a legal child. I could go through the cliché spiel about never wanting to grow up (which I could make very interesting and verbose) vs. everyone has to grow up (which I could make very emotional) vs. I've been waiting my whole life to grow up (which I could make very convincing), but instead I'll just leave you with this: I've got growing up to do.

Love, Shelley.