Apple Schmapple

I had a nice little visit to the Apple store today. I love the drive to the Apple store. It’s very metropolitan. It’s not that I’m all googly over corporations. But lights and stores and cars and highways make me feel warm and fuzzy and homely. (James once told me my house was homely. He meant to say homey. A subtle nuance.)

Anyway, the computer system at the Apple store was down, so all their appointments were no longer in existence. So I had quite a wait. Which is actually pretty good news because I have a great excuse to touch everything in the store. I took my seat at one of the giant iMacs and salivated a little.

The Apple store attracts an eclectic group of customers. At the Personal Help table was a gaggle of cutie pie old ladies with their long bright pink finger nails and their iPads. They were bombing the handsome young salesman with questions left and right. Now, what does this button do?  It was so sweet. I cried a little tear.

Across the table from me were two young men in their early 20s. They were clad in dark blue jeans, a big black T-shirt, crazy hair, piercings, gauges. The whole shebang. I could tell they were really good friends. Looking over at each other’s screens and cracking up. However, it took me a good ten minutes to figure out what language they were speaking. By the time I finally figured out that it was English, they had moved on to some song and dance.

Yes, you read correctly. Steve Perry’s voice came booming out of their hearts and their iMac speakers as their own voices followed along. DOOOOON’T STOP! BELIEEEEEVING! HOLD ON TO THAT FEEEEEEEELING!

I kept my eyes locked on the iMac in front of me, but it slapped a grin across my face from ear to ear. I couldn’t help it! I feel like I should have been annoyed. I don’t usually like loud. But I was so proud of them for taking punk to a whole new level. They weren’t trying to be obnoxious. They were just a couple of friends having a ball in the Apple store.

There aren’t many things that I admire more than authenticity. Someone who is just willing to be themselves, despite what the world wants (or doesn’t want) from them. It’s liberating to be with those kinds of people. Because when they aren’t putting up a guard to get your approval, you know that you can do the same. One of the many reasons why I love Jesus.

And that, ladies and gentlemen, is my not-so-hidden talent. Ask any of my roommates. I can take any situation and turn it into a spiritual analogy.

You’re welcome.

Grace and peace,



I’ve always had a thing for big cities. The overstimulation of all senses at once.

I remember when I was little, my dad would tuck me in bed and he would let me crack open the window so I could listen to the cars zoom by on the highway behind our house. When I was ever so slightly younger than that, my family went to a church that sat on a high hill overlooking the booming metropolis of Rapid City, South Dakota. There were a couple different routes that we could take home. My personal favorite was the drive that took us along the crest of the hill back down into the city. We called it the Skyline.

There’s something about it all that lights my fire. The smells, the sounds, the lights, the people. My favorite time in the city is dusk. The sun is set. The night is beginning. Most people haven’t gone to bed yet, so it’s crawling with people. My dorm room had various posters of city skylines of London, New York, San Francisco. Right next to the posters of MLKJ and Seinfeld’s one and only Kramer. I’ve got class.

All that to say, there’s nothing like a city skyline at night to get my panties in a bundle!

Beauty from the hands of men.

Grace and peace,

A Small Collection Of Thoughts

Gah, I’ve already failed the blog challenge. So I missed yesterday’s post. Let me remind you stinky people that the Lord’s mercies are new every moment. So, uh, don’t hate on me. Blogging is no easy task! The problem – hmmm my computer is underlining the word “problem” in red. Did I not spell it correctly? WHAT’S GOING ON?!

Hoarders is on TLC right now. This show makes me so sad. More sad than What Not To Wear because at least that show has a happy ending. The people on Hoarders don’t always recover well, if at all. It’s a show that puts the human condition on display. Everyone needs to be loved, to be accepted, to be free to be themselves. More than anything, people need to feel alive. And we humans do crazy things to get that.

My brain is crashing. Bed time is upon me. I’ll expand upon that thought at a more opportune time.

Grace and peace,

And So It Goes

I had the privilege of witnessing some beautiful things during my shifts as a delivery driver.

Once I passed a couple of girls hula hooping rings of fire in their front lawn. Practice makes perfect, ladies!

One time I was parked behind an SUV at a red light. All I could see was the silhouette of the Driver and his passenger Lady Friend. I watched as he raised his arm and Lady Friend leaned in for a whiff. Then they traded. Lady Friend raised her arm as Driver went in for a whiff. The light turned green. And on goes the circle of life.

The people were what really made it an experience. It was always interesting to deliver to a student athelte. Or a real life “marijuana activist”. Or a forty-year-old bachelor. Or a foreigner. Or an ex-classmate. Or a cute boy. Or a cat lady.

Grace and peace,

Viva La Vida

There were many “moments” that took place throughout my two-week stay in Kenya. Moments that impacted me for whatever reason. Moments that I never want to forget. Some were more “Jesus-y” than others, but each left its mark on me through and through.

The town of Naivasha sits on a beautiful lake surrounded by rolling hills with larger mountains draped across the background. Driving back to the house from the orphanage, we took a detour through a large flower farm. My absolute favorite thing to do whenever we were on the move was to crack open a window (see the About Moi page) and let the wind whip across my face as I bury my iPod deep into my ears. A momentary retreat into my own little world. That right there is a recipe for moments. Nothing burns a memory into your brain like music.

Anyway, I had my eyes locked on the sun setting beyond mountainous horizon as we were driving across the hills. We hit a clear patch along the road where there were suddenly millions of things to see. I asked Lisa (our boss missionary/hostess/driver) to back up for a second on the dirt road so I could take a couple photos.

As I was snapping the mountains to the left, a herd of gazelle leapt across the dirt road just ahead of us. I heard some of the other passengers gasp, so I whirled my head around to behold a bundle of zebras grazing just off to the right. The majority of folks in the car were photographers, so we of course jumped out to snag a better view.

We spent a good ten minutes chasing zebras, avoiding zebra shookie doo, and enjoying the view as dusk set in. When we got back to the car, Lisa asked if we wanted to ride on the roof. Heck to the yes. We climbed up and settled in the best that we could and we went merrily on our way, singing a verse in Swahili of the song that my sweet girl at House of Hope orphanage taught us. We are laughing in the light of God, we are laughing in the light of God.

The crosswind was freezing. The sky was beautiful. The hills were quiet. My heart was full.

Riding with the windows down has forever been ruined for me.

Grace and peace,

I Am Woman.

Today is a day that shall live in infamy. I went to the grocery store after marching band practice. I bought groceries for a meal. And I cooked that meal. And I ate it. Forget my menarche, forget first day of college, forget having to pay rent, today is the day I became a woman.

A furry picture of my partially-eaten berry chicken salad.

Now, there is one important fact that I have omitted. I most definitely had to Skype my little sister for some help in transitioning to this new stage of womanhood. She may be just a year younger than me, but she is WAY farther on the woman train. Husband, baby, house, clothes to clean, and cubed chicken in the fridge for tomorrow night’s dinner. Hannah, I’m so proud of you.

In other news, I am absolutely OBSESSED with my nephew. Up until this point in my life, I hated when my friends would talk about their nephews and show me bazillions of pictures of their nephews and tell me fifteen-minute stories about their nephews that could have been summed up in three sentences. Ladies and gentleman, I have become that person.

Please behold Ryland in all his dimpled glory.

My how the tables have turned.

Grace and peace,

May the Blogging Commence!

I may or may not have already used that blog title. But it fits the sitch. So here it goes.

Another semester of school has begun. Which means I have plenty of time to procrastinate. So I’ve decided to attempt to take my mom up on the blog challenge. Attempt is the key word here.

attempt – (verb) to make an effort to achieve or complete a typically difficult task

The blog challenge is as follows: three weeks of posting every day. Minimum requirement is one paragraph of three sentences. I’m not quite sure of the consequences should I fail. Maybe I should figure that out before I commit to something like this. Hmmm…

Well in the meantime, enjoy some highlights from my time in Kenya this summer!

Looking forward to seeing you around these here parts!

Grace and peace,