Sarah Anne I Am

He was sitting outside Starbucks when my husband dropped me off there on his way to work. I asked him if he’d like a coffee. Someone had already given him a breakfast sandwich, I noticed. He said yes, with cream and sugar. I came back a few minutes later with his coffee and my tea, and asked if I could sit with him. He said yes, again, and so I sat. We ate our sandwiches and sipped our drinks in our hands, warm defenses against the cold morning. We talked for about a half an hour. Sometimes we just sat, quiet, watching the wind. Or at least I was watching the wind, he may have just been watching the pavement and waiting to see if I would catch his many hints at wanting me to give him $5.96 for chewing tobacco. I pretended not to notice. He told me about his work- with horses, for the past 54 years- and a little about him growing up. I assume he is homeless, though he never said so right out, and I never asked. Several times it seemed he was waiting for me to get bored and leave, or be

…I spent five minutes trying to figure out if  A) Tyra Banks is a real name, B) Tyra Banks is a woman’s name, and  C) Tyra Banks is the name I was trying to say, or if it was just coming out of my mouth for no reason. …I almost cried- not because anything was wrong- but just because I was tired. …I went to post a blog and this was all I could think of.

I used to have this habit. It was a bad habit, but it felt like a gift. It felt like raw, unleashed, talent. Sarcasm. Biting, hard-hitting, cruel. I could dig down into peoples skin and come away with chunks of self-esteem like no one else. I was what- fourteen, fifteen years old- and yet I could use sarcasm like I’d been trained in it in the mountains of Peru for forty years. (As far as I know, there is not a sarcasm training camp in the mountains of Peru, but at the age of fifteen I probably could have started one on my own.) But, of course, it couldn’t last. Not the talent- that has stayed with me. Still, like a flash of malevolent genius, retorts will come to me immediately. I just bite my tongue, now. Sometimes literally. Clenched jaw, pained smile, closed eyes, trying not to speak in the face of something so incredibly presumptuous, immature, blind, or uncalled for that it takes far more willpower than I possess to keep quiet. Hey, Holy Spirit, thanks for being here tonigh

If you profess to believe in God,   And to have a relationship with Him,     And to trust Him,       Then please stop assuming that there are limitations to His power. Please do not assume that sin makes it impossible for God to grow something beautiful from a terrible situation,    Please do not assume that His control over your life applies only to the “big” things,      Please do not for one moment allow yourself to be deceived into believing that YOU ought to have control over something instead of Him. If the first paragraph didn’t apply to you, then the second paragraph does not either. I am not trying to convict an unbeliever into having faith in a God they do not choose to follow. However, if you are a follower of Christ, please remind ME to live like one. Please remind me that if I have more confidence in my abilities than I do in those of the God that made science, I am an egotistical lunatic,   Please remind me that relying on my own understanding simply because His ways “don

Chloé: Don’t post that on Twitter! Post it on Facebook so you can tag me in it! Me: Gosh, be more demanding, why don’t you. Chloe: See, it’s like we’re married, and I don’t have to impress you anymore. Me: I’ll just tag you in THAT quote. Chloe: Ok, but run it by me before you post it, so I can be sure you are quoting me accurately. Me: You are SO HIGH MAINTENANCE. *I read the above to Chloe* Chloe: No! See, it’s like a joke, and the punchline has to be the end. So get rid of everything after the marriage comment. And before it. Just say- Me: Chloe…would YOU like to post the status? That might be more efficient. 

  My awesome future mother-in-law, sister-in-law’s, and I have been emailing about modesty. Because it’s worth talking about.  This is one thing that I mentioned, and I felt it was worth sharing:   I think it is important that girls know that it perfectly natural to desire to be beautiful, attractive, and desirable to a man.   It is however VERY important what you do with that desire- you can use that to help drive your goal of purity, in wanting to be able to be beautiful and captivating to your husband in a way that you never sought to be to another man. Or you can let that desire to be rooted in vanity and promiscuity, seeking approval and validation from ANY man.   My sister and I talked about this a while ago- how every woman wants to know that she is beautiful and worthwhile, and the importance of finding your assurance of that FIRST is God, how He has created you, and His love for you, and  then second in your husband- NOT simply in any man who gives you the once-over.

Looking through our wedding registries and honesty evaluating what sort of kitchen utensils we do and do not need. Between the two of us, we have some basics already. Really important stuff like a good garlic press and a pizza cutter shaped like the Enterprise we OBVIOUSLY already have. I’m glad that we prioritize so well.  

So, about being relatable to someone younger than you. It is not about being at the same maturity level as them. It’s not about acting like a child instead of an adult. It is about being an adult that genuinely cares, doesn’t presume, is always honest, and consistently shows loves. Be transparent- but be yourself. If they only needed someone at their maturity level in their life, then they wouldn’t need leaders or mentors- or YOU- just peers. Get it? 

If…   -You refer to them as the “Shoes that like to hurt you,” -Have never worn it, -Couldn’t tell what it was when you found it, -Feel like Sailor Moon in it, -Think “I should really just get rid of this” every time you see it, -Grimace when you try it on, -Are saving it in case you get pregnant, -Are saving it in case you lose ten pounds suddenly, -Will get around to fixing it someday, -Aren’t sure when you can wear it without looking easy, -Forgot you had it, or -Are not sure how it was intended to be worn in the first place, then yes,                     you should get rid of it. Going through my clothes is always a very revealing process.

1.  A certain percentage of my wardrobe is simply on-hand in case I should ever need to clothe myself and several friends in 80’s attire.   This, I must confess, I am rather proud of. 2.  I own far more knee socks than a 21-year-old woman needs.   How many knees do I think I have?   How many Pippi Longstockings Events was I planning on attending?   No one needs this many striped knee-highs. 3.  I have five pairs of black tights.   They are all different.   They all serve different purposes in an outfit.   Therefore, they are all justifiable. 4.  …Then again, I can justify my way into keeping anything, which is why I have jeans that won’t button anymore, socks with more holes than actual fabric, and a skirt that my grandmother gave me when I was 12. 5. There will never be a time when I need to have 30 t-shirts at one time, for anything, ever.   It is just too many.

The other day I almost flipped over my handlebars when I was riding my bike, but instead I managed to jump off as the bike flipped over, all the while not dropping my laptop or the Italian ice I was eating. Sure, I have a bruise from the incident, but based on how successfully I avoided a lot of problems, I am pretty proud.

Tonight God did some awesome things. Technically it was last night. And let’s be realistic- God does awesome things all the time. But witnessing them more clearly and appreciating them a little more fully is INCREDIBLE. Less than six hours ago I watched God give people words to share with the body. I watched Him bring people to their knees. I watched Him talk to people, touch people’s hearts, and bring His children back to Him from places where they had chosen to ignore Him. I am not trying to be dramatic, because I don’t want to- this was not a dramatic evening. It was quiet. It was simple. It was straightforward. And it was absolutely beautiful. God didn’t ask us to put on a big show, and we didn’t try to. One of my dearest friends got up with her guitar and we sang. Then we prayed. The Spirit very clearly impressed upon me what He wanted, and so we didn’t pray in groups like I thought was a great idea- we went off on our own and got real with God. Slowly several of us quietly moved

Show me a passage in the Bible where Christ mocks the church. Seriously, show me. Find me one where He makes fun of His followers. Where He calls them names, even in jest. Where He belittles them. Know of any? I don’t. Maybe I missed it, and if I did, please correct me. But I do not know of any place in the Bible where Jesus mocks the church. Corrects them, rebukes their behavior, gets angry and flips over tables- yes. Mocks them- no. We need to stop making fun of people. We need to stop calling names. We need to stop belittling. We need to stop shaming, discriminating, and abusing others. There is no place for this kind of behavior in Christianity, unless I am sorely mistaken- again, in which case please correct me. This is hard. I know. Controlling your tongue is hard. I know. It’s hard for me, too. But it is vital. If we truly want to love in a way that is examplary of the love of God, we MUST keep the words of our mouth from being ones that mock others . I don’t care if they can’t

  I was walking to the office. It was morning- a little cold out, but warm enough for shorts. I had just walked past him; we’d exchanged hello’s, nice-to-see-you’s, and goofy secret smiles.   I really like you, and I really trust you. The thought was clear in my mind- and I squelched the nervous butterflies that were constantly in the pit of my stomach when I saw him, turned around, and said it aloud.   “So I really like you and I really trust you.”   He stopped and turned to face me, “You really trust me?”   “Well, yeah.”   For one of the first times in my life, being incredibly blunt had been difficult for me. But it felt like something that needed to be said, and even though I didn’t understand why, I said it. And now he was smiling again.   Of course he already knew that I liked him. We’d already talked about that, and it was clear. But somehow after knowing him for only ten days, I wanted him to know that I also trusted him. I was trusting him with the fact that I cared about him

Monday, September 22nd, 2008 "The Truth"   The interesting thing about life is that it’s never the same as it used to be. It is beautiful that every day really is new, and different, and changing. Maybe the real purpose behind life is this…sitting up late, listening to music that’s gentle, and writing out things you don’t understand in an attempt to sort everything out. This summer a lot happened. I can’t begin to explain it, because I don’t understand it all and I haven’t even begun to process what it all means. If in our eyes are the stories of our lives, then I have yet to learn how to read my own eyes… This summer is when things changed. Circumstances carefully layed into place by Someone far more insightful than myself all led up to a night that changed nearly everything about me…when someone I hardly knew told me they knew everything- all of the secrets that I’d hid, the precious shadows I held still- and that night everything fell down. Walls crumbled and my heart melt

  I realized tonight that I’m a bit like a turtle, if only because I am so incredibly good at hiding. Except unlike most people, instead of showing the world the wonderful things about me and hiding my flaws, I try to wear my imperfections openly and end up hiding my talents in the name of humility. I want to be real with people, and so I try very hard to be open and honest about all the things I’m terrible at and all the ways I screw up. I also want to live with humility instead of pride and arrogance, and so I keep to myself the things that I am gifted in.    I’ve written hundreds of pages of fiction and hundred of pages of truth, but they are carefully tucked in folders away from prying eyes, and very few people have ever read the stories I have poured myself into.    I stay up for hours painting and drawing and creating things that make me proud to be alive and have ten working fingers, but they stay neatly in portfolios, because I don’t want to show off by prancing about with my a

  I am so sick of hearing things like "He says he loves me but then he doesn’t understand me I guess we’re just not meant to be together" and "If you don’t answer when I call you then I guess you aren’t who I thought you were so you’re getting what you deserve" and "I don’t get why we go back and forth all the time why can’t we just be together always but I guess this is just life and true love hurts."   FIRST OF ALL, use commas!   Secondly, if you say things like this please don’t get offended and storm away from this blog entry in a huff. Please just hear me out.   I am not an expert on love. I am not an expert on anything, actually, but I’ve had a lot of minor experiances in a wide range of situations, some of which will probably make it into the biographical movie someone will surely make about me eventually. (I’m kidding. I doubt that will happen.) But here is (a small part of) my opinion on love.   1. People can love you without understanding you.

  I’m not sure what it is that caused my deep-rooted intolerance for cliches.   Once upon a time I was in a situation that could have been straight from the script of an idyllic teenage romance movie. I was standing on the deck of a beautiful ship that was headed away from shore and the city lights. It was night, and the clouds that were strewn across the dark sky looked as though God had taken some extra time in creating their mystery. The moon was high, as was the boy that stood with me. (That part isn’t so much like an idyllic movie.) He looked into my eyes and smiled a little as he told me that I was the prettiest girl in the world.   My response could have been a little more gracious.   Instead of feeling my heart race or being caught up in the romantic and cinamatic perfection of the scenario I found myself in, all I got caught up in was logic.   “The prettiest girl in the world?” I asked, “REALLY? You haven’t seen every girl in the world. I’m may be pretty, but go look at every

When you’re going through your closet and you look at a sweater and think, “I may wear this someday, if I get pregnant and I’m in the mood to wear cornflower blue…” then you realize it’s time to give it up and Goodwill it.   And so the much-needed massacre of my wardrobe begins.