BEAUTIFUL GUTS

As All Hallow’s Eve draws nigh, it seems that ghouls, goblins, and grossy guts are everywhere.  I get it.  I get that we have this one day for us to gather in unity to celebrate and glamorize our fears and dark sides.  But for the last few years, I think of Halloween much differently.

To start, I think of a young, gangly girl walking into my home for a midnight premier party I threw for The Hunger Games.  I think of her skinny legs on the highest heels I’ve ever seen – and they were paired up with a mini-skirt and croppy toppy.  Our eldest son had invited her as his date, so she was on the arm of someone I love very dearly, and it put me on the defense instantaneously.  Now I’m a fairly reasonable woman, but when said defense kicks in, I tend to go all “Sheila From The Block” - and that can be quite scary to a youngster like the one I’m describing.  It takes real guts to get through a night like that.

I think of a little sprite who came to a Thanksgiving evening without warning, and started asking for a “sliver” of this and a “sliver” of that, and licking her chops at all the food fare without care.  She was a tiny little thing, and I couldn’t believe the amount of food she ingested.  It reminded me a bit of Gollum referring to his “precious” when anyone came within the vicinity of her eating arena.  It was alarming and charming all at the same time, as she filled her guts with the glorious food feast.

Thoughts take me back to a more mature young lady, filled with quiet countenance as my family embarked upon our Annual Family Festivus at Christmas.  Family picture time came about, and she willingly became the photographer instead of assuming she was to be in the photo itself.  She was content to have been asked to be part of Family Night at all, it seemed, and wrapped arms with me and slid her hand into mine as we crossed the street for dinner.  She then quietly and authentically whispered, “Thank you for having me” in my ear.  And my guts did a butterfly flip.

I think of a quirky young woman, daring enough to be different and wear knee-high socks with the character Jack Skellington from the movie ‘The Nightmare Before Christmas’  on them all year long (to go with her Jack Skellington earrings and hair bow, of course), no matter what holiday it is.  Now that takes guts!

I think of someone with so much talent it baffles people.  I see in my mind’s eye all the colorful and creative ways she paints, draws, and pieces things together to make the most incredible art.  I think of the upright work ethic in her gift of artistry, and really anything she does for that matter, and I know how very rare a quality that is.  I see her work her guts out.

I think of a strong female, coming into a family of strong females, somehow knowing just how to graciously fall right in line with them without having to gnarl her teeth in order to prove something.  Gutsy move.

When I think of Halloween, I even think of a hot, breezy day in August near the beach.  I know that one does not necessarily coincide with the other for most people, but for me the two are harmonious.    That was the day a beautiful and blushing bride who looked like an angelic woodland fairy got married.  To my son.  And with all her guts pledged her undying and forever love to him.

Why do I think of Halloween when I think of all of these things?  Because my whimsical and wonderful Daughts-In-Law, Kiren, was born on that day, and we celebrate the holiday much differently from most people.  We don’t celebrate our fears or dark sides.  But we do celebrate in unity.  We celebrate how beautiful she is.  We celebrate how unique and exceptional she is.  We celebrate her ferocious-yet-gentle love for her husband.  We celebrate her fierce loyalty to a family she fits so perfectly into.  We celebrate her beautiful guts.

WHEN THE KUCHEN HITS THE FAN

SHE2016

I was thumbing through my favorite spice magazine.  Okay.  Let's get this out of the way - some people read gossip mags, some like the cerebral-sciency type of mags.  If you're like The Hubster, perhaps you like fishing magazines.  Personally, I find it extremely provocative to carefully peruse the free quarterly magazine sent to our home that houses all the gorgeous spices and seasonings, and all the published recipes sent in by "others" like me.  

So I was thumbing through my favorite spice magazine, and I came across a picture that stopped me in my tracks.  It was a warm photo showing layers of sliced apple, caramelized and formed into some sort of delicacy unlike any I had ever seen.  I did one of those things we do to get an even closer look - you know, like when you fold the magazine in half and then hold it right up to your face, or tilt it from side-to-side as if to see around the item in the picture?  I looked to the left of the photo and saw the title of the recipe: "Grandma's Apple Kuchen".  (pronounced koo-ken)

I knew this recipe was meant for me and I knew I had to conquer it.  I wasn't sure why, but I just knew.  I made my shopping list right away.  There were a few obstacles to overcome in order to make this happen.  Hey, nothing good comes easy, right?  It called for a very specific-sized glass pan I didn't have, nor had I ever heard of, and a few ingredients that were not easily found in a regular grocery store.

As fate would have it, I was in my local Goodwill spot and heard something calling my name.  "I'm over here, She!"  There, with what seemed to be a rainbow with confetti streaming down over it, was the odd-sized glass pan.  $2.99??  I think I can handle that.  Check.  I perused Amazon to find the specific ingredients needed and found them.  CHECK!!  Sunday Supper was looking like the perfect time to make Grandma's Kuchen.  In my mind, I could see the proud faces of my family and hear all the accolades I would be receiving.  Oh yea.  Meant to be.  This was going to be PERFECT.

I carefully did exactly as the recipe said.  I painstakingly sliced the apples so that they were uniform and lovely.  I whisked with fury, and stirred with passion.  I slowly placed each apple slice in layers to be ever-so-exact.  And into the oven it went.  And THE AROMA!!  The smell of the vanilla, the cinnamon, the apples!!  I cleaned the mess that is usually left on the path behind you when you work so hard to achieve greatness.  The kitchen.  But I wasn't bitter.  Oh, no.  Not with what was waiting on the other side of that oven door.

The timer went off.  The potholders came out.  The oven door was opened.  And there, Ladies and Gentlemen, was THE KUCHEN.

I took it out of the oven with tears in my eyes.  I breathed in the hard work I had seen come to fruition, and set it down on my granite counter.  I stepped to the doorway and proudly announced, "The kuchen ...... is cooling."  And the smiles of anticipation spread across the faces of The ManChild and The Hubster.  I was in the clear.  My artwork was complete.  Now all we need do was eat it.

I walked back over to it to rest on my laurels.  Of course I did.  I couldn't help but stare at this incredible beauty as it cooled and brought us all closer to being one with its tasty morsels.  And then, BOOM!

You may find what I'm about to say hard to believe.  But every word is true.  Out of nowhere, the kuchen exploded.  I mean EX.  PLO.  DED.  Glass hit my arms, my neck, my face, luckily missing my eyes.  Kuchen hit the walls, the floor, the ceiling.  The sound of it was deafening.  Cameron and Adrian came running into the kitchen, only to see me standing there, eyes wide with shock and arms out in the air to my sides, as if I were attempting to fly.  "WHAT HAPPENED?!?"  I just stared at them.  "WHAT HAPPENED, She?!?"  And the tears began to flow.  "Are you okay??  What happened?"  I looked up at them, giant tears streaming now, and screamed at the top of my lungs (get ready for it)" "MY KUCHEN EXPLODED!!"  

I wish you could have seen the pity-slash-comical-slash-confused looks on their faces.  The "awwwwwwww"s coming out of their mouths, rolling from deep inside their souls for me as they both put their arms around me to console my broken spirit were so sincere.  All that hard work.  All that mountain climbing to get to the top, only to slide back down.  Everything I had worked SO HARD FOR.  Ruined.

Or was it?  Those two went into action.  They cautiously cleaned me up, and led me to the couch with a tall glass of wine.  They cleaned up the kitchen.  They loved on me.  They offered me kuchen condolences all night.  And I was reminded that life was good, even and especially in the moments we think it isn't.

I changed that recipe to morph it into my own and chose simple ingredients and more practical tools to do so.  I make it often and think of that day every single time I do.  I know it grew me and helped me stretch and climb.  I know it taught me that there is almost always a mess left behind you when you work hard, not to rest on my laurels, and to understand that in all toil there is profit.  I know it helped me see what's really important.  All that because the kuchen hit the fan.

Sometimes the most beautiful things can explode in your face, even if you think you've conquered something after a long, arduous process, and it turns out incredible ...... you feel proud and think you're in the clear.  And then, BOOM.  What was once lovely artwork is in pieces everywhere, reminding you how truly delicate life can be.

Be careful and practical as you stretch and climb, but climb just the same.  Know that when something goes wrong  after you've worked so hard, it is only to show you what's really important so that you don't lose sight of it.  And NEVER put a hot kuchen in a glass pan on a granite counter. 

SHE'S CONDOLENCE KUCHEN

Kuchen:
1 1/4 cups  flour
1/4 cup sugar
1 tsp baking powder
1 stick butter, cold and cut up
2 egg yolks
2 tsp milk
1 1/2 tsp vanilla extract
3 medium-sized green apples, peeled, cored, and sliced thin
 
Streusel:
3/4 cup sugar
3 tbs flour
1 tsp cinnamon
3 tbs butter, cold and cut
 
Combine all streusel ingredients into small mixing bowl and blend with your fingers until the mixture resembles small crumbs. Set aside.

Combine flour, sugar, baking powder, and butter. Use your fingers to blend all the kuchen ingredients to large-crumb consistency. In a small bowl, beat the egg yolks then add the vanilla extract and milk. Pour milk mixture into the crumbled dry ingredients and mix until it is just blended. Press this dough into the bottom and up the sides of a prepared baking dish.

Arrange the apple slices in three lengthwise rows on top of the crust. Sprinkle the streusel mixture over the apples. Bake for about 30 minutes or until the crust is golden brown and the apples look glazed and caramelized.

EAT SLOWLY.

www.lucidbooks.net/affiliate

1 LIFE 1 MISSION - A GUEST BLOG

Links International - All Rights Reserved ©

What a special day for Life As She Does It!!  Not only do I have my first male Guest Blogger, he is someone I largely admire and consider a hero of sorts.  In a world that is so profoundly broken as a whole, it can sometimes feel discouraging to even try to help where we are called or needed.  Not this guy.  Jason Bollinger, along with his wife, Holly, are saving the world one trip, one person, one step at a time,  And that's how it's done, isn't it?  One foot in front of the other??  You can find more of Jason's moving words, adventures, and mission stories over at 1Life1Mission.com, or any of 1L1M's social media.  Read on to find out more about the ways Jason is doing it and how we can do it, too - CHANGE THE WORLD!!  Take it away, J-Bo!!

I’m so honored to be the first “HE” on the LASDI blog. My wife, Holly, and I are big fans of SHE, and we are blessed to have a front row seat into all the different ways SHE makes the world a better place. She is the real deal, and our lives are fuller because of SHE and Adrian (HE). 

We work with a mission organization called Links International. A lot of our time is spent traveling to the developing world bringing Good News to the poor. We also spend time working with churches, businesses, and families who are interested in connecting with mission opportunities. Our network provides Gospel-based solutions and resources for poverty’s most devastating affects. 

SHE wears us out all the time telling us we are changing the world. The encouragement is actually awesome, but the reality is that we’re just scratching the surface doing what we can. We go to the needs. We work hard on solutions. We empower people to break free from poverty. We get a front row seat to lives being changed by Good News. 

Our hope is that changed lives become transformed communities and transformed communities become transformed regions and transformed regions...well you get the idea. Big impact usually happens from something small. 

We haven’t always worked in International mission. For 18 years we were in full-time church ministry, but we experienced a turning point in 2010 surrounding the adoption of our girls. We went for what we thought was one daughter under 2 years old and came home with two daughters aged 6 and 8. In a traumatic experience of everything going wrong...almost...God miraculously delivered our girls into our family. We ended up spending just shy of three months in Ukraine. A month of that time included spending time in the orphanage every day.

That was our first time in a foreign country other than England. It was our first time to spend an extended time with what the Bible calls “the least of these.” It was our first time to get to know missionaries who were sacrificing a comfortable life at home to serve those in need. We didn’t realize it at the time, but we were deeply impacted by those things. While we were there, it was just life. We were focused on our adoption. We weren’t planning a radical transformation of how we would live the rest of our lives. 

I heard Bono say after his first trip to Africa that he wouldn’t be able to unsee what he had seen. Not only that, he would have to do something about it. After we got home, we experienced that to be true. We still loved the church and serving the church, but we couldn’t unsee what we had seen. Not only that, we started to see it in places we had never seen it before. 

The first step was just seeing it. Mission trips are great for this. Before we saw it, we overlooked severe needs and fatherless kids in our own community. They were there all along, but we missed it. We didn’t see it. Or maybe the truth is we didn’t want to see it. 

It was definitely easier and more convenient to not see it, but not seeing it is the barrier to mission. We can’t change a world that we pretend doesn’t exist. When we travel to places that suffer from extreme poverty, “need” suddenly has a name, a face, a sweet hug and a beautiful smile. I don’t think we’re motivated toward Mission until we experience that reality.  

Links International - All Rights Reserved ©

I like the idea of changing the world, don’t you? I plan on continuing to do all I can to work toward that end. However, I know many think they can’t or don’t have time. Many think they’re not qualified or gifted enough. Some are just overwhelmed thinking about where to start. 

The truth is changing the world may actually be easier than you think. You can be good news to bad news around you. You can bring light to something dark. You can bring hope to something hopeless. Maybe even today. You can change someone’s world. You probably don’t even have to go somewhere you don’t already go. You can make a difference. A meal. An encouraging word. A prayer. A listening ear. A hug. An invitation. Don’t underestimate the significance of what you can do.

Once you see it, you’ll see more. You will even crave more. You might start to set your sights on other needs, bigger needs. You might find yourself rescuing orphans. You might find yourself creating jobs in Africa. You might find yourself doing healthcare training in Nicaragua. You never know. I think we can do it. I think we can change the world. I think you can change the world.

Blessings,
Jason Bollinger

We are available to help you connect with your missional potential. We would love to talk to you about things you’re interested in and places you can plug in. You can contact us at office@linksintlusa.org.

PRICELESS

SHE2016©

Have you ever thought about the birth process, and how priceless it is?  A lot of people think of the blood, sweat, and tears as gory and the thought may even make them nauseous, and I totally get that.  But the process itself – gory or not – well, it’s what got us all here, right?
 

I am, of course, writing this because very recently I became (dare I say it?) a GRANDMOTHER.  It’s not the precious little bundle of joy that makes me cringe when I hear that name.  It’s the name itself.  I have always pictured a sweet little old blue-haired lady with a cane and thick glasses who says things like, “Wait for Granny, Dears!  You know my dentures fall out when I try to keep up with you whipper-snappers!”  And let me tell you, Folks, if you don’t know already:  That is NOT me.  Well, sometimes I have blue hair, but it is often in streaks and under some kind of turbi, hat, or ‘do-rag, and accompanied by a new Jesus tattoo and cute-but-crazy-accessories.  GRANNY SHE IS NOT FOR ME.  Nope.  My name is She.  So The Daughts decided SheShe would be appropriate and quite suiting.  And I agree with her. 
 

But I digress.  Back to birthing.  I sat in a different place altogether when Sage Ellie was born a little under a month ago as opposed to when my own children were born: not only a place where I could see the brilliance of a baby being born, but a different perspective.  My baby was having a baby.  And she had fought a long, hard battle of the game called life to get where she landed, and I knew she was going to make a wonderful mommy.  
 

But what about me as a mommy; as a parent to my own children?  Had I done enough?  Did I show enough love?  Did I discipline enough?  Was there a balance?  Had I given it my best shot?  I knew I had made my fair share of mistakes, but were they mistakes that could not be undone or even forgiven?  Would they scar my children enough to sully the joy of being a parent themselves?  Believe it or not, as she labored, I saw my life with them flash before my eyes and was truly pondering those thoughts and at least a thousand more.
 

And then came a different moment.  The moment The Daughts handed me comfort and hope that I had done well thus far: she gave me a hand-written letter from-her-to-me.  The nurse had asked us all to step out – “all” meaning The Son-In-Law, The Hubster (now referred to as PoPo by The Grand Daughts), and me.  Just before piling out of the room for a few minutes, she handed one to each of us.  It helped me to muster up an ounce of faith even before I looked at it. We sat in silence in the waiting area, privately reading the words she had thoughtfully penned.  
 

As I read through my tears, in the back of my memory bank, thoughts of hand-made helicopter-sized hair bows in her fine, wavy locks as a two-year-old came to mind.  I thought of laying her little head down in my lap when she was five after her bath to floss her teeth for her and how absolutely sweet and lavender-like she smelled.  I thought of the time she had chicken pox and I put mittens on her hands so she wouldn’t scratch.  The thoughts of singing together each and every Thanksgiving in front of friends and family and hearing her sweet, natural harmonies pierced my heart with joy.  Standing outside the kindergarten door the entire day where she couldn’t see me but I could see her to make sure she was all right on the first day of school reached out to me.  I remembered her telling me she wanted Jesus in her heart.
 

But coupled with those thoughts were the times I cried myself to sleep because we had screamed at each other for an entire afternoon.  I felt a strong hurt at remembering the time I lost my temper to a sincere breaking point, and thought if I could go back how differently I would handle that moment.  I was brought back to a time of desperation because I could not connect with my teenage daughter, no matter how hard I tried, and thinking what a failure I was as a parent.  It shattered me, as I was almost positive it had her, as well.
 

And then this (don’t worry, Readers.  I checked with her first to make sure she didn’t mind if I share):
 

“Mom, you have always been there for me and through the years have become my best friend.  I’m so excited to make you a SheShe today!  
 

You have taught me to love without ceasing and without fear.  My whole life you have been preparing me for motherhood by the example you have set for my life.  I just didn’t know it until I started thinking about the mom I wanted to be to Sage.  
 

Thank you for loving me like you do.  I cannot wait to watch your relationship with Sage grow through the years.  I am so thankful to know that I will lean on you as I set my own examples for Sage.  <3
 

I love you, Mom, and I’m so thankful for you.
 

XOXO – Chelsea”
 

That, to me……was PRICELESS.
 

So perhaps at the end of the day, you are second-guessing if your best is even good enough.  Or maybe you feel like a failure at something and that shatters you.  In this one life we have been given, nestled amongst the good will always be the bad.  Without those times, we will not grow; we will not learn to love without ceasing and without fear.  So we MUST value those times as well and know that life is good, even when it isn’t.  If we have truly given it our best and have had even an ounce of faith, the reward will be the way you see it returned to you…..and that – IS PRICELESS.  

IN A PINCH

SHE2016©

There are bad pinches and there are good pinches.  It is much like salt.  Too much of it can ruin a dish.  But I happen to know that just a pinch of salt can make the flavor of something pop.

A pinch doesn’t always make one feel warm and fuzzy, though.  

As a little girl, there were two different kinds of pinches I remember: the kind that was wonderful, like the kind my grandfather would gently give me right on the tip of my nose after he would kiss me hello.  And then there was the one that would leave a sting on the back of my arm or hi-nee from my parent when I would misbehave in public.

Some pinches can hit ya right in the feels.  Like the moments that pinch your heart.  

I can remember the very second each of my children were born.  I can remember how my heart felt like it would explode because I was overwhelmed with joy as they took their first breath of life (and screamed their bloody heads off).  I could literally feel a lovely wrench in my chest.  It is the kind of pinch I will never forget and always hold with me.

Then there was the moment someone I loved passed away.  The pinch I felt in my heart was there, but much different from that of the joy I knew from life being given.  I distinctly remember standing where I was for what seemed like forever, thinking how much I was going to miss them; how I thought the terrible, achy pinch in my heart would never go away.  And I must say, though it has eased up some, the scar from that particular pinch is still there.

I’ve been in many a precarious position in my life.  Sometimes I put myself there, and sometimes it was merely the circumstances.  But either way, I wound up in a pinch.  

When I was a teenager, I made the conscious decision to go into a store with someone I knew was going to shoplift.  I didn’t take anything.  Well actually, I was GOING TO.  But at the last second I chickened out.  I was questioned when she got caught because I was with her.  Luckily the cameras showed I had not taken anything but simply because I was with her I found myself in quite a pinch!  (For the benefit of the reader needing an ending to that particular story, I did NOT end up in the slammer.)

Back when I was a young, single mom of two small children, my tire blew out on the highway. I had never changed a tire before, let alone on a busy road.  (I sure did learn FAST!!)  Even though that was something out of my control, I was most DEFINITELY in a pinch!  (No worries, Folks.  As you can see that one turned out all right, for I am writing this many years later.)

I used to always wonder what a pinch-hitter was when I heard the term used in baseball, until someone explained to me it was a substitute batter – someone to replace the batter when the team is in a pinch.  

I married my Pinch Hitter.  He is definitely my substitute batter when I find myself in a pinch.  Example:  the other day I had a catering gig that called for – wait for it……SIX-HUNDRED cake ball truffles.  Now these beauts cannot be stacked on top of one another or their gorgeous candy coatings and lovely decorations will crack and break.  I was going to have to make several trips back and forth in order to get the beloved cake ball truffles to their destination with no harm to befall them!  But my Pinch Hitter got me out of the pinch in the coolest way possible.

It’s too hard for my non-engineer-way-of-thinking brain to explain, but essentially, he took some cardboard and wine bottles we use for projects (not the hardest part of my job, emptying those bottles......wink!) from the garage, and did this:

SHE2016©

Hence, it took one trip, and all the truffles were unscathed.

Think about the pinches – the bad ones and the good ones.  Some of them hurt and can leave a sting or even a scar.  Some of them are wonderful and make you remember the joy life can bring.  Think of the pinch hitters in your life that have helped you make it through something unscathed.  Or perhaps you were that pinch hitter a time or two.  Either way, with every pinch comes growth in our lives – like the pinch of salt that can make the flavor of something pop.  

JIVE TURKEY

This image is © 2015 by Life As She Does It. Please link back or credit if any content or images are used.

To me: How do you make him do it??  What kind of bribery do you use?  Did you strike some sort of bargain?? 

To The Hubster: How did She manage to make you do it??  Did She bribe you?  You must hate your life.

These are questions and comments we get every time we dress in costume (which, by the way, is more often than any other adults - and MAYBE even kids - I’ve ever known). 

It could be a theme night.  We’ve done French (berets and tiny moustaches are just fun), Winter Wonderland (we were the Snow King & Queen, of course), UK (that was fun because I got to see Adrian in a kilt – hubba, hubba), or even Japanese (because Geisha makeup is a MUST).  It could be the ever-regular-reason, Halloween.  We’ve been Peace & Quiet, Gomez and Morticia Addams, Sick & Tired, and Mummy & Deaddy.  It could be for a party.  We’ve been mega-trends from every era from the 20s to the 90s, and literally everything in between.  We’ve been Wonder Woman and Captain America (both circa 1940s and circa 1980s), and we’ve been Janis Joplin and Jimmy Hendrix.  We’ve even been Thomas Jefferson and his wife, Martha.  I’m telling you:  the list goes on and ON.

Just a sidebar:  He especially loves keeping the costume boxes (yes, PLURAL) very organized.  He recently catalogued our wigs.  Yep.  Now we have a wig library. 

I’m telling you, WE COSTUME UP.  But therein lay the key word: “we”.  I’m never alone in it.  Adrian suits up no matter what, and never complains and never declines. 

The Hubster knows life is fleeting and very short.  He knows we are partners.  He knows it is not threatening to his manhood, but rather a fun way to be present and in-the-moment.  And he knows me.  And he loves life.  And he loves life with me.  And he loves me.

We jive.

This particular costume (yes, that’s him in the picture), I simply said, “Turkey Costume”.   And he donned it as though he were a proud peacock instead of a turkey.  He danced around with kids, and he pretended to peck at people’s heads.  And, as most rock-star turkeys do, he wore sunglasses and drank trendy coffee.

I’m not saying costumes are for everyone.  But I am saying all the things that make The Hubster jive with me and with life ARE.

As Thanksgiving approaches, I want to be sure you know life is fleeting and very short.  I want to make sure you are present and in-the-moment.  Do you love life?  Even when it is not going perfectly?  PS -  it never will (go perfectly, that it is).  If you don't already, learn to love it and give thanks for it.  Embrace the costume moments.  And I promise you – it WILL jive.

I AM FLAWED. NOW PASS THE BUTTER.

This image is © 2015 by Life As She Does It. Please link back or credit if any content or images are used.

I am flawed.  On the inside and on-the-out.  And not just for me - but for women everywhere since the dawn of time - weight loss has been one of those flaws.  Well, I'm not sure weight LOSS is the struggle so much as weight GAIN. And loss.  And gain.

This is something I have struggled with my entire life.  Even when I was in high school and built like a brick poop-house and had the tiniest little waist, I had those thunder thighs.  And believe me, I know I did because those 'helpful peers' in school would tell me so.  "Hey, Thunder Thighs!  Where'd ya get those thunder thighs??"  Clever.  Very clever.

When I got pregnant with Chelsea, the time bomb kept ticking.  I gained 120 pounds.  I literally gained an entire person in nine months.  And I don't mean the 7-pound little person I was carrying.  And I had 'those' family members that liked to have fun at my expense and thought nothing of bestowing upon me my new nickname, Eclipse.  Nine months later, I got pregnant with Cameron and the weight gain continued, as did the new (and oh-so-funny) nicknames.

And let us not forget the people that dubbed me the Butter Body.  What's that, you ask?  Well you've heard of a butter face?  Where they say everything looks good on her but-her-face?  I was the opposite.  The people (I know you meant well, Y'all) who said, "You have such a pretty FACE!"  Which meant everything else was either not note-worthy, or it would be a shame to mention.  But-her-body.  Get it?

I am in the present.  I have since lost the weight, and it took hard work.  And it continues to be a struggle on a daily basis.  But so much of it (besides the eating right and exercise, obviously!) is about the heart of the story.  It is about living healthy in mind, body, and spirit. Those people that called me names, whether it was all in good fun, out of mean-ness, or their own insecurities; those people had no idea that no one is exempt from allowing that to define a person, and it indeed worked on me and made me unhealthy - on the inside and on-the-out - for a very long time.

I am in my 40s.  And I LOVE IT.  There is abundant power in the age that allows you to feel your sexiest, even though your body is not the same; or feel your best, even though you're so much older.  But it is not all about the age of wisdom and experience that has helped me learn to love and respect who I was, who I am and who I have become.  

I am a woman of faith.  There is a quiet and serene humbling that happens as you grow and develop in the life of having the Creator lead you that allows you to understand all are created, and a very large respect happens for all bodies that house the souls that are people - no matter what they look like.  You have more of a respect for the wrinkles and lines in a person's face that are proof that none of us are immune to life-and-death.  You have more of a respect for scars on a person that are proof of the battles they have fought.  You have more of a respect for every body-type that are proof that we are all different, yet created equal.  But it is not all about the strong foundation of faith I have that has helped me to learn to love and respect who I was, who I am,  and who I have become.

I have a husband.  He is also my friend.  And he is also at that age of wisdom and experience, and is also a person of faith, and continues to grow and develop in that.  And he loves me.  For who I've been, who I am, and who I have YET to become.  On the inside and on-the-out.

Example:  I am washing dishes.  The Hubster comes up behind me and grabs me around my mid-section playfully.  I, being coy (and a bit embarrassed about my mid-section, if we're being honest), say, "Hey!  Don't grab my rolls!"  And his retort?  He closes his eyes like he is picturing a smooth whiskey with a nice cigar, or a juicy steak wrapped in bacon, and says, "Mmmmmm.  Get me some BUTTER for dem rolls!"  I guess that makes me a Butter Body FOR REAL. 

I am grateful.  I am blessed to have that kind of love and friendship, and I allow it to have power over me and give me confidence.  He calls me beautiful every day, whether I've got my eyebrows and lips on, or if my hair is in a knot and I'm bra-less and in my loungy pants for the second day in a row.  And he knows I'm flawed on the inside and on-the-out.  And he doesn't care.  He loves me.  He lifts me up, edifies me, and encourages me.  He celebrates me.  

So who are you surrounding yourself with and what kind of power do you allow them to have over you?  Who do you allow to be relevant in your life?  Are you judging people for their outsides, yet never wanting to be judged for your own outsides?  Or do you allow yourself to see people as beautiful; flaws and all?  

Lift up, edify, and encourage people.  Celebrate them.  Celebrate you.  On the inside and on-the-out.  Do your best to live healthy in mind, body, and spirit - and pass that around.

And do me a favor:  PASS THE BUTTER.

Designed: A Guest Blog

Please do not copy this photo - all rights (reservedly) reserved through The Durham Family

Well, this month's Guest Blogger is very special to me.  You can rest assured you're in for something wonderful when you read her words.  She will tell you where to find her other work in the post, but I like that I can find her by my side whenever I need her.  Carly Durham is a woman of rare quality and substance and I admire and adore her.  You can look for a large dedication to her in my upcoming book - and an even larger one in my heart of hearts.  Love you, Car.  Readers:  READ ON.

Writing a guest blog for a woman who I consider to be nailing it when it comes to being a woman who can do it all (which she herself admits, she does not and we do not have to do it all- be it all, she just wants to encourage us to do what we do overflowing with passion and love) surprisingly brought up some shoved away insecurities.  I guest blog from time to time for random internet blog buddies and write occasionally over at adoption.com but a post for Life-As-She-Does-It felt daunting. And then she had to go and get the witty Katy Livingston to go first, leaving me the follow up post. I stand little chance. It’s like signing up for a meal train to bring my store-bought chicken or grilled cheese sandwiches the night after your foodie friend has listed she is making lambs with chimi-churi sauce and homemade buttered-pecan ice-cream. The "look-ahead" is a real technique to make sure you are not setting up your people for disappointment. Now here I offer you my boxed mac n’cheese with added hotdogs weenies after you just ate homemade beef bourguignon.  Go ahead a lower your expectations my people. 

While I no longer fear that I will be childless, my lack of fertility is a theme that runs deep in my life.  Insecurity attached to infertility molds my thoughts and shapes my worldview.
What does it say about me? About God? About who I am suppose to be?
Honestly, I give it way to much power. Why do I let it take root so deeply?
Here is where we are at: We have never stopped trying. Really, how can I stop? After 5 years of charting, peeing, calculating, I know this stuff down cold and am constantly aware of where I am at in my cycle. Woman was created to bear children. Go forth and multiply. Labor and Birth.
What does that say about me that I do not join my fellow woman in this path?
In a moment of doubt and insecurity, I sought counsel and comfort in a friend after a month of disappointment and grief.

"It's not so much that I ache for pregnancy so much anymore, I just feel flawed to my very core.  My body….. It's just I……… How come I don't do what I was designed to do! I hate my ovaries. UGH!"

Speaking TRUTH over me, she replied:

"I hear you what you are saying, on a whole, as a woman, what you feel women were designed to do. BUT YOU. YOU.  You were fearfully and wonderfully made and designed. There is great purpose in that."

Designed.

Can I hold on to that promise? Can I uproot the belief that I am failing in my "role" as a woman and rather plant the conviction that I was designed? That I was indeed fearfully and wonderfully made. (Psalm 139:13).

And further, when I question this truth, what am I saying about God?

Then I really dig in a little more, when I question this truth, what am I saying about my uniquely designed son?

I firmly believe he is fearfully and wonderfully made with this incredible extra chromosome. I would not for one-second question his design. Every inch! Every chromosome! (ohhh goodness- have you heard that he is the cutest baby in the world - because word is spreading fast!!!)

Designed.

Thankfully, God, He is not afraid of the dark places my doubts and insecurities take me sometimes and He finds me there. 

He would also be pretty cool about it if you wanted him to go ahead and shine some light on your dark places of doubt and disbelief if you want to ask him. Because while we cannot all rock turbans on hair and giant rings on our fingers like She does, we all have been designed to rock our own unique self.  Sometimes we start to doubt that.

Life-As-She-Does-It friends, you are women so unique. If you stumbled here to read about a legit recipe to prepare with hopes to razzle-dazzle your people for a meal train, or you have come seeking encouragement on how to make the magnificent mundane, know that life as You do it has great purpose and significance. Perhaps you are fashioned to be the mom that wears yoga pants every day and puts on make-up once a year for your husbands work Christmas party but you read books to your kids in the best character voices and make a slammin-good lasagna. Or maybe you are the woman who does not leave the house without her lashes on and lips drawn, who started her own business and is not looking to start a family as she is diving into the calling God put on her heart. Either way. Every way.
 
Designed.

Own it. You are a created woman. You've nailed it.