July 26, 2012

He hugs me while i sleep

Shelly text me the sweetest thing today, and I have to share.

kids have been in vbs all week and came n last nite doubting their salvation or wanting to get saved so Joshua was sitting beside me crying and i asked him what special thing Jesus had done for him, thinking he'd give me the usual "died on the cross for my sins". instead he said, "He hugs me while I sleep". coolest answer ever.

Isn't that sweet? It made my day.
When I thought of that little boy crying and saying Jesus hugs him while he sleeps... I cried myself.
He likes wearing suit jackets, and bought a magic trick kit with his pennies, and sleeps with his stuffed doggie, together in their underwear, and was only three months old when I moved away.
He's still little enough to crawl in bed with mommy, and smart enough to know God hugs him safe while he's asleep.

And sometimes God uses a sweetheart nephew to remind me, Jesus hugs me while I sleep.

She Who Is Hugged

July 22, 2012

yummy: iced coffee

I used to hate coffee. The taste, the smell, the smell of people's breath after they drink it.
I couldn't even walk down the coffee aisle at the grocery store.
But then I started taking some really early morning karate classes (That's right. Karate. I made it all the way to yellow belt. My whole body is a weapon. Fear me.) a few years ago, and started drinking coffee for the buzzing jolt it gave me.
My karate instructor actually expected me to focus that early in the morning. What a weirdo.
He'd be like, Sunny? Hello??? WHERE ARE YOU THIS MORNING?
And I'd be like, Physically or mentally? Because mentally, I'm absent.

Anyway, several years later, I'm a coffee drinker. I love Starbucks. I drink coffee for the taste. 
I even like it in the afternoons, and because it's so hot outside I decided I needed an iced coffee recipe.
So I went to Pioneer Woman for help. Because she's my hero who knows how to cook. 
She's the queen, and I am her willing minion. 
I found this recipe on her site, Perfect Iced Coffee.
So I gave it a whirl. But I changed it up a little. And the results were the best iced coffee ever.
So here's my version of PW's iced coffee.

You will need:

:: 10oz ground coffee
:: 4qt water
:: sweetened condensed milk
:: caramel macchiato coffee creamer

Mix the coffee and water in a large pitcher.
Cover and let steep at room temp overnight.

Line a strainer with paper towels, and set it over a large container. Pour the coffee into the strainer and... well, strain it.
Throw out the grounds, and chill the coffee.

Pour a healthy dose of the caramel macchiato creamer into a glass, over ice.
Fill the glass the rest of the way with coffee.
Stir in a tablespoon or two of the sweetened condensed milk.

Add a straw.

Suck it down.

Live happily ever after.

You're welcome, and God bless Pioneer Woman for this recipe.


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July 19, 2012

the river

I get all hot and sweaty at work.
I mean, it's true that I'm hot 100% of the time. Smokin' hot.

You can't argue with that kind of hot proof, can ya?

When it's hot like it has been the last few weeks, I want one thing: to be in the water somewhere.
Normally I'm too afraid of drowning to even sit on a waterbed, but crazy hot summertime brings out a desperate bravery in my innermost soul, and I want to be in the river in the worst way. (With all sorts of floatable devices attached to my being of course.)

So me and Karen took the girls to the river tonight.
I floated with the babies.

Her Adorable Cuteness.

Lily didn't like her lifevest. I'm chokin', Moma...

So we risked death by drowning and took it off.

Her Adorable Cuteness's cute little sandy bum.

Anyway, so I floated without a lifevest.
They're going to make a movie about me and call it Brave.

Her of the Courageous Heart

July 18, 2012

on the last few weeks...

... they've been busy.

I've had animals coming out my ears. I don't own a single pet. Not even a beetle. But I inevitably end up with someone else's animal at my house or in my car.
Pet sitting. I do it.

There are the cats.
They look like the house mafia.
That one kitty in the pink sweater is actually a boy kitty. Also he's a sphinx kitty. Which means he's hairless, wrinkled, and looks like an old man with super giant ears. I can never remember his name. It doesn't matter though because I'll always call him Oh you poor thing you must be freezing here's your sweater let me put it on you. It's a long name, but he totally understands what I'm saying when I call him.
Then he hides under the bed.
Poor thing. Hairless and living in north Idaho. I feel sorry for him.

And there's Mimi who wants in the house, and the Sheriff who wants outside so he can sniff important things, and Bud who mostly wants to follow me around and stick his face in mine and ask me to be his girlfriend.
And Bunnyhop. Bunnyhop is a boy. I know this because I pulled him out of his cage and he flopped around indecently and I saw things. Things I wish I didn't see because now I'll never be able to think of Bunnyhop as a cute little fluff ball again.
I blushed for him and told him to keep himself pulled together or I'd tie a scarf over his... things.
He hid under the chair after that.

Some dogs like to sunbathe and read some books...

And some cute little animals have to be caged in so they don't mess with my laptop...

... because apparently keyboard buttons are the coolest thing ever. And open paint cans are also the coolest things ever. 
Please could you take these chairs away? I promise I won't touch your laptop. And I'll only touch the paint that's dried...
She's a cute little pooper isn't she?
She belongs to my friend, and sometimes I get to borrow her.
Babysitting. I do it.
Her name is Elly and I love her.

And speaking of animals, Molly turned three on Sunday.

Molly's a rapscallion. A rascal. An imp. She has more personality than anyone I know.
She's very bad. But she's also very good.
It just depends on the day.

Karen said she thinks Molly wasn't born. She thinks she was hatched from an egg.

Like a little baby quail...

Karen saw a quail family in her backyard, and took pictures.
The moma quail had all 10 of her itty bitty one inch tall babies huddled under her protective breast.
Karen thought that was sweet. She also told Tim to Look at the baby quail! They're nursing!
She says as soon as she said it, she realized quail don't nurse.
There are many reasons I love Karen. Her thinking that quail nurse is one of them.
Even if she did only think it for a split second.

Lily is beautiful.
She just is.

This is were I work most days.
That's an infinity pool. With a waterfall. Facing the river. With an air conditioned house behind it.
And let me tell ya, in the heat of the last few weeks, it's a wonderful place to work.
Practically a fairy tale.
I have lunch in the little batman cave behind the waterfall, and stick my legs in the pool.
I'm not trying to make you jealous or anything.

I have tomatoes! And peppers. And teeny little spaghetti squashes.
I was pretty stoked when I saw them last week.
I took pictures.

Two days later, the office manager told me I had to Remove all your flower pots as they are causing water damage to the apartment below you.
I thought many thoughts. None of which were Christian or repeatable.
Then I placed my entire garden in mom's truck and took it to Karen's. And cried the whole time. I even hiccuped.
But it's okay because I've decided to retaliate by getting a house. Take THAT, manager! :)

I finished a few projects around the house.
I love how they turned out!

And my sign...

We had a special speaker at church the other Sunday.
He spoke on being poured out for God.
Because God poured Himself out for us. Completely poured.
It pricked my heart. Because you know what? God's a good filler, and a lot of the time when God fills me up to overflowing, you know what I do? I hoard. I hoard the overflowing and keep it for myself. I don't pour out completely.
And then two things happen that make me unhappy.
One, hoarding keeps God from being able to keep filling. There's no room for it. I'm already full.
And two, holding back has this tendency to make me focus on the blessing rather than the Blessor, (is Blessor a word? Or did I just make it up?) and then the blessings turn sour.
Does that make sense?
Here's the thing. I have the urge to wander. And even if it's just a little wandering, it messes everything up.
And I need a daily reminder to pour myself out, to bind my wandering heart to Thee.
Hence the sign. I love it.

Someone punctured a couple of mom's tires on her truck. The things kids do for fun these days.
Someone else left a rude note on her door. Something about I want your parking spot so there.
My neighbor upstairs goes pee every morning. It's like me, my coffee, and my neighbor peeing. And I'm like, Hi. I heard you peeing this morning. It was awesome.
I can't talk about what my other neighbors do. This is a G rated blog.

Apartment life is great.

I spent July 4th with the Hoovers, and had french press coffee for the first time in my life. And can I just say, my life is completely different now? I venture to say, ...french press coffee is better than chocolate. There. I said it. It felt weird, but it's true!

I'm going to Boise the end of this month with a girlfriend. I can't wait. We're going to do fun stuff. Jet skiing will be involved and I've never done that.
And all you Boise cyber friends of mine... let's get together... yeah, yeah, yeah!
I want to meet all of you in real life!

I made laundry soap. And chicken salad. And stuffed strawberries. All in the same day!
I felt like a chef.
I'll post the recipes sometime. Like a real cook or something.

I've worked and sweated and made some money.

My toenails were like large talons so I clipped them.

I had a little girl's slumber party wherein we painted fingernails and watched the Tammy movies. Rather, they watched the Tammy movies while I slept like the dead.
I had a blast.

We had big thunder storms this weeks. Very loud thunder. Loud enough to wake me up Sunday morning. That's loud. Loud as in I slept through an earthquake one time. It knocked a picture off my wall which then bounced off my headboard before narrowly missing my dead-to-the-world face and hitting the floor. And the next morning Moma said, So did the earthquake scare you last night? And I was like, What earthquake?
But on Sunday morning the thunder rolled and crashed, and I jolted up in bed and shrieked, SPEAK LORD, FOR THY SERVANT HEARETH.
And then I had to go pee. Me and my upstairs neighbor.

And on that note, I leave you. Farewell until the next time I get five spare seconds.


July 02, 2012

where home is

My uncle died Sunday morning.
Moma is in Texas again right now, being with her sister. (Isn't that what sisters do? Be there when you need them most? I love sisters.)
Moma said Uncle Maurice kept saying he just needed to go home.

And now that's where he is.
He's home.

You know what I love about home?
You walk in and you're safe there. Your people are there. Your things are there. You feel that sigh of, ah... home when you walk in the front door, kicking off your shoes, leaving the day behind you.

And Sunday morning, Uncle Maurice said, Ah... home.

Heaven is the real home.
I love my home here. It's as home as home can get.
But that real home? I look forward to it.
I look forward to reproaches being wiped away. I look forward to regrets being forgotten. To tears wiped away forever. Enemies made at peace. Where "sin and sense molest no more". No more fight, no more struggle, no more sorrow.
The streets, the people, the sights and sounds. I've tried imagining it, and it's too big a thing for me to do it justice.

But you know what I look forward to the most? Sticking my hand in my Beloved's.
That's it. That'll be home.
Because home isn't where your heart is. It isn't where your people are. It isn't where you grew up. It isn't where you live.

Home is the second my hand touches His, and His eyes smile at me face to face.

And I'll kiss Him right on that scarred hand.
I like to think that I'll start thanking Him for all His great love right away, but I'm pretty sure I'll just be speechless for a few thousand years. And although I know our tears will all be wiped away, I kinda wonder if grateful tears will be allowed. Because I can't imagine not crying when I finally get to see Him. I plan on hanging onto Him for all I'm worth, and I hope you guys don't mind waiting in line for awhile because I won't be letting go.

I won't ever have to ask Him to forgive me for being a loser again.
I won't ever have to carry a single burden to Him again.
I won't ever cry on His shoulder again.
I won't go to Him and fume ever again.
I won't ever again have to ask Him to make me trust Him more.
I won't ever again run to Him with my mascara streaking.
I won't ever again have to say, Lord... are You there? Can You find me? Because I've wandered off. Again.

Because up there, with my hand in His, my wandering heart will be bound to His. Happily ever after.

And right now, Uncle Maurice is getting to enjoy all that. And even though I know death is a sorrow to us left behind, I can't help but imagine the shout that must've roared up when Uncle Maurice put his hand in Christ's.

And it just puts the biggest lump in my throat. A grateful lump.

And I can't wait for my own faith to be made sight.
I can't wait.