tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-24378996584113865382024-03-13T00:07:08.296-07:00The Musings of My HeartTaterbughttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12442859422342587786noreply@blogger.comBlogger120125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2437899658411386538.post-91466997160641024432015-06-29T13:57:00.001-07:002015-06-29T13:57:11.649-07:00The Rough Side Of The Mountain<div class="MsoNormal">
I really don’t like writing about dating and relationships. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Carrie Bradshaw did a fairly effective job (aside from the
way she played Aidan, but I digress) and I do not enjoy painting myself into
such a small box. Life is so much more than awkward silence and cautious
optimism. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
But now? I’m tired. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Here is a highlight reel of what I have experienced in the
past six months:<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
--<b>Mr. Radio Silence</b>: we’d been “talking” for more than a
year. I asked him where this was going; he told me he had feelings for me. I told
him I wanted more than feelings—I wanted a relationship. In return, he said
absolutely nothing. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
--<b>Mr. Too Gorgeous</b>: Told me I was too tall for him to date;
that it would be degrading for him to be seen with me. Furthermore, he told me
body was “sort of gross,” but he would totally be willing to sleep with me if I
kept a shirt on. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
--<b>Mr. Long-Distance</b>: Cussed me out because I wasn’t gung-ho
to hear from him after four months of hearing nothing. Told me no one would
ever love me. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
--<b>Mr. Magoo</b>: Started talking and added me on FB. It took
five seconds to see he was in a relationship with someone that, at least
according to FB, had just been established the week prior. When I asked him
about it, he just kept asking me if I saw it on his page. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
--<b>Mr. Me, Myself and I</b>: I told him my grandma died. He
berated me for not asking how his day was. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
--<b>Mr. Must Be Out Of His Mind</b>: Thought I’d be <i>thrilled</i> to be
his mistress. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I don’t expect anyone’s sympathy. In each of these
situations, I take my share of responsibility for what I allowed and, in some
cases, what I said or did. I’m not here to bash them or all men. These men may
in fact be great partners for someone else. And though this may shock my FBRs,
I’m not really here to encourage today. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I’m just tired. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Now, I’ll be alright. I have an amazing support system and a
relationship with God that sustains me even in the lowest, darkest moments.
Still, I wonder (and worry) about everyone else out there who may not have that…’cause
if you think this is just a problem I have, you would be sadly mistaken. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Why do we treat each other this way?<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I have connected with people—some I know, some I don’t—who have
even more horrifying tales than what I’ve shared. We have become a world where
people are objectified and objects are personified. We are nothing more than a
sum of parts that can be rated, degraded and then discarded. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
By the way, it's bigger than sexual promiscuity or abstinence. You can
get your heart broken with your legs crossed just as much as you can when they
are open. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
No one takes time to heal anymore. It’s too
uncomfortable. It’s much easier to hop on a dating app and lay our baggage at
someone else’s unsuspecting feet. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
This is not dating. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
This surely isn’t love. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I think what we’re dealing with here is a very complicated
adult version of King of the Hill. If you never played that game, let me tell
you rules: some large object is designated as the “hill.” At my elementary
school, it was this big concrete tube that, looking back, should never have
been on an elementary school playground. Someone jumps on top of the object and
yells: <b>"I’M KING OF THE HILL!”</b> And then it’s on. You use whatever you can to get
to the top of that hill—legs, feet, teeth, arms, rocks, anything and
everything. You press, pull, claw your way to the top and try to shout<b> I’M KING
OF THE HILL</b> before someone snatches you down. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
It’s definitely not safe. I experienced numerous cuts,
bruises, scrapes and even a concussion or two trying to scale that concrete
tube. Looking back, there never really was a clear winner in that game. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
There isn’t one in this dating game either. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Am I giving up on dating? Nope. Never. I believe there is
someone out there in this world who understands why <i>Crooklyn</i> makes me cry or
how I have to go to bed with socks on, but I kick them off in the middle of the
night. There is someone who won’t be afraid to hear that I’m not having a great
day and we can talk about it—just as I would with him. There’s someone who will
remember my birthday and send me more than a text message. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Someone who will pray with me. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Someone who will dream with me. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
My love’s design. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<i>Dang. I got sort of teary-eyed even typing that. </i><o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
In the meantime, I refuse to treat people the way I’ve been
treated. If I do ever get too big for my britches, there’s no need to trip: God
has a way of getting my attention and reminding me who I really am. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
And if He can deal with a wretch like ME….I guess I can
forgive the jackasses of 2015. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Now excuse me while I dance down the street in my pink tank
top and white tutu. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Isaiah 58:11, <o:p></o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
K. <o:p></o:p></div>
Taterbughttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12442859422342587786noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2437899658411386538.post-7421859932252280072015-04-06T12:16:00.000-07:002015-04-06T12:16:40.888-07:00Writing Challenge, Day 11: Seeing Red<i>You all will notice I took off a few days. It's hard to write when you're stuffing your mouth with greens, chicken & dumplings, bundt cake....</i><div>
<i><br /></i></div>
<div>
<i>'Scuse me. I had a flashback. </i></div>
<div>
<i><br /></i></div>
<div>
<i>Today's topic is supposed to be whatever is currently on my mind, which is a slightly provocative topic: anger. Let's see what comes out today! </i></div>
<div>
<i><br /></i></div>
<div>
<i>~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~</i></div>
<div>
Last week, I had a few situations going with paramours from the past. You know how it goes: you haven't heard from them in weeks or months or even YEARS, but somehow they magically find your number and try to immerse themselves in your world once again. In the <strike>most snarky</strike> nicest way possible, I told them I wasn't interested in conversing with them. </div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
I got called a "seven-letter word/five-letter word."</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
I was told I was selfish and close-minded.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
My favorite? That I should be glad that he thought of me four months later. </div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
EVERYTHING in me wanted fire back, which I am completely capable of doing. When my mental wheels start turning, no one is safe. I turn into the black Julia Sugarbaker, hurling insults and tirades and salacious monologues that literally cause jaws to drop. </div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
I've had that effect on people since kindergarten. I'll never forget the look on Mrs. Seller's face when I informed her that I would cuss her out if she didn't let me go to my daddy's job...and then promptly followed through on that promise. </div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
At a <i>Christian</i> school. *facepalm* </div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
Just when I was stretching out my thumbs to fire off one of those <b>three-message long</b> text messages, I realized that this was indeed a test. In my Tilling Time (Bible study), the topic has consistently been about dealing with anger. I would highlight passages, nodding my head and thinking about other people who had that problem, but "not me!" I'd pray for God to help all these people who were dealing with anger issues, while giving myself a little pat on the back for not being like them. </div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
I should have seen this test coming from a mile away. </div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
I had a choice: keep holding onto this rage growing inside of me....or let go. I had to let go, y'all--there's just not enough room for anger and hunger in my stomach. </div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
I prayed a lot, taking the time to really acknowledge my anger. That's important, because I tend to play the synonym game with God and with others: </div>
<div>
<i><br /></i></div>
<div>
<i>I'm not angry, I'm just a little offended.</i></div>
<div>
<i>I'm not angry, I just wish you would try to understand me.</i></div>
<div>
<i>I'm not angry, I'm just tired. </i></div>
<div>
<i>I'm not angry, I'm just hungry. </i></div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
All of those sentences mean <b><u>I am just angry</u></b>...even the last one. ESPECIALLY the last one if I've been hungry for more than an hour. </div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
I forgave them and myself because, let's face it: so much of the things we hold onto are a reflection of us. But that's another topic for another time. </div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
I punched the punching bag at my gym until my knuckles started bleeding. I played my PMS playlist (yes, I do have one and it's pretty dope) and I frequently thought of something my Pastor/Dad has said:</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
<i>It doesn't make any sense for you to sit up all night thinking about the people who hurt you. You're seething with rage while they are sleeping like a baby. Turn it over to God and get some rest! </i></div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
Before I even settled into my bed to watch <i>The Cleveland Show</i>, I was totally cool...and no verbal missiles had been launched. </div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
Not even a single passive-aggressive Facebook post. </div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
That's growth, baby. </div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
Encouraged, </div>
<div>
K. </div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
<i><br /></i></div>
<div>
<i><br /></i></div>
<div>
<i><br /></i></div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
</div>
Taterbughttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12442859422342587786noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2437899658411386538.post-77714618973021096652015-04-02T13:22:00.000-07:002015-04-02T13:22:06.418-07:00Writing Challenge, Day 10: Back To The FutureDear Future K. Marie,<br />
<br />
The number on the scale won't matter, neither will the size of those jeans.<br />
You won't remember all the times you nervously tried to predict the outcome of something that seemed 3,000 times more mortifying or heartbreaking than it actually was.<br />
Your memory simply isn't big enough to remember every single time you were irritated because the coffee wasn't ready, your favorite dress was at the bottom of the hamper or somebody refused to let you over on the highway.<br />
<br />
You have my permission to forget all that stuff.<br />
<br />
What you will remember are the times you danced barefoot in the sand to no music at all. You'll laugh as you think about the hours you spent laughing with your sister-friends, even if it was past your bedtime. Your heart will glow as you think about all the advice your dad gave you...and you'll realize he was 100% right, every single time. You will remember those moments when man told you it was impossible, but God grabbed hold of your situation and turned it around so fast, you still can't quite put together all the pieces of the puzzle. <br />
<br />
But it worked. For your good.<br />
<br />
You're not too old to have children. Your parents had two babies at a time when everyone said they were "too old." And your grandmother was in her <b>40s</b> when she had your dad--her 12th child!<br />
<br />
Don't get cute though. You're not about that minivan life.<br />
<br />
Keep running, even when you think it will feel so much better to sit on the couch and watch <i>American Greed</i>. Girlfriend, it's all about that ten-minute window after the run--when your mind and body are both kind of quietly state the obvious: <i>Dang. We did that. </i><br />
<br />
Despite what Shayla says, you're funny. Keep telling your silly jokes.<br />
<br />
Stop being so cheap!<br />
<br />
In every single way possible, love yourself.<br />
<br />
The only thing stopping you is you.<br />
<br />
See you at the finish line.<br />
<br />
Love,<br />
<br />
K.Taterbughttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12442859422342587786noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2437899658411386538.post-84104089539902841152015-04-01T09:04:00.002-07:002015-04-01T09:04:58.047-07:00Writing Challenge, Day 9: Speak Those Things<div class="MsoNormal">
“Show it to me.”<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Sierra abruptly stopped in the middle of the sidewalk,
causing a pedestrian pile-up during the lunch hour traffic. She snatched off
her glasses, narrowed her fiery brown eyes and prepared to unleash a verbal
tirade that would surely cause grown men to blush and mothers to cover their
child’s ears. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“…your heart.”<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“I beg your pardon?”<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
As the attractive man stepped closer to her, her sense of
smell was lured in by notes of bergamot, lavender, amber and vanilla. <i>Prada Luna Rossa.</i> Sierra inhaled,
struggling to keep the stoic look on her face. <i>Girrrrrrrl, don’t fall for it. <o:p></o:p></i></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“I was just talking to God on my way back to myoffice…you’re
not offended by that are you?”<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“Not at all.” </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<i>A
Christian who wears Prada. Two points.<o:p></o:p></i></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“Great.” The man smiled at Sierra and continued. “Like I
said, I was talking to God about this whole dating and relationship thing in
today’s world. It seems like no one is really out here to get to know each
other—I mean beyond Facebook quotes and filtered Instagram pics. I’m frustrated
and I told God as much.”<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<i><br /></i></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<i>Is this some kind of
joke?</i> </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Sierra’s heart threatened to jump out of her tightly secured pea coat
and run down the street like Scooby-Doo in a haunted house. <i>How many nights have I cried out to God
about the same thing?</i> </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
She nodded, motioning for him to continue. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“I asked God to help me find someone who would speak to my heart. It’s nice to hear about your favorite movie and how long you’ve
been single; but I want to know how you got that childhood scar. Or who your
hero is. What made you cry the last time tears fell from your face? What is your first thought when you wake up every morning?”<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“I want to tell you the same things about me and more….so
much more. I don’t have time in my life for the superficial. I’m ready to grow
with someone. Build a life with someone. Face the world with no fear because I
know someone is praying for me and I will do the same for her.”<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“So, I’m asking you again: will you show me your heart? Will
you let down your guard and take off your mask?” The man extended his hand to
Sierra, who was still speechless. “Will
you believe God with me that all things are possible…even us?”<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Sierra’s mind whirled a million reasons to run:<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<i>He could be a serial killer.<o:p></o:p></i></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<i>What if he uses me?<o:p></o:p></i></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<i>I can’t take one more heartbreak in my life. <o:p></o:p></i></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<i>Should I mace him?</i><o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Her heart spoke two words to make her stay:<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<i>Trust me. </i><o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“I will.”</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<br />
Taterbughttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12442859422342587786noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2437899658411386538.post-73449027184252797112015-03-31T08:38:00.004-07:002015-03-31T09:30:14.624-07:00Writing Challenge, Day 8: The Leather Couch & Me<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">
<div style="text-align: left;">
“How do you see yourself? “</div>
</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
The first words that came to mind were the words I always
use to describe myself: <i>6’0’’ without the
heels</i>; an <i>enigma wrapped in a mystery</i>;
<i>big hair, big boobs, big personality</i>…
the words that get a laugh when I’m conversing with strangers. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
But his unwavering eye contact told me that my sarcasm wasn’t
going to cut it today. I had to go deeper, to that place beyond my defense
mechanisms and my projection. I had to reach down into the murky waters of my
past and uncover the hurts, rejections and insecurities that were strangling my
future. I had to keep it real. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div style="border-bottom: solid windowtext 3.0pt; border: none; mso-border-bottom-alt: wave windowtext 3.0pt; mso-element: para-border-div; padding: 0in 0in 1.0pt 0in;">
<div class="MsoNormal" style="border: none; mso-border-bottom-alt: wave windowtext 3.0pt; mso-padding-alt: 0in 0in 1.0pt 0in; padding: 0in;">
“I’m a failure.”<o:p></o:p></div>
</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~<br />
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
A few months ago, I started experiencing what I call the <b><i>3:30
wake-up call</i></b>. No matter how hard I exercised the night before or how
many pages I wrote in my journal, my eyes would fly open and thoughts of rage,
embarrassment and pessimism would flood my mind:<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><br /></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Rage: <i>What did I do to deserve this?!?!?</i><o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Embarrassment: <i>I know everyone is talking about me right
now. <o:p></o:p></i></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Pessimism: <i>I’m just not good enough and this is never
going to get any better.</i> <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<i><br /></i></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
The Trauma DJ would take me on a vivid journey through all
of my failures in the past three years, interspersing those memories with
comparisons to others and reminders of every single one of my insecurities. My
body would be covered in sweat and tears would sting my eyes as I sat up on the
side of the bed, crying out to God in the way that you can only cry out to God
in the early morning hours. And still, I struggled.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
One day, I was sitting in my office (downing another cup of
strong coffee) when I felt the urge to find a psychiatrist. I nixed the idea
initially, telling myself that therapy should be reserved for people who are <i>really</i> in crisis mode: grieving,
suicidal ideation, stuff like that. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
And then I saw my reflection in my cell phone. The bags under
my eyes and the smile that didn’t quite go all the way up were a dead giveaway:
for me, this <i>was</i> a crisis. I started making phone calls immediately.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Therapy has almost always gotten a bad rap, especially in
the African-American community. We are guilty of saying <i>we don’t need help</i> or <i>REAL
Christians don’t get depressed</i>. However,
I think the biggest issue is simply fear of the unknown. People don’t know exactly
what to expect when they meet with a mental health professional. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Let me remove the stigma for you. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><u>1. It’s always a
brown leather couch.</u></b> <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I have visited psychiatrists and psychologists several times
in my life, usually in the aftermath of great personal tragedy. They have been
in different parts of the city; all races and both genders. But one thing
remains the same: they all have a brown leather couch. I’m pretty sure they
receive their couches when they graduate, sort of like when nurses receive
their caps. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
There are usually other places to sit, but why break
tradition? The couch is usually the most comfortable anyway. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><u>2. </u></b><u><b>It’s not
expensive.<o:p></o:p></b></u></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
My payment is the same price I pay for a regular doctor’s
visit. Most mental health professionals will either accept your insurance
(thankfully, mine does), or have a sliding scale based on your financial
situation. Most offices will work with you on the payment—if they won’t, thank
them for their time and keep calling other offices until you find someone who
will. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br />
I suppose some would argue that $60/month is too expensive.
But you know what’s more expensive than that? Living a half-assed life full of
fear. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><u>3. It’s (sort of)
like talking to a friend.</u></b> <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I know that sounds really cliché, but that is the best way
for me to describe what a typical session feels like. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
When I walk in, he asks me about my week—what was good, what
was bad, etc. We discuss the things we
talked about in the last session and whether or not they are still pressing
matters. If they are, we revisit them and explore what can be done to change my
thought process. If not, we celebrate the victory and move on to something
else. We also talk about everything from <i>The
Bachelor</i> to the NCAA tournament….and he laughs at my jokes. That might just
be because I pay him, but whatever. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
He listens. I’m not afraid that what I tell him will (accidentally
or intentionally) slip out in future conversations with others; I don’t have to
worry that my issue is somehow overshadowing something that he is dealing with
in his life. I know that for one hour, this is about me. Sometimes, that’s
difficult because…<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><u>3a. He does not
give me advice.</u></b> <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
My favorite question to ask my best friends is: “if you were
me, what would you do?” I can’t ask that of my psychologist. Well, I suppose I
could, but he won’t answer. Instead, he will ask me how I choose to respond. I’m
forced to say out loud the words I’ve been so afraid of saying for years, because
I thought people would judge me.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
It’s infuriating. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I love it. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><u>4. You will probably
cry.</u></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
That’s why there’s a box of tissues on the leather couch. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
See? There’s another reason why you should sit there! <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><u>5. You’ll feel
better.</u></b> <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Make no mistake about it: this isn’t <i>Punky Brewster</i>. Life is just so daily and there will always be
things that make you angry/sad/stressed. But therapy has taught me how to
better cope with all of my emotions, both good and bad. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
--I can be upset that someone cut me off on I-35, but that doesn’t
mean today is going to be the WORST DAY EVER. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
--I can be sad that a relationship didn’t work out without
assuming it was solely based on my attraction/weight/personality. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
--I can say no and mean it. (Chile….this right here was worth
every penny I have spent thus far!)<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
--Fear looks way bigger on the horizon than it actually is. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
--My life isn’t over. In so many ways, it’s just beginning. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
By the way, if you call me at 3:30 tomorrow morning, I won’t
be answering. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I’ll be sleeping like a baby. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Encouraged, <o:p></o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
K. <o:p></o:p></div>
Taterbughttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12442859422342587786noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2437899658411386538.post-65469524386762866752015-03-30T07:31:00.000-07:002015-03-30T07:32:24.020-07:00Writing Challenge, Day 7: Running For My Life<div class="MsoNormal">
Ah, poetry.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Looking back, every poem I have ever written sounds like a
Toni Braxton ballad or an India Arie anthem. My parents always did say I was
the dramatic one! <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
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<div class="MsoNormal" style="border: none; mso-border-bottom-alt: wave windowtext 3.0pt; mso-padding-alt: 0in 0in 1.0pt 0in; padding: 0in;">
I’m trying for a different tone
today—more indicative of where I am in my life right now. Let’s see how this
goes.<o:p></o:p></div>
</div>
<br />
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~<br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
Left, right <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<i>Breathe.</i><o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Left, right<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<i>Breathe.</i><o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
She passed me <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<i>Breathe.</i><o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I need a faster song<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<i>Breathe.</i><o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
He passed me too</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<i>Breathe.</i></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
It's too hot</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<i>Breathe.</i></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
My nose is running</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<i>Breathe.</i></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
My stomach is cramping<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<i>Breathe.</i><o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I’m not going to make it<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<i>Breathe.</i><o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
This is the worst I’ve done<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<i>Breathe.</i><o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
There’s the photographer<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<i>Breathe</i>.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
My thighs are probably jiggling<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<i>Breathe.</i><o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I bet I look a mess<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<i>Breathe.</i><o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Is that--<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<i>Breathe.</i><o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
the finish line</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<i>Breathe.</i></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
They’re cheering for me<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<i>Breathe.</i><o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
That clock can’t be right<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<i>Breathe.</i><o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I made it<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<i>Breathe.</i><o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Thank you, God </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<i>Breathe.<o:p></o:p></i></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<i>Breathe.<o:p></o:p></i></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<i>Breathe.</i></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Best race ever. <o:p></o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
--K. <o:p></o:p></div>
Taterbughttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12442859422342587786noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2437899658411386538.post-11153627472156131232015-03-29T18:05:00.002-07:002015-03-29T18:08:48.026-07:00Writing Challenge, Day 6: The BEST Turkey Burger in OKCAbout eight years ago, I stopped eating beef and pork. I mourned the loss of some of my favorite foods (like country ribs, ham, pork chops, roast beef....*sigh*....give me a minute), but I have enjoyed the journey of finding new, exciting things to eat. There is so much more to life than baked chicken.<br />
<br />
And there is nothing better than a good turkey burger.<br />
<br />
Turkey products have become readily accessible in today's health-conscious world. A turkey burger has less fat, calories and sodium than an all-beef patty. However, <i>good</i> turkey burgers--like a man who smells nice, loves the Lord and wants a relationship--are hard to find. A turkey burger will almost always taste different than a hamburger, but there should be some taste to it, even aside from the toppings. It should also have some juices sealed inside because...who wants to eat a hockey puck?<br />
<br />
But alas, I have done all the research for you. If you want to know where to find the best turkey burger in Oklahoma City, I'd be glad to tell you.<br />
<br />
It's a tie!<br />
<br />
First, let's talk about the turkey burger at <a href="http://www.vzds.com/" target="_blank"><b>VZD's</b></a> (4200 N. Western).<br />
I found VZD's one day when I still worked in the Classen District and I wanted to try something different. I had heard rave reviews about the food, but I was skeptical. Okay, I judged them. There are much flashier, opulent looking restaurants on Western and I did not think VZD's was going to give me anything more than a stomachache.<br />
<br />
I ordered the turkey burger and I was pleased with the price ($6.95). My food was also made to order, which is extremely important with turkey burgers--the longer they sit, the more they dry out. The moment I bit into my burger, I think I heard the heavens rejoicing with me.<br />
<br />
That burger was GOOD.<br />
<br />
It was juicy; it had the right amount of seasoning without being overpowering; there was a great meat-to-bun ratio (I like a little overlap) and the grilled onions and peppers added just the right note to the end of beautiful burger song. VZD's condiment of choice is their seasoned mayonnaise, but it taste just as phenomenal with nothing added. I was so impressed, I ate there every Friday for about a month.<br />
<br />
I'm a creature of habit.<br />
<br />
I know most of you will remember the big hoopla about VZD's closing, but they are back and better than ever. If you are ever looking for a casual place to grab a great burger, this is the place I recommend. It's worth navigating the construction.<br />
<br />
If you're looking for something a bit more upscale, you cannot go wrong with the turkey burger at <b><a href="http://www.ehsrg.com/charlestons/home/" target="_blank">Charleston's</a></b> (various metro locations). I have always loved the atmosphere at Charleston's--it's nice without being too pretentious. I was surprised to see they even had turkey burgers on the menu, but I decided it was worth a try.<br />
<br />
Hold on to your seats as I make this bold claim: Charleston's turkey burger is just as good as their regular burger.<br />
<br />
When I was still eating beef, I adored the burgers at Charleston's. I am a big fan of that charbroiled taste and they have it down to a science. The turkey burger offers that same smoky flavor. The patty itself is HUGE and absolutely covered with melted jack cheese, which excites me. Even though I am severely lactose intolerant, melted cheese is my guilty pleasure. The burger is topped with field greens (not just iceberg lettuce), thick tomato slices, red onions and honey mustard. Though a little pricier than VZD's at $10, it is worth every penny.<br />
<br />
Charleston's would be a great choice for a date night, but probably not the first date. It's hard to engage in witty repartee when you're wolfing down an amazing burger.<br />
<br />
Remember: you will never know how much you can truly enjoy something unless you try.<br />
<br />
....Except turkey bacon. Save yourself the trouble and just eat a box of packing peanuts.<br />
<br />
Be Encouraged,<br />
<br />
K.<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />Taterbughttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12442859422342587786noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2437899658411386538.post-49006242155238006462015-03-28T13:40:00.000-07:002015-03-28T13:48:25.281-07:00Writing Challenge, Day 5:Dear Homeskillet<i>A few years ago, I did a letter-writing challenge for this blog. The impact was phenomenal, but it left me with a lot of FEELINGS that could not be compartmentalized. Plus, I find writing letters to be kind of passive-aggressive. If I have something to say, I would much rather say it in person. </i><br />
<div>
<i><br /></i></div>
<div>
<i>But this letter is different--and I'm actually grateful that the challenge included writing a letter to someone. Point blank: when I'm around this person, I never get to say what I want to say. So this time, I'll take the easy way out and post my words here. One day soon, I hope that changes. </i></div>
<div>
<i>~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~</i></div>
<div>
<i><br /></i></div>
<div>
Dear DP,</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
When I met you, I had so much respect for you. You were so accomplished; so confident; so down to earth. I wanted to read every page of your life story. </div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
Since then, I've read excerpts and whole chapters and my assessment still hasn't changed: I think you have the potential to set the whole world on fire. </div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
I don't want anything from you. I am satisfied with memories of laughter, phone conversations and one slightly awkward lunch at Primo's. Thank you for, in a roundabout way, teaching me not to settle for less than what I truly deserve.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
Sometimes, I do feel concern in my heart for you. I worry about the effect of people's words on your spirit. Even the strongest among us sometimes find ourselves wounded by the verbal assaults of those claiming to "keep it real." I pray daily that God would protect you from the snares and keep you moving forward toward your destiny. </div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
Shake it off, friend. You are not who "they" say you are.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
If you ever need encouragement, I'm here.</div>
<div>
If you ever need someone to listen, I'm here.</div>
<div>
If you ever just want to laugh, I'm here.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
....Didn't that sound like a Jackson 5 song? I felt like yelling "just look over your shoulder, honey!" LOL</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
I will always have your back. </div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
Be Encouraged, </div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
K.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
P.S. I know I didn't reveal much--that was intentional. But if you really want me to answer that question, here it is: <i>yep</i>.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
<br /></div>
Taterbughttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12442859422342587786noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2437899658411386538.post-42497044057798671842015-03-27T11:29:00.002-07:002015-03-27T11:38:06.505-07:00Writing Challenge, Day 4: The PK Rant <div class="MsoNormal">
<i> I am a very laidback person (shutup, Shayla and Alonzo), so it was hard for me to come up with a rant topic. </i></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<i><br /></i></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<i>I debated whether or not to post this. Even though these are my feelings and I stand behind them 100%, I never want to do anything to cause issues for God's people. But there are people out there who are struggling with these exact issues right now. Though I've been set free, I know there are people out there who are still trying to get free. This one is for them. </i></div>
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</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b>~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~</b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><u>1.</u></b><b style="text-decoration: underline;">I am not a child. <o:p></o:p></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I’m going to let you all in on a little secret: I was born
in 1982. I’ve been out of high school since 2000; I graduated from college
eleven years ago and I have voted in the last three presidential elections. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Have any other “kids” done that?<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I am a woman with my own thoughts and opinions. If you
disagree with me, then disagree with me. Saying “I’m telling your dad” won’t
make me <i>stay in line</i>. I’ll just know that you have no respect for me
and deal with every interaction moving forward in an appropriate manner. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><u>2. </u></b><u style="font-weight: bold;">I am not perfect. </u><o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“Church folks” (not Christians, there is a difference) love
to throw Scripture grenades. If you aren’t doing what they think you should be
doing, they will launch a Romans or Acts at you in a New York minute. Make no
mistake about it: I am not above reproach. If my actions are causing my brother
or sister to stumble, I can admit my mess and move forward. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Still, I ask any of you to show me one biblical passage that
explicitly states that a child of a pastor can never do wrong, make mistakes or
be anything but perfect. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
…Nothing? Okay then. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I wholeheartedly believe in transparency and I acknowledge
that I am just a sinner saved by grace. There are times when I just don’t want
to come to choir rehearsal. There are times when I have just had a <b>REALLY BAD DAY</b> and I don’t feel like
smiling. There are times when I have to say no to that dinner/musical/meeting
because I just need some time to myself. There are times when I am bombarded
with what feels like a million prayer requests—and I pray for everyone—but I
have to stop and ask myself: “Who is praying for me?”<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br />
I didn’t choose this life. God chose my father, and since I am his FAVORITE DAUGHTER (just kidding...sort of), I have always supported his ministry. But please don’t look to me to be the example of perfection. That
is way above my pay grade. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><u>3. Church hurt hurts
me too. <o:p></o:p></u></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
In elementary school, we played the dozens—joking around
about each other’s mamas (which were really just jokes we had heard the
previous night on <i>In Living Color</i>,
but I digress). It was all fun and games until someone went too far; a classmate got too
specific or said something that wasn’t funny, just mean. And the fight was on
because we all abided by this one simple rule: <i>I don’t play about my mama (or daddy)</i>.<br />
<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Times have changed. We grew up. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
And the words got even worse. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
People have stood in my face and called my dad everything
but a child of God. People have stood in my face and called <i>me</i> everything but a child of God. I’m well aware that my first reaction should be
to “turn the other cheek.” I’d like to
say I have been able to do that every single time someone cussed me out,
dragged my family’s name through the mud or spread the most vicious,
unbelievable lies I have ever heard. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I wish I could say that. But we all know it would be a lie. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I spent years trying to understand how people could be so
mean. I’ve prayed about it, cried about it, spent many sleepless nights turning
over this concept in my mind. How can you love God and hurt His people? <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I still don’t know the answer, but God gave me something
even better: spiritual maturity. You know how you’ll know when you’re there? When
the same people who have hurt you are hurting…and instead of saying “that’s
what they get,” you say “God, heal them.” <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
To be able to say that is worth every tear I’ve shed over
church hurt in my life. They may not be changed, but I am. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><u><br /></u></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><u>3a.I have
absolutely, positively nothing to do with the <i>how, when or why</i> of my dad getting married. <o:p></o:p></u></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
The only thing I have ever wanted is to see my dad happy. If
that means marriage, I’m sure he can find someone. After all, he did a darn
good job of it in 1974. If that doesn’t mean marriage, then I’m fine with that
too. Trying to befriend me in an effort to get to him? That doesn’t work. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
However, if you make a good Italian Cream Cake, I’d be more
than happy to put in a good word for you!<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Be Encouraged, <o:p></o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
K. <o:p></o:p></div>
Taterbughttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12442859422342587786noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2437899658411386538.post-32555380133198102812015-03-26T09:37:00.003-07:002015-03-27T09:55:25.765-07:00Writing Challenge, Day 3: My Feelings For "Him"<div class="MsoNormal">
<i>Day 3 is actually
supposed to be a review of something, but I decided to get this one out of the
way. <o:p></o:p></i></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<i><br /></i></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<i>Writing about my
feelings for someone is even worse than sending a risky text. Did he read it?
What does he think? What if he responds? What if he doesn’t?!?!?! <o:p></o:p></i></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<i><br /></i></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<i>Hi, I’m Kayla and I
have Analysis Paralysis. <o:p></o:p></i></div>
<div style="border-bottom: dotted windowtext 3.0pt; border: none; mso-element: para-border-div; padding: 0in 0in 1.0pt 0in;">
<div class="MsoNormal" style="border: none; mso-border-bottom-alt: dotted windowtext 3.0pt; mso-padding-alt: 0in 0in 1.0pt 0in; padding: 0in;">
<i><br /></i></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="border: none; mso-border-bottom-alt: dotted windowtext 3.0pt; mso-padding-alt: 0in 0in 1.0pt 0in; padding: 0in;">
<i>I hope everyone hears my heart on this, not just the intended
recipient. Sometimes, the most courageous thing you can do is keep it real.</i></div>
</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
*****************************************************************************</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Dear Russell Westbrook, </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
The way you have been playing this season has rocked my world.
Your blocks; your rebounds; your shots! It’s classic basketball and I am loving
every minute of it. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Thank you for rising to the occasion in a season that
initially looked bleak. Whether the world agrees or not, you are a true champion
in my eyes. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I’m sorry I laughed when the Internet said you looked like a
Ninja Turtle. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Thunder Up, <o:p></o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
K. <o:p></o:p></div>
Taterbughttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12442859422342587786noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2437899658411386538.post-45891774176971160572015-03-25T11:49:00.004-07:002015-03-25T11:49:47.533-07:00Writing Challenge, Day 2: Fan Fiction<div class="MsoNormal">
I have <b>struggled</b>
with today’s challenge. I actually had to Wiki the term “fan fiction” because
all I’ve ever heard about it is the whole <i>Fifty
Shades</i> phenomenon. I get the concept, but this is way out of my comfort
zone as a writer. Still, I’ll honor my favorite college professor by never
apologizing for my work! <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I chose to do a short excerpt based on one of my FAVORITE
books: <i>Never Say Never</i> by Victoria
Christopher Murray. If you haven’t read this book, I encourage you to go pick
it up today. This story has everything: love, loss, revenge, violence, the
affair to end all affairs (IMHO)…and forgiveness. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I’ve always wondered what happened in the aftermath of lives
that were so shattered. Here’s my take on it! <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
*********************************************************************************</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><u>Miriam <o:p></o:p></u></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“Time to wake up, sweetness.”<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I rolled over and sighed, lazily stretching my hands above
my head with a big grin on my face. Even after all this time, this man’s baritone voice
still made my core shiver and quake. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“Just three more minutes, babe.”<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
His lips brushed across my neck and my collarbone, causing
the temperature in the room to rise even higher than the Arizona summers I had
come to dread. But here, in this moment, I craved the heat. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“I just said you had to wake up,” he murmured as his lips
continued to trace a path towards her own personal ecstasy, “I didn’t say you
had to get up.” He shared a conspiratorial grin with Miriam as he eased down
the straps of her nightgown.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Miriam looked down at him with a mixture of admiration and
an all-consuming desire.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“Jamal Taylor, I’ve
always loved you and I always will.”</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Jamal made eye contact, staring so deep into Miriam’s eyes,
it felt as though her soul was on a pedestal. “And I—“<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“MOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOM! I need gas money!”<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Miriam’s eyelids fluttered as she became aware of the dream
she had had—and the reality of her present life.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Miriam pulled the covers up to her chin to cover, rolled her
eyes and reached over to the nightstand and pressed the intercom button. “CJ,
use the intercom so you don’t wake up your brothers!”<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Her 6’5’’ son appeared at her bedroom door, nonchalantly
chewing the apple he had grabbed from the kitchen table. “Sorry, ma. I meant to
fill up the truck last night, but we went for pizza after the game. And can I
get like twenty bucks more for some snacks?”<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Miriam opened her mouth to fuss at him for spending too much
money; but when she looked in his eyes, it felt as though she were staring into
the eyes of her deceased husband.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<i>He looks just like his
daddy. Chauncey would be so proud. <o:p></o:p></i></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<i><br /></i></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Miriam willed the tears at the corner of her eyes to stay in
their place as she grabbed her purse and handed her oldest son a one-hundred
dollar bill. “CJ, I expect you to bring my change back this time. I still have
to get an oil change on my car and—“<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“Yeah, I got you. See you tonight.”<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
When Miriam heard the alarm beep, she allowed herself to
lose control and let go of the sob she had been holding in for the last ten
minutes. As the tears flowed, the dam within her broke. Miriam placed her head
in her hands and wept as the drama of the last three years played out in her
mind. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
She recalled the day she sat in the hospital room with her
two best friends, Michellelee and Emily, waiting to hear if her husband was
okay. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
She remembered the yellow dress she wore on the day she said
goodbye to the love of her life, Chauncey Williams.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Suddenly, her mind transported to that moment in her her living room. Jamal. His arms. His kiss. The way his body felt pressed up against hers for hours at a time. Miriam shuddered once more, remembering
how his touch seemed to love away every bit of grief in her heart.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
In their trysts, Miriam felt healed. Jamal Taylor saved her life.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
And then Michellelee found out.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Then Emily. She was in the car. She heard every word. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Miriam groaned as she tried to take back that exact moment
when she decided to sleep with her best friend’s husband. But even in her
mental rewind, her body betrayed her as she thought of how it felt to be in bed—in
ecstasy—with Jamal. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
It felt <i>right</i>. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Miriam thought about the long drive through the desert, all
the way to Arizona and Mama Cee, Chauncey’s sweet, spirited mother. Miriam
thought she was doing the right thing, putting as much distance between her
wants and her needs as possible.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Her heart throbbed as she called to mind the day she walked
into Mama Cee’s bedroom and found her dead. Miriam felt as though the
foundation she had tried so hard to restore in the aftermath of Chauncey’s
death had once again crumbled. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Guilt once again coursed through her veins as she remembered
standing in the vestibule of the chapel on the day of Mama Cee’s funeral. She
stood with her sons—Stevie, Mikey and Chauncey Junior—playing the part of the
grieving daughter-in-law. She nodded as unfamiliar faces patted her hand and
offered words of condolences. Every time the heavy wooden doors swung open, she held her breath and prayed it would be him. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
They sent a bouquet of lilies.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle">
<i><br /></i></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle">
<i>Miriam, <o:p></o:p></i></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle">
<i>We are so
sorry to hear about Mama Cee’s passing. We loved her as our own. Please know
that you and the boys are in our thoughts and prayers during this difficult
time. <o:p></o:p></i></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle">
<i>With Love, <o:p></o:p></i></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle">
<i>Jamal &
Emily <o:p></o:p></i></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“We,” Miriam said aloud as she fumbled for a hair tie in the
dark. She brushed her thick, curly auburn hair out of her face and into a high
ponytail. “We.” She crossed her arms and looked out the window, waiting for the
sun to begin its ascent. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“God, give me the strength to let go of Jamal.” <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Miriam kicked off the covers and made her way downstairs,
hoping the Lord would answer her before she did something else she would
regret. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><u>Chauncey Jr. <o:p></o:p></u></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I know my mom slept with Uncle Jamal.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<br />
<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">
****THE END****<o:p></o:p></div>
Taterbughttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12442859422342587786noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2437899658411386538.post-51438353052862912612015-03-24T09:24:00.002-07:002015-03-24T09:31:04.050-07:00Writing Challenge, Day 1: The First Date Autobiography<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;">
I know this will come as a shock to some of you, but I don't enjoy writing about myself. <i>Talking </i>about myself though...I can do that all day long! LOL</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;">
Since today's challenge was to write a short autobiography, I decided to frame it as though I'm answering questions on a first date. These are absolutely, 100% true replies that I have given on actual dates. In fact, I may just forward these responses to the next guy who asks me out so we can skip right past that first date awkwardness. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;">
Anyway, enjoy! </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<i> ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~</i></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<i>My name is Kayla, but
most people call me K. Marie. <o:p></o:p></i></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<i>Nicknames: Taterbug; Deuce
or P2 (what my dad calls me). Anything but Kay-Kay. <o:p></o:p></i></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<i>Yes, I’m a PK.<o:p></o:p></i></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<i>No, I’m not ***insert
PK stereotypes here***<o:p></o:p></i></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<i>Unity Baptist Church!<o:p></o:p></i></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<i>…On the East Side, of
course. <o:p></o:p></i></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<i>My dad is about 6’3’’,
my mom was about 5’8’’.<o:p></o:p></i></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<i>Yes, I wear heels.<o:p></o:p></i></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<i>Yes, I have dated
shorter men.<o:p></o:p></i></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<i>It’s not an issue for
me—I’ve found it’s usually the men who are most affected by a height
difference.<o:p></o:p></i></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<i>I’m not shy or quiet—it
just takes me a minute to get used to new people. Then, you’ll probably wish I would
shut up. <o:p></o:p></i></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<i>I have three sisters—two
older, one younger by two minutes. <o:p></o:p></i></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<i>….Yes, we’re twins. <o:p></o:p></i></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<i>Shayla/no/yes/our
personalities are different/Dude...did you really just ask me that on a first date?<o:p></o:p></i></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<i>I graduated from Del
City and SWOSU.<o:p></o:p></i></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<i>Teaching is in my
blood, but I don’t see myself going back to the classroom anytime soon.
***insert brief rant on education issues***<o:p></o:p></i></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<i>Yes, but one day soon,
I’d like to establish my own nonprofit organization. <o:p></o:p></i></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<i>I have been a Detroit
Pistons fan since the 3<sup>rd</sup> grade and they WILL have a comeback in the
next five years. Meanwhile, I totally support the Thunder. <o:p></o:p></i></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<i>Yes, I played
basketball. <o:p></o:p></i></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<i>Yes, I was good. I'm <b>STILL</b> good. </i></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<i>I’ve been single for
about a year and a half now. <o:p></o:p></i></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<i>….I don’t know and I
don’t really choose to dwell on it. When I’m meant to be in a relationship, it
will happen.<o:p></o:p></i><br />
<i>A man who smells nice (!!!!) and dresses well in an age-appropriate manner; is passionate about something other than sports, has a relationship with God and no unnecessary drama in his life. </i><br />
<i>And you gotta make me laugh. </i></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<i>Chardonnay.<o:p></o:p></i></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<i>Turkey Burgers!<o:p></o:p></i></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<i>Pink.<o:p></o:p></i></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<i>Blazing Saddles or Don’t
Be A Menace…<o:p></o:p></i></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<i>I am fluent in sarcasm.</i></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<i>People who use the
word “conversate” or the phrase “a women,” people who state opinions as facts;
arrogance (not to be confused with self-confidence);chronic lateness. <o:p></o:p></i></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<i>I am absolutely laid back. What's the point of being angry all the time?</i></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<i>Thank you.</i></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<i>Thank you. </i></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<i>Thank you. </i></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<i>Stop, you're making me blush! *LOL*</i></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<i><br /></i></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<i>I had a great time tonight--thank you for the invitation. </i></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<i>--OR--</i></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<i>Well, that was....interesting. </i></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<i><br /></i></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
If you want to know more,you'll have to ask me on a second date. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Be Encouraged, </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
K. </div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
Taterbughttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12442859422342587786noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2437899658411386538.post-51938821552674319202015-01-07T17:22:00.002-08:002015-01-07T17:22:50.690-08:00Appalonia FaithI needed a car.<br />
<br />
I woke up one Saturday morning knowing that this was the day I was going to cop a new set of wheels. I woke up my sister--plied her with coffee--and set out on a buying adventure.<br />
<br />
We went to the first lot and I saw a car that was adequate. I didn't really like the color or the mileage, BUT it had a refrigerated glove compartment. I just had to have that. Without even test driving the car (I know, I was ig'nant), I went inside to talk to the finance manager. I sat waiting for 45 minutes before anyone even acknowledged me. When the finance manager finally did speak, she quoted a price that was almost $1,500 more than I was willing to pay. I said "nope" and walked right out of the dealership.<br />
<br />
When I got in my sister's car, I was so angry. I KNEW I was going to get a car today and I was sure it had to be that one. After all, I wasn't making much money; I was still paying off my student loans. I was just looking for <i>adequate</i>...and now, it seemed like I couldn't even get that.<br />
<br />
<i>Let's pray about it.</i><br />
<br />
I knew Shayla was right. I had done all of the research in the world, but I hadn't sought the Lord at all that morning. We prayed, right there in the parking lot of that shady dealership.<br />
<br />
I felt better.<br />
<br />
I still had hope.<br />
<br />
<i>Why don't we try one more dealership?</i><br />
<br />
At the next place, I got out of the car and greeted the smiling salesman with my most intimidating glare. "Look," I told him, "I don't have a lot of money. I don't expect anything fancy, but I do want something reliable. If you can help me, I would be appreciative. If not, just let me know now and we can both go on about our day."<br />
<br />
SN: If you know me, you know that had to be God working through me. I am <b>NEVER</b> that assertive.<br />
<br />
Sam, with that same smile on his face, told me he had just the car for me. The MOMENT I saw that shiny, bright red HHR, I fell in love. I checked her odometer and my jaw dropped. She hadn't even been broken in! I drove her through the streets of Midwest City and I knew this was my car.<br />
<br />
When we got back to the dealership, the process was smooth. Sam the Salesman wasn't kidding about working with me; neither was the finance manager. In less than an hour, I had the keys in my hand and I was on my way home.<br />
<br />
<i>She sort of looks like an apple. What are you going to call her?</i><br />
<i><br /></i>
<i>Appalonia.</i><br />
<i>*********************************************************************************</i><br />
I was writing in my journal this morning and I noticed my words were once again filled with defeat.<br />
<br />
I'm never going to ________________.<br />
I've already tried _________________.<br />
But they'll say ___________________.<br />
<br />
And right in the middle of my laments, I heard God whisper my name--you know, my real, government/Mike and Regenia-given name--along with this simple reminder:<br />
<br />
<i>You just need to have some Appalonia faith</i>.<br />
<br />
Back then, I knew Appalonia was mine.<br />
Today, I know healing is mine.<br />
<br />
Back then, I obliterated words of defeat with words of power and faith.<br />
Today, I can put the brakes on the Trauma DJ with verses like Romans 8:1.<br />
Or Psalm 37:25.<br />
Or Psalm 119:50.<br />
Or Philippians 4:19.<br />
And definitely Ephesians 3:20.<br />
<br />
Back then, I knew God was bigger, badder and better than my biggest problems.<br />
Some things never change.<br />
<br />
Today, I have Appalonia faith.<br />
<br />
<div style="text-align: left;">
Encouraged, </div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
K.</div>
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />Taterbughttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12442859422342587786noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2437899658411386538.post-86847706256236076772014-08-01T07:58:00.002-07:002014-08-01T07:58:27.488-07:00Time To Tidy Up<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
As I’ve previously discussed on this blog, I don’t enjoy
cooking. I can cook, but I think food that is made from love is the best (for
reference, see my Aunt Dy’s Sock It To Me cake). What I can do with love, however, is clean.
For me, there’s a little slice of serenity in dusting, mopping and even
scrubbing tiles. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
But that wasn’t always the case. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
When I was a younger, moody pre-teen, I refused to clean my
room. No matter how my mom scolded, yelled and nagged, I just couldn’t be
bothered to straighten up. I liked my mess because it was mine. There were even
days when, on a cleaning frenzy, my mom would clean my room herself. I’d take
in the freshness of it all and promptly throw my jeans on the ground, starting
that pile of dirty clothes that only seems to grow larger, never smaller. My
mom would sigh, shake her head and clean something else. I’d kick my feet up on
my unmade bed and smile that smug, pre-teen smile.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b>Kayla-1<o:p></o:p></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b>Mom-0</b><o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
One day, a few of my friends came over my house. After we
ate dinner, we lounged around in the den and watched BET (back in the dark ages
when they still showed actual music videos). My mom walked in and said: “Why
don’t you take your friends to your room?” <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
My pulse quickened a little bit. I mean, my mess was my
mess, but I <i>am</i> a little bit southern….and every southerner knows your home
should be clean when you have guests. The den was clean; my room was not. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I narrowed my eyes at my mom.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I detected the hint of a smile on her face. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“We’re good down here, actually. We wanted to watch videos.”<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“You can watch videos in your room,” she said with finality.
That was the end of the discussion.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I trudged up the stairs and opened the door to my bedroom. I
could almost see those wavy lines used in commercials to denote a particularly
pungent odor. My friends pretended not to notice, but they soon found an excuse
to go home. I spent the rest of the night cleaning my room. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
To this day, I don’t even leave my house without making sure
my bed is made and my clothes are where they are supposed to be. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b>Kayla-0<o:p></o:p></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b>Mom-1,000,000</b><o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
My mom did what she did out of love. She probably could have
(and would have) cleaned my room every day. But she wanted to teach me to take
care of myself. That day, I know she was probably just as embarrassed as I was,
if not more. Still, the lesson had to be learned.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Sometimes, God opens the door to our hearts and reveals our
mess—our sin; the burdens we’ve been carrying around forever and a day; the
resentment we hang onto like a well-worn blanket. Others may see the mess—those
of us who have been there before know that there are moments when God has to do
big things in order to grab our attention. However—and here’s one of the things
I LOVE about God—most of us will experience that revelation in private. He will open the door and show us that we “missed
a spot.”</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Because He loves us. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
And the best news? <b>Today</b> is Big Trash Day. I don’t know
about y’all, but I’m ready to take my burdens to the Lord and leave them there. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I like a clean room, but a clean heart is ten times better. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Be Encouraged, </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
K. </div>
Taterbughttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12442859422342587786noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2437899658411386538.post-44515226033070366902014-06-30T09:04:00.001-07:002014-06-30T09:04:19.311-07:00Blaryngitis: Finding My Voice (Again)<div class="MsoNormal">
Last weekend, I read an article by a young fashion blogger
named Sarah Ashley Buckley. Her article listed the five reasons why she walked
away from her wildly popular blog, <i>The
Quirky Martini</i>. I could relate to everything she said, but her definition
of blaryngitis resonated with me: <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<i><br /></i></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<i>I had lost my blogging
voice. I had been so wrapped up constantly creating new design and layout
concepts for my blog, for making it this glittery, “look at me” blog, that I
had forgotten to take a look at myself. Reading previous posts, I could admit
that I had changed drastically in not only my writing style, but also in my
attitude. I was no longer “the girl-next-door oddball who helped college
students dress a little more professionally while on a budget”. I was “the girl
who began with the right motives, but lost her way amidst the glamour of
blogging”. I had lost my authenticity, and it wasn’t fair to my readers to be
subjected to that.<o:p></o:p></i></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><br /></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
If I can't say a word, I'll just wave my hands.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
When I started this blog, I was still in my twenties. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<i>In. My. Twenties.</i> Hmmm. That left a weird taste in my mouth.
<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
The big 3-0 was
looming in the horizon and yet, I felt like I already knew who I was—an encourager.
I owed it to the world to wake up every morning and share with them whatever
major eye-opener I had received in a way that ignited change in their own
lives. I had to pour out the deeply personal moments of my life (e.g., major
weight loss, my mother’s death, FEELINGSBOMB posts about relationships and the
elusive Mr. Big) and wait for the “me toos” because...that made everything I had gone through somehow worth it. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
For a long time, this was my writing style and my voice.
Until it wasn’t. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
One of my favorite quotes talks about learning how to dance
in the rain of life’s storms (“life isn’t about waiting for the storm to pass…it’s
about learning how to dance in the rain”). Not to toot my own horn, but I am
really good at dancing in the rain. I know how to praise God when everything
seems to be going topsy-turvy in my life. I can smile when I should be crying.
And YES, LORD, I can encourage someone else no matter what’s happening in my
world.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
But life is not always about storms. There are some moments
when everything is calm—the birds are chirping, there are no clouds for miles
around and the sun is heating up a turkey sausage biscuit in the microwave. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I love that commercial.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
There are times when life is so good and so calm that
really, you shouldn’t do anything but be grateful. I tend to panic. I am
constantly scanning the horizon, looking for the first sign of rain…because we’re
always either going into a storm or coming out of storm, right?<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<i><br /></i></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<i>How can I encourage someone
if I ‘m not going through anything? <o:p></o:p></i></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<i><br /></i></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<i>If I can’t write about
the trials and tribulations, who am I as a writer?<o:p></o:p></i></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I am still a writer; I’m just not a storm chaser. I am
learning how to truly live in the moment. Sometimes, that means storms; other
times, it’s all sunny days. I can embrace both situations without immense
feelings of guilt, self-imposed or from others’ expectations…which is whole ‘nother
blog post and saints, I will surely deal with that! <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I’ve never stopped writing. I never will. It’s taken some
time and one incredible experience with a group of amazing writers, but I have
found my voice again. I hope my dear FBRs will stick with me for this next
chapter in my (writing) life. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
In case you’re wondering, yes….<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I’m still encouraged.<o:p></o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
--K.<o:p></o:p></div>
Taterbughttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12442859422342587786noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2437899658411386538.post-42022735113282114972014-04-28T08:31:00.001-07:002014-04-28T08:40:58.538-07:00Enough. <div class="MsoNormal">
<i>(Hey FBRs! I haven't written any poetry in a LOOOOOONG time, but it seemed so appropriate for what can only be described as </i><b>*Blank Stare* Saturday</b><i>. Hope you hear my heart on it.)</i></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I am Enough. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Cried an ocean of tears</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Smiled ‘til my cheeks burned<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Butterflies <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Jagged rocks</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Bitter pills </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
They mingle together in my stomach<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I have dreamed<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Fantasized<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Wished <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Hoped<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Prayed<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
For him. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
And him.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Oh, and “pleasepleasepleaseprettypleaseGodIknowheistheone?”<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Him too.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
But he wasn’t.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
And I was still <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Am still<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Enough.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I jumped through hoops<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Balanced on tightropes<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Wore the mask <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Stuffed the hurt deep inside because…<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Statistics. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I am more than numbers<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
And percentages<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I am Enough.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I am not your ex-girlfriend<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Ex-wife<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Baby mama<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I did not break your heart<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I did not ask for your money<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I don’t even know you<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
You don’t know me<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Allow me to introduce myself…<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I am Enough. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
More than <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
A credit score<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
A dress size <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
A skill<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
A look <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
A word<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
A feature<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
A promise<i> that if you will just….<o:p></o:p></i></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<i>all you need to do is…<o:p></o:p></i></div>
<br />
<br />
<div>
Be Enough?</div>
<div>
I am.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
--K. </div>
Taterbughttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12442859422342587786noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2437899658411386538.post-53696150567107207902014-02-19T01:49:00.001-08:002014-02-19T01:50:14.792-08:00Take My Advice...Or Don't. Currently, my favorite app is Scout. All I have to do is type in my current location and Scout tells me how to get wherever I want to go.<br />
<br />
But it’s not always right.<br />
<br />
A few weeks ago, I needed directions to a restaurant in Norman. I told Scout I was at home and Scout’s lovely voice told me it was getting the fastest route to my destination. I started driving, allowing Scout to lead me down I-35 to my appointed exit. The closer I got to Norman, I started seeing signs about construction. In fact, the exit I needed to take was closed. I had to take a detour.<br />
<br />
I got off of the highway and realized the area was familiar to me. I relied on my knowledge of landmarks to lead me where I was trying to go, even though my girl Scout kept insisting I was wrong. When I pulled into the parking lot of the restaurant, all I could do was shake my head at that voice that was trying to “reroute” me. I had already arrived.<br />
<br />
I have a bone to pick with this sudden flood of relationship advice overflowing my newsfeed. Reading these memes. misquoted quotes and the flat-out incorrect statistics leads us to believe there is only one road to the finish line-- which is marriage, for most of us. That road, according to Facebook, is filled with shame.<br />
<br />
Single? Here’s why:<br />
<br />
You’re fat.<br />
You’re not thick enough.<br />
You’re promiscuous.<br />
You won’t give it up.<br />
You have too many kids.<br />
You don’t have any kids.<br />
You’re too eager (or, for the younger generation, THE THIRST).<br />
You’re not aggressive.<br />
You’re too loud.<br />
You’re too soft spoken.<br />
You’re bitter.<br />
You’re broke.<br />
You want too much.<br />
You don’t want enough.<br />
You’re just not good enough.<br />
<br />
If you combined all of this advice in a bowl and baked it at 350 degrees, what you will have is a hot mess.<br />
<br />
This advice does not take into account the current mental status of its readers. There are some broken people in this world. If their hearts were jigsaw puzzles, those three connected pieces in the middle were swept up and thrown away with yesterday’s trash. They have dealt with grief, loss, heartbreak, abandonment and rejection so severe, even getting out of bed to face one more day seems like a chore. They log on and see words of disparagement “liked” and applauded by thousands of people, and the Trauma DJ begins to play their greatest hits once more.<br />
<br />
<i>You deserve all that has happened to you.</i><br />
<br />
The vicious cycle continues. We create more brokenness in a world that is so desperately in need of whole people.<br />
<br />
<br />
Dear FBRs, sometimes, it’s good to take a moment and reflect on your choices in life and love. My journal is filled with cringe-worthy, what in the world was I thinking moments. There are also epiphanies and lessons I have learned that, for me, will help me become the wife and mother I long to be some day. But I can’t post those things on the Internet and say it is the definitive road to lasting relationships.<br />
<br />
<br />
I don’t have all the answers.<br />
You don’t have all the answers.<br />
<br />
And that’s okay.<br />
<br />
<br />
In case you’re wondering, there is some relationship advice I follow.<br />
<br />
<i>Love is patient, love is kind. It does not envy, it does not boast, it is not proud. It does not dishonor others, it is not self-seeking. It is not easily angered, it keeps no record of wrongs. Love does not delight in evil but rejoices with the truth. It always protects, always trusts, always perseveres.</i><br />
<i><br /></i>
<i>And now these three remain: faith, hope and love. But the <b>greatest</b> of these is love. </i><br />
<br />
<span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span> --I Corinthians 13:4-7;13 (emphasis added)<br />
<br />
Detours, closed exits, reroutes and all, I’ll get there.<br />
<br />
<br />
Be Encouraged,<br />
<br />
K.<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />Taterbughttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12442859422342587786noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2437899658411386538.post-71373486858264291812014-02-18T10:05:00.005-08:002014-02-21T13:21:58.831-08:00Requiem: The Text Conversation<div class="MsoNormal">
I was folding laundry and watching <i>Basketball Wives </i>(don’t judge me) when I felt my phone vibrate. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<i>Hey.<o:p></o:p></i></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I don’t even have to glance at the top of the screen. I know
who it is. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div style="border-bottom: solid windowtext 1.5pt; border: none; mso-element: para-border-div; padding: 0in 0in 1.0pt 0in;">
<div class="MsoNormal" style="border: none; mso-border-bottom-alt: solid windowtext 1.5pt; mso-padding-alt: 0in 0in 1.0pt 0in; padding: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="border: none; mso-border-bottom-alt: solid windowtext 1.5pt; mso-padding-alt: 0in 0in 1.0pt 0in; padding: 0in;">
Leopard. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="border: none; mso-border-bottom-alt: solid windowtext 1.5pt; mso-padding-alt: 0in 0in 1.0pt 0in; padding: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="border: none; mso-border-bottom-alt: solid windowtext 1.5pt; mso-padding-alt: 0in 0in 1.0pt 0in; padding: 0in;">
_________________________________________________________________________________</div>
</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Leopard isn’t his real name, but it is the name he has in my
phone. In fact, he’s had the same name in the last two phones I’ve had. Leopard is the litmus test; the lens through which all new men are
viewed. <o:p></o:p><br />
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Leopard is not a bad man. He is my type,
both physically and intellectually. He is as sarcastic as I am. If I type <i>LOL</i> in a text message conversation with
him, I mean it. He is not intimidated by me at all. On the contrary, he doesn’t
allow me to get away with a one-word explanation or a dismissive brush-off. If
I had a checklist for potential, he’d meet most of the criteria. Except for
one: <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
He doesn’t want a relationship with me.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Well, he does not want a relationship with anyone. That’s
what he says. And I accepted it because…it
sounded so different, such a millennial way to approach this male-female
interaction. At the time, I was not in the mood for the late twenties melodrama
that seemed to be engulfing my friends’ relationships. I had just gotten over
one of those Toni Braxton heartbreaks myself (read: EPIC). I just wanted to
hang out with someone every once in a while and have a good time. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
And we did. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Eventually, I realized I had all the demands of a
relationship and none of the perks. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
If my car is making a funny noise, I still call my dad or a
mechanic. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
If I have a cold, he’s not bringing me orange juice.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
When I have an aggravating day at work, I can’t get a
reassuring hug from him.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><br /></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b>I can’t let down my
guard around him.<o:p></o:p></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><br /></b></div>
<div style="border-bottom: solid windowtext 1.5pt; border: none; mso-element: para-border-div; padding: 0in 0in 1.0pt 0in;">
<div class="MsoNormal" style="border: none; mso-border-bottom-alt: solid windowtext 1.5pt; mso-padding-alt: 0in 0in 1.0pt 0in; padding: 0in;">
As long as Leopard is the
placeholder in my life, there’s no room for anyone else. <o:p></o:p></div>
</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<i>________________________________________________________________________________</i></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<i>I’m sort of dating
someone now. <o:p></o:p></i></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Six words I agonized over; two seconds to press send and
begin to untangle a web of complex emotions stirring within me. I worried he’d
make a scene. I thought he might call and demand more answers than I really
have. But he was cool. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
No all caps rants. Only one exclamation point. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Even when I told him I was going to blog about this, he gave
permission with but one caveat: I couldn’t use his real name. That’s fine. In my eyes, he will always be
Leopard. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
And a Leopard never changes its spots. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
--K. </div>
Taterbughttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12442859422342587786noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2437899658411386538.post-40300436187912722722013-10-27T19:14:00.002-07:002013-10-27T19:15:30.432-07:00Milk and Friendships As I have previously discussed on this blog, I am severely lactose intolerant. By law, I should not be allowed within 300 feet of any dairy products. However, there are times when milk is a necessary evil for some dish I'm making....<br />
<br />
Or, I just need a quick swig to wash down my favorite guilty pleasure: a delicious Lofthouse cookie.<br />
<br />
On many occasions, I have opened the container and smelled the most unholy stench. A cursory glance at the label tells me the milk has expired--usually by a day or two, sometimes even a few weeks.<br />
<br />
It is an inevitability of life. At some point, you'll need milk only to discover that your milk has reached its expiration date.<br />
<br />
Just like friendships.<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
I LOVE having friends. To me, there are few things better than meeting a friend for lunch; texting inside jokes or standing in a parking lot, talking and laughing for what you tell yourself will only be a few moments--only to find yourself in a deserted parking lot, hours later, belly laughing about that one embarrassing thing you did in junior high.<br />
<br />
But true friendship is more than those fun moments. It's answering the phone after 11:00 because your girl is in crisis mode. It's stopping in the middle of the day to pray, because you remember your friend has a doctor's appointment or a very important job interview. It's crying with them when their hearts are broken. Friendship is riding the waves of life together, no matter how fast or slow the current may be.<br />
<br />
I wish every friendship I ever had could be placed in the category of forever. But the older I get, the more I realize that some friendships are past their sell by date. How do you know?<br />
<br />
<b>The Superman/Wonder Woman Effect: </b>While friendship does mean being there in time of stress, there are those who only remember your number when they need someone to leap tall buildings in a single bound. Your primary role in the friendship is savior. Phone calls or text messages usually begin with a "huge favor" and end with a "thanks, you're a lifesaver." <br />
<br />
I was looking over my resume the other day and nowhere on it was I listed as a superhero. I don't meet the job description.<br />
<br />
<b>Where's Waldo? </b>On the other hand, there are times when you will find yourself in a less than ideal situation. You want to cry, scream, vent or just talk to someone, ANYONE who understands why you feel the way you do. You call your friend and they seem...disinterested. You text them--their response?<br />
<br />
<i>Oh.</i><br />
<b><br /></b>
Thanks, pal.<br />
<br />
<b><br /></b>
<b>Six Degrees of Separation</b>: Sometimes, there is no dramatic climax to a friendship. You just drift apart. Phone calls get shorter; lunches get postponed until the 30th of February and the extent of your relationship becomes likes on social media. You miss what you had, but you realize that your lives have changed. There is no sea of regret or feelings bombs--just a slight pang in your heart when you realize you haven't really talked to this person in months or years.<br />
<br />
<i>Note: this is the only acceptable slow fade that should ever occur in interpersonal relationships.</i> <i>Anything else is grounds for numerous passive-aggressive Facebook posts and tweets...and Instagram pictures with a sunset as the background and some "Oh no, not I/I will survive" motivational quote on it. </i><br />
<br />
<br />
When milk is no longer edible, what do you do?<br />
<br />
<strike>Put it back in the refrigerator because a day past the expiration date is not really that bad.</strike> Toss it in the trash. Pour it down the sink.<br />
<br />
I can't advocate doing that with former friends. If I ever loved you at any time in life, I will always love you. But to continually place myself in the position of being hurt? That's cruel and unusual punishment.<br />
<br />
I will pray for you.<br />
I will wish you the best in life.<br />
I will love you from a distance.<br />
I will remind myself that friendship is always worth the risk.<br />
<br />
Even when it expires.<br />
<br />
<br />
Be Encouraged,<br />
<br />
K.<br />
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<b><br /></b>
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<br />Taterbughttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12442859422342587786noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2437899658411386538.post-36162485062153739752013-07-06T13:04:00.000-07:002013-07-06T17:07:06.499-07:00The Old Shoes<i>Note: the following topic was requested by one of my best friends in the whole wide world. I'm honored that she thought of me to handle it....especially since I haven't written much in the past two months but shopping lists. Anyway, I hope you enjoy. </i><br />
<i><br /></i>
I do not like buying shoes. This greatly disappoints my father, who is a shoe fanatic. My mother was as well, to the point that she would hide her newly purchased pumps in the car trunk and warn us not to tell how much she spent. But I never saw the point. To me, shoes are just....well, shoes. Eventually, even the best shoes start to fade or crack; they get smudges that no amount of shoe polish will hide; sometimes, they even start to pinch your pinky toe.<br />
<br />
But you have to buy them. Walking around without shoes would make me Britney Spears.<br />
<br />
Two years ago, I needed a new pair of workout shoes. After rolling my eyes at the exorbitant prices and the "air cushion Robotronic technology," I finally found a pair that suited me. They were comfortable, affordable AND they came in my favorite color. I snapped them up and immediately started to wear them everyday.<br />
<br />
When I put them on, I felt great. I felt like they made me run faster, jump higher and look sort of sexy while doing it. I received lots of compliments about my new shoes, to the point where people wanted to know exactly where I purchased them. They were absolutely, positively perfect.<br />
<br />
For awhile.<br />
<br />
Eventually, I noticed my shins starting to hurt after a long run. I assumed I just needed to stretch more, so I did. I changed my posture; I even tried a different running trail. Still, my shins continued to throb. I finally realized that the source of my shin ache happened to be my beloved shoes. I was crushed. Was it time to toss my super sneakers?<br />
<br />
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~<br />
<br />
The beginning of a relationship is the kind of stuff dreams are made of. If I could bottle that "butterflies in your stomach/can't eat/can't sleep" euphoria, I would be a billionaire. Everyone wants to feel that way. In fact, everyone needs to feel that way at least once in their life. Even the memory of it will make you smile.<br />
<br />
But the feeling cannot last forever. Soon enough, you discover that your sweetie is....*gulp*....not flawless. She doesn't drink anything but Fresca. He never misses an episode of <i>American Idol</i>. She does not understand why you think wrestling is real.<br />
<br />
<i><b>He is a Lakers fan. </b></i><br />
<i><b><br /></b></i>
Disappointed? A little. Reason enough to end it? Absolutely not.<br />
<br />
I know we all toss around the phrase "nobody's perfect," which is very true. However, we need to add an addendum to that statement, especially in regards to relationships: "....and no one is ever going to be just like you."<br />
<br />
As much as I love me some K. Marie, I could never date someone exactly like me. That would be terrifyingly frustrating. Only one person gets to be sullen and moody until they get their morning coffee and that's me.<br />
<br />
So, what do you do when the relationship is no longer new? You accept the <i>newness</i> of your current state.<br />
Girlfriend, you already know he enjoys spending time with you. Brother, you know longer have to play your highlight reel on dates--she's still captivated by the ordinary in your life. And HALLELUJAH, you don't always have to plan these epic dates. Sitting on the couch watching the NBA finals--in basketball shorts, sans makeup--feels just as nice as dancing until dawn in six-inch heels.<br />
<br />
It's still a little scary, taking off the mask and revealing this multifaceted, sometimes fragile, sometimes stubborn, sensitive person. But it's you.<br />
<br />
No longer new, but deliciously real.<br />
<br />
It's comfortable, just like that old pair of shoes.<br />
<br />
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Even though my shoes no longer worked for running, they were too cute to toss. So, I incorporated them into other parts of my life. They are perfect for a day of catching sales at the outlet mall. They work well for Casual Fridays, with my jeans and a witty t-shirt. They are the shoes that I keep in my car when I am wearing heels...because eventually, they are coming off.<br />
<br />
No longer new.<br />
<br />
Still perfect for me.<br />
<br />
To those of you who are in relationships, I wish you many moments of comfort, love and happiness with your shoes.<br />
<br />
And to those of us who are not in relationships?<br />
<br />
Keep your eyes and your heart open. You haven't tried on every shoe just yet.<br />
<br />
Always Encouraged,<br />
<br />
K.<br />
<br />
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<br />Taterbughttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12442859422342587786noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2437899658411386538.post-40166518239308135932013-05-01T17:29:00.002-07:002013-05-01T17:31:36.363-07:00Oatmeal Dreams<br />
As I was stuck in traffic this morning, I took a few moments to talk to God. As I prayed, I felt the urge to pray for myself. Sometimes, I forget to do that…but today, I felt like God really wanted to hear the issues of my heart. Traffic started to move and I ended my talk with God. I felt good.<br />
<br />
I looked to my left and noticed a billboard—one I have probably passed 100,000 times. But today, two words stood out to me:<br />
<br />
<b>DREAM BIGGER. </b><br />
<br />
Bigger?!?!?!<br />
<br />
*Cue the internal monologue*<br />
<br />
<i>What’s wrong with my dreams? I mean, they are nice and regular. They are the things that everybody wants. They won’t push me too far out of my comfort zone; the chance for failure is minimal. My dreams are average. Bland. Safe. </i><br />
<br />
That’s not the definition of a dream.<br />
<br />
It is, however, the perfect description of oatmeal.<br />
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I rediscovered oatmeal at a time when everything else was making me sick. I tried a bowl and…nothing happened.<br />
<br />
No rumbling.<br />
<br />
No searing pain.<br />
<br />
No….well, I’ll just let you speculate about the other symptoms.<br />
<br />
I was nervous, so I waited a few hours just to be sure. I was still okay! I felt more relief than Alka Seltzer. I decided right then that I would eat oatmeal every single day for the rest of my life!<br />
<br />
For about two weeks, everything was great. Then, I got bored. I tried to jazz it up a little—throw in some fruit; add a little cinnamon. I even added a small amount of milk (I’m severely lactose intolerant) to change the consistency. It still smelled like oatmeal. It still tasted like oatmeal. It was still oatmeal. In a world of thousands of choices, I grew resentful of the fact that oatmeal was my culinary lot in life.<br />
<br />
I wanted to drop-kick the Quaker Oats man in his forehead.<br />
<br />
A funny thing happened when I talked to my doctor about my digestive issues. She confirmed that I was truly lactose intolerant—of course, I already knew that—but my other problems might have less to with <i>what</i> I was eating and more to do with <i>how</i> I ate.<br />
<br />
I hope someone gets where I’m going with this….<br />
<br />
Some of us are so quick to throw away our dreams because they do not happen at our preferred pace. Or, there are those of us (like me) who manage down our dreams to what everyone else deems acceptable.<br />
<br />
Need some real-life examples?<br />
<br />
<i>That job? Nah….too far out of your reach. Stay in the same field; take that lateral move. </i><br />
<br />
<i>Buy a house?!?! In this economy? No, just keep renting</i> (and putting money in someone else’s pockets, but I digress).<br />
<br />
And my favorite….<br />
<br />
<i>You want to get married?!?!? But….but….half of all marriages end in divorce! You could get your heart broken! No, it’s better to just take whatever you can get! </i><br />
<br />
See?<br />
<br />
Oatmeal.<br />
<br />
I don’t know about everybody else, but I am sick and tired of oatmeal dreams. I think it’s time to look in the mirror, take a deep breath and say:<br />
<br />
“I don’t want what everyone else wants for me. I want what God has for me….and it ain’t oatmeal.”<br />
<br />
It won’t always be easy.<br />
People will talk about you.<br />
You might not get there on the first try…or the second….or even the fifteenth.<br />
Go anyway.<br />
<br />
For those of you who are wondering my doctor advised me to do three things:<br />
·<span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>Change my posture.<br />
·<span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>Slow down…and don’t bite off more than I can chew.<br />
·<span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>Reduce my portions.<br />
<br />
If you're wondering how that advice worked for me, let me just say it like this: today, I had turkey sausage for breakfast.<br />
<br />
Be Encouraged,<br />
<br />
K.Taterbughttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12442859422342587786noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2437899658411386538.post-41167305435213692522013-03-03T18:40:00.002-08:002013-03-03T18:40:34.091-08:00The One Who Endures<i>Note: Happy New Year! LOL. I realize it has been months since I blogged and I could give about three million reasons why. Instead, I'll just commit to finding the time to write. You can't get better without practice...which is probably why I only played the clarinet for two years. </i><br />
<i><br /></i>
A good friend of mine pushed me to do something beyond my wildest dreams: sign up for a half-marathon. I'm not exactly a running novice. I have participated in a few 5Ks and I love to run in the spring, summer and even fall. But there's something so brutal about running during the winter months. Your skin gets chapped. Your hands are frozen. Tears slide down your cheeks. Your nose runs. Your lungs struggle to adapt to that frigid air. That "gentle breeze" which provides welcome relief the rest of the year now feels like punishment.<br />
<br />
That mummy you've seen running around Lake Hefner every Saturday morning? That would be me.<br />
<br />
It's been said that the greatest athletes in the world often have a catchphrase that keeps them going; a few words they can draw upon in the most grueling moments of competition to remind them why all of the pain is worth it. I'm not an elite athlete, but I do have a phrase.<br />
<br />
<i>Keep going. </i><br />
<br />
I figured out a long time ago that if I stop or even allow myself to hesitate for a moment, I will stop running. For me, there's no such thing as a quick break--I'm either running all the way or walking. And while there is absolutely nothing wrong with walking, it won't help me reach my goal. I've got to keep running.<br />
<br />
<i>Keep going. </i><br />
<i><br /></i>
And such is life. Personally, there are at least three things in my life at the present moment that seem too difficult for me. While on the trail of everyday, I have been repeating all the wrong phrases:<br />
<br />
It's too hard.<br />
What if people judge me?<br />
Remember the last time I tried...and failed?<br />
What if I fail again?<br />
<br />
My thoughts are causing me to break stride.<br />
<br />
Thankfully, there is a voice that calls out to me in the lowest moments--those times when I'm not running, walking or even crawling. As I stand still, I hear those two words; a simple command to lead me where He wants me to be.<br />
<br />
<i>Keep going. </i><br />
<i><br /></i>
Maybe you're not running a marathon, but you are trying to start your own business at a time when the media says you're crazy to do it. Perhaps you want to get out of a dead-end relationship...or find the courage to love again. Maybe you are desperately trying to break free from some addiction or stronghold in your life when it seems like everyone else around you views it as no big deal.<br />
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I have two words for you--not from me, but from my Coach.<br />
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<i>Keep going. </i><br />
<br />
"I press on toward the goal to win the prize for which God has called me heavenward in Christ Jesus."--Philippians 3:14<br />
<i><br /></i>
See you at the finish line.<br />
<i><br /></i>
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<i>Be Encouraged, </i><br />
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<i>K. </i><br />
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<br />Taterbughttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12442859422342587786noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2437899658411386538.post-86516700397837273162012-11-30T14:46:00.002-08:002012-11-30T14:49:13.035-08:00The December E-Mail ChallengeThis week, I was sitting in my office and I overheard two co-workers talking.<br />
<br />
No, I wasn't eavesdropping--our offices are about thisclose together.<br />
<br />
I listened as the two of them shared deeply personal, traumatic experiences that are now happening in their lives. I thought about how these circumstances will definitely have an impact on their holiday season. I remembered what it felt like when I was there.<br />
<br />
In the days between Thanksgiving and New Years, people expect you to be happy. You're supposed to smile--even when you don't feel like it. You're supposed to greet everyone with a hearty "Merry Christmas," even on those days when you find yourself wondering how you are even going to make it through the day.<br />
<br />
Sometimes, life happens and the holidays aren't so happy.<br />
<br />
Perhaps that's not your story. Maybe things are going well in your life. Bills are paid (***PRAISE BREAK***), your family is doing well and you are feeling pretty content. But every once in awhile, you have one of <b>those</b> days. I call them Alexander days--they are just terrible, horrible, no-good, very bad days where you feel like you can't do anything right. As you try to talk yourself through those difficult moments, you think about how nice it would be to hear a word of encouragement from one of your good friends. And sometimes, it does happen--that text message or e-mail out of nowhere from someone who just wanted you to know they were thinking about you and they appreciate you.<br />
<br />
Shoutout to those of you who keep the Crackberry vibrating!<br />
<br />
FBRs, that is the premise behind the December E-Mail Challenge that I've been hyping up on Facebook all week long. I don't ever want to get so caught up in my little world that I fail to take a moment to tell the people in my life what they mean to me. Besides, there's already far too much hate being spread in this world right now. I just feel like showing some love.<br />
<br />
As for rules, there are none. Well, there's just one. Everyday in the month of December, I'll send an e-mail (or more than one) to someone in my life. After you read my e-mail and get all misty-eyed (LOL), my only request is that you pass on some encouragement to someone else. Maybe you can't commit to the whole month; maybe you aren't comfortable writing down these lovey-dovey expressions. HOWEVER, you can take two minutes to tell someone in your life how they have affected your life in a positive way. And after you do that, send me an e-mail or a text and let me know.<br />
<br />
Simple....but encouraging. That's who I am and that's who I will always be.<br />
<br />
--K.<br />
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<br />Taterbughttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12442859422342587786noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2437899658411386538.post-6218097571140366772012-10-02T05:59:00.004-07:002012-10-02T05:59:39.376-07:00Click Restore<i>When God restored the fortunes of Zion, it was as if we were dreaming.</i><br />
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--Psalms 126:1</div>
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My beloved laptop is on its last leg. If I spend too much time writing or surfing the Internet, it overheats and automatically shuts down. I wait for a moment and reboot, praying I'll hear that Windows chime instead of looking at the dreaded blue screen.</div>
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When I open up my browser, I am greeted with a prompt:</div>
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<i>Google Chrome unexpectedly shut down. To return to previously viewed pages, click Restore.</i></div>
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One click and all of my favorite sites are up and running again. </div>
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Last night, I was doing my usual shut down/reboot/pray/click routine when I thought about how nice it would be to have a Restore button in my own life. You know, something like that Easy button which is on all of the Staples commercials. Wouldn't it be nice to know that on your really bad days, you could click restore and have everything go back to normal? I laughed to myself as I thought about what I would pay for that button. It would have truly come in handy on what was a typical Monday, fraught with worries, issues and drama. </div>
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And then I realized I don't need that button. I have Psalms 126:1.</div>
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The aforementioned verse is my family's official favorite Scripture. Years ago, I was sitting in my office reading and I found myself in the book of Psalms. As I read this particular verse, it captured my heart. I knew I not only had to commit it to memory, I needed it to share it with my dad and my sister. I sent them a text with this verse and it just became a part of our lives. When we end a phone call with one another, sometimes we say "as if we were dreaming" instead of goodbye. It's even at the bottom of our most recent family portrait, a constant reminder that God can and will deliver us from oppression.</div>
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Oppression is an accurate description for what is going on in our world right now. Millions of people are jobless; millions more are homeless or facing eviction and foreclosure. At night, many people lie down and toss and turn for hours instead of finding rest. Their minds are filled with anxious thoughts and their bodies seized with fear. In the morning, those same thoughts occupy their minds and control their daily tasks. To them--to you; to me--I simply say "Psalms 126:1." </div>
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I know God can turn it around. I know because I have experienced it for myself. I have been in situations where the only scenario I could picture in my mind ended with a bad outcome. But God came along and opened the trap door--the one escape I could not see; the door that held the path to my deliverance, my healing and an overflow of blessings. I was restored. It was so good, it almost felt unreal. I had to pinch myself to make sure I wasn't dreaming. And I believe He can do it again.</div>
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This morning, perhaps your life is overheating. You find yourself praying for just enough power to reboot. Now is not the time for timidity; this is a season of audacious faith. Of course God can reboot your life, but He can also do something else: He can click Restore. </div>
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Be Encouraged.</div>
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As If We Were Dreaming, </div>
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K. </div>
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Taterbughttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12442859422342587786noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2437899658411386538.post-89649287550240854012012-09-30T08:11:00.002-07:002012-09-30T08:13:06.948-07:00Being 30: The First LessonI woke up on Thursday morning expecting to feel different. I opened my eyes and waited. Other than sore hamstrings from the previous day's run, everything felt the same. I rolled over and watched the sun peak over the horizon, realizing this wasn't just an ordinary day. It was my birthday. I smiled.<br />
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<i>30 freakin' years old. Ain't that something?</i></div>
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I got up and checked my phone, knowing I would be inundated with Facebook posts, text messages and voicemails. As I scrolled through the well wishes, I noticed one from someone I call LOML (the love of my life). It was a simple message--the kind of birthday greeting most people give to their friends. </div>
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<br /></div>
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Friends. That three word message made it abundantly clear what role I played in his life. On Thursday, I finally realized that there would never be a promotion in this relationship. The dream that I had held in my heart for years ended and I finally realized what we were to each other:<b> friends</b>. A word I normally cherish broke my heart into a million pieces on Thursday morning.</div>
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As I moped around my hotel room (singing Toni Braxton songs in my head because Shayla hates when I actually play them....HATER), I realized I had no reason to be upset. In fact, I had every reason to celebrate. Not only was I alive, I was free. LOML lurked in the shadows of all of my previous relationships. Looking back, I never gave 100 percent of myself to any of them, because I always believed that he just might realize how awesome I was and we would be together. When the other men noticed and walked away --rightfully so--I consoled myself with the knowledge that they just didn't "get me." Of course they didn't. I never allowed them access. I have read so many articles about emotionally unavailable men, but the truth of the matter is I have been emotionally unavailable too. </div>
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If I am brutally honest with myself, I always knew what we were. I chose to leave that door open because it was so much easier than really allowing myself to be invested in love. In real life, you are obligated to tear down the walls around your heart. You have to risk rejection and hurt in order to receive the payoff of true intimacy. But when your mind is the paintbrush, it's very easy to edit out all of the insecurities, fears and not so pretty parts of the picture. I'd go so far as to say I was never even in love with LOML; I was in love with the <i>fantasy</i> of him. LOML is not a bad guy at all. In fact, he's one of the greatest men I've ever known. He's just not the one for me. </div>
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So, if anyone asks me what was the best gift I received for my birthday, I would tell them the chocolate cake my dad bought me. Seriously, that was some good cake. But the second best gift is the closure I received. For the first time in my adult life, I feel like I am ready to not only give love, but receive it as well. My heart is open and I am absolutely thrilled at the possibilities. More than anything, I am grateful that all of this happened without compromising a friendship that means so much to me. Now that would be a tragedy. </div>
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LOML, if you're reading this (and I suspect you are): thank you. </div>
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To everyone else, be encouraged. Today is a great day to loose the shackles of the past and start loving on your own terms. </div>
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30 and Loving It, </div>
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K. </div>
Taterbughttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12442859422342587786noreply@blogger.com1