"100 Years to Live"

Everybody says to enjoy your teenage years, because after all, "they're the best years of your life!" But personally, I'm inclined to think that statement is absolutely ridiculous, for a lot of reasons. I mean, think about it. At age sixteen, I regularly encounter struggles in just about every area: personally, spiritually, relationally, physically, even financially. Now throw in a tendency for embarrassment, very little life-experience, immaturity, peer pressure, the media, acne, and (shudder) boys...none of that sounds easy to me. I know that there are definitely great things about your teenage years--a lot of great things! But if these are supposed to be the best years of my life, I beg to differ. I hate to ascribe that title to any certain period of life...so many great things are going to happen in these few years God has given me.
Think about it!

The next two years of high school. The day I graduate and close that chapter of
life. The day I leave for college and become truly independent. The amazing
friendships I'll make there. The day I get married. The birth of my first
child. The births of all my children. Watching them grow. Loving them. Being a
family. Helping them as they grow up. Watching them become their own people,
loving life and loving Jesus. The day my own child let's me hold my grandchild.
Spoiling them rotten. Celebrating my 50th wedding anniversary with a man I love. Etc, etc, etc.

I know not all of those things are guaranteed, and there are tons more things that I haven't even imagined for myself yet! But God has. And that's the great thing. There are no "best years of my life." Every year is a God-filled, God-imagined year. And that will continue until my final year ends! How great is that...the only thing I have to worry about is today, because God has taken care of every other day before and after. Every day!
Anyway, that's just me thinking out loud. I'll post something sillier later that might be a little more coherent. I love you all...live enjoyably today!

Kleenex, anyone?

Hello darling people--I'm calling you darling for reading the blog, though I'm sure you are darling for other reasons too. :)

Well. It's already been a week since The Big Trip. And still I am in shock of how wonderful it was. I think I'll end up telling a few different stories during other posts, but here's one of my favorites for tonight:

Last Sunday we had an experience that will go down in history among "The Cousins" (and company!). But let me start with this:
For a long time, I have had a dream of consuming an entire pew/row of seats with my "church posse." That's right. I want the whole thing to myself. I think I feel that as a veteran PK, I have the right. So on Sunday, I thought with eleven people in my posse I had a pretty decent shot at attaining this dream. But alas! Auntie G's church is one of those 227-wide rows...so my dream was dashed again.
As it turned out, our seating was even more unfortunate than I thought! Behind us sat a small coalition of South Korean exchange students, all little boys. I didn't notice it right away. But about 10 minutes into the sermon--I heard it.
A sniff.
And then another.
And another.
Lizzy, sitting next to me, noticed it about a minute and a half before I did. But once I had noticed it--oh boy, had I noticed it! At 11:14, I began to count. By the time the clock had reached 11:15...
TWENTY-FOUR SNIFFLES!
Do you realize that that is over one sniff every three seconds? Doesn't sound like a lot? Have someone stand right behind you and sniff every three seconds. If you don't go crazy by minute 3...you have more stamina than I did.
One by one, the rest of the family seated in front of the little boys noticed it too. We stole glances, we smothered our laughter, we bit our lips--all while the pastor expounded on covenant theology. I'm sure it was a great message...but my "take-away" had more to do with sniffles than sacrifices.
The best part to me was the fact that boy #4 held an orange the entire service. Apparently vitamin C did not heal his cold.
Anyway. Shout-out to the snifflers--one more memory we won't forget!

Love to you all. More ramblings later...have a dazzling next 24 hours!

Coming soon...

...a post involving:

• much loved people
• a basketball game
• a lot of laughter
• an almost-family
• the Most Squished Car Ride in the History of the World
• Wisconcitizens
• sardines--not to be confused with the afore-mentioned car ride
• the Olympics
• futons
• Valentine's Day
• my family
• and much much more...

Flibbertigibbet, Vol. 2

Never in my life have I met anyone who enjoys anchovy pizza. (Not to my knowledge at least...and if you do, you might want to keep it to yourself. I don't think a love of anchovies is going to get you very many dates.) Actually, for a long time I didn't know what anchovies even were. I had a vague idea that they were brown and slimy and an acceptable food to hate. And I was right. What I didn't know was this--Anchovies are actually little blue fish that only taste so salty and icky because they're put in brine. And think about it people, nothing that is soaked in brine is good. (Example given: pickles, pig's feet) So maybe we are a little too hard on anchovies...What am I saying? They're still gross.

Yesterday I took a trip to the oral surgeon. Needless to say it was hardly a pleasant visit. As it turns out (get ready to be sympathetic), on February 24th I will have 5 teeth extracted and one exposed. (Ok, that's your cue--be sympathetic!) Since I've learned this, I've taken up randomly informing people about my bad luck. So far, I've informed my family, Liz, Logan, my Spanish teacher, random people in my Spanish class, and my entire list of facebook friends. And I'm just getting started. (I figure, so long as I have to go through it, I will demand as much sympathy as possible without even a tinge of guilt.)

When I was a little girl (ok, little-er girl), I said exactly what was on my mind, without regard to public opinion. I wanted to be a ballerina-firefighter, so I said so. I liked to sing songs, so I did, loudly and off-key. I loved my teddy bear (a lot!), so I slept with him every night. And I never worried about what the rest of the world would think of me. I think little kids are brave like that. I mean sure, it's not like they do it on purpose, it never occurs to them that they should worry about what other people think. But still, I wish I could be like that. Jesus said we're supposed to be like little children, maybe part of that is being courageous about who we are. It would certainly simplify our lives a lot more. I wouldn't waste time worrying about other people's opinion or obsessing over my imperfections. Maybe I could be excited about just being alive, alive in Jesus. I'm not sure if that even makes sense, just something I've thought about.

Today I found out that before the Cookie Monster had his first cookie, he was named Sid. Really guys? Sid? Thank goodness for the cookies.

Have a groovy day everyone! :)

PS--Shout-out to Eleny for actually looking up my new favorite word! How heroic :)