Making a Difference One Step at a Time

Standard

Unitec

My fellow readers, I have to share this post from my dear friend Raelenna Ferguson.  This will be my first guest speaker, and I can’t think of a greater honor to bestow.  Raelenna, along with her wonderful husband Jeremy Ferguson, is bringing about change in our community.  Change is always hard, but a necessary matter in life, especially if you want to see progress and unity.  No matter if the change is big or small (but this will be epic), the heart of this particular project has Jesus holding the wheel.  I hope you are able to take time and read this piece of beautiful transformation and learn how two individuals are making great changes to unite one another with love, compassion, and understanding.  All in “One City” of Cape Girardeau. 

Here we go…

The biggest dream yet – One City.

April 23, 2017 by Raelenna Ferguson

“I want you to start something like this” those are the words I heard.

Jeremy and I were standing in a worship service at Austin New Church, the church founded by Brandon and Jen Hatmaker. The music was incredible (I mean it’s Austin, funky cool people and awesome music) but it wasn’t the music that God was talking about when He spoke those words into my head. It was the culture around us, it was the mix of people, it was the colors of the people worshipping together, it was the ages, it was the different style and ways each person was worshipping, the unity and sense of togetherness. It was the freedom and feeling of true community in the atmosphere that day that took my breath away.

During the rest of the service I quietly and internally panicked. I was determined to not tell anyone what I just heard in my head. I was terrified that God had just spoke into me and called us to plant a church and the last thing on my life plan would be to start a church, and by last I mean VERY last thing. So I decided I would tuck that little nugget away and keep it tight and safe, telling no one not even Jeremy.

Service ended and we headed to our rental car so we could hit up downtown Austin before flying home that night. As soon as we got in the car I could tell something was up with Jeremy. He just looked off and I was afraid to ask, so I didn’t. I didn’t have to. He looked at me with tears in his eyes and said I heard something in that service (my inner voice was like well crap or maybe something worse). He said I heard “I want you to start something like this”. There it was, the exact same 8 words I heard he had heard at the exact same point in the service I did.

I would love to tell you that sitting in our rental car in that school parking lot after we knew without a doubt that we just heard a calling from the Lord that there was all kinds of magical feelings of excitement and trumpets were blowing. Nope nothing like that, actually the exact opposite. I sort of lost my mind and started spitting stupidness out of my mouth, lots of selfishness and lots of whining and crying about how this is not what I want in this phase of life. How I don’t really even like church, how I had been a pastor’s wife before and it didn’t work out real good for me. Do you see the pattern of the “me” and the “I” here? Again, at this point we both really felt it was a calling to start a church. I knew I would be obedient, but I had made up my mind I was going to go kicking and screaming.

God was very gracious with us after that morning, even that night our flight was canceled and we had to stay in Austin another night. It was actually perfect, we had an extra night away from real life and could be alone together and process and sort of wrap our heads around what was happening. We had some more time to capture our thoughts and realize maybe it wasn’t the literal version of a church God was calling us to, maybe it was a new way of doing community together with the church.

We came home from Austin on a soul journey. It was game time, we both knew it. What the Lord spoke to us was not a prophetic word for 10 years down the road, it was for now. The time was now! We met with our pastors and shared what had happened, we wanted them to know first because we knew we would either be leaving our church to start a new one or we would be starting something new that hopefully our church would want to be part of.

One thing Jeremy and I knew when God said to us both “I want you to start something like this” he meant diversity. He meant relationships, connections and life with people that look different than us. He meant people lifting each other up, sharing life and resources, coming together as one, as a true community. We knew this because we had already felt this conviction for a while, that our world was very white and very homogenous, that we had no friends of color. Three things really hit us hard: First, we have an adopted African American daughter who has no one that looks like her in her life. Secondly, we have no one in our life that looks different than us. Three, there are needs in our community and we know people with resources. We need to figure out ways to connect the dots

Here’s one thing about me, I may kick and scream for a little bit about something I don’t want to do, even when I know the Lord is calling me to it. But once I become obedient, I am all in. It didn’t take too long and both Jeremy and I were going all in.

We knew we had to start forming relationships and friendships within our diverse community. We knew without a shadow of a doubt it was time for us to get around people who did not look like us, more than anything to learn and just listen. We knew we needed to get to know and hear from our neighbors who live in different socioeconomic areas of town than we do. God was stretching us more and more and challenging us. We began having hard conversation with people. Have you ever had to have a super awkward conversation with anyone? Like just plain uncomfortable and out of your comfort zone? Well that is just what Jeremy and I had to start doing. Yet, through these uncomfortable phone calls or meetings we have been met with grace and love and the same desire to get to know our community as a whole without preconceived racial or economic barriers. It has been refreshing, inspiring, fun and so very hopeful.

We know God has been preparing us to lead this new calling for many years, we can go back a full decade and see His hand all over this. It has became more and more evident as we have dug in deeper on this journey of searching out what the Lord was calling us to. A little bit of this is shared on the Behind the Scenes page of the One City website. (can be found here: http://onecityunite.org/the-team/)

There is a lot more to this story and many details that have been perfectly orchestrated, one day I may put the entire story into words. For now I want to share a few personal things and how God confirmed One City very specifically to me. I journal almost daily, every morning I wake up before everyone else and write out my thoughts, my prayers, my dreams and just anything that comes to my mind. When we were praying about this new possibility for our community I decided to go back and read some of my very old journals, specifically looking for direction or confirmation.

What I found in my journals were paragraphs and paragraphs of me asking God to show me my place in this city, over and over again. Asking him to reveal ways for our family to serve and make a difference together. I have one specific prayer in my journal asking God to please reveal our purpose and mission to Jeremy and I at the exact same time (hello Austin). There are prayers of empathy and determination, prayers of frustration and fears. It’s all there in my own words, in my own handwriting, almost a decade of searching and asking.

I am sharing a few pictures of my journal entries that have been confirmation to my hesitant heart. While re-reading my journals I found things I don’t even remember writing or feeling. I also found my heart was stirred for our community as far back as 2007. I found where I had journaled the name One City and how it had came to me while vacuuming my floor one day in 2013, with no idea what it was meant for, until it was revealed this year. Back in 2013 when our church did the Circle Maker series by Mark Batterson. One City was the name I wrote inside my circle for 21 days, without an hint of what would be coming 4 years later. Isn’t it crazy 4 years ago God gave me the name One City with no other instructions. I was actually so confident that that name would mean something one day that I went straight to godaddy.com and bought the domain, again 4 years ago. Then I sort of forgot about it, until God spoke again 2 years ago when this whole new adventure was beginning. We knew without a doubt the name was One City and our mission would be to unite our city as ONE. I hope you go check out our website, sign up to stay in the loop and get involved!! We are excited and hopeful and we would be lying if didn’t say we weren’t a little bit scared…taking one step at a time and walking in faith and settling for nothing less than unity in Jesus.

To see some great pictures of how this all began, I encourage you to visit the website of “One City” and discover just how amazing this is for our community.  Perhaps your own community could benefit from the inspiration!  

http://www.raelennaferguson.com

Be sure to go read the short story and also visit our [One City] full website http://www.onecityunite.org. Sign up to stay connected and ways to get involved and follow us on social media. One City needs you.

We are ONE–Ephesians 4:4-6 T’here is one body and one Spirit, just as you were called to one hope when you were called; one Lord, one faith, one baptism; one God and Father of all, who is over all and through all and in all.”

I encourage you all to take a look at this endeavor and learn how you can make a difference in your own community.

Until next time,

Cheers!

Advertisements

How the Cat ‘Rocked’ the Boat

Standard

IMG_2173

I don’t know how many of your mornings begin, but I felt I had to write about the way mine started today.  If your house is anything like ours, mornings are not a great adventure. They are very stressful with people running around like crazy, clothes flying everywhere, and someone usually leaves without brushing their teeth.  Why getting two kids and myself ready for school is stressful is beyond my comprehension, but it is (of course a snooze alarm has everything to do with the situation).

So, as I sleepily stumbled into my daughter’s room this morning, the haze of slumber suddenly lifted.  Why you ask?  There was a crime scene.  Now, before I go forward with this tale, I need to back up a bit.  My daughter has a very inquisitive mind, and she recently acquired a rock collection.  This particular collection came with twenty or so different types of rocks which make up all those lovely gemstones you learned about in freshman earth science, or the kind you see at family vacation gift shops.  Each pretty little stone was nestled delicately in a plastic tray, accompanied by a book to explain about rock formations and information regarding each stone.  And this collection was something very special to my daughter, and she was proud of her collection.  I was proud of it for her!

Another thing you should know is my daughter has a cat named Cookie.  This was a rescue kitten she begged to bring home after helping out at a friend’s veterinarian office last year.  She nursed this kitten and took it under her maternal wing, so of course, the cat was going to become a family pet.  How does one argue with humanitarianism? And I am a sucker for any baby animal that has fur.  The cat also sleeps with my daughter, every night, and completely tears up her room while she peacefully rests.  If you know anything about cats, they are the laziest creatures on earth.  I think a slug accomplishes more than a cat does in one day.  Our cat is no exception, and he chooses to sleep all day and spend several hours each night running around the house or climbing anything that stands still.  He also destroys things because of his “Feline Ninja” obstacle course.  So last night my daughter brought her newly acquired rock collection upstairs to keep safely on her dresser…along with her precocious cat.

Now that you know the background, you might be able to piece together the details of the crime scene I witnessed as I tried to get my daughter up for school this morning.  As I walked into her room and turned on the lights, I noticed several of those precious little gems sprawled all over her floor, and the case had even more missing.  Panic started to set in as sleep hastily left my foggy brain.  Oh. My. Gosh.  All those rocks are not in their properly labeled spots, and I have no idea where they all go, or if I can find them!  What if the cat ate one?  Will I be hovering over the litter box for the next few days?  She saw my horrified expression before I could mask it and play the entire thing off.  Can you blame me?  I had not even had the first drop of coffee!

“My rocks! Noooooooo!” she wailed to me, tears beginning to well in her eyes.  Oh Lord, no.  Not right now when we have exactly twenty-five minutes to get dressed, get breakfast, make lunch and get out the door on time.  I console her and say I will look for the rocks on the floor and she should begin getting dressed.  Now, for those of you reading this and who know me, you probably also know that I HATE to loose things.  I hate losing puzzle pieces, game pieces, pairs of socks, and even lego pieces (crazy, I know).  So I really can’t figure out whose face was more horrified when seeing the overturned rock tray, myself or my daughter!  My obsessive-compulsive mind started to take over and I could feel the urgency to start looking.  My husband walks in and I tactfully pretend to be helping get my daughter ready while picking up rocks, but I was also going back and forth between standing and lying on the ground, trying to find the rocks.  Argh, I needed to get dressed too, though!!! Deep breath, I know I will find them.  So let’s focus on the immediate task at hand; getting ready for school.

As my first-born child sniffled and whimpered her way through the morning routine, I found myself ignoring this logical piece of advice, and instead found myself sprawled flat on the ground, scouring under every piece of furniture in her room, plucking up tiny pieces of semi-precious stones, old jelly beans (gross), and pieces of golf ball-sized lint.  Some rocks were trapped under her dresser, so I had to get a long stick to reach them and pull them out of their dusty grave.  While I am doing this, the culprit to the crime decided to join me.  Here comes Cookie the Cat.  Cats have this innate ability to give you a look of utter disdain no matter what the case.  They sneer their whiskers at you, subtly letting you know you are the dumbest thing that ever walked the planet, all while playing with a dust bunny from under the rug.  This is exactly what Cookie did to me while I am belly down on the ground in my pajamas, trying to solve a huge crisis before going downstairs to get breakfast made and a lunch packed.  Oh wait, I still need to get dressed too.

I turn my head to the side while elbowing through the trenches of my nine-year-old’s room, and there he is, poised like the Sphinx in Egypt.  I peered into Cookie’s yellow eyes while they bored holes into my soul.  I knew he was laughing inwardly because this cat KNOWS the entire scene is his fault.  He knocked over the tray and decided to play “rock hockey” all night long in my daughter’s room.  He also knows I will spend every waking minute looking for each and every stinking rock until that tray is completely restored.  Yep, he has become the Cheshire Cat from “Alice and Wonderland.”  Cat, score one thousand eighty-four; human still has a score of zero.

Needless to say, after endless searching and telling the cat to kiss off a few times, I eventually did find all the rocks.  I was forced stop halfway through the rescue and recovery process this morning because I HAD to get dressed and get things ready to go since I needed to drive the kids to school.  But the minute I came home I found myself wading through dust bunnies and dead ladybugs trying to rescue each and every rock that was lost.  I succeeded, and all the rocks came home safe and sound.  Not sure my daughter appreciated the means to get this task accomplished, but that is okay.  All my socks, I mean rocks, were safely home and in their proper place.  The world was right, and the cat continued to prey the weak and lonely in our home, unmoved by all the drama he created this morning.  Come on, he’s a cat and he doesn’t give a lick.

If you have a cat or a dog, you can probably appreciate how fast they can raise the household terror level to red.  But they are a part of the family, and now my daughter knows she needs to put anything special and small under lock and key so the cat doesn’t try to break in and destroy.  Little life lessons learned in under twenty minutes, and I still had time to make a to-go cup of coffee.  Life is good, and I hope you can find humor in some of the curveballs life throws you this weekend.

Until next time,

Cheers

 

Kale Salad with a Twist

Standard

fullsizeoutput_7266

It has been a while since I last posted anything on this blog.  Between Easter holidays and a never-ending schedule of activities, writing has taken a back burner in my life.  But, yesterday I found myself at home doing some editing and decided I needed some good greens in my life.  That morning I had mad a quick run to the store and picked up a few of my favorite staples, such as lacinato kale and fresh avocados.  For a healthy lunch, without any animal protein, I created a salad I will definitely be making again in the future.

The ingredients for this salad are as follows:

  • 3 leaves of lacinato kale, ribs removed, sliced or torn
  • 1 ripe avocado, diced
  • 4 or 5 cherry tomatoes, cut in half
  • 1/3 of an English cucumber, diced
  • 1/4 of red onion, sliced
  • 1/4 can of organic black beans, drained
  • 1/2 cup of edamame, shelled
  • 1/2 cup of chopped fresh parsley, curly or flat leaf is fine

I gathered my ingredients in a bowl and then made the dressing, which was the juice of half a lemon, 1/4 cup of really good extra virgin olive oil, 1/4 cup of balsamic vinegar, 1 or 2 tablespoons of Dijon mustard, 1 clove of finely chopped garlic, salt, and pepper to taste.  I mixed up the dressing ingredients in a separate bowl and tasted it before pouring on my salad.  If you feel it needs a little more of one of the ingredients, adjust to your liking.  Everyone has different tastes, so make it your own!

I tossed the ingredients together and then just ate it straight out of the mixing bowl.  It was so yummy and I felt like I was really giving my body some good ingredients.  The kale is like food for superheroes.  It is amazing what this green leafy vegetable gives the body, like provide iron, calcium, Vitamin C, and even protein.  Avocado gave me really healthy fats, as did the good olive oil.  Good fat can be your friend, and your body needs it to function daily.  The parsley and cucumber are good for detoxifying and parsley can help your breath.  The black beans and edamame gave me the needed protein to help me stay full longer and build lean muscle.  Tomatoes provide lycopene, and they added a nice texture to the salad.

What I didn’t finish yesterday I ate again today for lunch and it was even better.  The dressing helped break down the kale leaves, making them more tender.  So, the longer it sits to marinate, the better the outcome.  But I wouldn’t go over a day in the fridge because you want the ingredients to be as fresh as possible.

Hope you enjoy my latest inspiration in the kitchen!

Until next time,

Cheers!

The Unexpected Leading to the Uncorked

Standard

A pile of used wine corks.

I had an interesting experience this weekend with my two children, and as I flesh this piece out you will hopefully empathize a bit with me here.  To start with, my husband’s family lost an aunt a few days ago and we had to travel north towards St. Louis for the funeral.  It was going to be a short ceremony so the hubs and I figured it would be fine to let the kids come.  Other family members were going and they don’t get to see the kids much anyway, so what the heck, right?

Now, I don’t know how many of you out there have attended a funeral with children.  But let me just break it down a bit for you here.  My 9-year-old daughter had a thousand questions about it all, and my son was just wanting to know when it was over so he could talk again.  In actuality, I was very proud of my children and how they behaved.  I also thought it very intuitive of my daughter to be so inquisitive about the entire “death process.”  Neither of my children showed timidity when it was our turn to step up and stand next to the casket.  My son, who is 5, made a few loose comments and then just sat down in the front row and waited for the rest of us to do our thing.  I don’t think he really understood what was going on, to be quite honest.

My daughter, on the other hand, knew exactly what was happening,  Unfortunately, her life has already endured two funerals, both for her grandfathers, and they were under a year apart.  So she has a better grasp of death, and all the ramifications it has on a person, after watching my husband and I go through those experiences.  But this funeral was not like those, and she felt more open to ask questions and try to understand what this whole “bury the dead” entailed.

I chuckled a little bit to myself when I had to keep telling her not to touch her great-aunt. I mean, you don’t see that one every day!  “Mom, there is a bug that keeps flying around on her face!”  I told her just let it be and come sit down.  “No, mom.  I need to get it off.”  At this point I was gently grabbing her arm, trying to tug her in my direction towards the seats.  “Mom…”  Oh Lord, here we go again.  “Today’s April Fool’s Day, so are you sure this isn’t a prank?”  If I could insert the “smack my head” emoji here, I totally would because that is exactly how I felt.  I am pretty sure China heard her ask this question.  Suddenly my mind blasted a picture of this lovely woman, who was resting peacefully in her casket, sit up and yell out “just kidding!”  I guess that is what you expect when you take kids to things like this.  You go in holding your breath that nothing odd or disrespectful is said, but that gets squashed the first five minutes you walk in the door.

Just when I thought I had pulled my daughter away, she was right back up there by the casket, examining every nook and cranny.  Swiftly walking towards her I see her suddenly take one of the poor woman’s fingers and lift it up! Now I am almost running, in heels, towards my daughter while saying her name under my breath so it doesn’t echo throughout the room.  I didn’t want to be harsh because I know she was just curious, but heaven help me if someone saw her do it.  My husband saw it happen too, and he was closer to intervene.  Luckily at this point, we finally had everyone sit down so we could start the service.  Once we were graveside, my daughter then wanted to know about the pallbearers and how that all worked.  Then it was investigating the final resting place and the ground around it.  The questions never stopped and my husband and I tried to answer them as best we could.

In the grand scheme of things, it was a lovely ceremony and I have a feeling our aunt would have chuckled a bit at my daughter’s impertinence.  You just never know what you are going to get when you have children with you.  But I do know you have to just laugh it off and chuck it up as a good story to tell when she is older.  Parenting is such an endeavor and so hard, but also so fun and rewarding.  Stories like this remind me what fun children can be, and how innocent and beautiful their minds are compared to ours.  The tarnish of reality and age have not set in on how they view the world, and I find myself a bit envious of it all.

After getting through the day’s events, I thought it appropriate to open a nice bottle of wine from my dad’s collection.  I know he would have gotten a big kick out of the entire ordeal and all the questions my daughter asked yesterday.  I have this warm feeling that both my dad and my father-in-law are chuckling together in heaven, basking in the wonder of their granddaughter.

My head was still spinning a bit from the deluge of funeral and death questions.  I figured the wine I chose was going to be done Russian Roulette style.  The day had sort of held that theme.  I picked a 1990 Newton Cabernet Sauvignon from California.  It was delicious, and I am still drinking on it today as I compose this piece.

For a wine that is 27 years old, it still holds up.  But I think I need to see if other bottles are lurking around because it needs to be drunk.  With notes of blackberry and vanilla, the wine smelled so good after I opened it.  On the palate, the tannins mellowed out and had a slightly bitter taste, but in a good way.  Something you would expect, perhaps, from a wine like this.  The only thing I found lacking was the taste finished very short, so that is probably why it needs to be drunk now.

It still amazes me how wine holds up after so many years, kind of like parents.  We get through the battles and have a few scars.  But in the end, we tend to mellow out and enjoy the wonders life has to offer.  Whatever life brings your way, I hope you can at least enjoy the moment, perhaps with a glass of your favorite wine.

Until next time,

Cheers!

 

 

Siri, You Don’t Get Me

Standard

 

th-4

I have to post this small little blurb today because I feel like all you iPhone users out there can relate to what I have to say about good ol’ Siri.  Now, I don’t know if you feel as I do when it comes to hands-free driving, but I like the idea of letting my voice do the work while my eyes stay focused on the road and my hands do their job of driving the car.  So when Apple developed Siri a few years ago, I thought it was going to be the next best thing to sliced bread.  Unfortunately, my Siri experience has been terrible.

Can I just take a moment to poke fun at myself?  How do you know your relationship with Siri is on the outs?  It is probably pretty clear she is just not that into you when you hit the magical button to ask a question and she repeatedly tells you “I’m sorry Samantha, I don’t understand that.” Ever had that happen?  Yeah, I thought so.

As I was driving this morning, dropping off my children at their various schools, I was needing to know when our local Barnes and Noble would open.  “Ah,” I thought to myself, “I will ask Siri.  She knows everything, right?”  Push the button and speak into the virtual microphone.  “Siri, can you tell me when the Barnes and Noble in Cape Girardeau will open today?”  Siri replies, “Samantha, I don’t understand what Noble is.”  Wait, what?  Okay, deep breath, and let me turn down my music to eliminate all background noise.  Try again. “Siri, can you please (because maybe if I am overly polite, she will give me my answer) tell me when BARNES AND NOBLE IN CAPE GIRARDEAU WILL OPEN TODAY?”  Here she goes, it’s going to happen this time!  “Samantha, here is the location for Cape Girardeau.  Can I help with anything else?”  Sure, I can tell you what direction I would like you to go…any guesses oh wise, fake language, computer voice?

Now, you have to get a visual here, because I am driving in traffic, yelling to wherever my microphone is in the car, trying to focus on the road.  If you passed me this morning, now you understand why I looked like a giraffe driving a vehicle, craning my neck towards the ceiling in search of the mysterious Bluetooth microphone.  Okay, let’s try this again.  The car is quiet and I hit the magic button.  “Siri, pretty please tell me when Barnes and Noble will open in Cape Girardeau.”  Awkward silence as I watch the colorful neon light pulse on my phone’s screen.  “Samantha,  here are the searches I found for Hungarian paprika.”  ARGHHHHHHHH!!!!!! It takes sheer strength to NOT throw my phone across the vehicle and suddenly I find myself pushing the button to tell Siri what a big loser she was, how she couldn’t understand me, and I thought she was a complete idiot! There, now see how you do, SIRI! Microphone drop, BOOM, I told her. Her response?  “I’m sorry you feel that way, Samantha.”  Whatever.

Needless to say, I had to wait until I reached a red light to search Safari for opening times of Barnes and Noble, which had absolutely zero to do with Hungarian paprika.  Still trying to figure that one out, Siri.  So, for those of you out there using iPhones and having amazing “Phomances” with Siri, good for you.  For the rest of the Siri rejects out there, I feel your pain.  And if you use another brand of phone, you may have no clue what this entire situation feels like, but then again, my iPhone has not exploded on me yet.

I was just a girl, driving a car, waiting for a simple answer.  All I got was Hungarian paprika.

Until next time,

Cheers!

The Magic of Maca

Standard

fullsizerender

Sunday afternoon in the kitchen, and I find myself prepping a bit for the week ahead.  Something I try to do is make easy-to-grab snacks that are healthy and filling.  Today I decided to make protein balls.  One thing my friends know about me is I hate to exact measure ingredients, which I know, is not the greatest trait for recipes.  But in my defense, I like the freedom it allows me in the kitchen, and once I have a recipe down then I figure in the needed amounts.  So here we go with today’s Sunday creation.

Last week I listened to a lecture by a man named David Wolfe.  For anyone who may not recognize this name, Wolfe is a well-known superfoods guru.  He has traveled the world and done extensive education on various things like cacao and spirulina, learning and teaching about how powerful superfoods can be for the body in today’s toxic environment.  Something new I gleaned from this lecture was a superfood called Maca.  Maca is from the Peruvian Andes and is known to help increase energy, endurance, strength, and even libido.  Maca powder also contains more protein and fiber than a potato, and it is loaded with 20 amino acids, seven of those being essential amino acids.  So in a nutshell, this superfood is a great addition to one’s diet.

Maca comes in a powder form, making it easy to throw into smoothies, yogurt, or even on top of your morning cereal.  Just don’t put it in something you plan to cook, like soup, because it breaks down the nutrients.

After finding some Maca powder at my local health food store I decided to use it in my protein balls.  This recipe is super quick and easy, plus you don’t have to bake a thing!  I made these gluten-free, but you can tailor it to your own health needs.  Here is what you need for this particular recipe:

  • Gluten-free rolled oats
  • Crunchy peanut butter
  • Almond butter
  • Local honey
  • Carob chips
  • Protein powder (I used hemp in this case because of its nutty flavor)
  • Maca powder
  • Ground Chia seed

I mixed together one cup of the rolled oats, one cup of the chunky peanut butter, 1/2 a cup of almond butter, 1/4 to 1/3 cup of honey (just do it to taste here, you know how sweet you want it), 1/4 to 1/3 cup of carob chips, two tablespoons of protein powder of choice (you may want to steer clear of flavored powders here and go for the unflavored version), one to two tablespoon of Maca powder and one tablespoon of the ground chia seed.  Mix all the ingredients together in a bowl and don’t worry if the powders and chia seeds slightly change the color of the mixture.  Then simply form small balls using a rolling motion between the palm of your hands.  I make mine about the size of a golf ball, maybe slightly smaller.  Store in an airtight container and enjoy throughout the week!

If you have a peanut allergy, substitute a crunchy almond butter, or some other kind of crunchy nut butter.  You can even make your own at home in a blender to get it even closer to the source.  If honey is not your thing, you could use the same amount of brown rice syrup or agave nectar.  But honey is a wonderful sweetener, especially locally grown honey because it is full of antioxidants, probiotics, minerals, and enzymes.

fullsizerender2

These are great for on-the-go breakfasts and snacks, or as a sweet ending to a meal.  Either way, you choose, you know you are putting good stuff in your body that your taste buds will enjoy.Until next time,

Until next time,

Cheers!

 

 

Measuring Our Success

Standard

miami-beach-sand-2

“Success is not final, failure is not fatal: it is the courage to continue that counts.”
― Winston S. Churchill

How do you measure success?  I was asked this last week as I sat in church and listened to the sermon.  Our pastor probed the congregation to think about our lives and how we feel it measures against success when we meet our Creator.  I have to admit, it made me think a bit about success, all it encompasses, and what I feel is a good measure.  Look around you and you will find all kinds of “measurements” in our daily life.  We measure ourselves by numbers.  The size of clothes, numbers on a scale, level of IQ; we all get caught up in the enormity of a number.  But does this really measure our worth and value in the world?

For example, take the common household scale.  I hate scales, by the way, for many reasons, and I hardly ever step on one unless my doctor makes me do it.  First off, people tend to focus too hard on a scale and live and breathe by the very number they see each morning when they weigh.  I did this once upon a time in my life and swore I would never do it again after it nearly destroyed me.  Now, I do know scales have a time and place in everyone’s world, but why do we feel the need to put so much emphasis on them? Why do we see the number that pops up on a tiny dial merits our success for that particular day?  For the severely overweight or the person struggling to overcome starving their bodies, a scale can be seen as the devil himself.  Each time they step upon the two footpads, panic can rise in the throat, or dread and shame will pull its dark curtain down.  Scales, another way to measure how well we are doing or how much we are failing for the day.

The same goes with clothing sizes.  I am sure I am not the first person, man or woman, who has cringed when trying on clothes in a store, hoping the size we hold is actually the size that fits. That magic number we strive for, whatever it may be for the day, sits in our hands like Cinderella’s glass slipper.  And when it doesn’t fit, we knock ourselves down as we humbly ask the store’s employee for a different, perhaps larger size.  Or we completely skip that part and just forget the entire article of clothing and walk sullenly away from the dressing room empty-handed.  Why can’t companies figure out a way to label clothing, not by a number, but by phrases like “fabulous” or “savvy?”  How amazing would it be to yell out to the woman tending the dressing rooms that you needed to exchange your size “bombshell” for a size “stunning?”  Am I crazy for wanting to do this?

As I get older and begin to become more comfortable with who I am as a person, I find my measurement of success changes too.  I also feel having kids has helped me take a long, hard look at measuring success.  How do I measure up as a mom?  How am I measuring up spiritually?  Am I hitting the mark as a wife and friend?  Gone are the days when I constantly see success as the size of my jeans or the score on an exam.  It is now measured upon how I interact with the world, and what kind of physical and spiritual mark I am leaving on this side of Heaven.

My goal is to measure success by what I see looking back in the mirror and the values that one face holds for the day.  I strive to remember that our success in life is not based on a slew of various numbers, but instead focuses on the kind of footprint I have the opportunity to leave behind.  My success will be raising two children who are healthy, happy, and spiritually sound in their lives.  My success will hopefully be to show love, to show compassion, and to show respect towards the world and towards the ones I love.  I know failure is inevitable, and human fallacy will take hold more often than I care to admit.  But if I can keep my eye on the “prize” and have the courage to know my mistakes are not final, then surely I have the upper hand in this battle to shatter the things in this world that attempt to pull me down.  In the meantime, I challenge anyone who reads this to rethink the way you measure success and pay it forward to the next person.  All it takes is just a spark of change to turn the world on its head.

Until next time,

Cheers

Addendum:

When I wrote this post, I was heavily thinking about people and success.  But re-reading some things this morning, I find a connection with measurement and wine.  So here is your fun word for the day, “oenology,” or the science of viticulture.  For people who know their wine professionally, they like to measure wine based on how it performs.  Did the cork hold up?  How are the legs of the wine-and this is when you swirl the wine in your glass and how slow it drips down the side determines the “quality.”  Although, I have had wine with “great legs” but really didn’t care for the taste, so sometimes this scale could be wrong.

Oenologist also measure wine based on the smell, color, and most importantly of all, taste.  Wine buyers like to measure a wine based on where it is made, so location becomes a sign of perfection.  In France, wines of Bordeaux have a classification system that was started back in 1855 and has held ever since.  You will hear or see words like “first growths,” “premier grand cru,” or you could just stand alone and be a Pomerol, which doesn’t need a classification because they produce some of the most expensive blends in the world.  And they are fabulous.

I have had the fortunate experience of having some of all these classifications, thanks to my sweet Dad.  And I still have many of these to enjoy because of him.  I love those wines because they do show up to the table when it comes time to open them and share.  But I find myself not really clinging on to the idea of wine classification when it comes to determining what I like.  Sometimes the thrill of wine is finding a bottle that drinks really well without spending an entire paycheck on it.  So when I find those diamonds in the rough, I like to spread the word.  I find myself wanting to give the label a chance to shine on its own.  Much like we do as people in this world.  We are all floating around with our own sense of classification on how we measure up, and sometimes it’s great to just rise above it.  So maybe what we need to be doing in the world is acting more like a Pomerol.  Break away from a measure of our self-worth and stand on our own merit.

Why don’t you go out there, find a wine that fits your needs, and truly enjoy it.  Make your own measure of success with it.  I am not saying the other big names don’t hold up or shouldn’t be enjoyed.  Because they should, and they work hard to maintain their standards of quality.  Sometimes its just nice to relax a bit and step out of the “zone” to see what else this world has to offer.

Until next time,

Cheers

 

The Shadow of Control

Standard

th-3

I read an amazing book by a woman named Susan Jaramillo titled “How God Rewrote My Heart.” Jaramillo is a strong woman to have endured the trials and tribulations she experienced throughout life. The book focuses on how God helped her heal from all these experiences. Short, sweet and to the point, I could relate to how she felt in certain life situations, even if our experiences were completely opposite.  Susan hit upon how control ruled her life and how her spirit was broken because of the lack of self-worth she felt.

I guess it brings me to finally put onto paper my own story of struggle and of defeat. It is nothing earth shattering, especially if you think about the struggles others in the world can deal with each day. But none-the-less my story is about a point in my life when I hit my own rock bottom and how control and lack of self-worth engulfed every aspect of my world.

I have written previously about women and our self-worth in a post a few years ago, but my own personal vendetta did not get included in the article. Now I feel like it is time to get the demons out on paper. It is time to come to grip with my own personal failures and mishaps.

It is hard, when you are young and naïve, to really see how one’s own decisions impact the people around you. I never gave much thought to this notion, mainly because I never really believed enough people cared what I did in this world. It was my own Demon in my head telling me how worthless I was to everyone. If I had to really think when this all began I would pin it around young adolescence. Growing up is so hard for any kid, and throw in insecurity, the mix becomes a toxic concoction of self-hatred and self-doubt. I always felt extremely inadequate when it came to friendships or finding my own niche in school. The only place I felt safe and secure was my academic life and knowing my teachers respected my efforts in the classroom. I was a shy kid, kind of a loaner in school with just a few close friends. I would never have labeled myself as popular. I avoided trying out for the cheerleading squad or dance squad. I stuck to more “academic” pursuits because I felt comfortable there. So as I hit high school, I stayed out of parties for the most part and skimmed the parameter of all the “in crowds.” I just didn’t ever feel “good enough” to be a part of those groups, and I was afraid of rejection. I never saw myself as pretty or savvy enough to be included in things they did. I didn’t really date anyone either because I knew I was not the one guys wanted in our high school. I was awkward, felt a tad overweight and had crazy curly hair. But I was smart, and for some reason that was a comfort to me. I knew I could do anything that required the use of my brain. My close friends included me in social things and tried to help me come out of my shell. I loved them, and still do, for their loyalty to me as a friend and “personal cheerleader” in high school.

What pre-teen or teenage girl doesn’t feel this way? Like the entire world is looking at her with a magnifying glass, just waiting for one wrong step. My own feelings of self-worth didn’t have a thing to do with the amount of love my parents showed me. I grew up in a good household where my parents lived lovingly under the same roof, my dad had a good job and my mom stayed at home to care for me. I did not have any brothers and sisters in my home to make me share things or deal with the daily annoyances I find my own kids struggling with today. It was a great childhood, but for some reason I became the left out play dough, unable to form into something flexible and easy to mold. I was always opinionated at home because that was where I felt safe and secure. Aside from that you would always find me amicable and easy-going because I didn’t want to cause disturbance or annoyance. I chose what situations I wanted to be in, and stayed far away from areas I felt unsafe or uncertain.

I lost myself in books and movies, anything to pull me out of my own head and my own thoughts. By the time I reached the end of my high school career I was deciding on how the hell to get out of my small town upbringing and try to create my own persona, my own identity. I wanted to be away from any stereotype and discover how the world really lived outside “Peyton Place.” Going off to college seemed to be the best thing, moving away from home and attending a good school that gave me the academic challenges I so craved.

My senior year was an exciting time because by December I knew where I was going to college and I saw this light at the end of the tunnel. Freedom to make my own way, meet people from other states and really find what I wanted to do with the rest of my life. I think I worked a little harder on appearances that year too, and I even became interested in a boy. Perhaps by that point I could relax a bit and “sail” my way through the rest of the most awkward and uncertain time in my life: high school.

I only saw one side of leaving home, my side, and it was invigorating. I didn’t consider the other side my parents experienced. The fear of letting your only child go out on her own and praying everything you did while she/he was growing up would come to fruition. That is what my mom and dad experienced after dropping me off at school, looking back in the review mirror as I proudly waved good-bye to them. They were lost to the battles that lay ahead of me. They were lacking proper ammunition to deal with the struggles I would soon face in college.

The beginning of freshman year was an adjustment. Being a kid who loved routines, I had to take some time before figuring out my own. Once I did, it was also very hard for me to let go and have fun. I felt I had this immense responsibility to myself, to my parents and to the world when it came to my grades. I needed to show everyone that I could do this—move away from home, attend a prestigious university on a public school education and blow the world away. I realized then my days of breezy afternoons by the pool were over. It was go-time and I needed to pull up my bootstraps to get the grades. So I did, but in the meantime, my failures I received in the classroom knocked down the fragile self-confidence I had developed my senior year in high school. I was back to square one, surrounded by exceptionally smart people who went to private schools in large cities or boarding schools on the coasts. They were also beautiful, thin, well-groomed individuals, especially the girls. I had no idea where I fit in on this campus. What I held so dear in high school, which was my intelligence, became completely challenged and my lack of self-esteem did not help the situation.

My parents often talked about things they saw me doing after school. Would she be a doctor? Would she be a lawyer (maybe because I was so argumentative), or would she be something else? My parents were in the medical field, so that is all they knew. But they never shied away from the idea of me doing something different. I just could never gain the self-confidence I needed to get out from under their shadow of successes. I never felt independent enough to make mistakes and be okay with it. For us, mistakes were bad and for me mistakes were irreversible. I couldn’t live with irreversible. So when it came to earning good grades and succeeding in my college courses, I wanted to blow the damn world away. Yet, the pressure that is placed on someone’s shoulders can be excruciating. When that pressure is personally put there, the effects can be life changing and severely damaging.

Freshman year wasn’t a complete bust. Don’t get me wrong at all here because I did meet some girls I felt a strong connection to and enjoyed being around. We all became pretty close that year after living in the same hall, and we ended up staying together until the end of our college career. But as life ebbs and flows, mistakes are made and life-lessons are learned, the relationships began to change. In the beginning, we felt the same about the environment around us. We had come to the school because we knew the education would be outstanding but I don’t think we were expecting the rest of it. As I contemplate on this time in my life now, as a 37-year-old adult with a family and life experiences under my belt, I realize how much we had on the ball if we had just recognized it. But college is so hard for adolescent kids. Everyone is trying to fit into this perfect mold and also discover who he or she really is as individuals. Some people find it right off the bat, others it takes years to develop. But my college experience was not full of fraternity parties or sorority socials. I had chosen not to pledge after going through rush during my freshman year. I remember being so nervous around all the other girls; they were so perfect. I just didn’t see myself fitting into their perfect world. Perhaps it was good I did not join because I struggled enough with control as each semester passed and I placed more and more expectations on myself with my classes.

Those expectations grew into something bigger and more dangerous and suddenly I found myself in the rabbit hole of self-control and restrictions. I destroyed the relationships I had built around me during my college career because of my reckless obsession to become perfect. We, as a group of girls, did not know how to handle it, and I let it go too far. Who can ever be around someone who never smiles, who is stressed out all the time and feels such a lack of self-worth? It is depressing and sour, and relationships won’t last a single minute longer than necessary. I take all the blame on losing my friendships from college. I can’t blame those girls for not wanting to be around my crazy-mindedness and me. I was so intense and self-imploding; I didn’t even want to be around me.

Here we go on the journey of an eating disorder. It is an ugly journey that completely engulfs every being of your mind. It is a disease about control; at least that is what mine became centered on in college. I loved my coursework, in spite of the occasional boring required class. My professors listened to my viewpoints during lectures and I never felt awkward when I visited office hours. My brain was there in front of my face and body. It was the first thing someone saw when I entered the room. But placing intelligence in one basket entirely can be dangerous for someone of my nature. I wanted perfection in my classrooms, especially when it came to grades and my budding passion for becoming a writer of some kind. It fed the Demon that told me to portion out servings and live on a fat-free regiment. I could tell you how many calories and fat constituted normal “pantry” foods. At meals, I would count in my head how many calories I ingested during one meal. I controlled how much I ate, what I put in my mouth and how long I stayed awake to study. It was an endless cycle of self-destruction. It blew away my body, and it engulfed my friendships in flames. It was an awful way to live, and I have only myself to blame for it all.

College was the time when I started running every day and when I really began working out. I was trying to make my body match my brain so when I walked into a social setting outside of classroom professors and students I could feel strong and empowered. Running allowed me to break out of the ironclad determination I slipped on every day I attended class. I could breath easier and loose myself in the natural high running can give a person. I competed with myself on how fast I could run at times or how long I could last if I didn’t count the miles. When you are living on a diet of low-fat carbohydrates and little protein, your body starts to shrink. For me, it was a visual affirmation to how well I was running my life. Yes, I could do this all on my own. I could earn the grades, be my own self away from my family and begin to fit into the beauty I saw all around me on campus.

It makes me sad when I sit and write about this because I see now what a waste it all was for me, and for my parents. I blew away four years of my life and missed out on fun times and everlasting friendships because of my self-destructive, obsessive behaviors. It can make a person become so humble to fully accept such a verdict. To know that I am my own worst enemy when it comes to my actions. I am the one to blame.

This inner competition sticks with me today, although sometimes I have to squelch that Demon and make it behave. The self-competitive me became the anorexic me after freshman year. Finally, it is out and in the open. The ugly, nasty “A” word that every parent fears will label their child. My parents lived that fear when I came home for that first summer after finals. I had ended the relationship with the boy from my high school senior year and my heart was broken, my spirit demolished but my intellect was intact. I had earned high grades that year. I had also lost 15 pounds since Christmas break, and I really didn’t have 15 to lose.

I changed, and not for the better. My grades kept going higher as my weight went lower during each semester. I watched relationships become damaged and endangered during the rest of my college career. All because I was trying to fit into this mold I believed I needed to fill. I placed that expectation on myself, despite the pleadings of my parents and my closest friends. The latter part of my Junior year was when I hit my lowest weight, under 100 lbs. I had not had a menstrual cycle in months. My roommates and my parents had an intervention one night before midterms. It still makes me tear up after all this time when I remember those conversations. The anger and despair we all felt at one time, in one tiny dorm room, now floats across my mind. I knew I needed to change, but I didn’t know how to do it. I was tightly wound, rigid as steel and I wasn’t sure I would ever become the person I was before I came to college.

But I fought, and I fought hard, to find myself on my own. I knew I had to change and that I had to be the one to do it, but it would not be overnight. I lost a roommate after junior year because she could not live with it all anymore. I wouldn’t have blamed the others if they had moved out too. No one can survive around someone who is hard as stone and driven to a point of madness about academic responsibilities. I dug deep in my soul to find strength to let go of my inner demons. I needed to relinquish the control I was trying to have on every single aspect of my life. I needed to learn to breathe again like I did before I turned into this crazy monster that forgot how to have fun and relax.

I know now, with time and wisdom, my lack of self-worth brought me down the path of self-destruction. It got to the point when my parents wanted to bring me home to them. They threatened to pull me out of school and move me home if I didn’t start to eat more and put on some weight. My hair was beginning to fall out and bones began to protrude in places. So I agreed to eat, and my mom would drive down to school every so often hauling a load of my favorite treats and goodies. Doing anything she could to make me eat. But what is ironic is how that was the last thing I needed. I get that now as a parent because parents will do anything to protect their children. All my parents wanted to do was protect me and help me find myself again. My parents and roommates did the best they could in that situation. But my mom’s brownie truffle was not the answer to the problems at hand. It was a Band-Aid to a very large sore.  I remember my mom stopping in Nashville one weekend, bringing me yet another bucket of brownie truffle. As she placed the bucket on the counter she proceeded to tell me how proud she was that she didn’t even “lick the spoon” while making it. That statement was a slit to my anorexic wrist. You don’t tell someone suffering from an eating disorder how excited you are for restricting your own self from something. The anorexic (me in this case) will take that to the next level. It just goes to show how intricate this disease can be to someone not suffering from its claws. When she left that afternoon I threw the entire container in the trash completely untouched.

My parents tried to find a psychiatrist on campus for me to see. I met with some old-school psychology guru who had published a few books through the university’s press. It appeased my parents and kept me enrolled in school. I was now surviving on two fronts. As a student wanting to earn the grades and as an anorexic hiding her dirty secret from the world. He was a nice man, and we only met for about an hour. He told me how worried my parents were for me and talked to me about why I didn’t need to put so much stress on myself. The honest truth here is I could not remember one thing the man said to me during that visit. There was no personal connection. He was just a means to an end for my mom and dad. I appeased it all so I could pretend I was getting better and able to change. Again it is the intricate workings of a mind whittled with self-doubt. I just wanted to get out of there so I could hit the library again and continue preparing for exams. He gave me one of his books to read and told me to call if I needed more help. I left that office knowing I would never see his face again. I lied to my parents when they called to ask how it went. I said the man really helped me and I could already feel myself getting better. Again, another Band-Aid to a huge ulcerated sore. It made my parents feel better, especially with them feeling helpless and lost as to how to handle my situation. I did end up reading this guy’s book he signed and gave to me. It wasn’t bad, just not what I needed at the time.

This was how I lived the remainder of my years in college. Trying to put up a good front of being “healthy” and eating better, yet compensating for all the additives in my life. I ran longer, worked out harder trying to “adjust” for what I put in my mouth in front of friends and my parents. I was fighting a constant battle in my head that said I needed to get my shit together, but also not to cave to weakness. I was the one in control here, nobody else. I called the shots when it came to my lifestyle. It was a slow beginning to the process of retraining my brain for anything close to normalcy.

Before my senior year of college, I took an internship in Washington, D.C. That was a great summer. I lived in a city full of energy and fun people who were like the “old” me. I found a bit of myself that summer, making new routines and reminding myself that what I did with my body was for health and happiness and nothing else. My brain led me through it all, keeping me focused and grounded. My heart began to heal from a long and exhausting point in my life. I turned 21 that summer in France with my parents, and I learned on that trip how to develop a healthy relationship with food. I also became in love with wine and it introduced a new level of connection with my mom and dad. I know this is why I have such a big heart for wine and all it encompasses. That summer was a time of healing for me and again I was finding myself opening up to a new point in my life. I had decided to move to Dallas, Texas with my dear friend from high school. She was graduating from Texas A & M the same time I was graduating from Vanderbilt. My life was finally coming together, and it was in a good way.

Changing was not easy, but slowly, with time and a lot of perseverance I prevailed. My friends helped me, as did my parents. But the biggest help to me was myself. My ability to see reality for what it was and take slow and steady steps away from the muck of anorexia. I never did see anyone professionally for my disease. I worked through it myself with books, strong friendships and a passion for learning how to eat the healthy way.

I had to completely re-wire my entire relationship with food after college and post-college. It took a good ten years to really discover living with a nutritious diet. I continued to read books, find videos and television shows on cooking and create my own perspective on how food should taste and what I wanted to eat every day. Gone were days of frozen vegetables for dinner or saltines and honey for lunch. I was now discovering an entirely new lifestyle, and I was beginning to fall in love with wholesome food. I knew what I cooked and ate was going to be good for my body. I lost the fear of putting something in my mouth. I lost the fear of relinquishing control over something because I was completely involved in my diet.

Unless you have walked the footsteps of an anorexic or bulimic, it is hard to understand what goes through the mind of someone suffering from these diseases. The issues are real and ugly and completely opaque to the rest of the world. One little word or a phrase can turn someone’s sphere upside down. And now that I am older and have worked through my own issues with my eating disorder, I have become so very sensitive to what the rest of the world discusses. I know that word or phrase which destroys a girl’s (or boy’s) self-esteem and self-worth.

My eating disorder led me down a new path with food. I am to the point now where I love knowing how beneficial healthy foods can be for the body, and I am not scared to sit down and eat full meals. I no longer count calories when making meals. I just simply assess what I feel hungry for and what I think my body may need. I let go and started letting healthy food rule my diet. I was finally becoming free of my Demon. And I also learned to enjoy wine with my meals, and discover the beauty and potential it has on one’s life.

I ended up graduating from Vanderbilt with honors, and they were earned with blood, sweat, and tears. I poured my heart and soul into my education and desire to become a writer of some kind. Thanks to my professors and my parents I had a new kind of boost and it was that I could write and do it well. My dad always told me writing is something that can never be taken away from me. A person doesn’t forget to write if it is a talent that comes naturally to them. Something completely inherent in my soul, this is what writing is for me. I had battled dragons of control and self-worth in college, but I had come out the victor. I had bruises and scars that would take many years to heal, but they are also reminders of what I know I can do to make myself better. I know I have the strength in me to put up a good fight, and my experience as an anorexic showed me how to put my dukes up.

Age is not a bad thing because it also gives you wisdom. I recently had a conversation with a friend of mine about finally getting comfortable in my own skin. It took time to figure that out, and it wasn’t an easy discovery. I am not saying life is always peaches and cream, just the opposite in fact. But I have read enough books about how negative society can be, how all kinds of media can prey on men and women and how such unrealistic expectations are completely worthless. Each page I turned made me realize how much easier my own battle would have been with these recitations and realizations about body image and health. I know my experience with an eating disorder led me to the path of learning to love food, to learn how it nourishes our bodies and what I can do to make myself stay vibrant from the inside out. It led me to develop a stable relationship with exercise and listen to my body. I know when to reach for goals and when it’s time to back off. God allowed the failures of my early twenties to open the door and discover happiness and confidence. How poetic His pathways can be for us when we are simply still, listening unfiltered to His words.

I have often wondered if my experience would ever help prevent someone from going down the path of destruction as I did in college. I was one of the lucky ones who made the turn before real damage was done to my body and my mind. Yes, it took some time to heal physically and mentally from my experiences, but it was peanuts compared to what some boys and girls go through with an eating disorder. And unfortunately, it all starts at such a young age, often before kids hit double digits. Coming back to the town I grew up in to raise my own family, I see small glimpses of destruction and I want to reach out and stop the train wreck I know will happen in a few years to these individuals. How sad is that? Our children are finding out at such an early age what self-worth is and isn’t in life. It makes my stomach flip and is why I am so protective of my own children, especially my daughter. I will fight for her and fight hard to keep her on the path I wished I had stayed on years ago. I have my ammunition ready for whatever battle I face. I just wish I could protect all the soldiers out there who will succumb to the unrealistic expectations lurking out in the real world.

Thank you, Susan Jaramillo, for being brave enough to share your story with the world. It gave me the strength to share my own story in hopes it might touch someone.   Perhaps it will permit someone feeling lost and forgotten to stop and smell the roses. Allow someone to realize they are shining stars amongst a sea of darkness called Reality.

If you know someone suffering or if you are suffering from an eating disorder, please have the strength to get help.   Find a friend or loved one to confide in. There is no shame in what you are experiencing. The shame comes from ignoring the problem and letting it fester like an open wound. Power comes with knowing how to heal oneself, and that power lies within you. Although I was able to work through my issues alone, there are some out there that may need the love and support of outside help. It can be hard for the friends and family of someone suffering from eating disorder to disassociate their feeling and emotions from the problem at hand. They are too connected to the person suffering from the disease. If this is where you find yourself, there are also countless third-party resources available, like the National Eating Disorder Awareness website (www.nedawarness.org), to provide direction. Counselors and therapists are specialized to help people heal from this disease and can hold an individual’s hand through the walk of recovery. Or simply talking to someone recovering from his or her own disorder, such as myself, could be a great place to begin the pathway to freedom. If you know someone suffering from an eating disorder, reach out to that person; give them the confidence they need to find a way out of those invisible chains of destruction. You never know what people really need unless you first open up your heart to them. Eating disorders are a silent disease that can be cured, treated and overcome.

For anyone who needs an anonymous ear to listen, I can be reached at sbrhodes@sbcglobal.net.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Inspirations 

Standard

The last couple of days I have been home with a sick kiddo, so I had a few minutes to let my kitchen take over my brain.  One of my favorite go-to proteins is ground turkey.  It is easy to prepare and you can add just about any spice to it for a tasty outcome.  I usually buy a one pound package of organic turkey meat to give me a few meals to eat during the week.

This week I dediced to make my turkey more “Korean” inspired by adding my favorite condiment in the world, Go-Chu-Jang.  Although it is impossible for me to actually say aloud, this sweet and spicy pepper paste will make you turn away from any barbeque sauce on the market! You can marinade with it, toss it in ground meats, or use it in dips and dressings.  So this is what I poured over my turkey as it was sizzling on the stove, along with a little sea salt, cracked pepper, cumin and onion powder.  I would say a hearty pinch or two of each spice and at least an oversized tablespoon of the paste.


My ultimate goal was to make a Korean Taco Salad for lunch, so after I sautéed some onions and a little lacinato kale in the turkey I started on the salad.  Salads are great because you can tailor them to whatever your dietary needs may encompass.  For mine I did an organic mixed greens with spinach, baby bok choy, and sweet baby kale.  For my “add-ins” I threw in some roasted macadamia nuts, half a diced avocado and some goat cheese crumbles.

I wanted the dressing to mimic a fiesta ranch, but minus the dairy.  So I used two tablespoons of paleo mayonnaise, 1/2 to one teaspoon of Harissa, a good dash of onion powder, basil, parsley and cumin.  Then I whisked it together with some coconut vinegar and fresh lime juice (about a teaspoon).  I adjusted the taste with salt and pepper, but the outcome was exactly what I wanted! Spicy and creamy, it made the perfect dressing.  All I had to do after mixing the salad was top it with my turkey meat. I will definitely be making this salad again because it was so yummy and healthy! Plus it was filling, leaving me completely satisfied when I finished.

Day two of being home I decided to go a different direction, and it was super quick and easy.  I hulled out five Baby Bella mushrooms and topped each with Daiya mozzarella cheese (non-dairy cheese that melts like real cheese!).  Placing the mushrooms in a dish, I broiled them in the oven on high for about 3 to 5 minutes.  Long enough to warm the mushrooms and melt the cheese.  Once they were finished I topped each mushroom with my remaining turkey mixture and part of a diced avocado.  Round two was just as tasty as yesterday’s salad!

So the next time you find yourself staring blankly at the contents of your refrigerator, maybe these two little inspirations of mine will lead you to your own creation in the kitchen.

Until next time,

Cheers!

Reworking Breakfast

Standard

Mornings at my house are hectic and fast-paced.  The minute I open my eyes, and hit snooze for the sixth time, I roll myself out of bed to start the process.  Kids up, kids fed, kids dressed, lunches packed and off they go to school.  

The last thing I seem to have time for is making breakfast for myself.  Some people are not big eaters in the morning, but for this busy mom I need some fuel to keep me going.  Yesterday my family ate breakfast at a local chain restaurant after church.  One item on the menu was called “Eggs in a Basket.” It consisted of an egg cooked in the middle of a piece of bread, then toasted.  It sounded good-but I wanted to see if I could make it a bit healthier. 

So this morning I had a few extra minutes and thought I would give something a whirl.  Here is what I did to make my own version of this restaurant’s “Egg in a Basket.”

I started off using some good olive oil in a small skillet.  I let this heat up a bit on medium-high heat while I tore a couple of leaves of lacinato kale up into tiny pieces. Lacinato kale is not as bitter as traditional curly leaf kale, so I like to use this in my recipes.  I let the leaves crisp up in the olive oil for a minute or two, threw a dash of salt and pepper on it and finished it with a sprinkle of red pepper flakes.  

Once the kale was crispy around the edges I pushed it to the sides of the skillet and then cracked one cage-free egg in the middle.  You may need to add more olive oil, depending on how much you started off with and what the kale soaked up.  I let the egg cook to “over medium,” with the whites fully done and the yellow slightly runny.  Then I took the crispy kale and put it on top of my egg. That part of the recipe was finished!

While my egg was cooking, I toasted a piece of brown rice bread.  You can use any bread you like here.  I chose brown rice because of my gluten intolerance.  I used a small section of an avocado to spread on the bread like you would jelly.  Then I placed my cooked egg/kale mixture on top and suddenly had a healthy breakfast cooked in under 10 minutes! 

It was a slightly different version of what I saw on the menu yesterday, but it was definitely just as delicious and a lot healthier! If you are a vegetarian, or have an egg intolerance, you could use some cubed tofu and crisp that up with the kale.  It would make more of a “hash” than using an egg, but it would take the same amount of time and be just as yummy. 

However your morning may begin, taking time to fuel your body for a busy day is a definite priority.  Not only will your tummy be satisfied, but your body will benefit too.  

Cheers and Happy Monday!