Kristy Blogs

'Tis the Season... for Christmas Cards!

2011-11-14T14:17:00.002-05:00

I'm just going to come out and say it, I absolutely adore Christmas cards. As a person who loves old-fashioned mail, period, the holiday season is especially fun for me because each new day brings the anticipation of more greetings. Every afternoon, I dash to the mailbox, excited to see whose card we'll receive. I look forward to photos of growing children, news of new babies, and kind wishes from loved ones we don't see often.

I start thinking about the card we'll send out long before Walmart starts playing Christmas music. With two goals in mind each year -- to show how much our family has changed and to express the love we feel for the recipient -- I pour over websites, searching for that perfect card that says it all.

This year, Tiny Prints made my job a lot easier. Within the first 20 minutes of looking through their selection of holiday cards, I saw several that made it to my favorites list. This year, my choices leaned towards cards that reflected what Christmas really means to us - family, togetherness and the birth of Jesus Christ. I especially like the following two:

Hallelujah kind of sums it up!

I love the midnight blue color and the manger at the top.

For those of you on our Christmas list, you'll have to wait and see which one we choose! And if you haven't yet found the perfect card, stop on over to see Tiny Prints' selection.

*In exchange for perusing their site, Tiny Prints offered me 50 free photo cards. If you have a blog and would like to participate in this campaign, you can sign up here!

Common Graces

2011-11-09T08:37:00.000-05:00

At eight years old, her lanky body was a little too big for my lap, but she curled into me just like she used to when she was a toddler. And with her hazel eyes blinking away tears, she told me what she didn’t like about herself.

“I’m too short. I wish I had blond hair instead of red. My teeth look funny. I don’t like my glasses…” she whispered.

That night we were participating in a mother/daughter event designed to reinforce the idea that we’re all fearfully and wonderfully made, but it was obvious her list was written in her head long before. And with each flaw that she pointed out about herself, my heart broke. I prayed that God would give me the words to combat her insecurity as my own tears flowed.

To read the rest, visit Common Graces.

The First Day

2011-08-23T09:29:00.001-04:00

Overzealous, I woke up an hour before my alarm this morning to pray over the kids. The first day of school always brings excitement and some butterflies in the tummy. I asked for protection and peace and confidence for them. And patience for their teachers. Lots of patience.

I prayed over myself as I made breakfast. Please help me be a better mom this year. To not waste so much time online. To not serve cold cereal every morning for breakfast. To fold and put away laundry right out of the dryer. To be more consistent with... everything.

Then I whispered sweet words into their ears and rubbed their backs to wake them up, wondering if I'll be so gentle next week when none of us want to awake.

Most likely, this year will be pretty similar to last year, except that we're all a little older, ~~bigger~~ and wiser.

But we're still excited about today.

The 4th grader.

The 3rd grader.

The one who is never leaving me. Ever.

I'm linking up with JDaniel4's Mom's Back to School Traditions!

What I Really Learned at She Speaks, Part 3

2011-08-17T22:48:00.000-04:00

Part 1
Part 2

At She Speaks, there's a prayer room. In the weeks before the conference, the coordinators reminded us to stop by the room for encouragement and a listening ear and to find our names. Each year, they place sheets of paper with the names of God (God the healer, the provider, etc...) all around the prayer room and then they stick each attendees' name on one of those sheets. I heard from many She Speaks graduates that name placements were divine appointments so I was curious to see where mine fell.

I found my name by Jehovah-Rapha -- God the Healer. Feeling a little confused, I scrawled down the three scripture passages next to it so that I could look them up when I had more time.

That's odd. I thought. I'm not sick. Am I sick? Well, I have had that pain in my arm for a while. Oh no. I bet I am sick and I'm going to have to rely on God to heal me. What if He doesn't heal me on Earth and I have to go to Heaven to be healed? But I want to see my kids grow up. I'm not ready to die.

Obviously, rational thinking is not my strong suit.

As soon as I had a free minute, ~~and after I had planned my entire funeral and mentally composed goodbye letters to my kids,~~ I sat down to look up the verses. The first two were about God healing illnesses, which didn't make me feel any better, but I flipped to the next passage, Psalm 147:3, and read aloud "He heals the broken-hearted and binds up their wounds."

Did you ever hear God speak right to you? Because at that moment, I am sure I heard Him. "I healed your broken heart. There is nothing I wouldn't do for you."

Now as much as I tried to be honest here on my blog about my grief journey, I don't think I ever gave the true picture of how deep my sadness was. I could seldom find the words to describe it, to do it justice. But there were moments when I thought I'd never laugh again, never enjoy life, never celebrate anything. My heart hurt so badly sometimes that I'd wake up clutching my chest, thinking I was dying. Then I'd will myself back to sleep, remembering that my heart was just broken.

So being reminded of how far God has brought me over the last three years and how He truly did replace my sadness with joy, left me feeling so special, just like when I was a little girl and I was certain that all the beautiful things in the world were made just for me. I knew that if He loved me enough to heal my broken heart, there was nothing I had to fear.

I didn't realize what a mess I was until I came face to face with some of my biggest struggles at this conference. My fear of rejection and feelings of never being good enough. My hyperactive imagination and constant worry over things I can't control. My envy of others who seem to have it all together when I surely do not. God helped me overcome all of those at She Speaks. I feel different -- empowered, excited to go forward, but content to just rest for a while as I dig into the Bible and soak up what He wants me to learn right now.

And that's what I really learned at She Speaks. Thank you for reading!

What I Really Learned at She Speaks, Part 2

2011-08-16T17:10:00.001-04:00

You can read Part 1 right here if you'd like.

After I made sure I really won Cecil Murphey's scholarship to attend She Speaks ~~and that it wasn't a huge mistake~~, I prayed about which track I should sign up for - writing or speaking. I had just given my testimony to our mom's group at church and knew I needed improvement as a speaker. But I finally decided on the writer's track, though I was still having doubts about my calling to write. I was hoping to meet with a publisher about my book proposal, figuring that if the meeting went well, my writing would be validated and I would press on, but if not, I would quit. (Isn't it funny how we issue these ultimatums to God?)

When my brother Josh died three years ago, I started writing about my experience as a sister of a drug addict. I want to encourage other sisters who are walking through a sibling's addiction because I know it's a difficult journey. Writing about this topic was easy - the words flowed freely and naturally after Josh's death, like I was born to share about this very thing. But when I sat down to write a proposal, I hit a brick wall.

Then everything started to fall apart here. Big A started having strange medical issues. Bubby broke his arm during a baseball game. Sissy was sent home from school twice with head lice. Between all the doctor's appointments and x-rays and cleaning and re-cleaning, not to mention the normal running of the house, I had no time to concentrate on anything outside of our family, especially not a time intensive book proposal.

I prayed so hard for this opportunity - believing that this was my one chance to be a real writer. And when God said, "no," about the proposal, I was sure He was telling me I wasn't good enough to write. So I went to She Speaks wondering what in the world I was doing there with all those real writers and speakers and leaders.

There wasn't a lot of time to feel down about myself at the conference, because as soon as I arrived, I was swept up in a frenzy of first meetings with online friends, teaching and information - lots of information. Rather than "Oh, I don't know why I'm here..." what I heard from the staff and speakers was "Get over your insecurity because you have a message to share."

I attended sessions on book publishing, devotion writing and magazine writing. The more I learned about book publishing, the more I was relieved that writing a book is not in my near future. And writing devotions didn't pique my interest either. But the sessions on magazine writing made me want to jump out of my seat with excitement.

A light bulb went off in my head. My love of pecking out words on that little typewriter. College summers spent writing articles for my hometown newspaper. A degree in journalism ~~that I haven't used in years~~. An interest in finding out the who, what, when, where, why and how of everything. A passion to encourage others with the information I've found. To my surprise (and to God's DUH!), I've been a real writer for most of my life -- but now I know how to best use my skills for His glory. The next logical step for me as a writer is magazine writing for the Christian market. So my prayer was answered, but not until God did some chiseling first.

Come back tomorrow for the exciting conclusion. :) (Part 3 here).

What I Really Learned at She Speaks, Part 1

2011-08-15T17:40:00.006-04:00

(I'm splitting this post up because it got really long really fast! Thanks for reading!)

When I was seven or eight years old, I would sit in my room at my little desk and type out news articles on a child-sized plastic typewriter. The keys would stick after every fourth letter and the paper never rolled in straight, but the sight of the black words on the white background was exhilarating to me. Sometimes I'd interview my friends and family about real life happenings - a robbery in town or attempted abduction or puppies being found by the road - but most of the time I invented my own events and sources, preferring happier topics to harsh realities.

I didn't realize it then, and wouldn't until much later, that God placed a love of writing deep in my heart way back then. And during the following decades, writing and I were like a passionate, emotionally-charged boyfriend and girlfriend. Sometimes, I would pursue it with fury, unable to stop the words from pouring out for weeks at a time, lulled by the rhythmic sound of clacking on a keyboard. Other times, I pushed it to the furthest corner of my being, unable to trust the process, yearning to do anything but write. Though I tried to forget it or deny it's significance, I knew that something was missing when I didn't write. Without it, I just wasn't the same. I needed writing to help me examine life's twists and turns, to heal from hurts, and to celebrate joy.

Just as God put a desire to write in my heart at a young age, He put there a desire for a relationship with Him. As a child, I felt His love and protection on me at every single turn as I longed to be as close to Him as possible. I remember times when I'd look at the blue sky or a butterfly and feel certain that He created that beauty out of adoration for me.

But just like with writing, my relationship with God was a series of ups and downs - spiritual highs and stagnant lows. Weeks, months and years of hot, exciting chase, followed by indefinite periods of wandering and neglect. It was never God turning His back on me. It was always me drawing the invisible line, telling God to stay on His side because I could handle things over here. I knew He would be there when I needed Him, so I took the liberty of trying to do everything in my own power. But without a solid pursuit of Him, I wasn't really me.

My only goal for my time at She Speaks was to figure out if God really called me to write. I reasoned with myself that at 34-years-old, I am so far behind many writers my age who have book deals and profitable careers and fancy resumes and interesting topics. I convinced myself that God really wanted me to ignore this nagging tug toward writing once and for all and find a grown-up focus. I pleaded as I drove to North Carolina - I will do anything you tell me to do God - write, massage therapy, clog dancing. Anything! Just tell me!

In typical God fashion, He answered my question, but that's only the smallest part of the story.

Part 2.

My She Speaks Experience

2011-07-26T09:31:00.002-04:00

My heart and head are still processing all that is brewing from my weekend at She Speaks. I can't wait to share everything with you, but for now, here are three sentences that sum up the weekend for me.

Before She Speaks:
"I love to write, but I'm not good enough to call myself a writer."

During She Speaks:
"Me, a writer?"

After She Speaks:
Wow, I'm really a writer.

My Favorite Kind of Day

2011-07-11T12:09:00.001-04:00

It was my favorite kind of day.

A hot summer Friday, with the promise of ice cream cones and slushies after dinner. A sky so blue with clouds so white that it looked like artwork from a children's book. Steak - the expensive kind, bought during a really good sale - sizzled on the grill while green beans from our garden boiled on the stove. Sun tea basked on the porch and clean clothes rested on the clothes line.

The beauty of it all was so carefree and easy, like everything I loved about summer came together in one sublime moment just for me to snap a mental picture.

Maybe it was all a gift from God, a tiny treasure for me to cherish. Because with a single phone call, that beautiful day became a memory -- the last time I would ever feel such effortless enjoyment.

My brother had died and in an instant I was introduced to a grief that would knock me to my knees and a journey that would take me to places darker than I ever imagined.

It's been three years, and even when those perfect elements all fall into place from time to time, that easiness isn't there. I still long for those summer days when I wasn't aware of how harsh life really could be. A day when I didn't know what it felt like to lose my brother. A day when I didn't know what it sounded like to hear my dad cry. A day when I could grill steaks and look at the puffy clouds and not think, "Josh would have loved all this."

I miss those days.

But now, my favorite days are those when I can feel God's comforting hand and look back on three years of proof that He has never left my side. When I can witness the pure joy in my parents' hearts since finding their way back to God after Josh died. When I can wake up with the burden of suffering on my chest and have assurance that someday there won't be any tears or pain. When I can close my eyes to pray and catch a glimpse of my brother in Heaven.

As much as I like sun tea and clothes off the line, I cherish these days too.

Learning to Hold Thoughts Captive

2011-05-16T10:06:00.003-04:00

(This picture has nothing to do with this post, I just really love it. It was taken by Isabell Photography at my cousin Craig's wedding last month. I like how we're all smiling and Chancho looks incredibly guilty.)

Burned dinner and laundry out of control, again. I'm a failure at homemaking.

Call from the school nurse - head lice. I'm a failure at cleanliness.

Another argument about the same thing. I'm a failure at marriage.

Too much impatience, not enough grace. I'm failure at teaching Sunday School.

Broken arm that I thought was a sprain for a whole week. I'm failure at parenting.

Missed bill payment. I'm failure at finances.

Forgetful, unsympathetic, selfish. I'm a failure at friendship.

Three pounds gained. I'm a failure at taking care of myself.

Book proposal barely touched since April. I'm failure at being a writer.

10 days without a post. I'm failure at blogging.

Satan doesn't even have to try with me. I convince myself of my shortcomings and talk myself into failure time and time again, leaving me hopeless and useless. I do all the work for him.

Right now, I'm learning to silence these lies and cling to the truth.

2 Corinthians 10:5 reminds me that "We demolish arguments and every pretension that sets itself up against the knowledge of God, and we take captive every thought to make it obedient to Christ."

That knowledge of God - that I am fearfully and wonderfully made, that I am imperfect, but loved by a perfect saviour.

Galations 2:20 "I have been crucified with Christ and I no longer live, but Christ lives in me. The life I now live in the body, I live by faith in the Son of God, who loved me and gave himself for me."

Even when I fail, I can't be a failure, for He's in me.

What thoughts do you need to hold captive right now?

Friday Fan Feature

2011-05-06T12:51:00.000-04:00

I'm being featured today on my friend Hilary's blog, Accidentally Green. If you're interested in healthy living, parenting choices and faith, you should hop over and check it out!

If You Give a Mom Some Free Time

2011-05-04T22:55:00.000-04:00

If you give a mom some free time, she will start looking for things to do.

Laundry? Too boring.

Yardwork? Too muddy outside.

Closet cleaning? Too scary.

She will examine all her choices, and she will pick the biggest and most challenging task in the history of tasks.

She will search every nook and cranny of the house looking for photos.

When searching for the photos, she will come across baby pictures of her little ones.

She will tell her husband that they need another baby.

He will disagree.

Realizing he's right, she will continue her photo organization project.

She will pile every photo, cd, and memory card in the middle of the living room so no one can ignore the gigantic task she's working on.

When she finds out the total cost of printing the 300 photos on cd, she will choose to keep that information a secret from her husband.

After she's located and printed every photo, she will brainstorm how this project will go down.

Arrange by child? event? location? Chronological! Yes!

Even though her memory is a little fuzzy, she will try her best to organize all 9,786 of her family's photos in chronological order.

After organizing the photos by date, she will make several trips to Walmart for matching albums. She will decide to keep that information a secret as well.

While looking through the photos, she will notice that she has enough of her oldest child to fill two albums. She will feel guilty when she sees that photos of her middle and youngest children fill only one.

Since she's feeling guilty and a little weary, she will decide to take a break from organizing and spend some extra time with her youngest. She will seek out someone to take over while she's gone.

After spending some time away from the project, she will get a second wind. Determined to finish, she will press on.

Upon finishing, she will take a few moments to savor the sight of 11 years worth of photos, lovingly and chronologically organized.

But she will soon see the six loads of laundry piled up, the toys on the floor and the dinner burning on the stove.

And chances are, when she sees all the chores that need to be done, she will need some more free time.

Special thanks to Big A who ~~thinks I'm nuts for spending so much time on this~~ supported me in this project and ~~believes that photos are just fine stored under the bed in a shoebox~~ held down the fort while I worked on it.

Great Friday

2011-04-22T14:04:00.000-04:00

With a day off from school and weather too chilly for outdoor adventures, the kids and I are enjoying a Good Friday at home. And though Easter egg decorating and candy making are on tap for later, I wanted to give them a lesson on what this day really symbolizes - Jesus dying on the cross to pay for our sins.

Using the instructions from Kristin's blog, we made Resurrection Rolls by wrapping sugar-coated marshmallows in crescent rolls. After baking, the marshmallows melted - seemingly disappearing, just like Jesus disappeared out of the tomb.

At four years old, Chancho is just now starting to ask questions about Jesus and Heaven and trying to understand things in his own way.

"If we eat these rolls, we will go to Heaven," he said matter-of-factly as he feasted.

Then later, "Bubby is not going to Heaven because he's being mean to me."

And even later, "God didn't want Jesus to die, but the bad guys took him and put him in the toom."

As I tried to respond to his observations, it occurred to me just how little sense any of this makes, even to me. A God whose creation turns against him, who in one final act of mercy sends his only son to die the death of a sinner. A son who carries out his father's will, beaten, humiliated, wrongfully accused and brutally killed. And humanity, who chooses time and time again to reject both of them.

Yet His love has never changed. Never faltered. Never denied anyone.

How can this be? I can't comprehend giving my child up so someone else could live - especially someone who might never love me back. How can God's love be so deep, so strong? How can Christ's devotion be so steadfast, so sure?

Grace doesn't make sense. I can't explain it. I don't deserve it. But I accept it. And it's offered to you too.

We have all sinned. But we haven't all accepted the gift that God gave us on the cross that day. The gift of life in Heaven, the gift of a sinner's price paid for with the blood of a spotless lamb, the gift of grace and true forgiveness. If you haven't, I pray that you will, and if you have questions, I will try my best to answer them.

Miscommunication

2011-04-18T09:04:00.001-04:00

Two weeks ago, I came down with a yucky cold. I barely made it to church that Sunday morning, and I knew I would never make it through my weekly grocery shopping trip without needing a pitstop in the outdoor furniture section at Walmart. My dashing husband offered to go for me. Offered. To go. For me. My heart fluttered. I hate grocery shopping. The stores are too big and too crowded. I get depressed because organic produce is so expensive and I feel like I'm serving the kids poison if I don't buy it. I was so grateful to have a week off.

He got home, put the groceries away, showed me that he was $8 under budget, hid the junk food that wasn't on the list, and started making dinner. I think I might have purred at that point.

Until I tasted the orange juice.

"Oh no. You bought extra pulp. They don't like extra pulp," I said as I nodded toward the kids and imagined their disgruntledness at breakfast the next day.

The no pulp brigade.

"It's fine. Pulp is good for them," he said.

One week later, the 3/4-full bottle of orange juice was still in the fridge. And since we vowed that there would be no more juice purchases until it was gone, there was no turning back. I decided to sneak some into Chancho's cup one morning because he usually consumes first, then asks questions, but he wasn't fooled. He has some trouble saying the "r" sound, and I thought our conversation that followed was hilarious.

Chancho: "Mommy, I can't drink this orange juice. It tastes like pa-ow."

Me: "Pear? Well, you like pears, right? So you should like that juice."

Chancho: "No, PA-OW. It tastes like PA-OW."

Me: "Pa-ow? What?"

Chancho: "Yes. I said pa-ow. It tastes like orange pa-ow."

Me: "Peel? It tastes like orange peel?"

Chancho: "Right. Pa-ow."

For the record, we made frozen orange pops and smoothies with the rest of the juice.

So what about you? Pulp or no pulp?

Learning from Sissy

2011-04-12T16:41:00.003-04:00

It all started a few weeks ago, after Sissy and Bubby had a ~~knock-down-drag-out fight~~ ~~a heated argument~~ a pleasant debate. Both were sent to their rooms to cool off and think about ways to be nicer to each other in the future. Bubby pulled out his Legos to build a tower while Sissy picked up her Bible. When they emerged an hour later, after I had forgotten about sending them, she sheepishly told me to look at the verse she had bookmarked in her Bible.

Then Peter came to Jesus and asked, "Lord, how many times shall I forgive my brother or sister who sins against me? Up to seven times?" Jesus answered, "I tell you, not seven times, but seventy-seven times." Matthew 18:21-22

"You won't believe what this says!" she exclaimed.

Fast forward a few weeks. After several nights of not wanting to sleep in her own bed, Sissy and I started to seriously pray about the issues that were bothering her at night. Afraid of the dark. Afraid of strangers coming in her window. Afraid of a house fire. Afraid that Daddy and Mommy won't be there when she wakes up. As soon as she climbed into bed each night, these fears started racing through her mind so we prayed for peace and safety and good rest.

The next day, as she flipped through her Bible after school, the pages fell to John 14. On her own, she skimmed over the verses, letting her eyes rest on 27.

Peace I leave with you; my peace I give you. I do not give to you as the world gives.

Do not let your hearts be troubled and do not be afraid.

"Mommy, it seems like the Bible talks right to me sometimes," she said in awe of what she had just read.

When she first learned to read, she vowed to read through the entire Bible. Though she lost sight of that goal a while ago, she carries her Bible with her everywhere now, just in case she has time to open it and take a peak. Mostly, she's just looking for something that jumps off the page - whether it's a story or a verse. Occasionally, she will read a chapter or two, to follow up on something she learned at church, or something we've talked about.

And I wonder how I can bottle this excitement and willingness to go to God's word when times get hard. How years from now I can remind her of these instances, when she needed answers and He loved her enough to speak them right to her through the pages. How I can remind myself that He will do the same for me if I just look.

*Sissy's favorite Bible by far is the Hands On Bible from Tyndale. We love it! (This isn't an affiliate link and Tyndale hasn't paid me to say this!)

Joining the Ultimate Blog Party... Better Late Than Never

2011-04-07T21:04:00.000-04:00

My kids have been home for Spring Break most of this week, and I almost forgot to join in for the Ultimate Blog Party at 5 Minutes for Mom!

I'm Kristy K, a 34-year-old mom and wife from Northeast Ohio. My husband Big A and I have been married for 12 years. You can read the details about the beginning of our relationship (way back in high school) right here. We have three children: Bubby (9), Sissy (7) and Chancho (4). Big A and I consider parenthood our highest calling and responsibility, and we strive to raise our young ones in a Christian home full of love and grace.

I'm a former freelance writer, and hopefully future author. My sweet brother Josh died almost three years ago and, I would love to have a book published someday about my experience as a grieving sister. However, I know that God's plans are often not my own, so until then, I'll share my story in any way I can. You can read some of my grief posts here, here and here.

I'm also passionately passionate about intimacy in marriages! I believe with my whole heart that a strong intimate relationship (or lack of) can make or break a marriage. I wrote a whole series on the topic last year (and had some great discussions in the comments which were all lost due to some technical difficulties).

My blog is going through somewhat of an identity crisis lately as I figure out what it should be, but I hope you'll look around and stay a while!

Quite Possibly the Best Semi-Homemade Cookie Ever

2011-03-31T20:49:00.000-04:00

For real.

Because I love my kids and their school and the PTO, I volunteered to bake six dozen cookies for the annual Spring Carnival bake sale this week. I didn't, however, anticipate that Chancho would be sick three days (and counting), leaving me with little time to bake or shop for a bunch of ingredients.

I was perusing the pantry to see what I had on hand when I remembered these cookies I saw on a blog a few weeks ago. I can't take credit for this recipe, and I also can't remember which blog I found it on. So if anyone knows, send me an email and I will attribute it to the right person. Right after I go to the person's house to give them a big fat kiss.

I don't even know what these cookies are called, so let's just call them Easy Peasy Cookies Sent Straight from Heaven. You probably have all the ingredients for these in your kitchen right now, so you can make a batch to celebrate April Fools' Day.

Easy Peasy Cookies Sent Straight from Heaven
1 box devil's food cake mix
3 large eggs
1/2 cup of oil
1 tub of whipped vanilla frosting

Preheat your oven to 350 degrees. Prepare the devil's food cake mix according to the package directions, but omit the water. Your cake mix may call for more or less eggs or oil, so follow the directions on your box. I used a tablespoon to drop the mix onto an ungreased baking sheet, spacing each dollop two inches apart. This should yield approximately 24 cookies (or two huge giant cookies, not that I tried, but I was tempted). Bake for 8-10 minutes.

When cooled, spread frosting on the bottom of one cookie and top it with another. Lather. Rinse. Repeat. You'll end up with 12 sandwiched cookies. One tub of frosting is more than enough for two batches.

And that is it. Super easy and convenient if you don't want to bake a whole cake or if you're in the middle of a drought and can't spare any water.

Mmmm. Breakfast.

5 Tips to Keep Your Focus on the Sunday Sermon

2011-03-30T11:37:00.002-04:00

I've noticed this last year that I have a short attention span. I blame my age (34) and my kids (loud and busy), but regardless of the cause, I can't seem to stay focused on the task at hand for very long.

It's most evident in church where I can sit week after week without ever really hearing what our pastor is saying. Once the music stops, I'm prone to zoning out. Sometimes I'll make to do lists for the week while he's speaking. One time I wrote out the entire plotline of a novel on the back of my bulletin, including a lengthy back story for my protagonist.

I cant't tell you what the pastor talked about that morning, but I can tell you that Sheila Warner is a pioneer midwife with a dark secret and a past she's trying to forget.

So where was I?

Right. I want to listen to what our pastor is saying. So I came up with a few ideas to keep my mind from wandering, and if you're anything like me, these tips might help you too.

1. Take notes. My friend Shark Bait wrote this post, which referenced this post by Atypical Pastor's Wife about taking notes during a sermon. I started taking notes the very next Sunday. Now I'm not only hearing what our pastor is saying, I can also look back at my notes later in the week and email him if I don't understand something.

2. Make a pit stop before church starts. I mentioned before that I always have to pee. Always. I'm certain the Holy Spirit has been quenched many times in my life because nothing distracts me more than wishing the pastor would hurry up because I HAVE TO GO THIS MINUTE. Now I visit the bathroom before church starts, or during the offering.

3. Eat breakfast. If my stomach is growling, I find it really hard to concentrate. And if I'm worried that other people can hear it, I'll spend the entire sermon with my arms crossed tightly over my abdomen, as I fumble around in my purse for cough drops, gum, fruit snacks or anything else I can swallow to get it to stop. A good breakfast helps.

4. Dress Appropriately. Even if it's warm outside, I bring a sweater. I can throw it over my shoulders or drape it over my legs if I'm wearing a skirt. Also, I try to dress as modest as possible. It sounds old-fashioned, but I'm less likely to fidget with my clothes when I know I'm not showing too much skin.

5. Don't check facebook right before church. When I do, my mind wanders to facebook during the entire sermon. "Oh, I need to find Jodi after this to ask what she meant by her status!" or "There's Andrea. I wonder if she liked the movie she watched last night." Avoiding facebook on Sunday mornings helps me stay focused on the reason I'm there - to experience what God has in store for me that day.

So what helps you pay attention in church?

Saying Thanks

2011-03-18T09:32:00.003-04:00

When I found out Monday morning that I was one of the Cecil Murphey scholarship winners for the She Speaks Conference, I did exactly what I usually do in these types of situations. I quickly closed my laptop in disbelief and pushed it under the couch, wanting to be as far away from it as possible.

I fled.

When I pulled it out later to check one last time, I knew - just knew - that my name wouldn't be there, that it was all a misunderstanding or maybe a little typo. "Oh, they must have meant kristyblogs.net, and since I'm kristyblogs.com, I can see why they'd be confused!"

But my name was still there, plain as day. Then I started reading all the sweet comments left here with all your encouragement and celebration, and I felt a mix of gratefulness and fear. Grateful for this opportunity and fear that I won't do it justice. Grateful that my prayer was answered and fear that I'm not really worthy of having this prayer answered.

Thankfully Jessica - a She Speaks grad and fellow blogger - was there to talk some sense into me.

"Breathe easy and enjoy your blessing."

So that's what I've been doing this week, and what I'll continue to do.

Thank you all for celebrating with me. I can't wait to share what God teaches me at the conference, and in the next few months as I prepare to go.

Permission to Rest

2011-03-10T22:00:00.003-05:00

When I tell people in jest that I haven't slept in 10 years - since I was eight months pregnant with Bubby - I'm actually being quite truthful. It seems like I haven't really rested in at least a decade. After the initial infant sleeplessness wore off, there was toddler-climbing-out-of-crib sleeplessness, then baby-number-two sleeplessness, then number-three sleeplessness, then must-stay-awake-so-I-can-squeeze-every-minute-out-of-the-day sleeplessness.

For a while, those 5-6 hours of sleep each night seemed like plenty. In fact, around 11 p.m. each evening, I got a second wind and could sometimes piddle around the house until well after midnight. That's when I got the most important work done - the silverware drawer organizing, the sock match finding, the facial hair tweezing.

Of course, I wouldn't be able to function the next morning until about 9 a.m, which was unfortunate considering my family wakes up about two hours before that expecting things like breakfast and packed lunches. But really it was no problem. I had a routine. I'd snap at them and get angry over every little infraction, then I'd feel guilty and vow to be extra nice when they got home from school and work. Except that when they got home, I'd be even grouchier. So I'd drink some tea and eat something sugar-laden and I'd be okay for a little while - until my skin felt like it was crawling and every noise sounded like someone scraping their nails on a chalkboard.

And I thought that was normal. I'm a mom. These are the crazy years, I thought.

Well, I can now say that after about two weeks of getting eight hours of sleep each night, per my doctor's orders, crazy is not my normal frame of mind (praise God!). Bright-eyed and bushy-tailed, ready to face the day at 6:30 a.m. is the real me. For the last several days, I've put the big kids on the bus with a smile and have energy to keep up with Chancho as soon as his little feet hit the floor. I skip the caffeine in the afternoon and by 10 p.m., I'm ~~snoring and drooling~~ looking extremely attractive and thin as I doze off next to Big A on the couch. It's a wonderful transformation and I wish I would have done it sooner.

I used to believe there was no way I could accomplish everything that needed to be done if I didn't stay up late to do it all. But the truth is, when I was tired and cranky, I was just existing and not giving my best to anything. That's the biggest change I've noticed. I feel more present now than I have in a long time, like I'm actually participating in my life and not just reacting to what it throws at me.

I just want to urge all of you who are reading this to give yourself permission to rest. The world will not stop spinning and your family will survive if you get to bed a few hours earlier. And you'll all be better for it.

So part one of my get well soon plan is a success. As I expected, the second part - the low sugar, high protein eating plan - has been much more difficult. But more on that later. I'm going to bed.

She Speaks, She Writes, She Leads, and So Do I

2011-03-09T21:34:00.001-05:00

Red-faced and willing away tears, I slumped down in my seat as my speech professor's words rang in my ears.

"Public speaking is definitely not for you," she told me after my nerves got the best of me yet again.

And for fourteen years, I believed her.

I found hiding behind a keyboard to be easier and safer than putting myself in front of an audience anyway, so for years, I journaled and reported, wrote articles and love letters, and dreamed of one day writing a manuscript. I threw myself into my passion with fervor, but with each passing event in my life, I waited for a "go" from God that never seemed to come.

Then the unthinkable happened. My sweet brother was suddenly and tragically taken from us.

Then the amazing happened. Hardened hearts were open to hearing truth again and God's grace turned everything upside down.

The words flowed swiftly after that and I wrote, into the night, as my kids played, as the dishes piled up, knowing that finally, finally!, this was the story God wanted me to share with the world.

But with my story on paper, God revealed that the next step in my getting-my-book-published journey wasn't getting my book published at all.

Speak it.

"But I can't," I cried. "I don't do that."

Speak it.

So as fear pressed hard into my throat and my legs threatened to give out, I shared a pared-down version of my story in front of our church's mom's group. And to my delight, I didn't throw up. Or die.

That 45 minute talk chipped away a few layers of the self-doubt and insecurity that I carried for fourteen years and showed me that God doesn't limit my potential to just paper and ink, so why should I?

After surviving another opportunity to speak in front of real, live people recently, the next step in my journey became very clear. It's less about fulfilling a life-long dream, accomplishing a goal or crossing something off my bucket list, and more about sharing the amazing things He's done for me by any means possible. Whether it's through publishing a book, sharing my personal experiences at Nar-Anon meetings, or encouraging a friend, I want others to know how great our God is.

That's my calling. The words are written and my heart is open.

And that's why I would love to win one of the two Cecil Murphy Scholarships to attend the She Speaks Conference this summer.

She Speaks offers learning opportunities and valuable information for women at every stage of their writing, speaking or leadership journeys. Writers will hear from publishers, editors and industry professionals who will answer questions and offer advice. Speakers will learn how to polish their messages and be evaluated based on their experience levels. Those on the leadership track will learn about building their ministries, resolving conflict and reaching their audience.

If this sounds like something you'd be interested in, hope on over to Lysa's blog to submit your own post! If you're reading this and you don't have a blog, there's a special scholarship available for non-bloggers too.

(This is actually my third(!) try to win this scholarship in as many years. My previous entries can be found here and here. Is there an award for Most Persistent?)

Get Well Soon

2011-03-07T11:07:00.000-05:00

(A repost.... just testing to make sure everything is switching over properly)

“When did you start feeling bad?” my doctor asked me, as she looked over my chart.

“Well, I can tell you the last time I felt really good – about two and a half years ago, right before my brother died,” I told her.

She looked over my symptoms: fatigue, weight gain, insomnia, irregular cycles, irritability, brain fog.

“Let’s run some tests and see what we find out,” she told me reassuringly.
Several vials of blood and one saliva test kit later, I had my diagnosis: Low Progesterone and Adrenal Fatigue.

My health has been a roller coaster ride for a long time. I’ve mentioned it before here, but because I wasn’t able to see my doctor for over a year – instead I’ve had to see other doctors in her practice – I never got an official diagnosis, just a “you’re getting older and things get a little crazy.” Thankfully, I was able to see her this time around and get some real answers from someone who has walked me through the death of our first child and the births of our next three.

As I sat and listened to her explanations and recommendations, my eyes welled up with tears. On the outside, I look fine – even Big A can’t tell there’s something wrong by looking at me. But on the inside, I’m a mess. I just don’t feel good. I plug along every day, taking care of whatever needs done, but about halfway through the day, I’m exhausted. And while I can function this way, I don’t want to. I want to be 100% – for Big A, for my kids, for myself.

Stephanie from Keeper of the Home explains adrenal fatigue better than I ever could, so if you want more information, her post is the best place to start. In my case, a hugely stressful event – my brother Josh’s death – probably sent my body into defense mode, and because I never gave myself time to recover – because I never had the time to really recover, my body is burned out.

My results came back and I met with her this week to discuss a game plan which includes a low sugar/high protein diet, progesterone and a DHEA supplement and at least 8 full hours of sleep each night. (Just for your own personal records, the aspects of this game plan that will be hard for me are the ones that I put in bold-faced type.) While I’ve only been following her orders for four days, I’m optimistic knowing that I’m going to feel like my old self again soon.

If any of you read this and think “Maybe I have adrenal fatigue too,” you probably do. I’m not a doctor, so you really shouldn’t take my word for it, but I heard recently that about 80% of women suffer from stress-related exhaustion. But because we’re women, we just plow through without ever taking the steps to heal.

Isn’t it funny how we take care of everyone and everything around us, but we allow our own health to suffer?

So that’s my story right now. As my health improves and the brain fog clears, hopefully I’ll be able to write more. I miss you guys.

And since I’m no longer planning to be a professional blogger, I’m going back to blogspot. At the end of this month, you can find me again at www.kristyblogs.com. I never quite felt at home here on wordpress, so I’m excited to get back to a platform that I’m more comfortable with. I’ll switch over all the email and feed subscriptions so you shouldn’t have to miss a post.

Thanks for reading!

On My Camera and On My Mind

2011-01-27T18:02:00.000-05:00

Since I haven’t posted a picture in a while (who am I kidding, I haven’t posted a post in a while!), I thought I’d post some pictures from the last few months. When I bought my camera, I bought an extra large memory card, which has only helped me to never look at my pictures.
On My Camera
Back in October, my not so little brother Jesse was making plans to have his senior pictures taken. I volunteered my photography services for a trial run and was pleasantly surprised with the results.

Jesse, the Rock Star.

Jesse, the Cologne Ad Model.

Jesse, the Thinker.

I recently caught on to Big A’s evil plan to completely erase me from our family’s photo albums. Though he swears there’s no conspiracy, from Thanksgiving to New Year’s, I only appeared in one picture – and a bad one at that.

That's me, bending over the kids' table, as we celebrated Christmas with Big A's side of the family.

Bubby finishes basketball season this weekend. I’m always amazed when I see little boys demonstrating athletic ability. To me, it seems impossible to catch a ball, dribble it down the court in the right direction and throw it up toward a hoop, all while other people are trying to swat it out of your hands. But Bubby does it with ease. I do believe he’s the next Michael Jordan, and no, I’m not biased.

Shooting his first foul shot (which he nailed, by the way).

Last week Big A took Sissy to her school’s father/daughter dance. This dance is one of her favorite things to do each year. The chance to buy a pretty new dress, get all dolled up and spend two uninterrupted hours with her daddy makes her feel like a princess and I’m pretty sure Big A cherishes that time with her too. If you look closely, you can see that she’s wearing earrings that Big A gave to me when I was pregnant with her.

Cutest couple.

On My Mind
-The results of the spiritual gifts inventory I took at church a few weeks ago (post coming… sooner or later).
-My brother Ryan leaving for Iraq any minute now.
-My reluctance to register Chancho for preschool next year.
-My missing words. They used to constantly float around in my head, but now I have to look really hard to find even a few. Where have they gone?
-The mistake that I cannot find in my checkbook.
-Adoption. Still.
-The blessing of a warm home to protect me from a cold day.
-Ritz crackers topped with chocolate frosting.

So what’s on your mind?

Well, That Was Awkward

2011-01-03T18:00:00.001-05:00

I haven’t blogged for a month, I know.
I’m not even sure how to start blogging again after a month-long break. Do I apologize? Do I act like I never took a break and pick up where I left off? Do I delete the blog and start fresh – new title, new purpose? Do I talk about the last month and tell everyone all the reasons I wasn’t blogging?

I don’t know.

So I think I will share what God has been revealing to me in the last few months.

I love myself too much.

And blogging feeds into that love. The comments. The followers. The private emails. The praise. The stat counters. I eat.it.up. I want to be liked by you, even though I have never met most of you. I want you to appreciate my words, think my kids are cute and want to be my friend in real life.

I spent so much of the last year promoting this blog – promoting myself. Sure I wrote about God, but that was just so I could call it all a “ministry.” But I knew deep down it wasn’t that. It was my own little popularity contest. Sometimes I would win and it would be awesome, and sometimes I wouldn’t and my whole day would be wrecked.

After a while, I got tired of my own words. So I cut back, then eventually I just had to quit for a while.

I turn 34 years old today (shameless plug for my birthday). And I am sick of myself.

This year, I want to say yes to God and no to me. Yes to what he asks of me, no to what I think is best. Yes to things that stretch my comfort zone, no to things that keep me stuck in the same spot. Yes to all the blessings he’s waiting to hand to me, no to accepting mediocrity instead of those blessings.

Part of that is quitting the blogging popularity contest and going back to where I started – documenting our family and what I’m learning through our journey. Another part of that is stepping back from the weekly Physical Friday series. I know many of you appreciated those posts and I appreciate that you appreciated them, but I can’t commit to continuing the series right now. If someone else would like to pick up where I left off, I’ll place a link on my sidebar.

Obviously I’m not getting any younger (did I mention it’s my 34th birthday today?), and I need to keep first things first. And the first thing isn’t ME.

For the Love of Chocolate

2010-11-23T17:47:00.000-05:00

Today started like any other. I woke everyone up, made breakfast, packed lunches and helped with shoes and jackets for the big kids while Chancho snuggled under four blankets on the couch. Or so I thought.
As I made the final call for Bubby and Sissy to gather their things and get out the door, I noticed that the rumpled mess of blankets no longer contained my baby big boy.

I thought that was weird, but in my haste to get the kids ready for the bus and to kiss Big A goodbye, I figured he was in the bathroom or playing with toys in his room.

I called for him once. No answer. And again. Still no answer.

I looked in his room. In the bathrooms. In the laundry room. In all the closets. All the while calling his name but getting no response.

Bubby and Sissy were beside themselves, watching me as I searched our house. I noticed Bubby dialing a number on the phone.

“I’m calling 9-1-1,” he said matter-of-factly.

“We’re not calling 9-1-1,” I said. “He’s here somewhere.”

This is the point where I started to panic a little. Over the weekend, he actually snuck out of the house twice – once to check the mail on his own and another time to say goodbye to someone who was leaving. Both times, we noticed he was gone with a minute or so, but I was surprised how quickly and easily he could get out.

While I was fairly certain he didn’t sneak out the door into the dark of morning, I really didn’t know.
I called Big A to see if Chancho followed him outside when he left for work. He wondered how I could lose my own son in my own house. I wondered how he could be so insensitive.

And just like that, it occured to me that Chancho could be hiding in the toybox, in the same room where I called his name no less than 10 times.

I opened the lid and sure enough, there he was, crouched down, eyes closed.

“Chancho! What are you doing in there?”

“I don’t want waffles for breakfast, just this chocolate,” he said as he showed me piece of chocolate in his tiny hand.

Unfortunately for Chancho, he was grounded from chocolate for the day, as well as banned from watching TV. And after I called Big A back to tell him I found our son and that he was alive and well, I drove the big kids to school because we missed the bus.

Then I came home and ate the piece of chocolate plus a few more for good measure. That will show him.

16 Minutes

2010-11-18T17:49:00.000-05:00

Is the new K Family hula hoop record, held by our very own Sissy K! Just look at the determination in her eyes, her clenched toes clad in purple socks and her Halloween tattoo.

She means business, and so far, even after several attempts to beat her record and to sabotage her efforts, Bubby hasn’t even come close.

So what’s your hidden talent? (mine is definitely NOT hula hooping)