Pop Rocks for Breakfast

Hotter than a Texas summer... what I've learned about fire

noreply@blogger.com (Christie in Dallas, TX) — Sat, 21 Jun 2025 15:41:00 +0000

When I was 14, my family moved to an Air Force base in Tokyo. While we had this new, unfamiliar country to explore, the base itself had fairly limited options for fun. One day, my mom stumbled upon the base’s ceramics and pottery studio, and we spent the rest of the summer pouring liquid clay into molds, letting our creations dry, cleaning up the edges, and painting on the glaze.

If you haven't seen it, ceramic glaze is a really dull color -- an unremarkable chalky grayish blue. A color that makes you doubt your creation is actually going to look good when it's done. But that’s before the final step. The final step is to leave the clay in a kiln—a furnace that reaches over 1,800 degrees. We’d leave our pieces at the studio to be fired and return a few days later to find them completely transformed. What had gone in dull and somewhat ugly came out strong, shiny, and beautiful.

While we're talking about 1,800 degrees, most of us are familiar with the Bible story from the book of Daniel about three young men: Shadrach, Meshach, and Abednego. They were firm in their faith and refused to bow to the king’s idol, even under threat of death. The fiery furnace they were promised as punishment wasn’t a metaphor—it was real, and it was meant to be terrifying. But they didn’t bend. They chose faith over fear. And they were thrown into a blazing furnace, so hot that some of the soldiers died just from getting too close.

I don't know about you, but in stories like that, I’m always hoping for the rescue. Come on, God -- change the king’s mind, or snuff out the fire. But God didn’t do either of those things. And into the furnace the three friends went.

At some point, King Nebuchadnezzar looked into the fire and was shocked. Not only were the three men unharmed, but a fourth person was walking with them in the flames. I imagine the king scratched his head at first, until he realized the fourth figure was the presence of God. The men walked out untouched, and the king, who had once demanded worship, declared his belief in their God.

We’ve all had times in life where we were thrown into a trial that feels like our very own kiln or fiery furnace. We lose our job. A spouse files for divorce. We deal with illness. And in those times, it's our nature to hope for the rescue. And when that doesn't happen, our first question is “Why?”

Here’s what I’ve learned about the fire: Fire is a transformer.

Sometimes the fire is for you. Like those ceramics, the heat is what transforms us, shaping us into something stronger, more refined, more beautiful.

Sometimes the fire is for others. Sometimes someone else needs to be transformed -- friends, coworkers, even strangers. And their change comes by being a spectator to how you walk through your trial. They see your courage, your faith, your perseverance -- and they notice the “fourth person” walking with you. And they are changed.

So if you find yourself in the heat of something hard -- grief, loss, uncertainty, or change -- know this: you were never meant to walk through it alone. God doesn’t always pull us out of the fire, but He always steps into it with us. The same God who stood with Shadrach, Meshach, and Abednego still walks with people today. And He will walk with you. All you have to do is invite Him in. Let Him be your fourth in the fire.

He’s never been afraid of a little heat.

Lessons from the Backyard

noreply@blogger.com (Christie in Dallas, TX) — Fri, 20 Jun 2025 20:30:00 +0000

One week into the new norm of being laid off, I’m discovering how much I appreciate the quiet mornings.

Instead of grabbing my coffee and heading straight to my home office – or jumping in the car to head to work – I sit on my back patio with my dogs, my thoughts, and the sound of birds. I enjoy my coffee and map out my day.

Watching the birds brings a phrase to life that I’ve often shared with my team: “Stick your beak in the ground.”

I know it sounds simple and a little quirky, but stay with me – there’s something powerful in it.

Birds have the daily challenge of finding food. They don’t know where their next meal is coming from. There’s no pantry, no fridge - just the open earth and the hope that something’s waiting.

And so they do what they know to do: they stick their beak in the ground - again and again -until they find something.

They’re not responsible for what’s in the ground. They are responsible for showing up and doing the work.

Sometimes they get lucky on the first try. But often, it takes time. effort. focus. determination.

In my current job search, it feels like I’m sticking my beak in the ground over and over—networking, applying, reaching out. I see some people stick their beak in the ground once and come up with an offer. Others are working hard and are still empty-handed. And while that can be discouraging, I remind myself:

I’m not responsible for putting worms in the ground. But I am responsible for showing up and putting in the work.

This is what we call grit. hustle. resolve. fortitude.

So whether you’re looking for a job, trying to get a project off the ground, trying to land that client, or just feeling a little stuck in life –

Keep showing up. Keep sticking your beak in the ground. You never know when, or where, your worm is waiting.

If I can support you in any way, reach out. We don’t have to do this alone.

An Open Letter to My Graduate

noreply@blogger.com (Christie in Dallas, TX) — Wed, 01 May 2019 02:42:00 +0000

My Dear Senior,

You are getting ready to graduate and leave high school behind. Life as you know it is about to change. For 13 years, you have been getting up in the morning (okay, I have been forcing you to get up in the morning) and heading off to school with your backpack and lunch (except on the days when you forgot your lunch, and I drove it up to school for you). Then you’d come home, grab a snack, FaceTime your friends who were with you at school all day, and at some point start on your homework.

And now we are picking out bedding and a mini-fridge for the new place you’ll come home to every day after class. No one will be there to ask you if you have homework. And (you’ll love this part) no one will be there to remind you that even though you hate science, it is something you need in your life, and you need to apply yourself. You’ll have a newfound freedom that you never had at home, but you’ll also have the responsibility that comes with living without your family. (Like when you can’t find something, I will not be there to magically know where it is… you are definitely going to miss that.)

You ask why I cry when we talk about graduation. You ask if it’s because I’m sad you are going off to college. There is definitely a part of me that is sad you will not be living under my roof anymore, that there will be an empty seat at family dinners, and that your room will stay perpetually clean because you won’t be here to mess it up. There’s a part in every Mother’s heart that does not want to let go.

And some of the tears are sadness because as you graduate, I – in a way – graduate too. You are saying goodbye to your high school, and I am as well. Think about it -- everything you’ve been involved in, I have been involved in as well, and I have gotten to spend time with my parent friends as we volunteered countless hours, went to football games and pep rallies, and cheered our kids on together. So, just as you are sad to leave your friends, I get sad too, to leave the community I have come to love over the past 4 years.

But mainly the tears are gratitude. I’m grateful for the time we’ve had with you. I’m grateful you have grown up into a responsible human being who will, for the most part, make good decisions when you go off to college. You have found your passion, and you figured out what you want to be when you grow up, and I got to watch all that happen right before my eyes.

I remember when we sold our last house after being there 12 years. I was excited to move into our new “dream” house. But the day I had to close the door on the old house for the last time – wow, that was a hard day. Not because I wanted to stay but because we’d lived so many moments inside those four walls. So many cherished memories. And it was hard to say goodbye. I knew a piece of my heart would always be there. And it’s the same with you graduating. We are so proud of you and realize – truly – the best years of your life are still to come. But I have so many cherished memories with you, especially during these past 4 years, and, even though great things are waiting for you, it’s hard to close the door on those moments for the last time.

So for now, let me cry. I know it’s embarrassing, but I think you get it. Everything you know is about to change, and, at some level, that’s a little scary, right? For me too. I don’t know how life will be without you here every day, but we’ll figure it out together.

Go confidently in the direction of your dreams. Be adventurous. Try new things and make great life-long friends. Work hard and ask hard questions. Occasionally eat some vegetables, and please get enough sleep.

I will be cheering you on, ever grateful for who you are and who you will become.

Love,

Mom, your biggest fan

(and yes, I am crying)

Let's Do A 180... (Months, that is!)

noreply@blogger.com (Christie in Dallas, TX) — Fri, 05 Aug 2016 04:04:00 +0000

My dearest Chell-Bell,

When you were young, I used to write to you on the 4th of every month to document the progress you'd made that month - new words, new foods, new "firsts". As you've grown, those monthly posts have become few and far between, even though you've continued to experience new things and have new "firsts". Today is a good day to revive that tradition, because today marks 180 months of YOU. It's stunning to think you have been growing up under my nose for 15 years, and yet that number still takes me by surprise.

I look forward to seeing you live your life as a 15 year old. You're tough, and you've got some battle scars to show how you got there. You're silly, and not everyone may get your puns, but those who do appreciate your gift. You're wholesome. That's not a popular word these days, but staying in the lane of what's right will save you from a lot and serve you well. It also means you hang out with friends who have an appreciation for what is good, and those who have similar values. You're confident in who you are, which is a gift in itself.

Challenge yourself this year to ensure that no one is invisible. Even people doing the least notable thing around you -- make them feel valued. Make them feel appreciated. Consider every encounter - whether a smile in passing or sitting next to someone in class - a divine occurrence, and make it count.

Cheers to 180! (Hey, if you were a dog, you'd only be 2!).
I love you!

Why I will not make my kids' lives happy any more

noreply@blogger.com (Christie in Dallas, TX) — Tue, 24 May 2016 01:37:00 +0000

After surviving life as a middle school Mom for three years, I'm happy to say that being a Mom to a high school Freshman has been way better. Like Off-The-Charts and I-Don't-Drink-Nearly-As-Much better.

As this Freshman year comes to a close, we attended one of the oh-so-many end of year banquets (why didn't anyone warn me about all the banquets??) to celebrate a fantastic year of Drill Team. Being in the Drill Team has been one of the best things ChellBell has done this year. Her Directors are amazing, funny, supportive, talented, consistent, and disciplined. And they are aiming to produce 60 girls who are the same.

Chell has been very happy in Drill Team -- happier than I've ever seen before. It is incredibly satisfying to see your child that happy. I have spent 14 years aiming to make my child happy. That's been my goal. "Let's go here -- she'll love it!" (AKA "It will make her happy"). "Let's buy this -- she'll be so surprised!" (AKA "It will make her happy"). "Let's ask her what SHE wants!" (AKA "Let's make her happy!")

Not that there's anything wrong with that. Happy Child = Happy Mom, right?

We started watching the slideshow (that's what you do at Banquets), and I saw this quick photo go by of my daughter in her uniform. Her head was held high. Her shoulders were back. A slight smile on her face.

And I realized

What I hadn't realized in my 14 years of being her Mother.

It's not her Happiness that matters.

She wasn't wearing a look of Happiness in that uniform.

She was Proud.

She was Proud to wear the uniform. She was Proud to be a Silver Wing. She was Proud that her hard work paid off. She was Proud to represent her school by doing what she loves -- dancing. She was Proud to be part of such a wonderful group of talented girls.

She was Proud of herself.

Later, the team gave out awards (they do that at Banquets too). Her team gave her the "Best Leaps" Award -- called out of 60 girls as the dancer with the best leaps... And I saw that look again. She was so Proud of herself.

I realized in a moment that my goal has been all wrong. My goal need not be her happiness -- it should be letting her discover opportunities to be Proud of herself.

Instead of rescuing her from potential failure or giving her the answer, I need to be constantly challenging her to do what makes her Proud. When her response or attitude is a little off, instead of trying to make her happy or telling her what she needs to do (essentially so she'll be happy), I need to challenge her -- "What can you do in this situation to be Proud of your response?" or "When you think back on this, will you be Proud of yourself?" As the clock nears midnight, and she still hasn't finished that project for school tomorrow, I can encourage her to "Push yourself to do the job that will make you Proud when you turn this in." And when her friends start making less-than-ideal choices about what they do, say, or who they date, my goal is that she will ask herself, "Will I be Proud of the choices I'm making?"

Because when she does things she's Proud of... she's happy.

I guess she wasn't the only one to learn things this year...

On the First Day of Christmas

noreply@blogger.com (Christie in Dallas, TX) — Fri, 26 Dec 2014 07:27:00 +0000

It's been an amazing day of celebrating with family, opening gifts, eating and then eating some more. It's actually been a pretty amazing month of Christmas-ing for us with shows and shopping and traditions and parties.

I always get a little sad when December 25th comes to a close. I hate to see it all end. On December 26th, the Christmas songs stop playing. One by one, the homes on our street take down their lights. Dried-out Christmas trees make their way to the sidewalk for bulk pick-up. We build up so much anticipation for one day. One day to share the celebration of Santa with the celebration of the birth of Christ.

The reality, though, is that while Santa gets one night, the birth of Christ was just the beginning of the Christmas story. On Christmas Day, Jesus was born. But it took a while for the world to know. We tend to celebrate the birth, the angels, the shepherds and the arrival of the wisemen together, like it all happened on one day. I mean, all of those figures came in my Nativity scene box together, as if they all experienced God coming to be with us at the same time. The truth, though, is that it took a while. Word had to spread. It is believed to have taken the wisemen almost two years to find Jesus!

Not being in a church that emphasizes the Liturgical calendar, it was a complete surprise to me that the 12 Days of Christmas is a real thing, and it starts Christmas Day. It's not a celebration of buying random, expensive leaping lords, geese a-laying, and golden rings for your true love... It's an opportunity for Christians to take 12 days to focus on the rest of the story after the birth of Christ - the angels sharing the good news, the shepherds arriving and then running to tell the world, and then the wisemen following the star to Jesus. It's the story of the world finding out. Hearing the good news. Realizing that Hope had come. That things would be different. That God had, just like he promised, decided to come down in flesh and be with us, be one of us.

My family is going to try something new this year by celebrating the 12 Days of Christmas. Our house will be the one with the lights on and the trees up until we reach "Epiphany", the 12th Day. With the hustle and frantic busy-ness of Christmas coming to an end, I'm looking forward to having a chance to breathe and focus on God being with us, and then finding ways between now and January 6 to show how that has made a difference.

Teaching my family the Facts of Life

noreply@blogger.com (Christie in Dallas, TX) — Tue, 02 Sep 2014 22:42:00 +0000

ChellBell and I took some time last week to volunteer at a local retirement center as part of our service for National Charity League. They asked us to spend time in Memory Care and ironically asked us to play trivia games with the residents. The trivia was not going very well until we moved to the section of the game where the residents had to complete phrases.

"A stitch in time saves..." NINE! They all knew how to finish that phrase -- even the residents who had been completely silent up to that point shouted out the answer.

"Cleanliness is next to..." GODLINESS!

"Absence makes the heart grow..." FONDER!

"Glass half empty or glass half..." FULL!

I have always been a bit stumped by that last one -- I guess I'm a "glass half full" girl (especially if there is champagne in that glass) and don't understand why anyone would focus on part of the glass being empty, when clearly there is something in there.

Lucky me married a man who has the tendency to be glass-half-empty, which for several years brought an interesting balance to our home. Then we had our first child, and while she got my hair and skin coloring, she got my husband's outlook on the world. That means that I am now essentially a hopeless optimist living with 2 very pessimistic people. It's like 1 + -2, and I am outnumbered. I am convinced that whatever comes, rain or shine, we will all be fine and happy. They worry about what could be and fret over what is not.

And it Drives.Me.Crazy.

So the other night, I took advantage of our rare family dinner time to address what I consider to be the Facts of Life and try to talk some pos-i-tiv-i-ty into the way they see their glasses.

Fact of Life Number 1: Life happens regardless of whether you enjoy the journey or not. Work and school and homework and broccoli are going to be a part of your life. You can choose to like it or choose to hate it, but it will still be there. It makes things better for everyone when you decide to like it.

Fact of Life Number 2: Your outlook on life is completely your choice. You are the only person who can change how you view the world. You may think that if so-and-so was nicer, or if your boss was a better leader, if there were fewer bills to pay, if Algebra wasn't so hard, or if Texas summers would stop being so hot, you would be a happier person. But true lasting happiness is not based on other people doing things or things changing around you. It comes from inside, despite the circumstances around you.

Fact of Life Number 3: Whether you are a positive or negative person, life is hard. Even being a positive person, I have walked through some hard things. That's all relative, of course. There are children in Cambodia being sold, people in the Congo drinking filthy water, and people in downtown Dallas who have nowhere to sleep tonight. But relative to the life I live, there have been things in my life that have been hard to experience, and they've made me sad. No one is expected to act like everything is a meadow full of flowers, because the truth is that life has hard parts. Sometimes they are parts that pass quickly and somewhat painlessly, and sometimes they last a long time. But just because life is hard doesn't mean that life is bad.

Fact of Life Number 4: There is always something to be grateful for, so don't overlook the opportunity to identify and appreciate those things. You may have a really awful boss, but aren't you glad you get to go to work every day? You may not like what I put on your plate for dinner, but aren't you glad you aren't going hungry tonight? Your feet ache because you've danced all week, but aren't you glad you have gotten to do what you love so much that you're sore from it? Stop and focus on the good things. You will always be able to find something.

Fact of Life Number 5: God wants us to be happy. A lot of people think that if God wants us to be happy, He shouldn't allow anything bad to happen, and question Him when things don't go the way we think they should. But God wants us to find authentic joy inside us that anchors us and gets us through the hard parts of life as well as the easy parts. If everything went our way, our happiness and joy would be shallow -- like a tree that has never experienced a storm. Every morning when we get out of bed, instead of dreading the day ahead, we should think, "I have been given another day - how can I make the most of it?"

We have been given a lot -- life, breath, family, love, food, shelter, and occasionally a glass half full of champagne. Love these things, focus on these things, and be grateful every day for these things.

The Beauty of 156 (and that is not dog years)

noreply@blogger.com (Christie in Dallas, TX) — Tue, 05 Aug 2014 04:38:00 +0000

Dearest Cella,

When you were younger, and I was an active blogger with much more time on my hands, I would write a post to you on the 4^th of every month to celebrate one more month of the world having Cella in it. Today makes 156 months of having you in our family and also, if you do the math, makes you a teenager.

Your name “Cella” comes from two words that mean Beautiful – Bella and Calla – and then we threw that "ch" sound in there to throw people off from the fact that we are actually German and make them think we are a fancy Italian family. Before you were even born, I told your Dad, “I want to make her life Beautiful!” And with that, we knew you would be called Cella.

I took it as my mission to bring beauty to your life – the dresses you wore, the room where you slept, the pictures we took, and the memories we made. I’ve wanted so much to surround you with all things Beautiful. So it surprises me to realize that it's actually YOU who has brought Beautiful to my life over and over again during the past thirteen years. Your name has ended up portraying exactly who you are and how you have impacted our lives so much more than any world I could create for you.

There is such beauty when you dance and when you sing. There is beauty in your passion. There is beauty in your vulnerability and also in your secret strength that continues to surprise me. There is beauty in your determination to be different and silly and march to beat of your own, unique drum. There is beauty in the way you give love and receive love.

Okay, so there is also a lot of drama, and I find very little beauty in that J, but I stirred up my share of drama during middle school, and thankfully there is an expiration date on drama for most people. And there can actually be beauty in the maturing process.

You are a Beautiful girl, and you make me incredibly proud to be your Mom. Thank you for making my world Beautiful and for letting me be engaged and present in your life.

I truly love you to the depths of my ability to love.

xoxo Mom

18 years later...

noreply@blogger.com (Christie in Dallas, TX) — Sun, 18 May 2014 23:55:00 +0000

On this day in history:

1804 - Napolean Bonaparte was proclaimed Emperor of France

1860 - The Republican Party nominated Abraham Lincoln for President

1927 - The Ritz Hotel opened in Boston

1986 - "Singin' in the Rain" closed at Gershwin Theater NYC after 367 performances

and

1996 - Chris and I stood before our friends and family and were proclaimed husband and wife.

We both had to do a double-take when we realized that today marks18 years of us being married. That's a really, really long time. We've been together longer than it took us to graduate high school. Longer than we waited to drive. Longer than Judge Judy has been on TV.

I love those couples where it just "works" - those #stillmadlyinlove #moreinloveafteralltheseyears couples, where marriage is effortless and the time flies because they are having so much fun. I am in awe of those couples. I think we use to be one of those couples, but somewhere along the way marriage got hard. There have been moments in the past 18 years where we did not like each other and moments where we didn't like ourselves. There have been disagreements. There have been nights where we went to bed mad and really just needed a good night of sleep before we could speak to each other. There have been fights about money and mornings where we woke up on the wrong side of the bed. There have been misunderstandings and there have been mistakes.

It has not been 18 fabulous years of constant bliss or 18 years where I've loved every moment. It's been 18 years of learning to communicate and work together as a unit, raising kids who aren't always easy to raise, and committing to love another person who isn't always easy to love.

So I don't celebrate our anniversary today because of the fairytale it has been. I celebrate today because even though it hasn't been easy, we're still together, still committed, and still determined to love each other and figure out what that looks like in this ever-changing world and in our ever-changing lives. I celebrate because we're still here, when it would have been easier at times to walk away. I celebrate because it's actually been the storms and the strong winds that have made us grab a hold of this life together and grow our roots stronger. It has been the hard moments that have made us consciously look at each other and say, "I still choose to love you, and I'm not going anywhere."

Happy Anniversary, Chris. 18 on the 18th. Thanks for navigating this life with me -- sometimes knowing where we are going and sometimes just being lost with me. I'm glad you're here by my side -- I wouldn't want it any other way.

xoxo

Faces

noreply@blogger.com (Christie in Dallas, TX) — Thu, 15 May 2014 10:34:00 +0000

Four days back into the normal routine after my trip to Asia, but I keep thinking about these faces...

Power Lines

noreply@blogger.com (Christie in Dallas, TX) — Thu, 08 May 2014 00:44:00 +0000

I could spend a month taking pictures here in Phnom Penh of the faces and the lives, the buildings, and the markets. One thing that has been particularly fascinating to me are - oddly - the power lines. Quite frankly, they are a mess. Thrown up on a pole with no thought, no organization, no process. It looks like something my three year old would do (if asked to hang power lines, that is...).

I'm fascinated because they seem to be an unfortunate visual representation of this country. I'm not sure where I was when we studied Cambodia in history class - perhaps I fell asleep that day, or perhaps we never studied it. In preparation for my trip here, I dug into everything I could read about Cambodia and was shocked to learn that the dismantling, breaking, and crippling of this country has happened in my lifetime. The Khmer Rouge, an anti-government gang rose up in power, promising a better life for the common man. They began with a mission to kill the educated, those in favor of the government, and anyone else who was in support of structure and a flourishing nation. We visited The Killing Fields on this trip and witnessed chilling mass graves of people sent to "reeducation" centers who never made it out. We saw random bones and teeth sitting near the graves - which are really just areas of dirt where bodies were buried - that continue to surface from the ground when it rains. By the end of 4 years in power, the Khmer Rouge was responsible for 2 million deaths, either through torture and execution or due to lack of food and medical care.

The Khmer Rouge left Cambodia with nothing. No schools, no structure, no government, no hope. And the wounds are still fresh. Our tour guide told us that his dad had been killed by the Khmer Rouge when he was a baby. He has never seen a picture of his father and doesn't know what his face looked like. They have tried to rebuild, but unfortunately, corruption has driven much of the reconstruction of the government and educational systems. They will tell you that the educational system provides free schooling, but the teachers demand pocket money from their students (and more cash means better grades). So while school is "free", many children cannot afford to go.

The Prime Minister is the ruling authority in Cambodia, an elected official. About 18 months ago, a new Prime Minister was voted in. However, though one person won based on the people's votes, another man was sworn in and is now ruling the country, and the people are up in arms. Even during my visit, the tension is mounting, and the police have been lining the streets and filling the parks with anti-riot gear, ready to fight against any rebellion.

To think about the trafficking here in Cambodia, you have to understand the state of this broken country. You have to understand the poverty, the lack of control, and the basic need to survive. It's easy to wonder how parents could let this happen to their kids. Kids here are not getting kidnapped like the girls in Nigeria - the parents, in most cases, are offering their children into the industry as a way to make money and pay their rent or feed their families. There is a strong cultural mindset that the children are responsible for supporting the family by working, and if a child can provide "services" to someone even at the young age of 3 or 4, that just means they are beginning to fulfill their duties at a young age. That mindset and willingness makes it very, very difficult to end the cycle of trafficking. It has also put Cambodia on the map for every pedafile, and it's chilling to see "foreign" men walking around the riverfront with little Cambodian children.

I have to admit that I came to Cambodia to learn about the issue so I could help make it stop. That's such an American thing to do - we want to give money and fix everyone's brokenness. The power lines here are really tangled, though, and the issues will not be quickly solved. The Hard Places Community is doing what they can to remove children from situations of trafficking, to equip them with skills like speaking English and using computers, educate them on concepts like good and bad touch and how to respond, and to provide afternoon clubs in the worst areas of the city. They are partnering with the families, where families are involved, to teach parents that if children can come to the Center and learn, they will be able to get better jobs in the future, which will mean better support for the family in the long run. The biggest thing they are doing, though, is teaching the children that they have value for who they are. Children are conditionally valued here, but not taught that they are precious creations, made and loved by God. It's that teaching that will, more than anything, change who these children are, how they see themselves, and how they will raise their own children some day.

The Wheels Are Turning

noreply@blogger.com (Christie in Dallas, TX) — Tue, 06 May 2014 16:55:00 +0000

Arrival in Phnom Penh, Cambodia:
We pulled into the airport and were greeted by stifling heat and a Dairy Queen - two things that make this Texas girl feel at home. Vans, taxis, several Lexus SUVs and Mercedes sedans pulled up to pick up passengers. And then our ride arrived. They call it a tuk-tuk, an open-air golf cart type of vehicle, powered by a motorcycle. The driver greeted us with a smile and polite bow, strapped our suitcases on with a big rope, and we took off into the mad mass of chaotic traffic with the wind and the smell of the city in our face.

Phnom Penh is a strange mix of everything a city should be and everything it shouldn't -
Beautiful government centers and golden clad temples serve as backdrops to begging and prostitution.
Schools full of children in blue and white uniforms sit next to deteriorating shacks where naked children chase roosters on the street.
Monks in bright orange robes go door to door collecting the daily offering from those who have so very little.
Luxury next to filth. Affluence and abundance in the same snapshot as extreme poverty and need. Dirty, colorful buildings.

My world is so orderly and "zoned" - the haves and the have-nots are kept apart, and we don't enter each others' worlds very often. Commerce - restaurants, shopping, nightclubs - are zoned for specific parts of the city, and homes sit in residential communities where, for the most part, families live life tucked away inside. Here in Cambodia, it all exists together, and people live life out in the open. The everyday family operates a small stand or shop selling goods, food, clothes, hubcaps - just about anything - in front of their residence. The streets are lined with shop after shop after shop, and people sit in their chairs outside waiting for business.

Children are everywhere. Many are unclothed or at least without shoes. Many are selling something, some are begging. Cars are crammed full of kids without car seats or seatbelts. Most ride on the back of motorcycles, hanging on to an adult for dear life or sandwiched in between other siblings.

From the tuk-tuk bench, I was taking it all in, the wheels turning, my brain trying to process a world so foreign to me. Fusion to the point of confusion.

Out of the corner of my eye I saw a little boy sitting on a motorcycle with his dad. He saw me in the tuk-tuk and got a huge smile on his face and started waving, and of course, I waved back. A sweet reminder that children are children wherever you go.

I can already tell that I love this place - the energy, the movement, the honesty, the resourcefulness. But I also know there are a lot of dark, deep-rooted issues here, and I feel overly protective of each and every child I pass on the street, knowing that their health, happiness, and future could be at risk because of the extreme poverty and cyclical horrors that continue to be bred from generation to generation.

I'm processing it all - taking it all in - not saying much. So glad to be traveling with a dear friend who has been here before and has such a passion and desperation for this city that she continues to return and do what she can to encourage the staff at the Center and love on these kids.

Chutes and Ladders and a Trip to Asia

noreply@blogger.com (Christie in Dallas, TX) — Sat, 03 May 2014 08:14:00 +0000

One of the great things about little Emmy being three years old now is how many "family things" she is able to join in on. One of her favorites is family game night, which typically involves Yahtzee, CandyLand, or her favorite, Chutes and Ladders. Remember that game, where you might get lucky and land on the square with the really tall ladder, and you got to climb way up, passing all of the other players with hopes of getting to the finish line first? And then there were the times that you landed at the top of a very long slide and had to go all the way back down to nearly the start square. Even now, I get pretty upset and will mutter an "Oh Shoot!" when I have to slide down -- I seriously think the game should be called "Shoots and Ladders" (but only because "Damn It and Ladders" just doesn't have the same ring and probably isn't age appropriate). At this age, Emmy isn't concerned about winning, so she doesn't care if she is going up or down. She has a little sound effect for both, and I would guess she thinks chuting is actually more fun than laddering, though up or down, she's having a great time.

I'm writing this post from a cramped economy seat of a United Airlines flight heading to the first of multiple stops over the next 26 hours. Dallas to Houston to Tokyo to Singapore. One of my dearest friends-but-more-like-a-sister lives in Singapore, and I can't express how therapeutic, inspiring, grounding, and comforting it is to spend time with her. It has been 4 years since I've seen her on Asian soil, so Santa was nice enough to gift me with a trip for Christmas. About 36 hours after I arrive in Singapore, we are boarding another flight to Phnom Penh, Cambodia to serve at a Center that brings rest, recovery, hope, safety, and dignity to some of the most discarded children in the world. If you are unfamiliar with the horrific child trafficking issues in Cambodia, I encourage you to do some research. It will unsettle you and make you ask, "What can be done?" and maybe even, "What can I do?"

I'm expecting a lot of Chutes and Ladders on this trip - the downward plunge of seeing the worst of what humanity has to offer, and the elated hope of witnessing how simple acts of love and sacrifice can change someone's outlook on the world and their future.

Albert Einstein wrote, "There are two important days in our lives - the day we are born and the day we realize why." I can't say I've discovered the ultimate reason why, on November 27th, forty-ish years ago, I was brought into the world, but I suspect it was partly to help the world have less Chutes and more Ladders. The hardest part of that mission is that there are very few hard things in my little world. My girls' biggest complaints over the last week have been not getting to watch Frozen every single day, feet aching from pointe shoes, getting a boy's toy in the Happy Meal instead of one for girls, kids being rude at school, and having to wash dishes. As a Mom, I must admit there is a huge part of me that is glad those are the most severe things my girls have to worry about. We could have just as easily been born into the poverty and despair of Cambodia, with the choice of having to sell one of our children haneously into an evil, harmful, and shameful industry or watch our other children starve. I don't know why I was born into this relatively luxurious life, but I'm starting to understand that it comes with grave responsibility to help those who can't help themselves. When we step back and see all the pain in the world, it can be overwhelming - maybe even stifling- and we don't know where to begin. I personally don't believe that one person can change the world, but I do believe that one person can change a life. And if we all look for opportunities to change one life, collectively we will end up changing the world, one Ladder at a time.

Follow the Bouncy Ball

noreply@blogger.com (Christie in Dallas, TX) — Tue, 18 Feb 2014 20:39:00 +0000

Our school district made the decision to issue iPads to all the 7^th graders this year to use for school work. Good-bye “Mom, I left my History book at home!” calls, and Hello “my child is ALWAYS on that iPad.” I wish I could say that ChellBell only uses the iPad for school-related activities, but looking at her folders, she is getting plenty of use playing all kinds of games.

One of her favorite games these days is Bouncy Ball, where you bounce the ball certain ways and navigate through a maze and get to the finish line. I don’t get it – it has no appeal to me – but she is completely absorbed. Or was completely absorbed, until she got to level 34.

Up through Level 33, Chell was pretty good at whatever Bouncy Ball techniques were required to nail each level and move on. She mastered the ball-bouncing-and-maneuvering tricks and quickly moved from level to level.

But Level 34 seemed to be a different (bouncy) ball of wax. She struggled to get that ball to bounce high enough at the right time, time after time. I saw more frustration from her than any school-related assignment has caused her this year, and I swear she would have thrown her iPad across the room last week if I had not intervened.

Being in seventh grade, and seventh grade being, well, the one year most of us would never want to revisit, has challenges of its own. Chell and I were talking about some of those challenges and frustrations yesterday. I reminded her that God allows us to have challenges in our lives because that’s how we learn the lessons He needs us to learn. How He makes us stronger. How He makes us more like Him. And then we take those new-found skills and life-lessons into the next set of challenges we face.

Life is kind of like Bouncy Ball. Really. Sometimes we coast, and we master the challenges with ease and think, “Oh, this life thing isn’t so difficult!” And then we hit level 34, or the seventh grade, or a new work situation, or new challenges in our marriage, and every technique we used to get us through before just won’t work. And we get frustrated and want someone to fix it – or let us skip this level – or whatever we can do to make it end.

But to get to the next level, we have to master the challenge in front of us, work through the problems to find the solution, evolve, change, grow up – whatever is needed -- until we “get it”. Face the challenges head on, learn the lessons, become a stronger person (or a more humble person, or a better friend, or a better communicator) until we master this level.

So stop seeing your challenge as a frustration or a road block. See it as a level for you to master, a time to learn more about yourself, who God is, who He wants to be in your life, and what He wants to do through you. And look forward to mastering this level so you can move on.

One bouncy ball at a time.

A Post-Christmas Post

noreply@blogger.com (Christie in Dallas, TX) — Thu, 26 Dec 2013 02:46:00 +0000

What a great Christmas Day - the girls sleeping in late, watching them open their gifts, especially Emmy, who is just beginning to understand this Santa character and the story of the baby Jesus. Worshipping with my family and laughing around the dinner table. Stomachs stuffed, hearts full.

Wrapping up our day with one of the most beautiful and poignant excerpts about the holiday by Max Lucado:

Christmas Night

It’s Christmas night. The house is quiet. Even the crackle is gone from the fireplace. Warm coals issue a lighthouse glow in the darkened den. Stockings hang empty on the mantle. The tree stands naked in the corner. Christmas cards, tinsel, and memories remind Christmas night of Christmas day.

It’s Christmas night. What a day it has been! Spiced tea. Santa Claus. Cranberry sauce. “Thank you, so much.” “You shouldn’t have!” “Grandma is on the phone.” Knee-deep wrapping paper. “It just fits.” Flashing cameras.

It’s Christmas night. The girls are in bed. Jenna dreams of her talking Big Bird and clutches her new purse. Andrea sleeps in her new Santa pajamas.

It’s Christmas night. The tree that only yesterday grew from soil made of gifts, again grows from the Christmas tree stand. Presents are now possessions. Wrapping paper is bagged and in the dumpsite. The dishes are washed and leftover turkey awaits next week’s sandwiches.

It’s Christmas night. The last of the carolers appeared on the ten o’clock news. The last of the apple pie was eaten by my brother-in-law. And the last of the Christmas albums have been stored away having dutifully performed their annual rendition of chestnuts, white Christmases, and red-nosed reindeer.

It’s Christmas night. The midnight hour has chimed and I should be asleep, but I’m awake. I’m kept awake by one stunning thought. The world was different this week. It was temporarily transformed.

The magical dust of Christmas glittered on the cheeks of humanity ever so briefly, reminding us of what is worth having and what we were intended to be. We forgot our compulsion with winning, wooing, and warring. We put away our ladders and ledgers, we hung up our stop watches and weapons. We stepped off our racetracks and roller coasters and looked outward toward the star of Bethlehem.

It’s the season to be jolly because, more than at any other time, we think of him. More than in any other season, his name is on our lips.

And the result? For a few precious hours our heavenly yearnings intermesh and we become a chorus. A ragtag chorus of longshoremen, Boston lawyers, illegal immigrants, housewives, and a thousand other peculiar persons who are banking that Bethlehem’s mystery is in reality, a reality. “Come and behold him” we sing, stirring even the sleepiest of shepherds and pointing them toward the Christ-child.

For a few precious hours, he is beheld. Christ the Lord. Those who pass the year without seeing him, suddenly see him. People who have been accustomed to using his name in vain, pause to use it in praise. Eyes, now free of the blinders of self, marvel at his majesty. All of a sudden he’s everywhere.

In the grin of the policeman as he drives his paddy wagon full of presents to the orphanage.

In the twinkle in the eyes of the Taiwanese waiter as he tells of his upcoming Christmas trip to see his children.

In the emotion of the father who is too thankful to finish the dinner table prayer.

He’s in the tears of the mother as she welcomes home her son from overseas.

He’s in the heart of the man who spent Christmas morning on skid row giving away cold baloney sandwiches and warm wishes.

And he’s in the solemn silence of the crowd of shopping mall shoppers as the elementary school chorus sings “Away in a Manger.”

Emmanuel. He is with us. God came near.

It’s Christmas night. In a few hours the cleanup will begin—lights will come down, trees will be thrown out. Size 36 will be exchanged for size 40, eggnog will be on sale for half-price. Soon life will be normal again. December’s generosity will become January’s payments and the magic will begin to fade.

But for the moment, the magic is still in the air. Maybe that’s why I’m still awake. I want to savor the spirit just a bit more. I want to pray that those who beheld him today will look for him next August. And I can’t help but linger on one fanciful thought: if he can do so much with such timid prayers lamely offered in December, how much more could he do if we thought of him every day?

It Began in a Manger
© 1995 by Max Lucado

Harry Styles and the Manger

noreply@blogger.com (Christie in Dallas, TX) — Mon, 16 Dec 2013 08:39:00 +0000

It's a weird sort of deja vous having a middle school girl in the house -- seeing her live through many of the same moments, struggles and joys I remember going through at that age. One of ChellBell's biggest distractions for the moment is a boy band called One Direction. She is particularly distracted by Harry Styles, which if you have actually seen his hair will realize that he was aptly named "Harry." This distraction is not too different from my own 1980's infatuation with Menudo, New Kids on the Block, and Duran Duran. My Mother rolled her eyes but knew what it was all about -- seriously, she had the Beatles and Elvis.

So being a good Mom, I was online at precisely the moment concert tickets went on sale and spent the equivalent of a plane ticket to France to get Chella tickets to see Harry and his gang in the flesh. (Don't get too excited -- the concert is 8 months from now, so it will be a while before I see the joy on her face that justifies the expense of the tickets and the bewildered confusion from the hubby when explaining my purchase).

When I went online to get tickets, there was a VIP package that would allow Chella to actually meet the band and spend time backstage with them. Backstage with One Direction -- I can't imagine too many things that my daughter would want more. Unfortunately, the price was a bit restrictive at $1000 per ticket for the experience, so Chella will have to settle with seeing them from afar.

ChellBell is starting to learn that in life, most people watch from afar. It's the minority who are backstage or up close, meeting celebrities or rubbing elbows with the rich and famous. It's the minority who have the right bank accounts or the right name or the right affiliation to have inner-circle invitations and experiences. Unfortunately, those kind of encounters are not open to the general public -- we can't just all hop backstage and hang out with Harry Styles. That's reserved for the few who can afford it, rather than the masses.

At church this morning, I had the privilege of sharing the Bethlehem story with my little friends in PreK and Kindergarten, telling about the long journey made by Mary and Joseph so many years ago, and what was undoubtedly utter disappointment and frustration when they couldn't find a hotel room in Mary's late stage of pregnancy. And - as we all know - they ended up in a barn, with Jesus being laid in a food trough shortly after his birth. And then the Angels sent the message to the shepherds -- considered the lowliest of people -- that a Savior had been born.

For many years, I thought God planned Jesus' birth in the barn -- a lowly place -- because he thought of us as lowly. And that He first reached out to the shepherds because Jesus came for the lowly.

But it finally dawned on me that God placed Mary, Joseph, and Jesus in a barn, because the barn was open to everyone. If Jesus had been born in a palace, the guards would have only let the elite in, and everyone else would have had to watch from afar. Even if Jesus had been born inside the warm walls of a Bethlehem inn, surely the Inn Keeper would have judiciously chosen who was allowed to come in and see the Son of God and who needed to stay back behind the velvet rope and watch from afar. But the barn doors were open to the public. There were no special Ticketmaster VIP passes required. Everyone could get to Him. The Savior. The God of the Universe in flesh. Everyone could access Him.

God came to us in a lowly place, not because he thought of us as lowly, but because he wanted to extend the backstage pass to the general public -- to give everyone a chance to meet Him. Stand in a room with Him. Come face to face with Him. Not just those who have the right bank accounts or the right names or the right affiliations. Those things don't matter to Him. He wants all of us to have access to Him and to not have to watch from afar. He came for all of us, to know us, to give us hope.

"In a lowly manger sleeping, Calm and still a Babe we see, 'Tis the Holy Child of promise, Light of all the world is He."

Home

noreply@blogger.com (Christie in Dallas, TX) — Wed, 17 Jul 2013 19:15:00 +0000

The most difficult question someone could ask me is, "Where are you from?" There should be a simple answer to that, but when you've grown up all over the world, there's not really one place you hold on to as your "hometown." Chris and I have been in Dallas for almost 18 years, so I guess we could call it Home, but isn't Home the place you return to? The place you go for Thanksgiving or Christmas? The place you take your kids to say, "Right over there is the hill where I learned to ride my bike..." and "That is where I went to elementary school..."

Simply put, Home has always been where family is. Whether that's been on the East Coast, in the South, across the ocean, or here in Dallas, Home is where your loved ones are. Because isn't that really where we are from? Home is not so much about the physical place, but about the memories in that place.

My Mom seemed to always be intentional about creating memories with us -- as if she knew that our memories would be the thing that define Home for us. There are definitely some "big" memories, but the ones that seem to stick most are the small ones -- like surprise sleepovers that she would arrange for us, like getting us up for the sunrise service on Easter morning but softening the blow with homemade sweet rolls, opening one gift on Christmas Eve, family dinners around the "fancy" table, very intense Yahtzee games, singing around the piano. There were also memories that weren't as picturesque, as my Mom and I think differently and tended to clash on our approach to things. But there are also those moments and memories of talking it out, explaining our sides, and agreeing to disagree and still have each other's back.

So if you ask me where I'm from, I will tell you that Home is where the heart is... Which means a big part of Home is wherever my Mother is.

Happy Birthday, Mom! And many more... xoxo

16 years and counting...

noreply@blogger.com (Christie in Dallas, TX) — Fri, 18 May 2012 15:32:00 +0000

It has been a while since I have taken time to sit down and write, but I didn’t want today to pass without trying in my limited way to celebrate Mile 16. It’s easy to mark our 16 years together with the big events – welcoming two girls into the world, saying goodbye to people we love, building our first house, promotions, vacations – but the truth is that who we are together is made up of small, maybe even insignificant moments that have made us “us.” The quick kiss as we run out the door for work. Impromptu cravings for spicy fried chicken. Waiting for Arrested Development to return to TV. Sushi dinners. Feeding the dogs. Thursday night crazy cleanings to get ready for the house to be cleaned. Making Good News Club snacks. Jumping on the trampoline with our girls. Laughing. Lots of Laughing.

Thanks for sticking it out with me all these miles, all these years. In your cool, calm, patient way, you have been my biggest cheerleader. You have taken good care of our family and somehow keep loving me despite my flawed way of starting things that don’t get finished, spending way more than my share of the money, working way too late much of my life, and losing my cool instead of counting to 10.

You are a perfect balance for me, and I am overwhelmed that I get to live life with you. I genuinely love and respect who you are to me, to our girls, to your colleagues, to your friends, and to my friends.

Happy Anniversary to you, my best friend, my “other half”, my love.

xoxo

Thinking back to cooler times...

noreply@blogger.com (Christie in Dallas, TX) — Fri, 05 Aug 2011 14:10:00 +0000

After taking 8 weeks of maternity leave earlier this year, it was just implausible that we would also go on a family vacation this summer. First, I don’t think my boss would be crazy about the idea of me taking more time off, and secondly, vacations just aren’t the same with a newborn in tow.

So, instead I reminisce.

Normally I would reminisce about our week long trip to the beach in Sanibel, or our two week trip to Asia that we took last summer. But with the heat here in Dallas ringing in between 111 and 113 for the past week, I am reminiscing about a colder place.

Washington D.C.

Chris, ChellBell, and I took the week of Christmas a couple of years ago and headed to D.C., one of my favorite cities in the US. It was the Christmas before Obama was inaugurated, so the place was a ghost town. Seriously, everyone was saving their vacation days for the inauguration, and we pretty much had the city to ourselves. We stayed at the newly opened National Gaylord hotel, and one night we were the only guests in the hotel. If you have ever stayed at a Gaylord property, you know how big they are and how it would be a little freak-ish to be the only people there. And it was.

We had a blast that week. We brought construction paper and made a Christmas tree with cut-out ornaments on one of our walls. (We ate at the same restaurant several times, and the owners ended up buying us a little Christmas tree for our hotel room and giving it to us one night at dinner!) We introduced ChellBell to all the notable things in DC, went to the National Cathedral for the Christmas Eve service (sigh….), and then went snow tubing in Pennsylvania on Christmas Day.

Ah, to be back in snow right about now… I think I will go crank the air conditioning and live in this memory a little longer.

My favorite picture of the trip? This one of ChellBell in front of the Smithsonian’s massive doors:

Want to tell all about a great vacation or a place that makes you reminisce? Come join us at Friday DayDreamin' over at RWeThereYetMom (click the button -- it will magically take you there!!):

120 months on a scale of 1- 10

noreply@blogger.com (Christie in Dallas, TX) — Fri, 05 Aug 2011 01:56:00 +0000

Dear ChellBell,

Today you turn 120 months old, and it doesn't take a math wizard to figure out that your age has just jumped up to 2 digits from having only one for the past 9 years and 364 days. This is a milestone that won't be topped until you hit 100. In other words, today is kind of a big day.

In all of time, or at least since I've been around, it hasn't been good enough to measure things with words. Words like "good" or "great" or "horrid" or "fantastic" just weren't enough. We've always had to measure things with numbers - to score things. We'll say, "how would you rate that?" or "on a scale of one to 10, how was it?" and 10 is always the best. It represents greatness. It represents perfection, and something that couldn't be better. We use the phrase "a perfect 10" to refer to someone who is crazy-beautiful or a balance beam routine that has no flaws. You just can't get better than 10.

It seems less than coincidental that you are turning 10 today, because these really are the best days of your life. Don't get me wrong - growing up is great, and of course getting married and being a Mom can be great also. But at 10, you are discovering how big the world is and who you are choosing to be in that world. Your responsibilities are still relatively light and your days still involve recess and lunch with friends and summer camp. And you have your whole life ahead of you. These are definitely good days. A 10 on a scale of 1 - 10.

You have changed drastically in the past 10 years. So drastically, that it seems like there is no way the time should have passed as quickly as it has. You have gone from being a tiny baby to a silly little girl to a smart and hilarious young lady with so much potential, and you've done it all in what seems to be the blink of an eye. So fast. I might even say Too fast. But with every turn in the road, with every change, with every milestone, you have become more amazing than before.

I love you. I am proud of you. I am proud to be your Mom. I hope you have a wonderful birthday and that you love being 10. Regardless of what this year brings for you, you will always no-matter-what be loved by your family. Our home will always be a safe place to ask questions and talk about life. You will always be important to me, and I will always be grateful to have you as my friend. And I will always feel that having you in my life rates a perfect 10.

Love, Mom

Cella's 10th from Rebecca Darling on Vimeo.

119 months - saying goodbye to 9

noreply@blogger.com (Christie in Dallas, TX) — Sat, 16 Jul 2011 04:48:00 +0000

Dear ChellBell,

You are well into 119 months, with your tenth birthday right around the corner. It takes my breath away that I have been given an entire decade with you, to watch you grow and learn and make mistakes, and to watch me grow and learn and make mistakes at the same time. We're taking this walk together, you know, and just because I'm supposedly an adult, I am still growing up as a Mom right by your side.

I wish you could have a day in my shoes to watch you. You would learn a lot about yourself. You would understand why I say you're beautiful. You would see that you have a million reasons to believe in yourself. You would see how incredibly talented you are. You would see that you and I are completely different in so many ways, and that my creativity is being stretched to find the best ways to keep you in check, keep you as naive as a 9 year old should be, and keep you as informed as a 9 year old should be. And you would see how my heart pounds with love for you.

Plain and simple. I'm crazy about you. Even in the moments where we look at each other and wonder, "what planet did she come from??" - even then, I'm crazy about you. I do not want to take one day with you for granted, and I hope you don't take for granted one single day of life.

Do you ever get tired of my phrase, "One day you'll understand..."? Well, make a list my friend, because when you become a Mom, you really will understand a lot more things. Things just make sense that never really did before. You understand why your Mom did all those crazy over-protective stay-up-til-you-get-home kinds of things. You understand why your Mom taught you to chew with your mouth closed. You understand why your Mom told you to not gossip or say mean things and to hang out with good kids. All those things that seem to be so blah-blah-blah to you right now. They will all make sense. And you will find yourself saying many of the things I say to you now, and you'll stop and smile a little bit, because you'll finally understand that your Mom really did want the best for you.

But right now, I know you are starting to question if I really know what I'm doing. And here in a few years, you'll be convinced that I don't. And I might agree with you from time to time.

But my love for you, well, that's not going anywhere. I will always know what I'm doing when it comes to that. Because, honestly, I just can't help it.

Enjoy your last few weeks of being 9 and the ending of your first decade. The best is yet to come, my friend.

Love, Mom

Weekend Trip - ZippityDooDa

noreply@blogger.com (Christie in Dallas, TX) — Thu, 07 Jul 2011 04:10:00 +0000

In keeping with our Not Bummer Summer escapades, we headed to New York this past weekend. New York, Texas, that is, which is about a 2 hour drive southeast of Dallas. New York is in the Piney Woods region of Texas with rolling hills, tons of huge trees, and lots of small towns. We went through windy back roads until we started seeing the yellow signs marked NY-TX Adventures, which led us to this view:

Greeted by this crew:

Who suited us up to ZIP LINE!

There were 10 in our group, including Keri, my friend who moved to Singapore about a year ago.

Our zip line adventure took us through a course of 6 different lines, tree to tree, with the last line being 100 feet long and 100 feet high.

Our guides were absolutely fantastic and brought their humor to each station, especially when some of us didn't brake quite fast enough and ended up sharing a few "intimate" moments with the guys in their attempt to prevent us from smacking right into the tree at the end of the line.

After a wonderful morning of zip lining, we headed over to the little town of LaRue and ate lunch at "The Store" where the onion rings were amazing. We were surrounded by locals who did not know quite what to do with us loud, big city folk. They weren't sure they wanted us there until we bought out the counter of fried pies to take back to Big D.

As we were leaving LaRue, we passed a little place called the Blueberry Basket, a farm where you pick your own berries.

These crazy kids picked about 15 quarts of blueberries:

That turned into these:

Which turned into this at our cookout that evening:

It was definitely an exhausting day, but we came home with buckets full of blueberries and hearts full of memories!

Weekend Trip – Across the Metroplex

noreply@blogger.com (Christie in Dallas, TX) — Thu, 30 Jun 2011 03:51:00 +0000

It is not uncommon for people to refer to Dallas as The Metroplex or DFW, where Dallas and Ft. Worth are smushed together as if they are one city, as if the D can not be separated from the FW. Downtown to downtown, it's about an hour drive, and while the cities are relatively close to each other, they are like siblings who are nothing alike.

Our second escapade in ChellBell's Not Bummer Summer entailed a trip across the Metroplex via the Trinity Railway Express (TRE) and an afternoon at Ft. Worth's world-class zoo. Here are the highlights:

All aboard!
The TRE train runs between Dallas and Ft. Worth, and though it added a few minutes to our trip, it was a really fun, comfortable ride

The girls started off so well-behaved...

But then things started to get a little crazy!

We finally arrived at the zoo, which is actually one of the top 5 zoos in the country

Greeted by this pink beauty

Who began to show off his yoga moves

I couldn't keep up with this pose, so we moved on

And ran into this dinosaur (we heard a lady say, "Is this real, or is it counterfeit?")

This one definitely is not counterfeit

This one needs to get a plastic surgeon and a good dental plan

The highlight of the day was the bird aviary

Although the Dads lacked enthusiasm

As did the zebra

The rhino was a big ham, posing all different ways for us

But the real stars of the day were the Meerkats - we could have watched them for hours!

This baby giraffe was a little shy

But the penguins put on a show

While the big cats just lounged in the heat

It was time to head back to the D side of the Metroplex

And we all felt a little worn out

Blissfully exhausted from an exciting adventure!

Sister

noreply@blogger.com (Christie in Dallas, TX) — Wed, 29 Jun 2011 12:51:00 +0000

A sister is someone you share life with
Share memories with
Share parents with
Share late-night-under-the-covers-with-the-flashlight-on moments with
Secrets
"I-got-your-back"
"Don't-worry-your-hair-will-grow-back"
"I hate you"
"I love you"
"He didn't deserve you anyway"
"I'm proud of you"
And everything in between.

My sister has taught me that no matter what, I will never live life alone, because she will always be first in line to grab my hand and say, "Come, let's walk this road together."

Happy birthday, sis. Wishing you an amazing year ahead of being loved the way you love.

xoxo

Where I'm From

noreply@blogger.com (Christie in Dallas, TX) — Tue, 28 Jun 2011 12:33:00 +0000

I’m from Tinker Toys and rotary phones, from The Carpenters coming to life in my basement and discovering the Sound of Music for the first time.

I’m from dogwood and honeysuckle and endless summer days in a backyard of mighty oaks.

I’m from chores and Sunday drives. I’m from homemade sweet rolls and formal dinners with cloth napkins.

I’m from God’s grace and forgiveness and don’t judge lest ye be judged.

I’m from secret clubs and roller skating on the driveway and Are You there God, It’s Me Margaret.

I’m from Goodbyes and Hellos and new homes every 2 years. I’m from Texas - DC - Hawaii - Tokyo and home is where your heart is, along with a well-stamped passport.

I’m from family dinners around the table and meals that begin with prayer.

I’m from the Tuckers and Hennebergers who could not be more different and a discovery that I’m a little bit of both.

I’m from ‘it’s best to conform’ and a growing determination to be my own me that’s just a little different from anyone else.

I’m from stubborn and perfection and loving and laughter and fighting and always making up before the sun goes down.

I’m from stories that were told over and over but never written down and old black and white photos stored in a cardboard box. I’m from never forgetting who I am, whose I am, and where I come from. And being satisfied with all three.