It’s a hard thing to say, and a hard thing to hear, for most women. Yet we all seek after it, whether through our femininity, our art, our smarts, our nurturing or even our strength. We hope a man will see our beauty. Or a boss, or a parent, or another woman. We hope that we’ll see it ourselves.

But before we really understand beauty, we find ways to earn it. It seems that I love burdening myself with unattainable and indiscernible goals, creating a checklist on how to get there, and then I beat myself up when I fall short. Can you relate?

The work looks different for everyone. Some of us highlight our hair, eat celery instead of chips, laugh a little louder, laugh a little quieter, work harder, buy higher heels, go au natural, cake on the mascara, stop shaving our pits, start drinking more, wear slutty clothes, do slutty things, call other women “sluts,” compare our thighs to our friends’, lunge it out until our legs are jello …

But none of that gets us closer to beautiful. If beauty were woven into our being from the beginning, like I believe it was, we can’t do anything to diminish or grow that, because it points to our Maker, not ourselves. That gives us freedom to enjoy the spa, dress for our body type or follow a beauty regime without the burden of attaining a certain definition of beauty.

Beauty a la Esther might seem excessive to some — twelve months of beauty treatments, six months with oil of myrrh and six months with perfumes and cosmetics — but I can think of a few gals who would spring for a Groupon that offered that.

The other end of the spectrum finds girls camping out with greentheo, who has set forth the challenge to defy cultural norms and boycott traditional deodorant and showering techniques.

I think we’re spot on if we can call ourselves beautiful and know it’s not because of our beauty regime, self-discipline or Jimmy Choos. Beauty can reek of myrrh or carry a stench of BO — or anything in between.

Another thing I don’t subscribe to? The rule that you need to blog every day. As RSS feeds gain momentum, quality will outweigh quantity. I won’t need readers to remember to visit my blog, I bring my blog to them. So they’re not going to get frustrated coming to a stale page and lose interest. On the contrary, they will thank me when they’re not overwhelmed by 53 mediocre posts.

Can I also share with you my least-favorite tweet? Here she is: “In case you missed it earlier, new blog post: the 7 reasons social media can make your dreams come true. http://bit.ly/annoying.” There are no less than six annoying things in those 127 characters. The first person to name all six — or add more of your own — will receive an autographed copy of my latest book.

No, I don’t have a latest book, yet.

To add insult to injury, technology has found a new way to annoy me. Nay, disgust me. The following was a recent spam comment on my blog, with product names and companies X’ed out:

“This might be a bit off-topic but I believe there are a lot of smokers here on quepash.scroggles.com. I have recently decided to find a good manufacturer of e-smokes. I’m done with paying so much for tobacco smokes.A friend recommended XXXX. According to their website this is how they described their product:
‘XXXX offers supreme Electronic cigarettes with disposable cartridges that compose of the highest smoke volume in the industry. With a collection of flavors and nicotine levels, XXXX’s™ patented product offers convenience and performance that is unmatched. XXXX products have been independently tested for safety.’
I’m thinking of buying them. Anyone else have experience with this e-cigarette?”

5:45 p.m.: husband concocts said cocktail, thanks to Costco brand vodka: Svedka. Liberal on the Svedka.

6 p.m.: we have 1/3 of a loaf of 5-day old Italian bread sitting on the counter, begging to not be wasted. So I make homemade breadcrumbs. For chicken parmesan, which is husband’s favorite dinner.

6:45 p.m.: favorite dinner deserves candlelight and a cleared off dining room table, and of course wine. we just bought a 1/2 case of shiraz, which may or may not have a screw top. OK, it does. Stop judging us.

7 p.m.: we eat slightly burnt chicken parmesan, because undercooked chicken is both my fear and a health hazard. better safe than sorry. conversation calls for two glasses of shiraz, each.

7:45 p.m.: somehow conversation drifts to IP addresses. husband takes the liberty to delve into an explanation ranging from the DARPA initiative to the transatlantic cable to subnet 192 addresses to my personal Web site.

8:25 p.m.: I drift in and out of focusing on the conversation, trying to understand each layer of the interwebs and also bitter that my husband knows each layer and I don’t.

8:30 p.m.: I resolve to know each layer of something, anything that husband doesn’t. Shall I refresh my memory for diagramming sentences and become a true sentence architect? Shall I memorize a poem from Rumi and perform it for at least 20 minutes, before leading a riveting analysis for my husband?

I’m not sure what I’ll do, but it will be something. I will load him up on food and drink and then unleash my deep knowledge on something he doesn’t understand. Any suggestions?

But I was wrong.

I have made mistakes, and I will continue to do so (hopefully my clenched teeth, balled fists and the pitter-patter of a heart in overdrive will ease up). But the rejection has been overshadowed by opportunity! I’ve had referrals, inquiries and contracts to sign. I love the work that people are actually paying me to do! My days aren’t filled with scavenging for paid gigs; now I’m beginning to think about being strategic with my time and energy, and only following up on jobs that make sense for me.Trusting God will inevitably mean persevering when things get uncomfortable or even painful. But right now, trusting Him means enjoying the gift of this season.

Check out more pictures like the one I took of the lemons above, here. It’s a new season, indeed!

Kona puppy was following her usual protocol: hogging the water when other dogs tried to drink, acting aloof when people tried to throw her a ball, jumping on unassuming women in pastels, trying to dominate me in an embarrassing show of barking and assertiveness. This is how we do.

I usually enjoy watching the other dogs and secretly think mine is much cuter than theirs, except for when the occasional striped bulldog with multiple chain collars and an unexpected orange bandanna earns my admiration for looking so badass. But this time there was another chocolate lab who looked like Kona — even with the same color collar — except she was at least 10 pounds lighter.

I would see this dog chase after a brown tennis ball, and think, “Kona is so sprightly today. She better be tired tonight!” And then I would look over to the mud puddle and see the real Kona sniffing around and licking. Don’t judge me for calling her a fatty under my breath. The skinny dog’s owner struck up conversation with me, and I found out that she is just a few weeks older than Kona, but eats 33% less than Kona does. Looks like we will be enforcing portion control.

Admittedly, the vet always says, “We’d like to see a little more waist on Kona,” as if saying she’s overweight will send Kona reeling into a distorted body image, self-doubt and depression. But I assumed that line was like the dentist’s “You need to start flossing regularly, every day.”

I do floss every day! And Kona obviously has a waist! It’s just a protruding waist that would be accentuated by tight pants.

My husband recently received a survey from the Republican National Committee in the mail. Unfortunately, in the time between when I opened the envelope and now, that survey has been buried in the recycling bin, because that’s where trash goes when you are a Democrat are liberal are progressive care about the environment. So I have no solid examples to give.

While the debates surrounding health care, U.S. banks, international relations and presidential communication tactics are important, the survey insulted my intelligence and lost all credibility and relevance. It was full of words like “our Democratic president” and “the liberal media” and “those Democrats think” blah blah blah. This could have come from “those Democrats” and said the same thing about “conservatives” and “Republicans” and I would have been just as annoyed.

Is this generational, this attempt at polarization? Do older generations identify completely with one party? If not generational, do most people agree with every single stance a political party takes, with no wiggle room for admitting someone else might have a good idea? Does name-calling with words like “conservatives” or “liberals” rally the troops from both sides? Seems like an old-school way to do politics.

I don’t think the majority of people, at least from my generation, can read a survey that attempts to be so polarizing and take it seriously. However, wikipedia dedicates a page to red and blue states, so if wikipedia says there’s such polarization, it must be true.

Regardless, I’m sticking to the idea that red and blue states will be a thing of the past, at least by this side of a century. That’s why the image above is once again so applicable. She’s our current political state. She’s antiquated. She doesn’t have a cell phone — she’s using her land line. She’s calling to tell you to expect a survey in the mail in a few days, and she’s hopeful that in a few years they can upgrade the survey to transmission via facsimile. She makes a joke about the “elephant in the room” or calls the opposition an ass, instead of a donkey. She expects you to appreciate the joke, repeat it vitriolically to your like-minded friends, complete the survey, address an envelope and hand it to your postman — without a stamp, if mailed in the U.S., because she’s looking out for your best interests.

Does anyone else maintain their own business site? Have any suggestions or lessons learned that you can share with a newbie? Your input is appreciated!

WELCOME TO THE UNITED STATES OF AMERICA – Press 1 for English. Press 2 to disconnect until you learn to speak English. And remember only two defining forces have ever offered to die for you, JESUS CHRIST. And the AMERICAN SOLDIER. One died for your soul, the other for your freedom. If you agree… copy and paste in your status.

I don’t get it.

Dear people who posted this status update,

As I understand it, you are telling me that:
A) I can’t live in the United States if I don’t speak English
B) I have to believe in Jesus Christ and the American soldier (seemingly equally)
C) The U.S. receptionist (probably with an office in the Statue of Liberty) should use this recording to answer all calls

Please explain how A and B relate to each other. And how much the receptionist in C gets paid. And does the AMERICAN SOLDIER still die for the freedom of someone who disconnected because they don’t speak English? Did JESUS CHRIST still die for the souls of people who were disconnected AND didn’t agree, copy and paste the status? Finally, why did you decide this was an important update for the facebook world to see?

Your response is appreciated.

Sincerely,

Kirsten

According to source in a CNN article, “In Haiti, you have Protestants and Catholics, and you have your percentage of each,” said J.B. Diederich, a native-born Haitian. … “But everybody is 100 percent voodoo.”

Voodoo followers believe in spirits, called loas, who intercede between humans and God. The earthquake last week, according to voodoo belief, was the act of an angry loa, not a natural disaster. Ironically, this voodoo idea resembles Pat Robertson’s — and other Christians’ — belief that the quake was related to the curse on Haiti.

But if Haiti is cursed for a “pact with the devil” and following voodoo, why are all countries not equally cursed? Culturally, the entire world is … well, of the world. There is no government that can claim to practice Christianity and dodge a “curse” from an angry God. Americans pledge to be one nation under God, but also put their trust, adoration and praise in money. Or success. Or approval. It’s called being sinners. We all are.

That’s why the Haitians’ prayers and praise during this time are a miracle, a work of God. According to a woman in the CNN article, “A lot of people who never prayed or believed — now they believe.” When I, a Christian, don’t manage to cry out to Jesus during the monotony of my day, what a miracle that a woman or man in Haiti, who has suffered immense loss, can still trust and know Jesus!

No one knows why disasters ravage the earth, destroying and killing. But God’s wisdom and glory will prevail, whether people recognize it or not. All people are “cursed,” suffering the consequences of sin in a broken world. If only the world, or at least believers, could follow the Haitians’ example and fix their eyes not on the curse but the Healer.

Kona was only a few months old when this picture was taken after her first bath at our house. She’s 7 months old now, and cute in a different way. The way that makes me shower her with praise and high-pitched puppy talk when she plops down on her doggy bed and plays with a toy. When she’s not scratching at the floor to get a ball under the couch, or jumping up in a fit of unbridled energy to play, or barking at me in her jabber — vehemently chastising me for trying to sit down and relax. That’s when she’s cute.