Home Couch

I'm curled up on a low floral couch I rescued from the Keene Senior Center front porch last year. Theres a strong smell of Mrs Meyers lemon something or other cleaner in the air and I can hear Milford traffic driving past my living room window what seems like inches away.

I have a home now.

M&ms, juice, brown rice noodles, salad. These are the things I've eaten since returning from work. I stood in our tiny kitchen room and watched the late afternoon sun shine over a vase of flowers I brought with me and ate leftover noodles and sauce out of the pan, followed by a leafy salad in a cheap plastic container.

Even though we are far from being settled in and finished cleaning and painting every inch of tattered and dirty walls, I am beginning to feel that I am settling into a way of being that is more permanent than I recall feeling in a long time. So, now I eat and sit on my couch because I am home.

Will I Be Enough?

Do you ever have those moments (or hours or days) when you feel like a caricature of your worst and yet most familiar fears? I was there when I cried in the shower after work, and ate, and scrolled across my tablet screen, and ate, and scrolled across my tablet screen, and ate some more to hide from the feelings that I hate. You get the idea.

I'm so weary of this.

I watched the newest version of Cinderella tonight. At the climax of the movie, the kind and beautiful heroine finds herself locked in an old attic, dressed in rags, and verbally abused by her bitter stepmother: "You are nothing; you don't matter, and I forbid you to leave!" These are the words thrown at her at the same moment one of prince's troops has finally found her and invites her to come out of the attic. The burly henchman puts the mother in her place:

"The KING forbids you to forbid her to leave!

How dare you rebel against an officer of the KING that way!"

As in all good fairy tales, the moment of truth had arrived and the girl was being offered freedom from her deepest fears and most painful circumstances. She could follow the officer out the door, never to return.

But the twist to her choice is this: if she leaves and joins the prince, she has to admit to him that she's not actually a princess (as he thinks). She's just a girl. A commoner.

"Will I be enough?" She asks herself as she peers at her soot covered face in the mirror.

In the end, she decides to leave the attic and the lies behind her. She thinks enough of herself to ignore her stepmother, and yet, at the same time, she doesn't think too much of herself to by pretending to be something she isn't. So she offers...just herself in rags...to the prince, and he accepts her and makes her a princess after all.

Princess stories don't normally make my heart flutter. All the pink fluff and glitter and corny dreamy princes usually seem overdone and garishly sentimental to me. But this time, her plaintive question in the mirror, "will I be enough?" echoed a similar question in my own heart. It's the same question unanswered that had me crying in the shower and eating and scrolling earlier this evening.

When Cinderella decided to leave the attic, she offered herself, whether she was enough or not. In a sense, she wasn't really ready to live in the castle in her current state, but to get there, she had to be completely honest about what she really was. It was this act of vulnerability that set the stage for her rescue. In a similar way for me, maybe the question, "will I be enough?" is beside the point. If I'm brave enough to stand without hiding before God, I may be setting myself up for a grand rescue away from my own "attic."

No Words Yet

A year ago I wrote about joy (Joy Comes) when I didn't feel any joy. But it did come and is coming here:



There's some kind of clog between my heart and my tongue (and by extension, my pen) these days and I'm not sure why. It's like calcification growing on a bone--the awkward bump that remains after the messy part of healing is over. A clog. A bump. A blockage? However, whatever you want to call it, the more compellingly important thing is that my heart is fleshy and pink, healthy and slowly growing  a new batch of hope. I want to tell people about it, about my hope, but like I just said, my words are having trouble getting past the blocks and out of my insides to my tongue.

Actually, now that I think about it, I'm not even sure that this new thing inside me is even "word-able" yet. Or maybe there are actually so MANY words that I know if I started letting them out all my guts might come out too, and I'm not sure I really want to create that kind of wet squishy mess right here. At least not yet.

But here's to undefined hope, and to pink fleshy-ness after long grey coldness. Here's to life.

"To love anyone is to hope in him always. From the moment at which we begin to judge anyone, to limit our confidence in him, from the moment at which we identify [pigeon-hole] him, and so reduce him to that, we cease to love him and he ceases to be able to become better. We must love in a world that does not know how to love."

Walking on Water, Madeleine L'Engle, 112

Joy Comes

 "...weeping may endure for a night, but joy cometh in the morning. "

Today I looked out the back window of the prep kitchen at work and noted the cold, snow, and dim light. It has been a long winter. And the cold only seems to be getting colder some days even though it's already March. 

"What if we lived in a world where we never knew for sure spring would come?" I asked my coworker. "What if some years winter lasted all year long, and we never knew for sure if the weather would ever be different?" 

"Oh, that would be awful!"

Later, I walked out the back door to take the trash out and admired the late afternoon sun I'd missed looking out the back kitchen window. In an instant I remembered that God is not sadistic or cruel...and why.

He's not cruel because spring always comes after the hard winter. He made it that way. And actually He makes everything that way: showy flowers after dead seeds, butterflies after dead caterpillars, rain after drought. It's as simple as that. He always makes "amazing-ness" after "dead-ness."

Joy comes. 

And my guess is that it CANNOT BE STOPPED. It's coming. It has to. It's the way it works around here, folks.

5 Years Later: An Old Blog Post Remembered

 

In five years so many things have changed: instead of running the kitchen in a tiny country Bible School, I now spend my days in a downtown Boston restaurant. Yet when I reread this post tonight, I remembered what is still the same:

Now that I have my very own blog, I'm excited to write in it. On Tuesday, I planted tulips. Digging around in the dirt made me feel very philosophical, and so I plotted a blog post about dirt. It made my task much more interesting except that now I've already forgotten what it was that I was going to say.

Hmm...

Tuesday night, I played volleyball with my girls. Usually, everyone plays Tuesday night sports but this time all the guys but one were away on a field trip. The volleyball net was duly lowered to our fair height and theoretically I could have spiked a mean one. But I didn't. With writing on the mind (except this time I think I was planning a letter to a friend), I waxed philosophical again. This time about my job.

Philosophizing is an excellent occupation. It allows one to back away from the fray and intensity of your own self and watch the "show" with the jaunty stance of an unconcerned bystander, chin in hand. From this position, I discovered my work was meaningful. Not the cooking. But the people.

Have you ever noticed that some people have scars on their faces; except they aren't physical scars? I know some people like this. Sometimes it's obvious, other times subtle.

I know. When I planted my tulips, I mixed manure into the dirt and carefully tucked the bulbs in for the winter. I know they will grow grow into healthy flowers because of my care. I know that loving these people will help heal their faces. It's almost as if I can see the future and understand how much the words, the patience, the listening, and the kindness will rebuild the broken down parts.

Funny how much sense it makes now and how little equipped I've usually felt. Mostly it seems that my days are filled with keeping my own act together. I'm the one that needs help!

I know. But somehow, I know right now that something can be done for these people. It's almost one 'o' clock in the morning. I tend to be overly dramatic in the middle of the night. Oh well. I still know!

Sarah's Very Amazing Goals for 2013

Ok folks, here they are. Sarah's very amazing goals for 2013. Stay tuned, because I will publicly declare (I think), at the end of 2013, whether or not I met these very amazing goals:

*Go on a date
*Weigh 125 lbs
*Try to publish something

Happy New Year!!!!! YAYYYYY!!!! Wahoooo!!!!

Daddy's Girl

When I think of Daddy, I think of God. I guess it's because he seems... a little fearsome, and yet wonderful and safe all at the same time. In fact, many of my ideas of what God is like are mixed up with Daddy.

You could say that talking about God is Daddy's job. For most of my growing up years he was a pastor (for those that don't know, that's kind of like being a priest). I've spent a lot of time listening to him talk about God, in church (fidgeting in the pew), and at home (squished on the couch with seven restless siblings). To grow up a PK (the official acronym for Pastor's Kid) wasn't on my list of Most Wanted Things to Be, but I didn't happen to be around when God made that particular decision. So, I heard about God, and the Bible, a lot (did I say that already?).

But it wasn't just talk, it was action too, for the whole family. So, instead of Barney and Sesame Street, we listened to Christian Adventures in Odyssey on Saturday morning radio, and instead of riding to school in a yellow bus, we did our math at the kitchen table. And I knew how to say Malachi at a very young age and was shocked one day around age ten when I heard a lady say "oh my gosh!" (people swore?). My friends were the kids at church, and I wore skirts all the time.

And along the way I watched my dad. One day, he gave away the sneakers he was wearing (and walked away in his socks) to a homeless man, and another time he sang "I Would Love to Tell You What I Think of Jesus" to a crowd even though he's not a singer. He was the only person that I ever remember seeing dance in church (think stoic New England kind of congregation) . He had a "fire in his belly" in the words of one parishioner; he couldn't do anything halfway, whether it was preaching a sermon or playing a game of pick-up basketball. Now he works and prays overseas in a politically fragile country when most men his age are enjoying retirement.

And somewhere in there I believed God too. Not because he was always perfect, or because I always liked how we did things, but because he made God seem believable. If you want to meet a real Christian I would be happy to introduce you to Bob Adams.

Petey and Hess--The Adventure of the Green Eyeball

"All classes are canceled at SUNY Delhi today, February 2, 2011, due to inclement weather." This morning at 6 AM Mrs Holscher took the official New York Alert phone call from the school. Instead of facing a minute by minute struggle through ice, snow, and a tight schedule, I could stay by the hearth at home!

First of all, I went back to bed instead of finishing my literature analysis for Professor Kramer. Then, I wandered around the house smiling at anything and everybody. When Becca sallied forth to walk Reagan, I tagged along, astounded at Reagan's ability to do the "butterfly stroke" in the crusty snow that was sometimes at the level of his face.

I learn many new things from Becca. This morning I received a history lesson concerning events that transpired after the creation of the world and a mysterious presence in the Holscher's own back yard.

The tale of Petey and Hess passed down, mouth to mouth, from older Holscher siblings to the younger members, one of whom was terrified of swimming in the backyard pond because of its history. But I'm getting ahead of myself.

Here are the few details that I learned: Petey was a monster of large size that wanted to become a man. It was after Adam and Eve were kicked out of the mysterious Eden that Petey and Adam had a brilliant idea to change Petey back into a man. Eden already contained a fragrant tree drooping with knowledge. Maybe there was a different variety of fruit in the garden that would bequeath humanity upon its eater! But alas, the garden was closed, remember? Even a monster of large size and a perfect specimen of manhood couldn't break through the barrier into Eden's orchard.

Disappointed yet undaunted in spirit, Petey retained his monstrous form. But it was really quite fortunate because of what I have to tell you next. Please believe me when I tell you that another monster lurked the planet earth, this one so large that his eyeball was the size of a pond. Hess was an evil creepy character, intent on tearing up global turf and bullying the human race. Thankfully, the vast Petey was on the job to defend his manly friends on planet earth.

With the speed of a hummingbird and the strength of ten spiteful grizzly bears, Petey raised his hoary claws and bore a hole right through to the the earth's seething core. Petey then clasped Hess's surly bulk and flung him into the gaping hole and covered him with dirt, lava, and mountains. Satisfied, Petey lumbered away from what was now a small mountain range of rubble.

The end of my tale I tell you truly. Apparently, Petey wasn't a perfectionist, because Hess's one eye was left exposed in a small valley of the Catskill Mountains. In fact, this eyeball that I said was as large as a pond, actually was (and is) a slimy green pond full of leeches right in the Holscher's back yard. No wonder a certain young Holscher avoided aquatic exercises in its mysterious green depths.

The facts I'm relating from Becca's lips carry with them a deeply significant moral: perfect your freestyle skills before swimming in the Holscher's pond--you never know who's watching!

Since today happens to be my mothers' birthday, I sped home from school to give my well-wishes via Skype phone. However, on the Skype listing, "kingsman" is very grey and not available. Bother.

In lieu of a direct connection, I've contrived a short birthday toast:

Susie is a farm girl by upbringing and by heart--
with an inclination for thunder storms, bare feet, and hard work,
with an approachable manner and an unflinching brow for gross messy jobs that have to be done (think 8 children--they're just as bad as mucking out stalls at times).

Sue is a wife in love--
with a cute smile, dark curls, and a glint in her eye,
with 32 years successfully laughing with, teasing, loving, and following Bob.

Mum is a mother (her dream job, she says)--
with a penchant for tea parties, popcorn for dinner, weekly library trips, traveling to far-away places (remember the 8 kids?), making doll clothes,
with a delightful sense of adventure, fun, and understanding.

Thank you Mumma, for letting me hang out on the end of your bed, for telling me that it was OK to cry, for training me to work faster (how I hated it), for painting my bedroom, for teaching my little girl self how to hear God speaking, for letting me mess up your kitchen with my "mixtures", for not overcooking your vegetables, and for your curly hair.

I love you!

Orange Benefits

This morning I was backpacking up the hill to culinary lecture. I say, "backpacking" because that's what moving around the Delhi campus essentially is: hiking on a mountain with a pack. Anyway, I digress. So... I was trying to speed to class at a fast clip, doing my thing, focused on the tasks ahead, and then I saw brilliant orange floaters (you know, the seed pod thingys that fall off of trees) on the sidewalks, grass, everywhere. They hadn't been there yesterday, but they were here now. Combined with an unusually balmy breeze, it was like God flung a bold swath of confetti on the school, really cool and beautiful confetti.

"Blessed be the Lord, who daily loads us with benefits, even the God of our salvation (Psa. 68:19)."

Baked Beans and Bundles

If ever there was an excellent observation about good food, this is it. Elizabeth Goudge just vindicated my vocation here in these two sentences:

It is possible that good food had been as instrumental in accomplishing the spiritual salvation of Jo Isaacson as the Hollys' kindness. Thoughts of suicide do not flourish in an aroma of baked beans, and belief in God is strengthened, not weakened, by a well-cooked ham...

I believe it was Catherine Marshall that invented the term, "my bundle." "Bundles" are the people that God puts in my path. You know, the darling individuals that pop up frequently in your days (and sometimes minutes) and become "yours." I love Mrs Holly's matter-of-fact attitude toward Mr Isaacson, clearly her "bundle," in the remainder of this passage:

...She'd not had an easy time with Mr. Isaacson; and, if her compassion had not be strengthened by the conviction, shared with Mr. Holly, that in a world gone mad with destruction everything that could be salvaged must be salvaged, bones and chocolate paper and immortal souls, it is possible that after a reasonable time had passed she might have looked about her for another lodging for him and given herself a bit of rest from those eccentricities in Mr. Isaacson that she did not particularly appreciate... She wished she could push Mr Isaacson on to some other woman to look after; it was, she felt strongly, some other woman's turn now; but she was determined not to do it until she could find a woman capable of carrying on Mr. Isaacson's rehabilitation as expertly as she was doing herself. And then, as she would say to Mr. Holly, we can't pick and choose in this world, and if the Lord had seen fit to send her Mr. Isaacson to care for, rather than a nice little boy and girl, she'd best get on with it...

Elizabeth Goudge, The Castle on the Hill (pgs. 247-248)

Ahhh!

CS Lewis did it again. My thinking is fixed again. Reading Mr Lewis' arguments is like receiving a mental chiropractic adjustment. This particular passage from The Four Loves recently walloped a huge curvy crick out of my philosophy:

It remains certainly true that all natural loves can be inordinate. Inordinate does not mean "insufficiently cautious." Nor does it mean "too big." It is not a quantitative term. It is probably impossible to love any human being simply "too much." We may love him too much in proportion to our love for God; but it is the smallness of our love for God, not the greatness of our love for the man, that constitutes the inordinacy. But even this must be refined upon. Otherwise we shall trouble some who are very much on the right road but alarmed because they cannot feel towards God so warm a sensible emotion as they feel for the earthly Beloved. It is much to be wished--at least I think so--that we all, at all times, could. We must pray that this gift should be given us. But the question whether we are loving God or the earthly Beloved "more" is not, so far as concerns our Christian duty, a question about the comparative intensity of two feelings. The real question is, which (when the alternative comes) do you serve, or choose, or put first? To which claim does your will, in the last resort, yield?

Lewis, The Four Loves, pg. 170-171

My Year: ADD style

Upon perusal of my blogs' draft folder, I made a discovery, or, I should say, discoveries: SEVEN very abruptly unfinished blog posts (including one completely blank page)! At first, I was frustrated and annoyed and pecked at by familiar self doubts. "All right, all ready, I've probably drafted more posts than I've finished posts!" Why can I never finish what I start?" But on second thought I decided,"why not make lemonade when I have so many lemons?" "Why not make ONE GREAT BIG FAT blog entry out of the SIX STUPID SKINNY INCOMPLETE posts?"

I've introduced each post with a few snippets of context, but every word in italics is just the way I left it in my draft folder, excepting a few minor editorial changes. Here is 2009 in snatches:


I vacation with Aunt Shirley and my cousin, Drew at their condo in Myrtle Beach, SC:
Now that I'm at the beach, I figure I should post about it. I mean, what is more noteworthy than paradise? A few glimpses:I met a hermit crab in the resort parking lot, appearing small and lost. These bitty crustaceans should in the dictionary under the word "scuttle."
6/4/09


A redneck habit?
I have discovered a new pastime--sunflower seed chewing. On a whim the other day I bought a bag of seeds in the shell at Market Basket and brought them home to the family as a low-fat snack. My first tries eating the seeds where disappointing and unsatisfying.
7/8/09


My home for now:
Last week I spent helping a family in New Jersey. Overall, the time went good, but when I returned home, I discovered how I tired I was--the kind of tired one gets from being in an unfamiliar and slightly stressful situation for a longish period of time. Then I returned to Fairwood. As I kicked up dust with my bare feet on the gravel road to Ruth's house, I realized how much this place is a cherished part of my life: a quiet, constant companion.

In the summer I like Fairwood best without my shoes. Padding around the empty campus on the warm pavement is what I do when I don't want to think about anything in particular. The school year requires me to be a good example to the students by wearing my shoes so they will all think that I am a responsible adult, but when the last pencil is flung to the wind, I roam the school shamelessly young.

When David wrote: "He leadeth me beside still waters, He restoreth my soul," I can relate. The greenness around me
8/17/09


I think about writing about a day in my life for YLCF:


I've decided to join YLCF's "A day in my life" carnival:

12:30 AM No sleep.

1:00ish Sleep!

7:45ish Normally, I run or bike earlier than this. However, I slept in this morning and lost my chance. No time to do much except catch a chapter from Jeremiah (where I'm currently at in my very slow consecutive walk through the Bible), and choose an outfit from the floor.

I work and live at a tiny Bible School in New England.
10/27/09


Too much thought-time on my hands at the restaurant:
Today in the middle of the time-consuming monotonous task of rolling and cutting homemade pasta at the restaurant where I work, I found Israel. It was a long, fragile strip realistically shaped like the Israeli border. I continued feeding new portions of dough through the rollers and catching the resulting sheets, smooth and gritty with flour all at the same time, and reflected. Seeing the country where my parents and youngest brother are living and praying made me miss them. Especially my parents. I don't know, maybe it's
11/5/09


Don't feel too sorry for me:
This Saturday I am alone in an apartment that is normally full with four busy girls (my sisters that is). So here I sit, alone, on the couch, while the fridge roars nearby. Have you ever noticed how loud a quiet house is? I mean, even if the fridge isn't running, sometimes the sound of quietness seems more noticeable to me than any noise is. Hm... the fridge just stopped, and now the laptop is a mini Niagara Falls. The wall just creaked. Oh, maybe that was the register: it's tapping. Maybe I should turn some music on.
1/23/10

Cristmas Effusion

Katie is in the kitchen muttering about automatic payments and leafing through her day's mail. I'm waterlogged with clementines (they're so small and sweet and tart all at the same time--good reason to eat LOTS of them). This Christmas I'm excited to... no... I'm just plain excited about Christmas!!! Yay! Yay! Yay! A few minutes ago, I was sitting in the darkened Main House parlor (sitting room of the main building on campus) just to look at the newly bedecked tree, all lit up and shiny. I find Christmas lights fascinating, and one of the few things in life that I actually feel effusive about. *happy sigh*

Maybe tomorrow I'll buy a tree for my apartment.

Point of View

Some thoughts from the winter just past:

The night sky's stars were clearly visible--I was compelled to go out in the cold just to look at them, so I enveloped myself in a thick maroon comforter and wandered across the frozen ball field to enjoy the view. Then the obvious yelled in my face: the whole sky couldn't be seen at once--by me.

I felt at that moment like a photographer attempting to capture a vast panorama with a dinky child's camera. I couldn't take the Big Dipper, Little Dipper, and Orion all in one glance. If I wanted to see more than a narrow window of the sparkling display I would be forced to pivot my whole body in order view a different section of the sky. If I flopped onto the frosty grass, possibly gaining myself a broader scope, there would still be expanses hidden. My puny perspective limited me.

I left the field feeling disappointed and defeated by my limitation. I was also relieved.

I was relieved to hit the bottom floor of endless questions--to feel the gritty, packed-soil basement of my own inadequacy. The complete picture of life can't be seen all in one snapshot. I can't see the whole story--what God is doing--behind the problems of people I want to help and love. Even my own life can only be seen one image at a time: which at this moment is only the present. And that is okay.

Food

Food - specifically preparing food - is a subject dear to my heart. Today I discovered why. The school where I work is the land of casseroles, thrift, and carbs-to-fill-in-the-cracks. Now that I've been here for about a year and a half, my attitude toward the available food to cook with is resigned. Sometimes I even think I feel a subconscious duty to love the school food, maybe, but in the end I don't love it.

My discovery was this: I love food. By food, I mean food in its elemental form as opposed to food soaked by oiliness, draped with cheese, and daubed in a suitable condiment, all in the name of marketing. *do you sense a soapbox?* I'm sometimes culprit numero uno in this tragedy, I'm afraid. The reason is that I also love to give people what they want - cheese on top to hide the vegetables. I want them to like my food, and me. It's called marketing.

What I do love to eat are green beans still fuzzy and warm from the vine in summertime, sweet and crunchy Dubliner cheese by itself, and yams roasted until the edges are caramel. Elemental food that can be eaten alone. Food that demands my attention instead of doping my senses. That makes me exclaim, "Wow! This sweet potato tastes like heaven. Who needs Fritos?" Good eats make eating fascinating.

I could elaborate sheets and sheets about beautiful, quality food (and the evils of making casseroles); I won't, because I want you to actually read this post. The point is this: Begin with foods that can stand on their own and prepare simple combinations of these products - then is real cooking and the reason why I love food. The end.



PS. Call me if you want to hear my full and varied disclaimer: all about how I don't always practice what I preach and how I really ought to buy a thesaurus to find synonyms for the word "food".

Of Gardening and Marriage

Reading the last post makes me think of my tulips again. Those bulbs have really managed to make me feel very maternal. Practically every time they come to mind, all cozy in their earthen beds beneath the snow, a deep sense of satisfaction settles on my soul and I am fulfilled. I wonder how I will feel when they pop up in the spring? A bumper sticker on my car perhaps?

"My tulips are all honor roll bloomers at Fairwood Bible Institute"

Gabe is here now. Since many of us are sick or have been sick, not much seems to have been happening the past couple of days beyond sitting around the living room lethargically. At least it provides a perfect opportunity to watch the new couple together. It seems like it should be odd to watch them hang out and hold hands. I mean, my sister is my sister. She's not supposed to be a wife (well, she isn't yet)! Unexpectedly, to see them together has seemed as natural as if it had always been. I like that. Bring it on!

Midnight Philosophy

Now that I have my very own blog, I'm excited to write in it. On Tuesday, I planted tulips. Digging around in the dirt made me feel very philosophical, and so I plotted a blog post about dirt. It made my task much more interesting except that now I've already forgotten what it was that I was going to say.

Hmm...

Tuesday night, I played volleyball with my girls. Usually, everyone plays Tuesday night sports but this time all the guys but one were away on a field trip. The volleyball net was duly lowered to our fair height and theoretically I could have spiked a mean one. But I didn't. With writing on the mind (except this time I think I was planning a letter to a friend), I waxed philosophical again. This time about my job.

Philosophizing is an excellent occupation. It allows one to back away from the fray and intensity of your own self and watch the "show" with the jaunty stance of an unconcerned bystander, chin in hand. From this position, I discovered my work was meaningful. Not the cooking. But the people.

Have you ever noticed that some people have scars on their faces; except they aren't physical scars? I know some people like this. Sometimes it's obvious, other times subtle.

I know. When I planted my tulips, I mixed manure into the dirt and carefully tucked the bulbs in for the winter. I know they will grow grow into healthy flowers because of my care. I know that loving these people will help heal their faces. It's almost as if I can see the future and understand how much the words, the patience, the listening, and the kindness will rebuild the broken down parts.

Funny how much sense it makes now and how little equipped I've usually felt. Mostly it seems that my days are filled with keeping my own act together. I'm the one that needs help!

I know. But somehow, I know right now that something can be done for these people. It's almost one 'o' clock in the morning. I tend to be overly dramatic in the middle of the night. Oh well. I still know!

Sabbath Treat

I recently discovered a new clothing site that I now love. Shabby Apple has created a contest to find the best clothing vignette. Here's mine:

Every Friday night my family celebrates a Sabbath (Definition of Sabbath: an excuse to be lazy after an arduous week of pursuing the American dream).

After making the bathrooms sparkly and fighting back the beasts of kitchen clutter...

We stop.

We are quiet.

We pray and sing.

Candle flames bow and wave to the darkened living room walls. Fatigued muscles heave a sigh of relief. Too much longer, and the couch becomes a bed!

Then...

We eat Sabbath Treat! (Definition of Sabbath Treat: yummy food eaten on Friday night)

Sabbath is a special time for me. I love finding ways to celebrate or make it special with other kinds of "sabbath treats" like flower arrangements, brand-new candles, or reading a book just for fun.

Sometimes, I dress up. Here is my idea of a fashionable "sabbath treat":


Beauty.

Comfort.





Flowers!