If My Moon Was Your Sun, book review (children's book)

Book review:

If My Moon Was Your Sun
by Andreas Steinhöfel | Nele Palmtag
Pub Date: 01 Nov 2017

This is one of those books your read to your child (or class) so they become more emotionally intelligent, while you, the adult, choke back tears. This book was touching because of the idea of a young boy loving his grandfather so deeply, but also in the way the character's voice was so distinctly 10 years old. Max is in that perfect stage between misunderstanding the way adults act because of his childishness and understanding the same scenarios more profoundly than even the adults. He was the perfect character to portray such a sweet story of love for someone he knows, deep down, isn't going to be around forever.

It's a longer book and would work well for teaching making inferences, voice, plot structure, and a few other elements. It's likely a story to which upper elementary to middle grade students might relate.

★★★★

Crabcakes and Football

Go to ConversionDiary.com for more!

*1*

Slow and steady wins back their blogging brain.

I have exciting news and I'm going to continue writing quick takes until I decide whether or not to tell you....go ahead and guess.

*2*

Have you listened to the Bright Maidens' interview with Pat Gohn yet?

Click to listen to Part 2

In the first one we discussed a myriad of topics that we believe are important to Catholic young adults. In this, the second one, we spent a great deal of time talking about... sex. And virginity, and recycled virginity, and our identity as such.

It really turns into honest girl talk, so men, if you've ever wanted to be a fly on the wall of a sleepover, this is your chance.

*3*

Exciting news hint: it is one reason why I have been posting infrequently/not posting. Seriously, try to guess! #CathSorority girls aren't allowed to guess.

*4*

Click to buy it on Amazon

In the last week, I have listened to my church's 1997 recording of our Song of Mark production at least 20 times. It's a stellar musical and I highly recommend buying the CD and/or asking your music minister if they'd consider producing this play at your parish.

I know all of the people with lead roles, so I'm tempted to go to Mass on Monday and embarrass them with compliments about how I have their voices stuck in my head.

One of the children in the production who had a solo is one of my oldest friends and was 10 years old when her beautiful little voice sang the Good News. She now has a three-year-old girl and a month-old baby boy.

Time flies.

*5*

My cousin and her awesome boyfriend had a fun idea for a wedding present with a personal touch. Cousin's-Awesome-Boyfriend salvaged and split a beautiful piece of wood, so that it has a flat surface for painting.

Selfishly, I'm eager to help them because it will help me get back into painting and creating art. They want me to paint a big crab on this, similar to the picture, and insert the words "Crabcakes and football: That's what Maryland DOES!"

My canvas. Wood, I'm turning you into a crab.

What a creative wedding gift! I'm sure they'll get a kick out of it. I'll post some pictures of my progress later.

*6*

My exciting news will compel me to move to a different city. Bittersweet.

I decided I'd reveal my exciting news in its own post. So guess, guess, guess!

*7*

Don't forget to join the Bright Maidens for this week's topic on stay-at-home-moms and working-out-of-the-home moms.

In case you were wondering, we had this one planned before Lent began, so it's a coincidence that the whole Ann Romney/Hilary Rosen thing blew up recently. You're welcome to reflect on that, if you haven't already, but that wasn't our aim.

Trista's post, "On Motherhood"
Lynsey's post, "WOHM vs. SAHM"
Mandi's post, "Stay at Home Mom vs. Working Mom"
Lisa's post, "The Best Job in the World"

Oh, hello - 7QT, Volume 53

Visit ConversionDiary.com for more!

*1*

Hello.

*2*

I discovered something about myself a few years ago. My passionate nature allows me to focus intensely on three things at one time. The fourth thing either bounces off my passion shield (Be gone, archery! We have no room for you here!) or schooches its way into my heart. 

Jesus' yoke is easy and His burden is light.

Of course, said schooching fills me to the brim (I run full steam ahead with three passions) and one lonely item must leave the nest for a little while.

I think you know what lost out this time around.

*3*

Why?

1. Because my personal relationships started to get elbowed out because of number two...

2. I got a part-time job as a youth activities coordinator at my church. It was the tipping factor that indirectly asked me to bop out one of my intensities.

At first, I thought I could do it all. I was going to ORGANIZE myself into success. It's a pipe dream I'm determined to fulfill, but for now the solution was to leave blogging out in the cold.

*4*

So youth ministry is completely different than I thought it would be! I have taught Theology of the Body to teens for almost two years now, but that requires so little prior preparation that I was fooled into thinking youth ministry was as carefree.

It's invigorating and fulfilling, while poking dozens of tiny holes in my reality. I thought I was an organized person (and a psych test agrees... more on that later), but this job has made me realize I need to ENFORCE organization on myself. It doesn't just take care of itself.

*5*

Coin Rubbage

One step in becoming more organized is also my next big piece of news: I'm moving out of my parents' house! I moved into this house as a toddler and I'm moving out a month before my 25th birthday.

To those graduating in May:

Your decision to live at home depends entirely on your discernment and your parents' willingness/insistence. The first thing anyone says when I tell them I "still live at home" is, "ALRIGHT, YOU'RE SMART!" accompanied by their fingers rubbing imaginary coins together in front of my face.

While, yes, I did save money (while paying a reduced rent), the best benefit of "staying at home" is precisely what you took for granted throughout your senior year of high school:

No one can quantify the value of coming home to people who love you. To wake up in a house where I brought home my first "A," while my now-landlords clapped and squealed in excitement is invaluable to me. My wonderful parents and I reconnected as adults and I learned more from them in the last two, perspective-rich years than I did since that first homework assignment.

Thank you, Mommy and Daddy! I'm moving on to learn more, but I love the home you created between all of us.

*6*

My areas of interest. So I like art.

My full-time job provided me with the opportunity to take the Birkman assessment. Ask my family and my beau and they will tell you I can't shut up about it.

Ask me and I tell you I'm enthusiastic about it because I'm a big picture thinker who likes to see how things work out with a plan.

It's SO COOL to have a computer tell you, "Hey, you're insightful, you like to work in smaller groups, but too much solitude is bad for you. When you're stressed out, you will try to withdraw and procrastinate, so try to avoid that by setting up your environment with plenty of organization and time to complete your tasks."

WHAT IS COOLER than seeing your habits and brain quantified? I think I talk about it exactly the right amount of time. Beau? Care to comment? :)

*7*

Bright Maidens announcement time!

We're thinking about switching things up! This change would be reflected in the calendar (click the link, copy the URL, and use it to "subscribe" in your calendar application or format), so we'd like to hear what you think.

The topic that normally falls on a Tuesday will pertain to an entire week. Instead of asking you to write to a one-day deadline, we're giving all of us a chance to wake up a little during the week.

If you have time to write your piece for Monday, have at it! If you want to explain why you think Gilbert Blythe is the ultimate man in 7 short bullet points, please, be our guest and wait until Friday!

I hate over-using the word "busy," especially before I have children, so I won't.... but it might be nice to inject a little flexibility into the week. What do you think?

Lime spelled backwards

One year ago today, the only grandfather I got to meet passed away in his home, after more than a year battling to get back to normal life, post-stroke. One of the things everyone often teased him about was his chronic tardiness. I think of him now, finally reunited with the grandmother I never met, who died when my mother was a toddler: "Good ol' Emil. Always keeping me waiting!" I can hear her say.

In re-tribute, I'm reposting my tribute to him from last year:

My only grandfather passed away on Wednesday, early morning and we laid him to rest today. About two weeks ago, we checked him into the ER for pneumonia symptoms and found out he had lung cancer that had metastasized to his liver on the side that was paralyzed from his stroke a year ago.

My theory is that the paralyzed side hid a lot of the pain that he would have felt in what turned out to be late stages of cancer. PLUS he was a stubborn man who spoke of no pain, emotional or physical. You might think Chuck Norris and Jack Bauer are tough, but that's because you never met Emil Daddy.

We called him Emil Daddy because he was a strapping, young 54-year-old when his eldest grandchild (ME!) was born -- he didn't want to feel old and he liked doing things his own way, so it was "Emil Daddy."

If you're as impeccably observant as my grandfather was, you've already noticed that his name is the backwards version of a tart, green citrus fruit. He came to EVERY Grandparents' Day at each of his five grandchildren's schools, bringing with him a bag of limes as a visual teaching tool.

"You'll always remember how to spell it because it's lime, L-I-M-E, spelled backwards," he said to a crowd of open mouthed elementary school kids sitting Indian style on the rug.

He was always a big hit and my sister says she has a friend who asked her last year, "You're the one with the grandfather with the limes, right?"

My Emil Daddy lost his young wife when my mom and her sister were 2 and 3-years-old. I was talking to a friend and cousin the day he died and she exclaimed about how she didn't know any man who is ready to get married at the age he was on his wedding day, let alone who is able to raise two girls. Those girls grew into extremely successful women with college degrees, a nursing degree for one and an engineering masters degree for the other, and kicking families, if I do say so myself.

Throughout all of Emil Daddy's own book of Job, he remained steadfast in the Lord. It was really something to admire. His faith was consistent and strong, even when it would have been easier to get mad and give up.

In his daily life, Emil Daddy was extremely organized. I cannot begin to explain just what I mean by "extremely" because you have never met someone so efficient and particular. He saved every used peanut butter jar to store something, he separated black pens, blue pens, and red pens, he rewrote the user manuals for his computer in notebooks, cross-referencing them in other notebooks (using color coordination), so he would absolutely know where to go when he had a question.

I'm on the left. Chubby little hand, huh?

I could write for hours about the little quirks and memories I have of this stoic yet sacrificing and giving man. In fact, I'm working on a novel that will explain the love story between Emil Daddy and his wife, Thelma. Sneak preview: we have a few pages of 12-year-old Emil handwriting explaining how he was in love with a girl in his class, Thelma, and how he wanted to marry her. It only took ten years, I guess.

Thank you, Lord, for bringing me into the world under the care of my grandfather, Emil. I will continue to learn from the imprint he left on my life.

Thank you for your prayers and your time in reading this. God bless you all and Merry Christmas!

7 Quick Takes Friday, Volume 36

Click here to read the original post at ConversionDiary.com

*1*

he Little Mermaid has always been my favorite Disney Princess movie until a college freshman friend told me that "those who love the Little Mermaid have a deep-seeded, unquenchable satisfaction. They can't be happy where they are." Thank you freshman year, Psych 101.

Well, it's official. I'm Ariel, according to Disney itself! Their description sounds nothing like that of the 18-year-old friend of mine:

My favorite part is "just a bit headstrong." Nuh uh!

*2*

n my July-is-for-saving-money vein:

PlasticJungle.com

That is all.

*3*

n my July-is-for-saving-money vein:

Restaurant.com

I used a gift certificate from here to go to a restaurant, saved more than 50% (well, I only spent about $4 for $25 of a $44 bill and someone special wouldn't let me pay for the rest). I'm glad I saved that much because I also ruled out that restaurant as a NEVER GO THERE AGAIN place.

*4*

ore July-is-for-saving-money:

AllYou.com and RetailMeNot.com

*5*

hat have I noticed? This saving-money experiment is actually wreaking havoc on my brain. I can't stop thinking of ways to save money and that's starting to bug me.

Also, I keep finding myself prepared to buy something, just because I have a coupon. That's no good, the idea was to SAVE money. Beware of that.

*6*

ur birthday present to my father was tickets to the Darius Rucker concert here in Richmond and it was a BLAST. What a beautiful, talented man!

It was about 90 degrees when the sun finally went down, so we were pretty toasty. For your information (and playlist-making pleasure), he played the following set list:

• Love will do that
• Alright
• All I want
• Don't think I don't think about it
• The craziest thing
• I got nothin'
• I only wanna be with you (from Hootie and the Blowfish days)
• Southern state of mind
• Let her cry (from Hootie and the Blowfish days)
• You never even called me by my name!
• It won't be like this for long
• Space Cowboy (Steve Miller Band)
• This
• Come back song
• Family tradition (Hank Williams)
• History in the making
• In a big way 
• One tequila, two tequila, three tequila, floor (no idea...)
• Purple rain (yes, THAT Purple Rain, by Prince)

Before the concert began, my family and I made lists of six songs we "bet" he would play. The winner got to pick the ice cream cake flavor.... my dad won! I guess he knows Darius best.

*7*

ll of the Bright Maidens and Bright Men who contributed this week had interesting takes on the topic of Tattoos! Read below or see here:

Trista, "In Memory of"
Elizabeth, "Needle and the damage done"
Emily, "No Tattoos For Me"
Paige, "Inklings..."
Chloe, "An Echoing Breeze"
Stacy, "My Body My Choice - Casey Anthony's 'Bella Vita'"

Julie is still working on hers and I'll post it when she has it!

Also, do you tweet? Tweet with us @BrightMaidens :)

Daddy, she pinched me

This is shameless in many ways. Firstly, I'm being lame and posting something random. Secondly, I'm asking you to watch one of my home videos. Thirdly, I have some belated desire to be on America's Funniest Home Videos and this is my only shot at something similar.

Lame and shameless. Lahmeless. Shlame.

Without further ado.... this is me and my sister at the ages of three (me) and two (my sister).

Mary's vapor rub

Mary, Our Guide

"Ecce Noster Feminia" by Julie at The Corner with a View
"Simple Things" by Trista at Not a Minx, a Moron, or a Parasite

"Mary's vapor rub" by Elizabeth at Startling the Day

The "Bright Maidens" were originally three from the oft-mentioned, widely-speculated upon demographic of young, twenty-something Catholic women. Now, we all take up the cross to dispel the myths and misconceptions. Welcome!

Hail Mary, full of grace, the Lord is with thee.

I picture Mary in heaven cleaning up toys, dislodging tiny G.I. Joes from the toughening pad of her foot, slowly acquiring a nursing/psych/spiritual guide degree, with stretch marks to match her under eye circles, like mothers around the world. If I could pick anyone to give me vapor rub for my soul, it would be her.

The world is the toy room, bruises, scrapes, and boo-boos show up on her children's souls, and her children around the world cry to her at night, stirring her awake.

Her soul magnifies the Lord for centuries so that He can reach more people who notice her motherly influence on their lives.  She is our mother, our comforter, and God's message deliverer.

The house in which I grew up loved her everyday. I knew the Hail Mary prayer as well as the Our Father, we had several pictures, rosaries, and one statue of her in the "fancy room." My parents needed her guidance in their lives, so they were happy to invite her into their homes.

When I was young, we went on a trip to Emmitsburg, MD, a small town where people said they saw Mary. I remember aiming the film camera at every corner of the house and grounds where she had allegedly appeared, praying that she might appear in the photo after development.

(I don't own the rights)

I don't know if that sighting has been made "official" by the Vatican, but the faith of my childhood was overwhelmed by the beauty of the possibility that I might see this woman I had called Mother throughout my life.

Shortly after that trip, when I was in fourth grade, I woke up one morning with a white pain in my right hip. I rolled off the bed, onto the floor and quickly learned I couldn't stand up because of the pain.

It was as if I had not awoken and I was in a dream wherein I could try with all of my dream-like strength, but the body to which I was tethered could not move.

Fear overwhelmed me and heaving tears came down my face as I crawled into the bustle of the hallway where I knew my parents would notice their first born daughter, scared and in pain.

With their help, thanks be to the Lord, I could stand and walk with the pain still searing in my hip. Doctors did tests, people prayed, I repeated my own name during the prayers for intercessions at Mass, and I watched my parents whisper with worry.

They thought it was Rheumatoid Arthritis and that I would be in a wheelchair by the age of sixteen.

The morning that we were to get the test results from the doctor, my mom rushed in my room with damp cheeks and an encouraged voice and clasped around my neck her mother's Mary metal on a silver chain. She said Mary came to her in a dream and told her it would be good news from the doctor and not to be afraid.

For the first time in days, her head was actively floating above water. Mary, whether it was her or just the comfort that my mom knew she could find in her image, provided my mother with peace of mind. She rubbed the vapor jelly on her soul, reminding her that she was not alone.

(I don't own the rights)

The renewing dream was correct and the doctors concluded that I had contracted streptococcus in my hip joint. I needed some antibiotics and a few weeks for the pain to subside.

I doubt I knew how serious that episode could have been; I was excited to miss school for that appointment.

Mary provided my mother with the magnifying reminder that anxiety is the opposite of grace. The episode awoke the faith in my parents and my sisters and I grew and learned from it.

The comfort and wisdom that Mary used to assure Jesus that it was time for his first miracle guides us today. Because we know she lived life as a mother, she lost like a mother, and Jesus declared her our mother while on the cross, she leads us to a path to Him when we need it.

Half measures

Week Five: Issues with the Church

"Going to the Mattresses: One Girl's Take on Faith and Feelings" by Julie at The Corner with a View
"The Church's Self-Fulfilling Prophecy" by Trista at Not a Minx, a Moron, or a Parasite

"Half measures" by Elizabeth at Startling the Day

This is the fifth post of a blog post series called "Bright Maidens." We three are from the oft-mentioned, widely-speculated upon demographic of young, twenty-something Catholic women. We're here to dispel the myths and misconceptions- please join us for the discussion!

Oooo scandalous. The Bright Maidens are going to share their issues with the Catholic Church! If you were hoping for a crew of young women calling for female priests, contraception (if this is you're guess, please read this), or a revolt on the Holy See, you will be disappointed.

Though we have some eyes to roll and some heads to shake at the several times in Church history, we contend that Christ founded the Catholic Church and the Holy Spirit has been her unfettering guide. We're the Bright Maidens because we're not what the secular world expects of young women who grew up in the Catholic Church.

(I don't own the rights)

What does growing up in the Church require? 

Is this the right question to ask? Many parents run down the concrete answers to this question like it's a honey-do checklist. Baptism, religious education, Reconciliation, Eucharist, Confirmation, *ding* Catholic microwave says you're done!

Rather than determining how to bring their families closer to God, they go through the motions. Perhaps these parents don't understand the teachings or they disagree with them, but they want to give their children structure and checklists. I'm sure some worry about suffering the all-consuming condemnation from their own parents or in-laws if they neglect the checklist.

It would be a smaller travesty if their apathy and unwillingness to research and ask questions about the faith only affected their children. However, these parents are mixed in with all parents and assigned to elementary, middle, and high school religious education classrooms.

The parish plops a little "Ask Me Anything" button on their chest and identifies them as the authority in the classroom of eager children following their Holy Spirit-guided noses. Apathetic teachers, volunteers, or parishioners teach children by example and those who answer questions incorrectly misinform entire generations.

Until about three years ago, I thought my faith was just for me. I was meant to bundle up, tie a polar bear coat around it, and pray quietly in an igloo, holding my knees to my chest.

(I don't own the rights)

Saying "Praise God" when I felt the urge would brand me a Protestant Jesus freak. Rebutting an insult on the faith with anything more involved than, "It's okay that you believe what you believe and I believe what I believe. We're both right to us," would be over the top and somehow non-Catholic.

Somewhere along the way, Catholics started keeping the zeal for Christ to themselves. The darkness in that cave seems to dissolve any zeal left over from childhood.

We forgot it needs to be in the light and breathe. We're called to bring it to light and pass it around. In forgetting this, we created more of the apathetic parents who teach their practices.

Queue the battle drums call for more involved grassroots efforts in our parishes! We need to make sure kids know this is what it means to be Catholic.

Many parents are busy and can say they have too much taking up their time to learn the answers to the questions they never asked.

"In our time more than ever before, the chief strength of the wicked, lies in the cowardice and weakness of good men... All the strength of Satan’s reign is due to the easy-going weakness of Catholics. Oh! if I might ask the Divine Redeemer, as the prophet Zachary did in spirit: What are those wounds in the midst of Thy hands? The answer would not be doubtful: With these was I wounded in the house of them that loved Me. I was wounded by My friends, who did nothing to defend Me, and who, on every occasion, made themselves the accomplices of My adversaries. And this reproach can be levelled at the weak and timid Catholics of all countries." --Pope St. Pius X, Discourse at the Beatification of St. Joan of Arc, Dec. 13, 1908

Take the time. Catch yourself on FIRE so you can show the Church's children how to be on FIRE for Jesus. We make up the Church He founded!

7 Quick Takes Friday, Volume 22

Click here to read the original post at ConversionDiary.com

Head colds are for losers. This loser's "How to survive a month-long cold:"

*1*

Look at creative pictures a fun dad took of his giggly daughters.

Rights belong to Jason Lee

Don't miss the one about baby pooping faces.

*2*

Overdose on Vitamin C, H2O and echinacea because two weeks from now, you're expected to be perky, smiling, and looking well-rested.

The theme was ARrrgh Matey! meets Luck O' the Irish

I'm a bridesmaid in two weeks! Another good friend of mine is getting married in about two months, so when I saw the title for this post, "It's about the Experience: A Post that Will Probably Be Uninteresting to Those Not Planning Weddings," I was paradoxically intrigued.

This young bride dated her now-husband for 5 years before they got married. They also waited until their wedding day for their first kiss.... whoa. That takes some serious commitment...

She's a Catholic blogger, but she has some interesting disagreements with some of the teachings of the Church. I disagree with her on many points, but if you can't read something you disagree with, you have a hard time getting along with new people.

*3*

Avoid staying up until 1:00am to finish a post about when God V8-smacked you in the forehead.

*4*

In a cloudy state of mind, attempt to do a write-up about how two saints picked you and are now making your worst faults abundantly clear to you. Proceed to confession and Mass.

Reminder: next week's Bright Maiden's post is about our "issues with the Church." Scandalous? Perhaps.

*5*

Watch The Sound of Music for the 470th time with someone who has never seen it before. Launch a thorough Child Services investigation into said person's childhood, looking for other instances of child abuse or neglect.

(I don't own the rights)

Additionally, realize that you no longer want to fast forward through "Something Good" because it's adorable instead of "ew gross, stop kissing."

*6*

Get your blood boiling by reading baby "feminists" grace the world with their misinterpretations and conclusion-jumping.  

This blog written by self-proclaimed "feminists" at my alma mater makes me laugh and angers me at the same time. The writer misconstrued the Catholic Campus Ministry's man-treat that was held last weekend frightfully.

Preview: "Tell me what, is an unmanly world? One with women in it?"

The Man-treat's poster and catalyst for feminist rage

Good grief.

The school newspaper and the blog writer failed to do their homework. The man-treat was to talk to men about an epidemic amongst young men: pornography addiction. Pornography objectifies women; if the newspaper or this blogger had asked questions instead of jumping to conclusions, they might have understood and applauded the effort of this retreat.

Beware: if you click, you will be tempted to comment. Remember to remain composed, unlike one of the male, Catholic commenters who reduced himself to insulting.

*7*

Spend way too many hours cleaning out your inbox... and then admit it to the world. Five thousand unsorted emails are now neatly tucked away in folders. I have totally clean inboxes... until you comment...

Nerd alert!

Dear Pooh

I haven't stopped laughing since we found my baby sister's journal from her days as a 6-year-old. She only wrote on about 10 pages, unfortunately. I take that back, I would have a hernia right now if she had been a more diligent journal-writer.

The front of the "diary"

Dear Pooh,

Tonight the bizzard stated buy git getting icee a wuel. Jan. 2, 99 Blizzard of 1999.



Oh, we're just getting started.

Dear Pooh,

Today is valentins day I'm pritty icsidid but I'm cinda dicapoitit because I nevr got to do my valintins today. Buy!



That should give you an idea of the Richmond accent, as heard and regurgitated by a 6-year-old.

Dear Pooh,

I am releafed that Elaine is okay. Alex is on our soccer team axsdentlie He kicked the ball into Elaie's face. She got a bloddy nose and I was in goal and I saved the ball with my pinky.



I wonder if Alex really kicked that ball in Elaine's face axsdentlie or not.

Dear Journal,

Rain

Rain is such a funny thing. Too much of it floods, too little of it drought. That's we're going through right now; a drought. Tonight it's powring and it looks as if our coldosack is Lake Michigan. Since its so dark I'm pretty scared.



We lived in a cul-de-sac.

When my parents got home, if I had been wearing black and white I would have looked like a sun-burned penguin. g2g (got to go),

Katie

Manage your mannerisms

If this is your first post you've found on this blog, WELCOME! Please enjoy and consider subscribing to the RSS feed for more!

Middle school is God's preview for purgatory, in my humble opinion. Unless He meant it to be a taste of Hell, in which case: good job, God. It did the trick, I never want to go there.

During my time in Hell, I observed and people-watched so thoroughly that I created in my  mind a PhD dissertation outlining "How to Look Cool." I knew how "the popular kids" got to their thrones, I understood why it worked for them but not everyone, and I would attempt to implement some subtleties in my own life to stay under par and above water.

Pre-teen Elizabeth avoided subscribing to the big "popularizers" like boasting really low cut shirts, wearing expensive clothes, treating people poorly, and throwing myself at guys (the voices of whom, let's recall, were still changing). However, I would intentionally walk pigeon-toed.

(I don't own the rights)

I have no clue why, don't ask me, but this was a common trait among the popular girls: cute running sneakers, jeans, and a slightly deformed stride. I adopted it blindly.

It became a habit that I still have to correct consciously. Eleven-year-old Elizabeth fell so hard for the middle school message stating a self-conscious, cutesy way of walking would make her more valuable that her mark remains thirteen years later.

This mannerism sprung from a negative mindset, but everyday we can watch ourselves carryout helpful habits sprung from positive or necessary mindsets.

Those who have driven a manual car while sitting at a red light know that, with experience, the driver comes to know the exact moment to lift his or her foot off the clutch. You must teach yourself to pay attention, almost subconsciously, to the engine's queues and you adjust immediately.

Much like middle school, the first twenty hours behind the wheel of a stick-shift car tests your patience and knocks you down several pegs. These cars are meant to build humility sand castles around your wimpy "driving skills." Respect the clutch or the world will know what you've done.

We learn through our mistakes. In the manual car, no one can teach you to "know" the perfect time to shift; after some practice, your habits take over. In the decade following middle school, I looked down at my daily reminder of the futility of basing my happiness on how "the popular kids" see me.

Keep it smiley (I don't own the rights)

Make making good habits a habit. The simplest but most fruitful guideline is "Am I Loving if I do this?"

If I get angry at this telemarketer and take it out on her, am I Loving? If I decide I need to teach a lesson to the white BMW who cut me off, am I Loving? When my younger sibling is annoying me by acting exactly as I did when I was his or her age and I just want to squash it out of them, would that be Loving? If I change myself just to appear cooler to the mob of popularity on the other side of the lockers, am I Loving?

We are called to treat all as Christ would. This includes ourselves.

We encounter "Hell" in middle school, develop new wisdom and talents in everyday life, stumble over reasons to be eternally happy, and crash into reasons to feel inconsolably sad constantly over the course of a lifetime.

Keep one constant among all of the variables: make good habits that stick around when you most need to use them.

A hairy tortoise?

This discussion comes up a lot in Richmond. Many of us pride ourselves on being southern with all the charms and tendencies thereof... especially when we're behind the wheel.

Virginia drivers are like the tortoise in the tortoise (can I just use "turtle" now?) and the hare race. Northerners are like the hare.

(Don't worry, "Northern Virginians", I'm including you in the Northerner category.)

You know the story: the turtle took his time, merrily he went with consistency at his slow pace all the way to the finish line. The hare got cocky, took a nap, and now elementary school classrooms around the world mock and laugh at him.

When it comes to driving in Richmond, out-of-towners get mad at the slow pace of Richmonders on the road. When the light turns green, we step on the pedal. We're not revving the engine in anticipation of the switch.

We go six to ten miles above the speed limit, most of the time, even if we don't spy a cop along the road (radar detectors aren't allowed here). The hares sometimes show signs of impatience and ride up on our tortoise shells.

Who sounds like the winner in this scenario? The hare gets all flustered, sets himself up for a speed trap if he's not careful, and potentially jumps the gun too early waiting for the green light. The turtle just canters along his merry way, arriving at his destination at roughly the same time as the hare.

Who wouldn't want to be the slow, seemingly patient and consistent animal in this children's story? Well, this isn't the whole picture.

As a Richmond turtle, I know the slow, green way of doing things can be just as harmful as the quick, fluffy way.

Turtles, let's come clean: When a hare gets right on our shell-y tush, we take our sweet time to move out of his way. If we can help MacGyver a little 3 or 4 car-box for the impatient hare, we do it in the name of teamwork and "teaching this guy a lesson."

My Gramma, like most grandparents, drove like a very old turtle, sans vendetta. When she was driving, she would always remark to her passengers, "Everybody's in such a rush. See, you had to wait like everyone else, buddy."

Her tone was sweet and I'm sure she said a little prayer for them instead of plotting a way to piss off the hurried hare. As I try to improve my retaliation turtle ways, her words are ringing in my ears.

Logically, being the hare shaves maybe 5 minutes off a pretty long drive and causes ulcers. Being the turtle puts us in a constant mindset of vengeance and teaching lessons.

Are we here to teach lessons or to improve the world? These are not mutually exclusive, but if we corrode our insides with this form of hate, how can we expect to accomplish the latter?

Marriage *From the perspective of a unmarried, 23-year-old

Full disclosure: I'm not married and I'm 2 years out of college.

To the cynics out there: marriage can work.

I am blessed to witness a healthy marriage in my own home and in my childhood memories. But somehow, the bounty of healthy marriages don't convince cynics or Hollywood scriptwriters. They say marriage is just for "some people" or that marriage is unnatural (though it is really the most natural relationship).

No, we will not recognize literally every moment of marriage as filled with an overwhelming feeling of God's presence, but can choose to see many of them. We make the choice to commit to marriage. This kind of deep commitment really requires a relationship with God and a desire to get one another to heaven. But that's another story.

Regent's Park, London, UK. (My own photo)

In this point in my life, there are hours in which I pray, but I'm distracted and I don't feel washed with passion for what the Lord has done for me. Then, there are days where I cry for no reason every hour because I see beauty everywhere.

Even twenty years removed, I can rewind my mind to re-experience what Christmas felt like as a child. When I learned Baby Jesus arrived on Earth for us, I invited an unquenchable thirst for realizing the awesomeness of God.

He sent His Son for us in the form of a perfect little baby and we get to celebrate it every year (and everyday, hopefully). That thought explodes in my mind... so much so that I cannot think of a less juvenile way to explain it.

As I mentioned, I'm writing a novel about my grandparents' love story. When I listened to my Emil Daddy explain the journey to and through marriage, though it was a short five year union, I noted the biblical Love they shared.

The grandmother I never met and who died when my mom was a toddler was sick her entire life, confined to her bed when she wasn't in school or out with a colostomy bag. Her doctors told my Emil Daddy six months in advance that she was going to die and he kept that burden to himself. He filled the remainder of her life with the Love he'd promised for their lives together as they were united at the altar.

After she died, Emil Daddy remained faithful to that Love as he raised my mom and aunt. They now share that Love in their marriages and I look forward to sharing it in my own.

The magic of Christmas is different now than it was when I was five, just like Love in the first year of marriage is different than Love and marriage 20 years down the road. The growth is essential and we shouldn't morn when the butterflies die.

It is bound to be different as the years pass, but the core Love that you build together remains. The commitment remains, as long as we seek God from the beginning.

My words won't convince someone who doesn't agree that we can seek God, but I hope these people can witness and look for what this real Love looks like in a healthy marriage.

Dear Diary

When I was in 6th grade and having a particularly rough, middle-school-is-the-first-taste-of-hell moment, my mom suggested I start writing in a diary. "Oh mom, what do you know? Well, I do have some spare time..." The habit stuck and I'm in my 13th year of diary divulging.

Buying a new diary is a ritual. It should look like the beholder in that stage of life -- the last one I bought was understated, painted leather, and two inches thick because I thought it could be filled with stories about meeting my husband and my first months of motherhood. That was important to me, therefore it's consistent with my needs for the diary.

Unexamined self-talk is vulnerable to worldliness and I think everyone should pour thoughts onto paper. My diaries are filled with milestones...though I cringe at virtually every teenage, twenty-year-old, and "last-week-ago" thought I've written.

Diary writing became such a big pillar in my life that I built my one and only art show around it.

Two autumns ago, I painted four main pieces and picked out a dozen pages from diaries dating back to 11-year-old me, lining the pages atop the paintings on the wall. In each of the works and on each diary page I painted some version of a black area, a consistency that represents a vehicle between all of them.

My objective was to illustrate the concept of memories and how they adapt to our lives

One lady told me that this was a pro-choice painting... news to me...

I wrote excerpts from diaries around this head thing.

When you recall memories that you've thought about before, you're looking through two lenses:

1) All of the experiences since you were younger shift your perspective on everything, including past memories. 2) Remembering a memory is an imperfect task to undertake anyway and acknowledging that opens another pocket for learning about yourself. 

For example, I remember my second birthday and that my cake had no candles on it. Remembering how my parents scrambled to find candles for their eldest child's second birthday cake is more important to me now than it was at six-years-old. At six, I was more concerned with the color of my dress. 

If God wills it, I'm closer to being the parent of a 2-year-old than I am to being a 2-year-old. Six-year-old me liked pretty dresses, simple as that.

I added more diary excerpts underneath and around the tree branches.

If you try to read this, please recognize that I was probably 18 and "artsy fartsy" for artsy fartsy's sake when I wrote it. *Groan*

Reading over the diaries to pick entries was painful and posting them up on walls for others to read them was even more painful. But that was part of the point. We are the sums of our experiences and the product of our equipment for absorbing them. By sharing my impression of this concept with others, I placed a marker in my memory and in the memory of everyone who looked at my show (and now, you). 

This memory "marker" may or may not pop up again in your life, but all seemingly inconsequential moments add up. In a few minutes, days, or years you may think back on any memory with a new perspective. 

The new perspective will meet with the old perspective and the difference will give you even more to think about. 

"I was once incapable of seeing a man as a brother in Christ first, instead of a potential mate. Thank You, God, for constantly de-clouding my vision of that. In a few years, I'll see more results from that."

Or

"Wow, 17-year-old me actually wrote the words, 'I have everything figured out.' Joke is on her... and now the joke is on me."

Or

"I use the word 'I' too much."

There will be more memory collisions in my future. I look forward to them, as embarrassing as they will be.

Three acts, three times, 3x3 sets of tears

My family spent this weekend in Harrisonburg, Virginia realizing that our mid-kid is even more accomplished, talented, mature, and wonderful than we already knew. Christine picked and directed a play by Karol Wojtyla (JP2) at her university, approaching the extremely mature themes of love and matrimony while on a college campus.

She has always been one of my heroes, but in watching her pre-play "do it with me and turn off your cell phones, please" speech, I wept. A flash came to mind of 4-year-old determined Christine swinging her way across the five foot high monkey bars with same "seriously playful" face. Christine stands 5'10'' of elegance, beauty, brains, determination and trust in God.

The play's words were wonderful, of course, and very dense. I saw it three times this weekend, deriving different key points out of each performance. The actors were fabulous, not a lemon amongst them; they were all very talented. The other directors of the play are beautiful, wonderful, and talented ladies. All three (a pattern emerges) directors pieced together a beautiful rendition of JP2's words mixed with pertinent and gorgeous dance sequences, a chorus of speakers behind the audience's view, and powerful lighting. The light became a character. 

As my title suggests, I was a big crybaby throughout all of them. My youngest sister and college freshman, Katie, arranged a ride and surprised Christine with her presence in support of her. Ah family!

I've asked Christine to write a post about her experience or about the play from her perspective... hopefully she'll arrest some time to write it soon.

I'm very proud of her.