by Amy | Sep 6, 2013 | Blog, The Art of Living, The Art of the Moment
I met Bethany a bit over a year ago. At the time, I was brand new to Practically Canada…and she had been here over a year herself. As we chatted over some delightful Qdoba I learned that she and her husband were in the process of becoming foster parents. They were young, fun and longing for a family. Not to mention, awesome people who would make great parents. After our lunch date she was headed to Target to buy a few things for some respite foster care they had volunteered to do. {Respite care just means that they looked after a couple little ones while their foster parents had to be out of town for a few days.}
Shortly after that, Bethany and her husband Austin had the opportunity to care for a beautiful little girl who had been put into the foster system. They learned that this precious child had an older brother and sister and fought to bring all three children into their home. Those three children have been there ever since. Soon after their arrival Austin and Bethany began actively pursing a formal adoption of all three children. Since then they have been loved and cared for in a way that I know in my heart of hearts makes Jesus smile.
Then, nine months ago Bethany became pregnant. And just eight days ago beautiful baby Briggs was born. Yes, folks in less than a year these two willing parents have gone from “just the two of us” to a nest full. Let me say, it’s a lovely thing. When I went over to their house to take some family photographs and some portraits of their newest addition the house was full of action, laughter, a little scolding and a whole lot of love.
Families come in all shapes, sizes, colors and timelines. As you look at this one, I think you’ll agree that no matter how the pieces come together the puzzle is always uniquely perfect when it’s complete.
Amy
by Amy | Jun 28, 2013 | Blog, Devotional, The Art of Faith, The Art of Living
When I was in elementary school we had a weird school counselor. Things about her are a little blurry. So for all I know she really wasn’t that weird. But at the time she seemed like an odd duck. I don’t remember much about her, not even her name. There are four instances I remember clear as day. She’d come into my first grade classroom on occasion and here’s what stands out to me.
She had some video about a girl and some magical horses that she made us watch. The horses were white and locked up somewhere and only her confidence and self esteem could unlock them. I hated it and thought it was super lame.
One day as an ice breaker she asked us to go around the room and name our favorite show. Every single member of my class said “Full House.” Every. Single. One. {In fairness it was 1993.}
Whenever she left the room she had us wave goodbye by wiggling our index finger at her. Like it was quieter than a regular wave or something. Again, I–the first grade critic–thought it was lame.
The last thing I remember about her is the “Glass Half Full” lesson. It was probably on one of the days she was showing a segment of that magic horse movie, because I clearly remember that she had a half glass of water sitting on top of the VCR on the TV cart.
She pointed to the glass and asked how we would describe the glass. She called on a few people. I was one of them. Now, I was a bright, if cynical, seven year old…so naturally I answered that the glass was half empty. The others said the same thing. She was pulling teeth trying to get someone to answer that the glass could be “half full” instead. It was awkward to watch…
“Now, can anyone think of another way to describe the glass? Anyone?”
Eventually some genius did come up with the idea that it could also be seen as half full. And on went a lesson on positivity and magic horses. After the answer was discovered I just remember thinking that we should have just called it “half a glass of water.” None of this full or empty business. That was lame.
Anyway, as my experiences with the school counselor allude to the fact that I can be a “glass half empty” type of person. I don’t tend to think of myself as a pessimist exactly. As the years have gone on I’m become pretty savvy at seeing the sunny side. Tonight, though I want to tell you about a glass in my life that is half empty.
The first night after Derek left, I sat on the bed and counted out some change. One coin for each day that he’d be gone. Give or take a couple. I just had to see the days in some tangible form, silly as that sounds. I scooped them all up and put them in my prettiest glass…an opalescent depression glass my mom bought for me at an antique shop. At the time this mandatory separation thing seemed really ugly, so I wanted to house it in something beautiful to remind me that even the darkest situations can turn into blessings if we continually praise God in all situations.
Anyway, each night before bed I take a coin out and put it back in my change jar. That first night was so hard. The glass was full, but boy did it seem “half empty.” Even the first week, I could barely see a drop in the level. One by one. Logically, I knew eventually the glass would have to empty down to the very last penny. But it seemed like every night it was as full as the day before.
Then. Finally I started to see a difference.
Now, that glass is more than half empty. But my glass has never felt more full. This deployment is more than halfway over and God has used this time to bless me tremendously and allow my heart to grow in ways I didn’t even know possible. Not only am I not miserable, I’m joyful.
Just proof from a cynical kid that “half full” isn’t always the best.
Amy
by Amy | Jun 21, 2013 | Blog, The Art of Faith, The Art of Living
Summertime tends to make me a bit nostalgic. It’s like Christmas to some extent. The smells, the trips, the food…they all remind me of happy times gone by. Being off of school, sleeping late, days at Lake Michigan, watermelon on the patio. I spend a lot of summer moments remembering being a child.
One annual summer event {that happens no matter what state I’m living in} is Vacation Bible School. I can remember a time when I didn’t even know what VBS stood for. Now, tens of years later, it’s just part of the summer time routine. Whether I can volunteer or not is usually hit or miss. Depending on my work schedule…and up until this year our summer moving schedule. But it’s always the same. Around the middle of June colorful signs appear in church lawns advertising a fun week themed around a beach, a ranch, pirates or an African safari. As you drive through town you can see kids throwing water balloons in the parking lots, getting sprayed down with hoses during some crazy relay race, and leaving churches with their hands full of amazing crafts.
This week wrapped up our VBS at First Baptist Minot. I helped out just the teensiest, tiniest bit. Coming by for only an hour or two each day. Just long enough to grab one of the snacks from the kitchen {ahh, church kitchens…} and snap a few photographs to document the occasion.
This year it got me thinking about the people who really influenced my faith as a child. People who took time out of their schedule to help me make crafts that my mom was sure to “love.” People who put on funny robes to tell me Bible stories and made up motions to catchy songs. I’ve been reflecting on the adults in my home church this week. Not only those who helped with VBS but the ones who taught my Sunday school classes, who directed our Children’s Choir, or who spent one Saturday each month with me at a club we called “Christian Critters.”
Now that I’m an adult I realize just how hard it can be to do those things. It’s not always fun, it’s not always convenient. Waking up early, clearing our plans, going to meetings, staying after church, showing up before church. It’s all work. And kids are not always on their best behavior, or openly grateful for your commitment. I know I didn’t always show my gratitude.
But the work of these men and women is priceless. The hard work of the adults in my childhood left memories that I still remember today, 20 years later. They are lessons that I teach children today, and I’ll teach my own children in the future. Children’s ministry volunteers cut and craft and pray and sing and dance. They create an atmosphere that allows children to learn and grow in faith. I have a vivid memory of my kid’s choir director, Sandy Metcalf, teaching us about the fruit of the spirit each week after we’d finished our songs. She gave each of us a little terracotta pot with some of that paper Easter basket grass in it. Then every week she’d give us one more fruit of the spirit. It was a little piece of construction paper cut in the shape of a fruit glued to a Popsicle stick. Each one had a label on it: Love, peace, kindness, gentleness, self control, patience, joy, goodness, faithfulness. In the end we all went home with a “garden.”
Take some time to reflect with me on the people who worked so hard to shape the faith you have today. We owe them our lives.
Amy
by Amy | Feb 14, 2013 | Blog, The Art of Living
As a kid I liked cats. They were cute and cuddly. My dad was {is} a dog person and our dog at the time {Chip} was not a kid person. If we had a dog that acted more like Chance from “Homeward Bound” I’d probably have been partial to dogs.
But Chip wasn’t Chance. He never saved me from a muddy well. Instead he growled every time I tried to touch him and gave me rope burn around my ankles from winding me up in his leash. {I still have the scars to prove it.}
I’m getting off topic. Back to cats. I liked cats. I wasn’t obsessed, but soon people started getting me cat things. Book ends, stuffed animals, books, you name it. Then suddenly when relatives were wondering what Amy would like for a gift they just looked around my room…got the idea I was totally into cats…and added another item to the collection. {This tends to happen with some things…like light houses, John Deere paraphernalia, and angels…I call it contagious collecting.}
I don’t know when it happened–maybe after I took down my cat posters {that I chose from the book fair at school}–maybe after having three barn cats of my own all die within a year of my ownership {to this day I call that the cat-curse}–but the whole cat thing settled down. Chip mellowed out once I was about 14 and I liked dogs again. After my experiences with cats getting hit on the road or dying of weird causes I decided dogs were more durable.
And I stayed a dog person for a long while.
Which is why it’s so strange that I’m now head over heels for this cat that I’ve named Panda. You know her. She’s made appearances here on the blog before. And if you have been reading a while you remember her antics from Shreveport. {If you didn’t read those…not sweat, just follow the links below.}
To refresh your memory, there was the day I took her to the vet and she pooped right in the front seat of the car. The time she peed in Derek’s dad’s lap…or maybe the time she pooped in her car carrier then laid in it and needed a bath. She really hates the car. And her hatred comes out in the form of poop. {But sometimes pee.}
When I got home the other day I noticed that Panda’s left eye looked funny. Her pupil was dilated and didn’t react to light. The next day her iris looked red and irritated. Worried that the cat curse was upon me again I called the vet. He saw us today. He rocks.
Panda was great on the 6 minute trip to the vet. She was a gem while she got her yearly vaccines and allowed the doctor to prod at her little eyeball. Then, 30 minutes later I got in the car to head for home. No sooner than I’d shut my door and “Killing Kennedy” on audio book had cued up…I smelled it.
“Oh please let that be a fart.” This was my deepest hope. Let’s be honest…nothing in the world smells worse than cat poop. Nothing. Oh, wait…except cat poop embedded in cat fur that you have to touch with your hands.
Once we got home I hauled the carrier up to the bathroom where I discovered things were as I suspected. I had a poopy Panda on my hands. Not to mention an angry Panda once the bathing experience started. I got wet. She got wet and mad. The bathroom got wet and smelly. Just another day in paradise.
Is there a morale to this story? No, not really. Other than to marvel at how funny out love for our pets can be. I’ve cleaned up poop and given a cat a bath more times than I’d like to count over the last year…all for a cat that was a beggar-stray 18 months ago. For the next two weeks I’ll pin her down {probably get scratched} and put eye drops in her cat eyes twice a day. How do they do that? How can they be so darn loveable without even trying?
I may never figure it out. And if I do I hope it doesn’t require another round of cat carrier poo patrol.
Amy
by Amy | Feb 14, 2013 | Blog, The Art of Adventure, The Art of Living
Here is a throw back post from my move to Minot…enjoy!
Well. I’m here! Panda and I made it safe and sound. However, it was one crazy journey. Here is an overview of what our last day in Shreveport/first hours in Minot looked like.
Monday June 11
9:30 a.m.
Movers came and loaded all the furniture and boxes onto the truck. Leaving Panda and me in an empty house.
7:00 p.m.
I decided to take Panda with me to Megan’s house to spend the night since she was scheduled to see the vet at 9 a.m. the next morning.
7:05 p.m.
We aren’t even out of the neighborhood. Panda has pooped in her carrier.
7:07 p.m.
Panda lays in her poop.
7:30 p.m.
We arrive at Megan’s. I dry heave because the cat poop smells so bad. Panda gets a bath and it really mad about that.
8:30 p.m.
An ice cream sundae eases the moving day jitters and cat-poop-stomach-churning.
Tuesday June 12
12:30 a.m.
Exhausted, I turn in for the night.
3:24 a.m.
Panda has been walking on me all night and I’ve barely slept. I hear thunder and see a flash of lightning. Could we finally be getting some rain? Doubt it…it hasn’t rained in months.
4:40 a.m.
Dozed off once or twice…only to be woken by a loud clap of thunder and the sound of rain slapping at the windows.
4:41 a.m.
I remember I left the windows down on the car.
4:45 a.m.
Windows are up and I am soaked.
7:45 a.m.
Alarm goes off.
9:00 a.m.
At the vet. Panda gets a clean bill of health and medicine to make her sleepy on the plane.
4:00 p.m.
Bank account is closed, donations dropped off, good byes said, bags packed, and headed to the airport. Panda is groggy.
4:45 p.m.
I have to take Panda kitty out of her carrier to pass through security. She hates the sounds and it terrified. She panics and scratches my arms and chest and rips my shirt. Thanks TSA.
6:22 p.m.
We arrive in Memphis. Just enough time to walk to our next gate and board straight away.
6:50 p.m.
En route to Minneapolis. Doing some word jumbles, reading Radical and chatting with the coolest seat buddy I’ve ever had.
8:03 p.m.
I ask a Delta desk attendant where the USO is. It’s too far to get to before my next flight. She apologizes and gives me three free drink tickets for my next flight.
10:10 p.m.
I’m in the last row of the airplane. The last one to get drinks and snacks. I order a roman Coke with one of my drink tickets. The flight attendant says I get double snacks because I had to wait to be last served. Two packets of peanuts and two packages of cookies. Score.
10:56 p.m.
The plane is descending and Panda’s drugs are wearing off. She starts meowing a bit and struggling to get out of the carrier.
11:15 p.m.
Derek meets us at baggage.
11:37 p.m.
We arrive at the Select Inn {our home until we close on the house}. Panda is super happy.
One long day. I don’t recommend traveling with a cat unless you really have to.
I’m excited that things have slowed down a bit. I’ll show you photos of the house tomorrow!!
Amy
by Amy | Feb 14, 2013 | Blog, The Art of Adventure, The Art of Living
Here’s a throw back post about the first time I took Panda cat to the vet…
Yesterday I had one of those moments that makes me think, “Only in my life…”
Let me elaborate. Hopefully if your day isn’t shaping up, this will help.
Yesterday I told you that Panda cat had her first vet appointment. Well, I’ll start by telling you she hates the car. I felt like some kind of monster while I drove the 15 minutes to the clinic. Poor Panda was in the back seat meowing her head off in the cat carrier. I looked back at her at a red light only to see her poor little paws sticking through the wholes in the side begging to be let out. (more…)
by Amy | Feb 12, 2013 | Blog, The Art of Living
I’m back home in Minot now. I’ll be totally honest with you. My trip was very trying. I got some news that blindsided me. I was at a conference that was spiritually challenging. I know I’ve grown because of it…but all that spiritual growth can leave a girl exhausted.
So I was completely thrilled to be home. Completely thrilled to see Derek.
He knew I’d had a hard time of it while I was gone. Now, a good husband would have flowers for his tired, bent-out-of-shape wife. A great husband knows his wife. A great husband knows what lifts his girl’s spirit.
Derek is a great husband.
When we got home I flipped on the dining room light to find something much better than flowers. Sitting in the middle of the table {where a vase of flowers would normally go} was a bright red box of Girl Scout Cookies. I turned around, beaming. Then Derek said:
“I thought you’d like that better than flowers.”
He was so right. Which leads me to my title question: Who’s Your Valentine?
Valentine’s Day is two days away. You don’t need to plan anything extravagant or spend a bunch of money to have a meaningful holiday. The key is knowing who your Valentine is. Know them. Really know them. I know you do. This isn’t a day about flowers and candy and cards. It’s about love. It’s about remembering why you love. Whether that’s your BFF, your boyfriend, spouse, kids, whatever. Remember why you love them. Show them you notice the little things that make them tick…and make them unique.
Isolate something they adore and bring it center stage. For me…it’s cookies {anything sweet, really}. For others it’s flowers. For others it’s board games, or athletics, or great food, or wine. The point is…know your Valentine. And on Thursday, make a gesture that shows off your very own quirky love.
by Amy | Jan 23, 2013 | Blog, The Art of Living
{Notice something missing there? We’ll get to that in a second…}
So I have this issue. I can’t keep things to myself. I can for a while…then, I just spill it. Wait, I’m giving you the wrong idea. I don’t mean I can’t keep a secret. I’m very good with secrets. I never tell something said in confidence. I’m talking about a much more surface level problem.
Awkward things that happen in my day to day…I just can’t keep them at bay forever. When an incident occurs I’ll vow to just keep it to myself. Why does anyone need to know anyway? Then after a few days I decide that whatever it was was simply too funny/ridiculous/unbelievable to hold inside.
A good example of this happened when I was living in Oklahoma. Derek and I went down to the state fair where I gorged myself with “fair-food.” At the end of our fun day I we were polishing off an elephant ear before hopping back in the car to go home. I dropped a napkin on the ground…upon picking it up I tore the butt of my favorite skinny jeans. {Guess I wasn’t so skinny after all.}
The tear isn’t even the awkward part. That kind of thing happens. What doesn’t happen is this:
I donated the jeans to a local thrift shop that I knew got a profit for recycling the material of clothing that was damaged. A few weeks later I was shopping at said thrift shop…where I happened upon the most amazing pair of skinny jeans. It was a magical moment. They were just my size, even the same brand as the ones my big butt had destroyed. {Do you see where this is going?} So I tried them on. A perfect fit.
That night when Derek got home I was so excited to tell him about the magical experience I’d had. How the universe had delivered a replacement pair of jeans to replace my favorite pair. So I put them on to show him this rare unicorn of the denim world. For the first time I turned around and looked at my backside in the mirror.
You guessed it. They were ripped. I bought back my ruined jeans. So lame.
Well…last week I had another episode of awkward that I vowed to keep quiet. But I just can’t. The Bible tells us to speak encouraging words to one another. And I hope that hearing the ridiculous happenings in my life will uplift you…and make you feel more normal.
Here goes. Last week I was sick. It started as a sinus thing, then settled down into my chest. Thursday morning I got up and ate some left over biscuits and gravy for breakfast, then proceeded to return some emails. Everything was going fine. Then I started coughing. I really didn’t even cough that hard, but the next thing I knew the coughing had turned into puking.
Yep. I threw up. Right on my laptop.
Not kidding. This happened. B&G made it’s second appearance and it landed on half of my key board, a little on the screen, and on my favorite pajama pants.
Like lightning I went to the kitchen for a damp rag. I threw off my puky pants and began to wipe down my computer. The last thing I need is a laptop that doesn’t work because my own vomit fried it’s board. When all was clean I noticed that a few of my keys were still pretty gross. So I got a butter knife and gently pried them up to clean underneath. I successfully popped of and replaced “Tab”, “Caps Lock” and “Shift.” Then I popped off “A.” Funny…it wouldn’t go back on. So I did “S” and figured I’d try to get them both back on in a minute.
Nope.
Turns out I broke the keys with that gentle butter knife. Lame. So now I’m typing without the A and S with makes it pretty slow going. You use those letters a lot. Customer support said my insurance would cover replacement keys from a dealer in Minot. That’s on my list of errands for tomorrow.
Those are true stories. I can’t make it up…and for some reason I can’t hold it in.
Happy Wednesday,
Amy
