I'm Just Sayin'

Because that’s what people do when they’re too lazy to write.

Okay, so it’s not completely wordless. I was going to post a picture of my Christmas tree. Or some cranberries. Or some other such holiday paraphernalia. But it was this face that made me feel the holiday spirit the most.

I can’t look in those eyes without seeing Jesus.

I can’t look in those eyes without feeling powerful sadness paired with powerful joy.

I can’t look in those eyes and feel moody or cranky.

I can’t stop looking at those eyes.

Tonight I was writing out Christmas cards. Because yes, I write Christmas cards. And put a personal note in every one. It’s a sickness, really. But as I was writing, I was reminded again how fun it would be to write a Christmas letter. Not your typical one. Because really, what single, childless person writes a Christmas letter. Unless…said letter is tainted with sarcasm. So here, in all its glory, my sarcastic, slightly exaggerated, very tongue in cheek, Christmas letter. You’re welcome.

Dear friends, family, acquaintances and people who stumble upon my blog searching for the term “hooker boots”:

What a year it’s been! It’s hard to believe that it’s already December! Actually, I feel like it’s been December for about six months. I swear there have been Christmas decorations in stores for six months. Too early people, too early! Oh wait, I’m sorry. Did I not mention that I’m a crotchety old lady now? GET OFF MY LAWN YOU DARN KIDS!

Anyway, I should probably answer a few of your burning questions before getting too far into things. So, in no particular order:

• No I am not married yet.
• I don’t know why I’m not married yet.
• No really, there’s nobody who’s interested in me.
• Yes, really. Nobody.
• Yup, I’m almost thirty.
• Yes, that is my biological clock you hear ticking.
• It does sound like a time bomb, doesn’t it?
• Yes, I would love a bottle glass of wine. Thank you.

Now that we have that out of the way, let’s talk about what I have accomplished this year!

I am still working at Compassion International, as a writer. I love my job, and my co-workers are wonderful. This year, I traveled to Togo (no, that’s not in Europe–actually, it’s in West Africa). In Togo, the people speak French. In Togo, I spoke Frenchlish. Which basically involved using a really bad French accent and laughing like this: “oh-hoh-hoh-hoh-hoh-hoh.” Somehow, it never quite worked.

Speaking of traveling, I went to New Mexico with some friends this summer. There I consumed gallons of green chili, and pounds of cheese. I believe the two counteract each other. The cheese plugs up the holes that the chili burned in my stomach. It’s a scientific fact. We also walked for nearly an hour to see fireworks that were approximately 1 mile from our hotel. That takes talent. At least we didn’t sit at the bus stop for half an hour waiting for a bus that never came. Wait. We did that too.

I also bought a house this year. Which means that I now officially have no money. So if you get a collage made out of macaroni spray-painted gold and magazine pictures of porcelain dolls for Christmas, consider yourself lucky. Spray paint costs money, people. The magazines I stole from the doctor’s office.

I’ve loved hosting things at my new house. I was on a brunch kick for a while. The mimosas flowed. I love that mimosas are one of the few alcoholic beverages that are acceptable to drink in the morning. Thank you, whoever invented mimosas.

I eventually graduated to hosting dinners. I had a family over for a roasted chicken dinner one evening. Seriously, just buy the rotisserie chicken. Even after hours of cooking, the stupid thing was raw enough to walk out of the oven itself.

When I’m not having people over for raw chicken, I’ve also enjoyed teaching kindergartners at church. Just this past Sunday, we learned about the parting of the Red Sea. There’s nothing like seeing the horror in a child’s face when you explain to him that Pharaoh’s entire army drowned in the sea. You know, the week after you explain the plaque of the first-born son. Two weeks after the story of Abraham being called to sacrifice Isaac.

I think we need new curriculum.

Anyway, that’s pretty much been my year. Traveling. Going into debt. Trying to give good friends food poisoning. Frightening small children.

It’s all just another day for me.

Hope you have a Merry Christmas! And if you’re thinking of something to give me for Christmas, a meat thermometer would be nice. Or cash. Whichever you like.

Your friend,
Brandy

I wasn’t going to do it. The traditional “things I’m thankful for” Thanksgiving blog.

But this morning, as I lay in bed, the covers pulled up around my neck, my laptop sitting as it should, on my lap, I just felt so filled with gratitude. And I needed to remind myself of the things I’m grateful.

So this blog is really just a reminder to me. But you’re welcome to read it

I’m thankful for my family. I miss them terribly today, but I know I’ll see them in a few weeks. They’ve helped to make me who I am. And even though my thoughts of them are tinged with sadness this morning, I’m incredibly thankful that I miss them–because it reminds me how much I love them.

I’m thankful for my friends. I thought my idea of featuring a few of the people I’m thankful for on my blog was such a good idea. Now I realize I don’t have the time to do it justice. I’m thankful for the friends who invite me into their homes. Who show me the love of Christ. Who love me when I’m unlovable. Who won’t let me stay unlovable. Who hug me, encourage me, call me when I’m sick, and share their lives with me. They are my surrogate family, and I thank god for them daily.

I’m thankful for the times I’m happy. The times when things are going well, and the sun is shining and I can’t help but rejoice. For the good things that happen, for the joy that results.

I’m thankful for the times I’m sad. Because they are the times I learn to lean on others–and learn that they won’t let me down. They are a reminder that this is not my home–a reminder that I have a home and a Father and a life beyond all this. Times in the shadows remind me that God is there–because the shadows indicate the presence of someone bigger.

I’m thankful that in a few minutes I will get out of this warm bed, go help my friend finish cooking, and soon I will sit down at a meal with friends and strangers alike. I’m thankful that we won’t go around the table saying the things we’re thankful for (it makes me nervous!) but that my heart will be overfilling with gratitude.

Today, I will be thankful. But I am also thankful for the times I choose gratitude.

For in those hard times, joy will result.

If I were to visit my family, it would take me 24 hours to make the drive.

Luckily, I have another family that is a short 10-minute drive away.

And P and A are part of that family.

I still remember the first time I hung out with P and A. I tried to help A with his homework. Can I just say I remember nothing about elementary school math? P tried to make me feel better. I think A was just kind of disgusted.

Yet somehow, they still liked me.

Loved me even.

And there is nothing like the love of a child. It’s pure. Untainted. I can’t do anything to earn it. It’s real. A child’s love is one of the few loves in life that is always true.

A is one of the most honest people I know. I never have to wonder what he’s thinking. He makes me laugh. All. The. Time. And he reminds me to laugh at myself. All. The. Time.

And I have never met a teenager like P. She is genuine and caring and can read me like a book. When something is wrong, when there is a cloud around me, she walks into it, slings her arm around my shoulder, and tells me I’m her best friend. She has broken down the walls around my heart, and made it a more hospitable place to be.

P and A give me hope for the future. I believe they will change the world.

I take that back.

I believe they are already changing the world.

I would like for you to meet my friend, D.

D is one of the most passionate people I’ve ever met.

She lives in one of the poorest countries in the world. But she doesn’t look at the corruption and poverty around her and say “This is just how it is.”

No. She looks at all of that and says “This must change.”

And then, she does something about it.

I’ve seen her dig crumpled bills out of her wallet to pay for a little girl’s school fees. Becase D saw that child’s tears, and was moved to action. She can never be content just being sad by something. She is, quite literally, moved by injustice.

When I visited D’s country, her smile was the thing that helped me get through the day. It was the thing that pulled me out of the door of the hotel without the aid of coffee. It gave me a burst of energy as we trudged through hot, dusty streets. And it was the thing that helped me keep moving when I felt so burdened, so overwhelmed by poverty that I just wanted to lay down and quit trying.

Because she sees this stuff every day.

Yet, she still smiles.

I only got to spend a week with D. But she changed my life.

The day I left, she stood with me at the airport. She smiled, and hugged me.

She told me she already missed me.

And I cried. I cried because I knew it was unlikely that I’d ever see her again. Even writing this post, my stomach hurts. Because I miss her.

I miss her smile.

I miss her passion.

But I will always carry a piece of her in my heart.

My heart that will never be the same.

Because of D.

Sometimes a friend comes into your life who makes you a better person. K is that friend.

It’s hard for me to put into words what K’s friendship means to me. She’s seen me at my worst. She’s seen the whiny, self-centered me who only knew how to focus on myself, on the negative. She’s loved me through it, but she has encouraged me to look at the path I’m on, and rethink if that’s where I actually want to be.

K is fiercely loyal. She has friends all over the world, from all walks of life. I’ve seen her interact with them, and treat each one like they’re intensely important. Because to her, each one is. And she daily demonstrates to me that she is a life-long friend. That she won’t replace me–that I can’t push her away. She’s invited me, both literally and figuratively, to be a part of her family, and I don’t take that invitation lightly.

Around her, I can be myself. Because she’s already seen it all. She’s seen me wearing a bright pink wig and acting out scenes from Twilight. She’s seen me fall off of a giant bouncy ball. She asks me if I’m okay before she laughs. She knows that I’ll hurt myself even before I do. That is the sign of a true friend.

K is an incredible mother. She worries about whether she’s doing it right–which is a sure sign that she is. She loves her children in a way that makes me want to be a mother. Or at least in a way that makes me want to one day pass off my own children to her for some concentrated Aunty K time.

I love to make K laugh. Because when K laughs, you can’t help but laugh too.

And she taught me how to throw a football. She’s all about the real life skills.

K is an incredible cook, a talented writer and would look good in a burlap sack. Those are all things I like about her.

But I love her heart. I love that she loves deeply.

Feels deeply.

Lives deeply.

K makes my life better.

Some friends are kindred souls.

From the moment you meet, something just clicks.

They say things you would say.

Do things you would do.

It would be weird if it wasn’t so nice.

M is one of those friends. The two of us worked together when we were young and inexperienced and naive. We got the jobs that nobody else wanted to do. We always got mad when people called us interns. We were temps, darnit!

We like the same kind of music. When M gets excited about a new artist, I get excited–even before I’ve heard them. We start fan clubs, of which we’re the only members. We are unsuccessful stalkers of famous people.

M is one of the most laid back people I’ve ever met. She doesn’t get ruffled. On a recent visit to Colorado, M and I ate Navajo tacos in a bus stop. Because we could. And she didn’t utter one complaint.

Did I mention that M is brilliant? She got her journalism degree from one of the top programs in the United States. She has a master’s in divinity from a prestigious university. She’s an editor of a successful magazine. And even though in the back of my mind I’m fully aware of M’s intelligence, all I think about when we hang out is the fact that she makes me laugh so hard my stomach hurts.

She doesn’t drop names. She never talks down to people. Even when she can.

We talk books, food, religion, travel and grammar.

She loves Jesus.

But she acknowledges her own doubts and fears. Which makes me want to tell her about my own.

I wish M was my neighbor. She’s the kind of person I would ask for a cup of sugar, even if I didn’t need one–just so I could hang out with her. When I hang out with her, my face hurts from smiling.

And my heart is full.

I don’t want to think about what my life would be like if A wasn’t my friend.

We’ve known each other our entire lives. I used to bribe her with Tootsie Rolls to leave my room. She took them, ate them, and then came right back. She’s persistent like that. I’m glad that I eventually ran out of chocolate.

A and I have shared more adventures than I can count. She was with me when I almost flipped our family minivan. And she never told a soul. She’s my confidant–I know I can tell her anything. She loves me unconditionally.

A and I are different. She prefers to play sports. I’d rather read a book. But somehow, it works.

A has been there for me in some of the darkest times of my life. When I was dealing with a loss that I believed had literally ripped my heart out of my chest, she walked into my pain, and lived it with  me. The night that I lay in bed and cried until there were no tears left, she lay next to me. Her firm back pressed against my shaking one, and there was a strength there.

She makes me laugh. I miss her when I don’t get to see her. We live two time zones away from each other, yet I’m the one she calls when she finds mice in her kitchen. And she’s the one I call when I can’t find my car in the parking garage. We know that we can’t really DO anything–but somehow, we find comfort.

Don’t ask me how. It just works.

So, my last post. It was kind of lame.

I mean, I meant it. I am thankful for creation. Nature’s nice. Sunsets are pretty. Sometimes they make me feel all poetic.

But it’s not the thing I’m most thankful for. I was afraid that the thing I’m most thankful for would sound cliche. But there I go again, thinking too much. If I say this, will they think that? When will I ever learn to just trust myself.

Because the thing I’m most thankful for. It’s not leaves or snow or sunshine.

It’s people.

When I have a bad day, the sky blazing pink isn’t the thing that will turn it around.

A hug from a friend will.

When I’m sad, rustling leaves don’t stop the tears.

The kind words of a friend do.

So I’m making the commitment for the rest of the month to blog each day about a friend who has changed my life. Who I’m thankful for.

I won’t say their names. They’ll know who they are.

I will show you a slice of who they are. A few words. A glimmer of a picture.

I will tell you what’s on my heart.

Not what I think you want to hear.

I don’t like being that person. The one who constantly complains. Who focuses on the negative.

I can tell when it happens. I can see my friends eyes glaze over. I can feel myself getting…well, sick of myself.

So I figure I’ll pull out the Thanksgiving season cliche of “things I’m thankful for.” Because sometimes, I think I need to be less “woe is me” and more “grateful am I.”

Today, I am thankful for creation.

I am thankful for a sky bathed in pink when I get up in the morning.

I am thankful for the crunch of leaves.

The sound of silence during a snow fall.

The sillhouette of black mountains on purple sky.

Thunderclouds heavy with unspilled rain.

Sunshine on my skin.

The smell of cold.

The touch of a warm breeze.

Glory.

Creation.