Day 2: The Beginning

Thank you so much for visiting my site. I have been so encouraged by all of the emails I've received about this Daily Blog journey. I really think it's going to be a successful one. I just have to make sure I'm diligent and I can stay on track, and that will be much easier for me to do if I know there are people counting on me who are wanting to keep up with how I'm doing every single day.

I am going to set the initial goal of writing a blog entry every day, for 6 months straight. After that, we'll see what happens. Six months seems a little cumbersome to me, but I think that is a good amount of time for me to expect to get some tangible results. After the 6 months, maybe I'll decide I don't need to blog every single day. Or maybe I'll decide that writing is a major factor in my success and I'll decide to keep going. Either way, I can promise that you will see a blog post here, every day, at least until September 2, 2010.

Initially, I'm wanting to start out with a more structured approach to help me sort of get into the habit of writing every day. Here is what you will find when you come to the blog each day:

Tuesday - Weekly Weigh-In Results. No, I'm not going to broadcast my weight on here, but I will definitely share my progress. My Weight Watchers meetings are Monday evenings, so I will be sure to post how much I've lost (or gained...but hopefully not) in the past week when I write on Tuesdays.

Wednesday - On Wednesdays I will post a discussion topic so that everyone can join in and share some ideas, suggestions, or thoughts on whatever the topic is.

Thursday - I think on Thursdays I would like to talk about fitness and what I'm doing as far as exercise, as well as maybe some fitness goals I would like to accomplish. I found a strategical guide to train yourself to walk a half-marathon. That is really tempting me. I'm going to look into it some more. But Thursdays will be a day to talk about exercise regimen; what's working, what's not working, etc.

Friday - Friday is the beginning of the weekend and, if you're like me, the "It's The Weekend" excuse tends to show up on Thursday and doesn't leave until Tuesday. On Fridays each week, I want to write about some Survival Strategies to help us enjoy our weekend without going overboard and starting out the week feeling discouraged.

Sunday - On Sundays I would like to share a healthy recipe (that I've already tasted and approved). I love cooking and I have plenty of really tasty and healthful recipes in my millions of cookbooks.

For Mondays and Saturdays I really haven't figured out exactly what I want to talk about. I would love if you guys could suggest a few different ideas of things we could discuss and maybe come up with a theme for those days.

So that's the plan, at least for now. I might get sick of being so structured later on, and if I do, then I'll change it up....but for now, just to get myself into the swing of things, I'll follow my prescribed plan for each day.

Now, a few notes on the blog itself.

Commenting
This is a community and we're here to encourage each other and share our own struggles and triumphs along the way. Since we're all in this together (you can thank me later for getting that High School Musical song stuck in your head), it's important for everyone who comes here to have a voice as well. Commenting is really easy, and when you want to you just follow these steps:

1. Type your comment in the comment box at the bottom of the post.
2. In the box that says Select Profile, Highlight the choice that says Name/URL.
3. In the box that pops up, type your Name, but leave the URL blank (unless you have a personal website, in which case, feel free to share it). Then click Continue.
4. Click Preview if you want to see your comment first, or click Post Comment if you're happy with it.

That's all there is to it! And I really do hope everyone will have fun with this and enjoy sharing.

Additionally, if you have a Google, Yahoo, Twitter, OpenID, AIM, NetLog account, you can follow me by clicking the link to the right that says "Follow Me, Please!" My picture is under there. That way you never have to worry about forgetting to read the blog. You'll get a reminder each day when a new post is made.

If you don't have one of those accounts and you still want to receive a reminder, I can subscribe up to 10 people to receive emails directly from this site when I make a new post. If I end up with more than 10 people who are interested, I will personally send an email to anyone else who wants a reminder. Just send me your email address (either in the comments section, or email me directly at nicole_rena06@yahoo.com).

I think that's about all of the how-to stuff that I can think of. Let me know if you have any questions or suggestions. I'm really excited about this!

The Unamed Weight Loss Daily Blog: Part 1

The issue of weight is a touchy one for most people I know. Countless multitudes of friends and family struggle with health and body image on a daily basis. I am among the many when it comes to these things. My weight has been a constant area of struggle for me since I was a teenager. I find that my biggest issue is that I lack discipline when it comes to sticking with a weight loss plan. I'd rather have a double cheeseburger and french fries "just this once" than to make a healthier selection and stay on track. Eventually "I'll splurge just this once" turns into weeks of eating badly followed by a resolution that "this will be the last time," and I'll eat healthy for a couple of weeks, until the cravings get loud enough and the cycle begins again.

I'm hoping to change that now. I plan to write a daily blog, detailing my weight loss journey, complete with struggles, high points, disappointments, and achievements, with plenty of tips and tricks I learn along the way. I'm hoping, too, that my readers will get involved by joining in the discussion and sharing their thoughts on the blog each day through the comments section at the bottom of each post. If we band together, we'll have a better shot at achieving success, to be sure. And hopefully we'll be able to encourage one another when one of us feels like giving up or giving in.

Let me start by telling you my story. As I said before, I've struggled with my weight and body image since adolescence. I have never been able to follow a healthy eating plan for more than a couple of months. I love fast food. I love fried food. I love sugar. That is not a great arsenal of weapons to bring along in the battle of the bulge. In college I lost 25 pounds by following the Atkins Diet for about 6 weeks. I promptly gained it all back (and much more) when I started eating carbs again. Since then I've been on a roller coaster of dieting, exercise, giving up, gaining weight, and ample amounts of frustration and disappointment.

Last fall I was approached by my Aunt Janine, who is undoubtedly the most driven and goal-oriented person I have ever met. If she wants to achieve something, nothing will ever stop her from getting there. Janine generously offered a few members of my family some free personal training to help us get healthy and lose weight. She helped us figure out what our daily calorie intake should be, she gave us helpful recipes and tips for eating right. And she also helped us to formulate fitness plans to achieve our goals. I had a lot of success with Janine at the beginning. I lost about 8 pounds in the first week, and continued to lost a total of about 12 pounds over the course of the first six weeks or so. Then the holidays came, the weather got bone chillingly cold, and I lost my motivation. It was easier for me to go to Burger King for lunch than it was for me to get up early and prepare my food before I left for work. It was easier to come home and curl up in bed for an evening nap than it was to change clothes and exercise. It was easier to give in to temptation than it was to get myself on track. And I really disappointed myself. I look back now and think about all the weight I could have lost had I just stuck with the plan. But now I find myself, back at square one, ready to begin again.

My mom and I decided to try Weight Watchers this time around. We figured the accountability of having to weigh-in in front of someone at every meeting would help us to stay disciplined throughout the week. I have to admit, I have my reservations. We attended our first meeting last night and it was pretty cheesy. There was a lot of show-and-tell and clapping, and stickers being passed out, and singing....that's all I'm going to say. But if I force myself to look past the hokey, I can see that the program really is beneficial for a lot of reasons.

So I hope with this blog to provide us all with a support system as we struggle with our weight issues, whether you're in the thick of it now (pun most definitely intended), or you've already lost weight and you're trying to maintain, or maybe you're not at a place right now where you want to even think about weight loss. Wherever you are in your life, I hope this blog will provide you with support, encouragement and maybe a little bit of education. And I hope that documenting my weight loss journey every single day will help me to stick with it and to be more disciplined.

Please comment below with suggestions for topics you'd like to see on the blog, or discuss with other readers.

Let's do this together and get healthier and look better!

Two are better than one, because they have a good reward for their toil. For if they fall, one will lift up his fellow. But woe to him who is alone when he falls and has not another to lift him up! Again, if two lie together, they keep warm, but how can one keep warm alone? And though a man might prevail against one who is alone, two will withstand him—a threefold cord is not quickly broken. Ecclesiastes 4:9-12

Book Review: The Shack

Note: After a year or so of this blog sitting stagnant, I went back and reviewed my....errrr....review of this book and I realized that I had changed my mind about some things. Not wanting to promote heretical ideas or concepts, I went back and edited this post.

I just finished reading The Shack by William Young. It has been a New York Times Bestseller, an Amazon.com chart topper, and a book that has received a great deal of buzz, both in the Christian and mainstream markets, but it has also been a source of controversy among many people in the Church. Let me give you a brief summary of the book before I tell you what I think.

Mackenzie Phillips is a loving father of five whose life is completely desecrated when his youngest daughter, Missy, is tragically kidnapped and murdered by a serial killer. Mack carries his pain (which he calls "The Great Sadness") around with him for three years. He is constantly living in a dark, abysmal state of being, just going through the daily grind, always commiserating with his constant companion, the pain and isolation he feels from his tragic loss. One day Mack receives a letter in his mailbox from God, inviting him to come back to the place his daughter was murdered (the Shack) for a meeting.

Mack drives to the Shack and meets with the Trinity. God the Father is a large, older African American woman who calls herself "Papa". God the Son is an average-looking Arab man with a beard. God the Spirit manifests itself as a young, free-spirited Asian woman named Sarayu.

Mack spends time individually and collectively with each person of the Trinity. He gets to know them intimately and learns and grows from his experiences with God. God helps Mack to work through his pain and to find some answers to the questions he has been asking since his daughter was taken from him.

Let me start with the points of contention I have with the book:
First, I guess I should mention that when I read a book, I read EVERYTHING in the book. I read the foreword, the afterword, the acknowledgments, the table of contents...I'll even scan through an index if there is one. And so before I read a word of the text of this book, I read the foreword.

In the foreword Young sets up the story by telling us that Mack is actually a friend of his, a real person. And that Mack has never been an accomplished writer, so he asked his friend Willie (the author of the book) to ghost-write his story for him. But the author maintains that this is a true account of exactly what Mack remembers from his trip to the Shack. The afterword is filled with the same assurance that Willie wrote the book for Mack based on Mack's memories of the events that took place.

In actuality, the story is not factual in any sense of the word, and Mack is a made-up character.

I suppose there is not a real problem here, except that the author is vehemently trying to persuade his readers that what he's writing is the truth. If this was just a story about a guy and his family, I wouldn't mind so much. But when you're dealing with a physical encounter with God, it's a different story. I think it was a little deceptive and desperate for Young to try to trick the reader into thinking this was a factual account of events in an attempt to convince his reader of the validity of his story. The bottom line for the reader is this: it's a novel, and it's a fictional, made-up story. The reader should not devour this book as truth in any sense.

Next, I'm a little wary of some of the theology presented in the book. I am always concerned when a popular Christian fad is adopted by believers. The Left Behind series that was popular about ten years ago has been taken as truth by many people, it was almost received as a prophecy for what would take place in the future. The Prayer of Jabez was another book Christian's couldn't seem to get their hands on quickly enough. It was a book declaring that God wants you to "name it and claim it" and all of your wildest dreams will come true. Taking a piece of literature scribed by human hands and making it into something holy is dangerous and I daresay deadly ground to tread. And I'm afraid The Shack is on its way to this cult status, and it could could potentially steer some people in the wrong direction. The Shack is one person's fictional account of what it might be like if a man tangibly and physically met God. This does not mean that people should take this account as Gospel, or as some great theological masterpiece because it is neither. There are all sorts of liberties taken in the author's representation of God and of various spiritual issues. Included in these, are the theology of the Trinity, the nature of God, the human vs. God nature of Jesus, the role of the Holy Spirit, the reality of hell, and the role of man in Creation. I'm not going to provide a list of all of the spiritual inaccuracies I found in the book because that would be counter to the point, and really, that would completely undermine the author's purpose in writing the book.

The Shack is a book about freedom, healing and forgiveness. It is not a theological admonition.

However, I do believe that an author should stand behind the theological implications he conveys in his works...even if they are fictional. I think Young took some very unbiblical stances on some very clear theological truths, and I'm afraid that it's for that reason that I cannot recommend this book to anyone.

Yes, it's possible to take the story for what it is and merely enjoy it for entertainment value. But I really don't see much value in it at all if what you're reading is false doctrine that is being absorbed by Christians around the world as some new vision of the truth. It is certainly not an entertaining or amusing story.

I understand that I'm being vague about exactly which heresies I found in the book, but please know that I am rewriting this portion of the blog over a year after I first read it.

Currently reading: The Shack By William P. Young

A Brand New Set of Keys!

February 18, 2009

One boring Thursday night as I was looking for something to do to kill time while I was out, I decided to pay a visit to the soon-to-be forgotten techie haven, Circuit City. I thought perhaps I could find a great deal on something…although, there really wasn’t anything I needed. As I entered the store, I made my way to the Nintendo Wii aisle, only to find a jumbled hodge-podge of generic games and accessories. Nothing that struck a chord with me. So I proceeded to the Nintendo DS section: nothing there either. I met the same fate in the CD and DVD aisles. Just as I was beginning to think my voyage had been all for naught, I had an epiphany: I realized I should go to the computer accessories. I began by looking at DVD-R and CD-R cases, then mouses (or, is it mice?), browsing through an endless line of broken displays, shelves in disarray, and other miscellaneous junk…until I eventually I made my way to the computer keyboards.

I have been in the market for a new computer keyboard for awhile. The one I had been using at work was dirty, there was gunk in between the keys, the buttons were too clicky, and because it was a wireless keyboard, the receptors had been on the fritz for quite some time. Most of the keyboards at Circuit City were your relatively basic, run of the mill standard keyboard. As my eyes perused through a sea of white and gray keyboards, occasionally I would stop to tap a key or two in order to measure the comfort level of typing on a particular machine. Nothing was really jumping out at me, so I began to button my coat so I could leave the store.

But then my eyes saw it.

The Microsoft Natural Ergonomic Keyboard 4000 (v. 1.0). Just the sight of it forced a slight gasp to escape my lips. The keyboard’s contemporary black and silver motif gave off a cool vibe, like I would instantly be a little hipper with it in my office. The leather comfort cushion (notice that I didn’t say “wrist guard”…this was more than that) gently whispered that carpal tunnel would never have to be in my vocabulary. The wave design across the top of the keyboard was as intriguing and curiosity-inspiring as the gap between the left and right hand keys.

And then I tried it out. The keystrokes were soft and gentle, like a summer breeze. They weren’t too loud, yet, they still made the comfortable soft “tap, tap, tap” that I love to hear as a reassurance that I’m working on something important.

I was sold. I had to have this machine.

Being the savvy business woman that I am, however, I did not want to fork over my own cash for a work-related item. So I hurried into work the next day and presented my case to my boss/dad. He gave his approval and I ordered the keyboard from Amazon (for slightly cheaper than Circuit City’s “closeout” price, mind you).

And then I waited.

Five.

Agonizing.

Boring.

Dirt-filled keyboard, aching wrist days.

Then, on a bright and cheerful February morning where it’s just cold enough to keep you alert, but not cold enough to make you miserable, the UPS man (my hero) walked into my office carrying a box.

It was my keyboard!

I hastily signed the UPS man’s electronic pad and grabbed my scissors so I could open the box.
As I pulled off the last piece of packing tape and carefully opened the flaps, a choir of angels began to sing the Hallelujah Chorus and a bright light shone around my new incredible office tool.

–I realize that I am being a tad dramatic; it’s only a keyboard afterall. But as
a self-proclaimed office supply geek, this is genuinely how I feel about this
piece of equipment. I get a natural high when I walk into staples, okay?–

And so as quickly as I possibly could, I unwrapped the keyboard and installed it.

I will say, the keyboard was a little difficult to get used to for the first day or so. Typing with a space in between your left and right hand is a strange thing. But it’s only day two, and I’m already almost back to my regular typing speed.

I am amazed at the features on this keyboard. I have buttons for web browsing, a slide bar for zooming –in OR out–, various programmable “favorite” buttons, one-click volume controls, and even a calculator shortcut button.

If you’re in the market for a new keyboard, or you just want a piece of office equipment to brighten your day a little, please consider the Microsoft Natural Ergonomic keyboard 4000 (available wherever fine computer equipment is sold). You will not be sorry.

The Death of My Pants

February 20, 2008 - Wednesday
Current mood: morose

Today I find myself in mourning. I could barely muster the strength to pull myself out of my grief this morning and get out of bed. Begrudgingly, I brushed my teeth, put on a sweatshirt and jeans and gathered my hair into a messy ponytail. In my state of desperation, the bright sun seems dark. The music I am listening to seems like sheer noise. And the cold winter air seems to sting my body as I jaunt out into a world that knows not the pain infiltrating my soul. It's cruel that the world can continue on, oblivious to the tragedy in my heart.

My favorite pants have died.

These were not any old pair of dress slacks. They were not designer jeans. They were not the epitome of fashion and style. My favorite pants were my men's flannel Santa Claus print pajama bottoms from Old Navy.

My sister gave me these pants as a Christmas gift a long time ago. My mind is in such a state of shock right now, that I can't remember exactly when she gave them to me...but I know it was sometime when I was in college.

These pants were very large. There were many times I would be wearing them, and accidentally flash my underwear to the people around me because the pants wouldn't stay up.

They were red flannel, with vintage Santa Claus heads scattered about, spreading Christmas cheer and smiles to everyone who gazed upon them. They were too long and too big for me, but I loved them anyhow. They tied with a red flannel drawstring.

The pants offered me comfort, not only on my body, but in my heart. They were what made me feel at home after a long day. They were the security wrapped around me when I awoke shaken from a bad dream. They were the protection coating my legs if I spilled coffee on myself. They were my best friend.

One might tend to think that, given the holiday theme of these pants, they would lend themselves to only be worn during the Christmas season. But these pants transcended all seasons. They may have been covered in Santa Claus heads, but they were with me throughout every season of my life, bringing happiness and warmth through the good times and the bad.

They were with me through breakups, make ups, spills, cleanups, sickness, health, laughter, crying, anger, joy....these pants have been a sustaining force in my life since that fateful Christmas day when I carefully tore off the paper surrounding the box in which they were encased. As soon as I set eyes on them, I knew we would be lifelong friends.

But the other day, as I was putting the pants on, I noticed something was amiss. And I gasped in horror as I realized what it was. The fabric had worn and I had ripped a giant hole in the upper thigh of the pants!

I feel like I am partially to blame here. I should have known that the pants were getting on in years, and I should have taken into account that the fabric would be vulnerable and frail. But instead, I was so eager for my instant comfort, that I yanked the pants up and they ripped. I killed the pants in my zeal.

This is not how I had envisioned the end. I thought these pants would be with me forever. And if they weren't with me forever, I figured they would eventually be shipped off to Goodwill, so they could bring the same level of comfort and peace to someone else as they did for me. I thought perhaps I would travel to an exotic location and accidentally leave the pants behind, allowing them to live a new adventure with whomever happened to pick them up. I thought that maybe, just maybe, I would one day give the pants to my own daughter when her first boyfriend broke up with her...so that she could experience their healing power.

I never thought their life would be cut so short, and so abruptly. I am so ashamed of my inattentiveness and my lack of concern. But I know I have to somehow...some way, figure out how to move on without them.

My friends, I admonish you, please be with me during this difficult time. Sometimes I need a friend to tell me a joke and cheer me up; and other times all I need is someone to sit with my quietly as I reflect on these pants that were taken long before their time.

Let's all raise our glasses in loving memory of my Santa Claus pants...They will be missed, but forever celebrated in our hearts!

Spiritual Implications from Bob Ross

February 19, 2008 - Tuesday
Current mood: artistic

I can't wait for spring. Winter has turned me into a TV junkie and...well....a lazy bum. When the weather finally climbs to 50 degrees or so, I will be ready to go outside and run with my arms in the air, screaming as loud as I can for the freedom brought by warmer weather. Of course, I don't run....and I don't remember ever screaming like that. But you know, this is figurative.

During my winter imprisonment, I often find myself flipping the channels, and for some unknown reason, I always stop on the Public Broadcasting Channel called simply "Create". This channel has many different shows ranging in topic from scrapbooking to quilting to making an entire Winter Wonderland themed party kit out of recycled chewing gum, toothpicks, and glitter. My normal routine is to stop on this station, watch for about 2 minutes or so, and then carry on with my channel flipping. One show, however, always captivates my attention for longer...The Joy of Painting with Bob Ross.

Bob Ross is my friend Kim's future late uncle-in-law. We all know Bob's mellow narration and penchant for happy trees. His calm demeanor and soothing voice have occasionally lulled me to sleep. However, when I have managed to stay awake, I have always encountered a slight problem.

I don't trust Bob.

I have seen his work before. I know that all of his paintings turn out great. I have never seen one I didn't like. Granted, they are not particularly the style I with which I would choose to decorate my home, but I can appreciate a work of art when I see one. Give him 25 minutes and Bob can transform a plain canvas into a majestic mountainscape, or a snowy winter scene. He has never failed in his work, and I have always stood amazed at the end of his show.

But every time I watch, I get worried. I think, "Oh, Bob, why did you put that big ugly streak of van dyke brown right down the middle of your painting?" or "Yeah, he's painting all that gray around the edges; it's going to look ugly now." or "How could he ruin all that beautiful water by adding those highlights?"

Now, I know nothing of painting. I've made a few modest attempts, but they have all turned out looking like, well...looking like I painted them.

Somehow, I still feel like I can criticize and scrutinize Bob Ross's paintings, while he is in the process of creating them. I think I can somehow know that Bob is going to ruin his beautiful work by adding this tree here or that highlight there.

But in the end, Bob's paintings always turn out looking spectacular and perfect, and I turn the channel with a renewed faith in Bob and his ability to see beyond my scope of knowledge.

Doesn't this sort of parallel our own lives?

Think of it this way, our lives are the canvas; God is Bob Ross; and we are...us.

How often do we watch our lives unfolding before us and wonder what in the world God is thinking? "God, how could you put that obstacle there, right in the middle of everything?" "Why would you choose to insert this thing into my life, when it was already looking so nice and perfect?" "Why did you smudge this section, I liked it the way it was?"

God has never failed us before. We have seen him create miracles and beauty and fix problems in the world and in the lives of others around us. Yet, in some strange way, we still think we know what's best...and we still think he needs our advice.

In the end, just like Bob Ross's paintings always turned out perfectly, we have to trust that God knows what he's doing with our lives. God is God, and we don't have the capacity to know where he's going next or what he's thinking. It may look like things in our life are getting ugly, or cluttered, or smudged. But we have to trust the Painter, for he has not created an ugly painting yet.

A Love Story that is Completely Fabricated and Appallingly Sarcastic, in Honor of St. Valentine

February 12, 2008 - Tuesday
Current mood: smitten

Ladies and Gentlemen, I am elated to inform you that I have fallen in love with a rock star. Well, I am not so much "in love", as I have a little crush, and he is not so much a rock star, as the lead singer for a dual-marketed Christian/mainstream light rock band.

Let's call him Buck Hartman. I enjoy his songs and his gruff voice melts me. Buck has long, blonde hair that may or may not be a little greasy. He occasionally wears a beard, and his clothing is typically relatively stylish (except that Don Johnson jacket I saw him wear once). I have never actually met Buck, or seen his face in good lighting, for that matter. But I imagine he smells nice and has a brooding stare. And, being that he and his band mates are from the southeastern part of these United States, I assume he probably uses words like y'all, brisket, sweet tea and ma'am. And he can probably call a woman "baby" without sounding like a creep.

On February 22, 2008, just ten short days from now, Buck and I will finally meet.

My friend Kim has probably been encouraging this crush a little too much, but I don't blame her. What follows has been copied and pasted from an actual email exchange between Kim and me, regarding mine and Buck's potential love story that will begin to unfold on this upcoming Friday evening:

What preceded this email is of no consequence…

Kim: Good job Nic!! That's awesome. Just don't become a floosie. Buck Hartman wouldn't like that ; )

Nicole: Oh yeah, I forgot that I'm going to put all my eggs into the proverbial basket of Buck Hartman. I'm positive that I will meet him and he will instantaneously fall madly and desperately in love with me because in my single word "hello", I will somehow have captivated him more than all the other girls who have been in his life or attended his concerts before...yes, even Haley. Because I am just that magnetic.

Based on my one word, "hello", he will grab me around my waist, pull me into him, and kiss me more passionately than anyone has ever kissed another person before in the history of the world. He will invite me (and my friends, of course), to dinner with them after the show. We will go to IHOP. We will feed each other bites of pancake. We will share a joint orange juice with two straws and both marvel at the horrible taste of the orange juice mixed with the sweetness of the syrup for our pancakes. We will rub our noses together and feel that spark once again.

We will exchange phone numbers and he, because of his unlimited wealth as the front man of a lesser-known dirty rock band, will fly me to every one of their concerts for the remainder of this tour. After the tour, he will spend his weekends in Decatur, wining and dining me to my capacity of wining and dining (minus the wine part, of course).

Then, sometime in July he will ask for my hand, and I will oblige. We will marry exactly one year from now, and ride off into the sunset on a black, diamond-studded horse...because that is just the rocker way.

And so will go the love story of Buck and me. Once February 23 rolls around, if you don't hear from me for awhile, this is why. By February 23, you see, Buck will have so captured my heart that I will have little room for any other social interaction because by day I will be traveling the world with him on his tour, and by night, I will be dreaming of the next day when I will again see my Buck. Please forgive me if I don't return phone calls or emails, but I will simply be too preoccupied with my new love to respond to you. However, you can be expecting a wedding invitation sometime in late December of this year, or early January of 2009.

Kim: Gosh...I love you. You are so hilarious! Do you really want a husband named Buck?

Nicole: yeah...if he plays me songs on his guitar, I'll take a husband named poop!

Currently listening : The Heat By Needtobreathe Release date: 28 August, 2007

Security

February 10, 2008 - Sunday
Current mood: breezy

There are certain things in life you can always count on.

Regardless of whether Puxatony Phil sees his shadow, February 3rd is still really cold.

Orange Juice, when consumed directly after brushing one's teeth, will always be the most disgusting taste one can experience at 7:00 in the morning.

When faced with the likes of Elmer Fudd, Yosemite Sam, or that big mean dog, Bugs Bunny will always prevail.

Wal-Mart will always have approximately 4 lanes open, out of 57, despite the number of people who complain.

These things in life are constant. They stay the same. And some of them may be uncomfortable or unpleasant, but they still, in whatever strange way, make us feel a little more secure. Like the world is the way it should be.

But there are other things in life that aren't so dependable.

I've been dealing a lot lately with insecurity. Maybe not so much insecurity about myself and my appearance (well....perhaps a little, but that's not the crux of the issue), but more of an insecurity about the future.

I wonder if I'm destined for a life of perpetual loneliness, or whether people think I have everything handed to me because I am employed by my parents.

On a daily basis, it seems a throng of questions race through my mind. Will I ever get married? Should I move back to Tennessee? Am I happy in Illinois? What do I want to do for a career? Should I go back to school? What areas am I lacking in? What aspects of my life need more discipline? How am I ever going to conquer this situation?

And I contemplate. And I worry. And I process. But these thoughts never seem to leave me. I am plauged with them.

Every
Single
Day

As I think about this struggle for security in my life, a few Scriptures come to mind. I know that realistically, if I put the citations down here, most people won't go and look them up...I wish you would, but I know you probably won't. Prove me wrong.
Isaiah 55:8-9
Proverbs 3:5-6
Matthew 6:25-34
Ecclesiastes 3:1-15

The last selection of Scripture is one that is very dear to my heart. Most people know the beginning of this verse. It's the portion of the Bible that was made into that 70's song. For everything there is a season, and a time for every purpose under heaven...etc. What most people don't understand, though, is that when you read the book of Ecclesiastes, the remainder of the book is quite cynical.

Solomon (the author of the Ecclesiastes), was the wisest and wealthiest man in the world at this time. In this book, he is playing the part of an Aristotle, or a Socrates. He is a philosopher who is deeply troubled by what he sees in the world around him. In this book, we see one phrase repeated several times: "under the sun". When Solomon says "under the sun", he is referring to worldly things. The earth is under the sun. Solomon is speaking of the secular, the earthly, that which is apart from God. Solomon finds great despair in the fact that everyone toils under the sun, day in and day out....and all for nothing. This world is going to disappear and fade away.

Everything that is 'under the sun' will one day be no more.

Solomon, and his book of Ecclesiastes are actually rather bleak. But, in the middle of the book we can find Solomon's answer. His glimmer of hope. His light at the end the tunnel.

Ecclesiastes 3:11-15 (ESV) He has made everything beautiful in its time. Also, he has put eternity into man's heart, yet so that he cannot find out what God has done from the beginning to the end. I perceived that there is nothing better for them than to be joyful and to do good as long as they live; also that everyone should eat and drink and take pleasure in all his toil -- this is God's gift to man. I perceived that whatever God does endures forever; nothing can be added to it, nor anything taken from it. God has done it, so that poeple fear before him. That which is, already has been; that which is to be, already has been; and God seeks what has been driven away.

I love this Scripture. In fact, I love it so much that I got a portion of it tattooed on my body.

This, to me, is the essence of life.

Here, Solomon is saying that in all of our toil, in all of our worries and insecurities, God has made everything beautiful in its time. God has set eternity on our hearts, so that we always know there's something more. But he has not played it out for us completely, simply because, we're not supposed to know the future. God has always been God, and He always will be. We need to sit back, live our lives, and enjoy ourselves. We can't allow ourselves to get caught up in insecurity and questions all the time. God is God, and he has made everything (EVERYTHING, me, my job, my spouse, my future, my house) beautiful in its time.

I caught part of an episode of Seinfeld the other day. The main storyline in the episode is that Jerry discovers that nothing truly bad ever happens to him. Whenever something troublesome comes along, Jerry realizes that "it all works out in the end." I think this is essentially what Solomon is getting at. Why let all that worry weigh you down? It all works out in the end.

Lighten up and enjoy your life.

I hope reading this blog has helped some of my readers who, like me, get caught up in the details of life. I know writing it and reviewing the Word of God has been a much-needed self-therapy session for me.

I just have to remind myself that I love God, God loved me first. God will provide. And the rest is just details.

So what if I don't know what I want to be when I grow up? I already am grown up! Why does my career have to define who I am? And who cares if I can't make a decision about Tennessee or Illinois? I should just be happy and live the fullest life wherever I am.

I wonder if there will ever come a day "under the sun" when my life will be so full, my heart so content, that I won't have any room for worry. Probably not, but I can look forward to the future, when I am in the presence of the One who made everything beautiful in its time, and I can thank Him for providing for me.

May we find security in knowing that we don't have all the answers in life. And may we put our futures in the hands of a God who has made and will make everything beautiful in its time.


Currently listening : Pages By Shane & Shane Release date: 28 August, 2007

High Heels, A Foot of Snow, and My Hero

February 1, 2008 - Friday
Current mood: adventurous

Last winter I lived in the South. Winter weather is handled very differently there than it is here, and I must say that while I thought I was a tough Illinois chick, the snow nearly got the best of me this morning. I missed the snow last year, and I have been longing for a nice snowstorm since I returned to Illinois. Mr. Snow, however, picked the worst possible weekend to try to win me back.

I have been planning to travel back to Nashville to visit for the first time since I moved back to Illinois. The most convenient time for my friends and me happened to be this very weekend. I searched the Internet time and again for the perfect deal on a hotel, and finally came across something that couldn't be beat. A deluxe King Suite in beautiful Brentwood, TN, in a luxury hotel. The catch? It was a non-refundable reservation.

As I watched the weathermen this week, discussing the inevitable snowstorm that was quickly approaching, I resolved to stay positive. "I'm GOING to Nashville," I thought, "And a little bit of snow is NOT going to stop me." And so in mocking defiance, I glared up at the sky and told the snow to bring it.

Last night as I watched the snow falling down, piling itself on my driveway, I maintained my stance. I would not let this snow hinder my weekend plans.

Even this morning, when I glanced out the window to see that our back steps were not visible and my car was buried, I did not lose heart. I just put on my high heel, knee-high boots, my houndstooth print winter coat, my matching scarf and hat and my gloves, and headed outside to show this snow who was boss. You may wonder why I chose to employ the use of my high heeled boots for this experience...well, these boots are the only ones I have that came up far enough on my leg to where snow would not be able to get in. I do own a pair of snow boots (my sister calls them Spice Girl boots because they are all white and maybe a little trampy), but they only come up to about mid-calf, and I was not in the mood to have frostbite on my feet this morning.

So I walked outside in my fashion-forward yet ever-so-practical winter gear, and began brushing off my car. After I had brushed my car, I decided it would be nice for me to shovel a path from the back door of our house, to my sister's car door. I think it was less about me being nice to my sister, and more about me proving that the snow would not bring me down.
By this time, I had already been outside for about half an hour, but I was not cold. As a matter of fact, I was sweating and gross. And my back hurt. I went inside and called my dad, who told me it would be okay for me to just drive through the snow on the driveway, rather than shoveling the whole thing. So I tried it. I made it all the way up to the front of the driveway and got stuck. My car absolutely would not budge. The snow plows had baracaded me in my driveway.

And now I was angry. This snow would NOT have the victory over me and my trip to Nashville today. And so I stomped back up to the house, grabbed my ergonomic shovel, and stomped right back to my car, where I began shoveling. I shoveled like you have never seen before. Snow was flying everywhere. I was grunting with the force of every heavy shovel full of snow I hoisted into the air. After about twenty minutes of this hard work, I was about halfway finished. People had been driving by and staring at me, I think a few even pointed and laughed. It's not every day you see a woman at the front of her driveway in high heels, shoveling snow.
I was almost to my breaking point when I saw him. He was off in the distance and headed straight for me. My hero was on his way. This knight in shining armor did not ride up on a valiant steed, but instead, he was driving a CAT bulldozer. My hero was not clad in a suit of armor, but rather a flannel shirt, jeans and a ball cap. And as he drew near, his smile made me know everything would be better soon. I began to walk backwards to get out of his way and bumped right into my car, nearly falling face first into the snow surrounding my vehicle. The Bridget Jones in me had to rear her ugly head at some point in this romantic fairy tale, I suppose.

I regained my composer as I watched my Superman pull into the driveway once to gather the snow, and then as he repeated again. Had he rolled down his window and asked me to marry him, I would have been in that bulldozer in two seconds. But instead, he didn't say a word. He just nodded, smiled, tipped his ballcap to me, and drove off into the distance leaving only his memory behind.

I felt like Lois Lane....or a princess. And as I prepare to leave for Nashville today, I will once again scoff at the snow and remember my brave champion who so perfectly rescued me from my distress this morning.

Currently listening : The Heat By Needtobreathe Release date: 28 August, 2007

27 Dresses

January 20, 2008 - Sunday
Current mood: thoughtful

There is a new movie out right now called 27 Dresses. It is the story of me. Although, the woman depicted in the film is much sweeter and a far better friend than I am.

But I have been a bridesmaid about 27 times with the promise of several more to come in the future (I've actually been in 5 weddings, but I was using hyperbole for dramatic effect). Make no mistake, I absolutely LOVE being a bridesmaid. When my close friends and family members are getting married, I can't imagine anything I'd rather do than to stand with them in support of the beginning of their new lives. I've had some fabulous times at weddings. I am always left with a story to tell. For example, this summer I was in my cousin's wedding. After I had finished putting my dress on for the ceremony, I realized that my slip was a little wrinkled underneath. As I flipped my dress up to fix my slip, the dress hit me in the face and I was left with a perfect pink lip print right around the knee caps on my lavender dress. It seems like something always happens to create a lasting memory. There are not a whole lot of things funnier than a photographer trying to strategically place your kneecaps so the lipstick on your dress won't show….thanks, Tina.

But with each ceremony comes a little twinge of selfish pain. With each diamond ring a little loneliness. With each bridesmaid dress a little regret. With each wedding announcement a little fear.

The female mind is so complex. I never cease to amaze myself with my thought processes. I can be completely elated for my friend when she gets engaged, and completely heartbroken at the same time. I love my friends and family dearly and I can't imagine a higher honor than to be asked to participate in the most important day of their lives. It must mean I'm special to them. They want to share their joy with me. They want me to help them celebrate. And I am genuinely thrilled to be there.

But at the same time, each step down that aisle makes me wonder if my time will ever come.
My very best friends from college are already married with children. Their lives are so different from the days of sitting in the dorm rooms eating pizza at 1:00 AM. They have children to care for, houses to keep, husbands to spend time with. And honestly, aside from the fact that I can't eat pizza that late at night anymore, my life really isn't too different from my college days.

Maybe I should enjoy my freedom while I have it….but sometimes that's hard to do.
I think back on the past and I realize there were a couple of relationships or hopes of relationships I wasted too much time on. And there have been a couple of relationships or potential relationships I'm afraid I gave up on too quickly. I sometimes wonder what would have happened had I been a little wiser.

And it's not about a wedding. I would get married at the City Hall for the right man. A wedding is a nice celebration, but I really don't care that much about it for myself. I just want some place to settle down. Somewhere that feels like permanence. A place that feels like home. Where I am now, unfortunately, isn't it. My life has been devoid of permanence since I graduated college nearly 4 years ago. I'm just wanting to be settled, and I'm not sure that I will until I have someone that I know I can spend the rest of my life with.

All of this isn't to say that my life is without happiness. I am actually quite happy most of the time and joyful all of the time. I'm not mentally unstable or emotionally underdeveloped. I have a job, I make plans, I go out with my friends, I have a good time, I set goals for myself, I try to improve myself all the time. I go on with my life. But marriage has been a deep longing in my heart since I was a little girl. I'm not spending my days in agony, pining away for a husband, and groveling with God to bring me one. But at times I feel the absence of my husband very acutely.
I don't know why I haven't gotten married yet. Maybe I'm annoying. Maybe I'm too ugly. Maybe I have bad breath. But I have the feeling that it's probably just because I just haven't entered into that relationship yet. And I'm confident that God will provide. The waiting is just difficult sometimes. As I was making a long drive tonight, I heard this new song by my favorite songwriter of all time: Kendall Payne. You can hear the song playing on my profile page right now, but I am also going to type the lyrics here for you to read.
I realize that there are people who have lost loved ones, or who are battling cancer, and I'm whining about feeling a little lonely. I understand that I'm being completely selfish and impatient and pitiful. But I'm so grateful that God loves me in spite of myself, and that He still speaks even when I can't seem to pull my head out of the mud to hear him clearly. If the Creator of love himself is offering these words of encouragement and empathy to me, then I have to feel better about my current and temporary situation.


I Will Show You Love by Kendall Payne
I will show you love like you've never loved before
I will go the distance and back for more if you just say the word
You will come alive again and call the trying times your friend
The pain that you have suffered through will never get the best of you
You will hope in something real that won't depend on how you feel
When you call my name then I will answer
I am on your side though the wind and waves beat against your faith
And you were on my mind when the world was made
Trust in me, my child
Walk out on the water where you have no control
So scared to death of failure, you sacrifice your soul, please let that go
You have climbed an uphill road, you have worn a heavy load
You have cried through endless nights and nearly given up the fight
Watched your dreams like falling stars, the heartaches made you who you are
Now looking back you see that I have always been there
Where you gonna hide, where you gonna hide from me
Where you gonna go, where you gonna go that I can't see
Cause I have heard you cry and it breaks my heart for I love you so
I would never lie, this is not the end, there is still a hope.

To my married friends and family, I love you all dearly and please know that I am truly and sincerely happy for you that you have found stability and someone to share your life with. I look up to you.

For the rest of us, may you find encouragement in the words of this beautiful and eloquent song and also in the Word of the creator of love. Know that you're not alone and that human love will falter and fail, but God's love is perfect.

Currently listening : Paper Skin By Kendall Payne

Feline Defecation

December 20, 2007 - Thursday
Current mood: disgusted

Since moving to my new (old) house, I have had to cope with the lack of a washer and dryer. Up until now, this has been fair, considering I am living in a huge new (old) house rent free. I have simply adopted the ritual of, approximately every 10 days, gathering my clothing items in need of washing and heading over to my parents' house to take care of that, and to (hopefully) get a free meal in while I'm there. You know, just like most single people in their twenties.

Well, one monumental event has forever altered my ritual. One cataclysmic occurrence has rendered my habit of laundry-doing at my parents' house nearly impossible.

It all started last weekend with the Great Blizzard of 2007. I'm allowed to call it a blizzard because of the puny excuse for snow I experienced in Nashville last year. CNN said we had 9 1/2 inches of snow over here in Decatur. I still estimate it was no more than 8, but tomatoes tomatoes, as they say (that expression really doesn't make as much sense in print as it does when you say it).

Anyway, last weekend, I was stuck at my parents' house on Saturday night. On Sunday, I ventured over to my place to pick up my laundry and a few other things. On Sunday night, I began washing my clothes. I had 3 loads total to do. One load with jeans, towels, and darks, one load with whites and grays, and one load with brights...I know, I do laundry like a dude.
I have, for the last ten years of my life, taken care of my laundry needs at my parents' house with no problems other than the fact that the washing machine sounds like a rocket launching in our back room every time it gets into the spin cycle (something about a bearing.....my dad has told me several times before, but I really don't remember what he said, nor do I care). And so because I had never had a complaint about my laundry in the past, how was I to know what would happen this time?

Once I had pulled the last load of clothes out of the dryer, I said goodbye to my family and retreated to the laundry room to pick up my basket. As I picked up the basket, I thought to myself, "Man, something in here just doesn't smell right." But I placed the basket in my car and made the treacherous 3 mile drive back to my place.

You must understand that I have a horrible habit of leaving my laundry in the basket for a few days before I finally fold and hang up the necessary items. I'm a little lazy on that part of the job.

The next morning I woke up and began rifiling through the basket for my work uniform....a pair of jeans and whatever baggy sweatshirt I happen to find first. This morning was not out of the ordinary. I found my blue Old Navy sweatshirt (my very favorite one) and a pair of jeans, along with appropriate under garments. As I was getting dressed I noticed the faint smell of something unpleasant. I remembered that I had smelled something strange the night before as well, but I just chalked it up to my incorrect sense of smell. Sometimes my nose is just off.

For instance, I have always and will forevermore believe that Finesse hair products smell like pepper. I don't know why I feel this way, but my nose just interprets the smell as such. I have also been known to make strange associations with fabric softeners. And I was just sure this is what I was doing this time. I just figured I was misinterpreting the scent of lavender for dirt or something like that. No big deal. And so I spritzed on a couple squirts of my Vickie's Secret perfume and scooted out the door.

Later that night I put my pajamas on and smelled it again. And the next morning when I was, again retrieving clothes from the basket to wear. It was not until later that evening that I finally decided to put my laundry away.

And as I began selecting clothing items from the basket to fold and place in drawers, I noticed that the smell was getting stronger and stronger. And then as I pulled out my brand new black camisole, I realized that it was all clumped up in the corner. And as I began trying to shake it out I understood:
That was no fabric softener I was smelling.

It was cat poop.

Now, I realize it's not very becoming of a woman to speak of such things. A woman should say words like "residue" or "droppings" or "excrement". But I need you to understand, this wasn't a small little morsel of doodie. It was the largest load of cat crap I have ever seen. It was mostly concentrated in two of my garments, with various "prints" left on several others. But seriously, I would have thought it was human poo had I not known better. Never in my life have I seen such a large chunk of kitty caca.

And so I wore cat crap clothing for two days straight: cat crap pants, cat crap socks, cat crap bras, cat crap underwear, cat crap shirts, cat crap pajamas. I'm surprised I still have friends. And I apologize to anyone who had to spend time with me during those two horrible, horrible days.

There are three possible culprits at my parents' house who could have created this masterpiece of muck in my clean laundry.

Veruca, my precious angel kitty would never do such a thing, so that eliminates her.
And my sister's cat Mardi....well the pile of crap was bigger than she was, so I seirously doubt it was her.
Which only leaves Flave-a-Flave. This particular cat belongs to my brother. My brother happened to be extremely angry with me at the time, and plus this particular cat had previously bitten me that day. And so I hereby find one Flave-A-Flave, owned by my brother Mitchell, guilty of relieving himself (in the worst possible way) on my freshly laundered clothing.
There are several important life-lessons that can be garnered from this story:

1. Trust your sense of smell: If something smells like poop, don't wear it.
2. If your brother is angry with you, be sure to keep his cat away from your laundry basket.
3. My parents' probably need to put a litter box in the house again while the cats are inside for the winter.
4. Always fold your clothing promptly after taking it home. Do not allow the feces-infested basket to ruminate the air in your house for two full days before attending to the problem.

I sincerely hope every single person whose eyes gaze upon this story will learn from the pain I had to endure. Do not put yourself through this. Please, let my experience be your lesson. I don't want to have suffered through this traumatic event in vain.

Currently listening : Real By Jake Smith Release date: 31 July, 2007

Argyle Pizza and My True Calling

December 18, 2007 - Tuesday
Current mood: electric

As Christmas is fast approaching, the presents are slowly piling themselves up under my tree.....and at the office.....and in my car. After coming to the realization that these gifts were beginning to take over my most frequented spots, I surmised it was most probably time to attend to the problem.

And I invited my lovely and beautiful friend Amanda over for a wrapping party.

Little did we know the hilarity and wonderment that would soon envelop our little soiree.

Upon Amanda's arrival, we promptly phoned in an order for pizza from our local gourmet (albeit overpriced) pizzeria, Monicals. We were told our pizza would be $538.60, and that it would arrive in 45 minutes to half an hour.

And so we proceeded to wrap. We wrapped our little hearts out. From sweaters to books to DVDs to shoes, we wrapped with every force inside of ourselves. We wrapped to our fullest potential.

And then our pizza came. As we jaunted down to the basement, the fragrance of melted cheese, green peppers and sausage permeated the air. I knew we were in for a treat. As I found my seat and prepared our food for the partaking, I helped myself to a breadstick. Yummy.
When I had devoured the breadstick, I decided that it was time to enjoy some of that fine pizza we had anticipated for such a long time. And as I removed the foil from the top of the pizza (you see, Monicals pizza does not come in the traditional cardboard box used by most other pizza outlets, but rather they delicately place their pizzas on a cardboard flat, strategically put a couple of the Barbie tables into the pizza, and then wrap the entire pie in foil. Once this is accomplished, they place the foiled pizza into a paper sleeve), I noticed that something looked strange on the pizza, but I couldn't quite place my finger on it.

Until I tried to grab my first slice. Someone had cut our pizza into diamond shapes, rendering the act of actually choosing one slice at a time a virtual impossibility. It looked like an argyle sweater.

Now, you may be wondering what could have possibly been so difficult about selecting a slice of pizza if it was cut diagonally. All I can say to you is: You try it. You're expecting to choose a square slice and everything is all melted together. When consuming any ordinary pizza, we don't typically assess where the slices have been made each time we reach for a piece. We normally just assume we will grasp somewhere close and that the pizza is sliced well enough to go with the flow.

Argyle pizza is very challenging to eat, but it tastes the same as any other pizza.

Incidentally, if anyone can tell me why thick crust pizza is sliced into triangular shapes while thin crust is normally cut into squares, they will receive 1,057 bonus points.

After we had done what we could with the argyle pizza, we adjourned to the couch to watch the season finale of NBC's The Biggest Loser. Amanda had not been particularly into this show, but I had watched it nearly every week this season, and I was eagerly anticipating seeing the final results.

I am certain that my readers all know the premise of The Biggest Loser. You try to lose the most weight and not get eliminated so you will win $250,000.00. For most, watching this show would inspire them to begin exercising more and eating less. When I watch this show, I am inspired to eat cookies.

But regardless, I love the show. I have a normal routine as I partake of this program every week. My mother and I guess the weights of the contestants on the show as they step onto the giant scale. Since my mother was not with me tonight, Amanda and I decided to continue the tradition. And as I began guessing, I shocked and amazed my dear friend by estimating the weight of the contestants within one pound....three times in a row!

I think I have discovered my true calling. I will become one of those carnies who guesses people's weight at the fair.

Granted, I was pretty far off base for the rest of the contestants I was guessing, but for that brief span of five minutes or so, I was in a zone.

Currently listening : Biggest Loser By Biggest Loser Release date: 20 March, 2007

Questions

October 13, 2007 - Saturday
Current mood: contemplative

I have been living in discontentment lately. I look at my friends who are married with children or in serious relationships and I wonder, "When is my turn?" And I see more friends who are established in their careers and I think, "Why can't I have that?" And then I see people around me involved in successful ministries and I say, "Where's mine?" My life has become focused on the things I see as missing. And so I have been trying to figure out exactly who I am. I feel like I am missing my own identity. How would I introduce myself to someone? "Hello. My name is Nicole and I.....don't have a husband, work as a secretary for my dad, and I'm not really doing much in the way of living out my faith. I am unsure of where I actually belong....or even feel at home in the world, and I have absolutely no idea what I want to do with my life. It's nice to meet you."

I have pondered. I have analyzed. I have sought answers.

And then I realized my problem. I was spending so much time self-reflecting, self-searching, self-helping...when I should have asked the one who knows the answers.

Will God always provide me with answers when I ask? Not necessarily. I have learned that sometimes God chooses to answer with more questions. His thought are higher than mine.

And when I ask "Where is mine?" He says, "Am I not enough?"And when I ask "When is my turn?" He responds, "Do you trust my timing?"And when I ask "Why can't I have that?" He replies, "Do you remember 2 Corinthians 12:9?"

When I am searching for who I am, He tells me, "You know I AM."And when I am contemplating where I belong, He says, "You are in Your Father's arms. Where else would you want to be?"
I can ask where I should go to church, and His response is, "What's more important, going to a certain church or being the church?

I've been listening to a CD I bought the other day (see below), and in the opening song of the album Todd Agnew sings,

I have better questions than I have answers

As a person who always has to have the answers...or even make answers up if I don't know...that is a peaceful realization to come to. And as true as that statement is, I have found that God has even better questions than I do.

Currently listening : Better Questions By Todd Agnew Release date: 17 July, 2007

Of Mice and Women

May 31, 2007 - Thursday
Current mood: exhausted

I have come to be known by my friends and family as somewhat of a "take charge" person. Regardless of whether I'm asked to, I will most likely begin ordering people around in any given circumstance. I've told my friends that I'm not bossy, just……directive. I'm not afraid to assert myself when someone crosses me the wrong way. And I can handle virtually anyone with a perfect combination of sass and nerve.

Despite the façade of valor I emanate, there is one thing that sets me on edge. One fierce and terrible force in the world that, when confronted with it, causes me to turn semi-schizophrenic. One tumultuous and loathsome antagonist in my life that always drives me to my knees….in prayer, not surrender.

Mice.

I don't. Like. Mice.

I'm not particularly afraid of them, as in running and jumping onto the nearest table in an effort to get away from them. No, I'm more nervous around them. I don't enjoy the sight of a little mouse scurrying across the floor and then disappearing for approximately 11 minutes until it, once again, scurries across the floor from behind the couch on which I am sitting.

I'm used to mice. My parents live across from a wildlife conservation area, and one fateful autumn (I affectionately refer to it as "The Year of the Mouse") we caught 17 of these furry monsters, including one that had to be drowned in a sink full of water…that was a rough one.

So it's not like these pests are a foreign entity to me. It's just that...my dad has always been the one to handle the mouse occurrences that arose in the past.

About 6 weeks ago, on a hot and muggy April day, my roommates and I decided to turn on our air conditioner. And that's when we saw the first one. My cousin Tom and I were sitting in my living room, watching TV when he spotted it running behind my television, behind my DVDs, and directly behind the couch where I was sitting. I kept my cool….just walked downstairs and asked my roommate Jen for her mousetrap, so we could take care of the little guy. My brave and valiant cousin handled the problem by setting the trap and ingeniously shaking a paper bag near where the mouse was sitting, scaring the mouse and forcing it directly into the trap he had set. Talk about Mac Giver. I was so grateful to have ridded our house of the pesky problem.

The weather hit another cold spell and about a month passed without any vermin. And then we turned the air on again.

The first day we turned the air on, I was sitting on my couch watching television and I saw one make its way across the floor. Katie was out of town for the weekend and Jen was not home, so it was just me and the mouse in our immense townhome that evening. I set the trap and placed it in the precise location by which we had caught the other one. And I waited.

When Jen got home, I was still waiting. I had seen it scurry across the floor several times, but apparently this particular mouse wasn't interested in peanut butter. So I explained the situation to Jen and prepared her so she wouldn't be frightened at the sight of the nasty little creature that had taken up residence in our dwelling place.

That night was a tough one. Jen lives on the bottom floor of our townhouse, and I on the top. Both of us would swear we heard the rodent rummaging around in our respective rooms that night. In my case, I heard papers rattling under the nightstand beside my bed. Now, you must understand that I sleep on a huge King-size bed, but I only use one corner of the bed for actual sleeping purposes. The remainder of the bed is normally used for temporarily housing items such as clothing and books, until I decide it's time to clean. When I heard the papers rattling, they were (of course) directly underneath the corner of the bed where I sleep. I shot up from my slumber, tentatively reached over and turned on my lamp to see if I could find the evil intruder, and when I couldn't find anything, I decided that desperate times call for desperate measures. I did an army roll to the other side of my bed, jumped over to the floor lamp by the door, and turned it on. Then an untamed thought process ran rampant through my mind.

If I don't see the mouse now, then where did he go?
He's probably paralyzed by the fear of me wrestling around and turning on the light.
Do mice have claws?
If they have claws, then he probably grabbed on to the blanket on my bed and climbed up it.
THAT MOUSE IS PROBABLY TRAPPED UNDER MY COVERS RIGHT NOW!
I'm not getting under the covers…I know there's a mouse in there.
I have to make my bed and sleep on top of the covers.
Yeah, that way if the mouse is in there, he'll be trapped because I'll be on top of him.
He'll suffocate and die.
But then I'll have a dead mouse in my bed.
That's gross.
I'll make the bed and sleep lightly on top of the covers.
Hopefully then it will have enough room to wiggle out if it wants to.
Yeah. And I'll keep the light on so I can see it if it gets on me.
And I'll turn the TV on so I can't hear it rattling around anymore.
And I'll turn the fan on, too…just to be doubly safe.

Needless to say, that was a sleepless night for me. And the next day I left (still no mouse in the trap) for a weekend in Decatur.
I returned on Sunday night to an empty house, as Katie was still out of town, and Jen had gone home for the weekend, too. I promptly set my luggage down, turned the air back on (we had turned it off for the weekend, since no one would be home) and found a stiff mouse in our trap.

This was no ordinary mouse trap. It was black plastic and had a cover over the top of it, so you couldn't see the dead mouse….all that was showing was a stiff little tail hanging out the back. I was so delighted to have caught the disgusting house guest that I didn't even have time to get squeamish about picking up the trap. But then it hit me

I am holding a dead mouse, and I don't know how to open this elaborate trap.

So I shrugged my shoulders and threw the entire thing in the trash can. I had every intention of purchasing a new trap for Jen, since I had thrown hers away, but I had no interest in holding the trap with the dead mouse in it and trying to figure out how to open it. I scooped up the trash bag, and carried it outside to throw it in our trash bin out back. Carrying a huge sense of accomplishment, I threw the bag away, closed the lid and smacked my hands together.

Now I can live in peace.

Approximately seven minutes later, I was sitting on the couch watching television when I saw something scurry from downstairs and into my living room.

You have got to be kidding me.

Yes, we had yet another mouse…only now I had thrown away our only trap. I promptly put my shoes on, grabbed my purse and headed to Wal-Mart to purchase some traps.

Wal-Mart did not have the fancy, "you don't have to see them once you smash their little heads with a big heavy bar" traps. I had my choice between sticky traps and wooden. I chose the wooden. I also purchased a bag of rubber gloves, because I knew I didn't want to pick up the traps with my bare hands.

As I stated earlier, my dad was the one who had always taken care of the mice in our house when I was growing up, so I didn't know how to set a mouse trap. I called him and he talked me through it. 15 minutes, two snapped fingers, some tears, a lot of sniffles, and a good deal of frustration later…I had finally figured out how to set the stupid things.

As I was baiting a few of the traps (I believe I set three or four of them that night), something caught my eye. That little mouse was climbing out of our air conditioning vent.

So I placed several traps next to our vents to no avail. I sat back on the couch for a few minutes and then decided I would go check the trap I had placed behind the trash can. I opened the pantry door and realized I had forgotten to change the trash can liner from the previous mouse…and then I saw it.

Sitting in our trash can, staring up at me….begging for mercy was a live tiny brown mouse.

Now, what am I supposed to do? I knew I couldn't kill the thing. And I wasn't about to "set it free outside" just for it to come back in again. I knew there was only one thing to do. I was going to have to carry the entire trash can down two flights of stairs and out the back door and then out the gate and dump this little guy into our trash bin and close the lid.

Mice can't jump well. They can climb, but with this plastic trash can there was nothing for him to grab on to. I knew he would attempt to jump out, but he wouldn't be successful. I grabbed my keys (I guess they made me feel safer), picked up the trash can with one hand and thought, "Nicole. You know this mouse is going to try to jump out…and you're going to freak and drop the trash can and then he will still be in your house." So I firmly held the trash can with both hands.

As I made my way to the bottom floor of the house, the little guy started his escape attempt. I was determined not to drop the trash can, but I was majorly freaking out, and I needed to do something. So while this little mouse was jumping up and down in this small trash can I was holding, I also was hopping from one foot to the other and emitting a low, whispery scream. A few seconds of the hopping and I regained my composure. I quickly opened the back door and walked to the gate. I am certain I had a disgusted/petrified/nervous look on my face because as I opened the gate a neighbor happened to be walking by,

"Those gates are weird, huh?" She said…apparently she assumed the look on my face was due to the gate.

"Uhh. Yeah. They're. Really……Uhhh……Loud." And then I made my way to the trash bin, dumped junior in and slammed the lid.

After all of this mouse business, I was tired and decided it was time for bed. As I went upstairs the thought struck me,

"I bet these mice are coming from our air conditioner. They have only ever come out when we've had the air on."

Oh no. I have an air conditioning vent right above my bed. I clamored up the stairs and bolted to the vent to close it before a mouse could fall out onto my bed. I closed all the vents in my room, stuffed a thick blanket against the bottom of my door, slept (once again) with the light, television and fan on…on top of the covers..and awoke the next morning still a little nervous about finding other mice.

Seven mice and two weeks later, after catching them on sticky traps, wooden traps, coming out of vents, and even one in a crouton box, we determined it was time to call an exterminator.

This exterminator assured us that we would not have any more mouse troubles. He placed a special chemical called "Mouse Bait" in various locations of the house and told us that the mice would crawl into our walls and die. He said that this special mouse bait would dry up all the fluids in the mouse's body and so we would not smell the mice once they died. He said we would never know how many mice we had caught and then had consequently crawled into our walls and died.

Now, I'm not sure I entirely buy into the idea that a rotting rodent trapped in our wall won't emit some kind of aroma…but we haven't seen a mouse for at least two weeks…..so we have peace of mind. And today I will reopen the air conditioning vents in my room.
Currently listening : Elliott Yamin By Elliott Yamin Release date: 20 March, 2007

The Dove Awards...Or, I'm Glad My Butt's Good for Something.

May 4, 2007 - Friday
Current mood: pleased

I'm glad my butt is good for something...

GMA Music Week, or Gospel Music Association Music Week (its ridiculously absurd formal name) is a convention of sorts held in downtown Nashville during mid-April. The week is a gathering of all the names in Gospel music: artists, radio personalities, producers, Christian retailers, managers, record label executives and groupies come together to learn, to celebrate, to get attention, to "network" (whatever that means), and to commemorate the common bond that brings them all together: music. The week culminates with the Christian music equivalent of the Grammy's. The GMA Dove Awards.

I had heard of this wondrous event in my previous career as a Christian music buyer in Illinois, but I had only ever dreamed of being able to partake in the glory of it all. Until one fateful day in February, I logged onto the Gospel Music Association's website to find that they were looking for volunteers for GMA Week 2007 and also for the GMA Dove Awards. I filled out my volunteer applications for both events, faxed them in to their respective overseers, and eagerly waited by my computer for their response. Phew, fortunately I made both cuts and registered as a volunteer for both GMA Music Week (again Gospel Music Association Music Week) and the 38th Annual GMA Dove Awards.

I'll bypass the GMA Music Week stuff because it was rather boring and mundane compared to the rest of this story.

As a seat-filler, a person is actually required to stand at the back of the auditorium along the wall in a line, similar to the water fountain line in grade school. You wait in this line, until someone from the production team comes and asks you to follow them. The production person then points you to a seat and you literally fill the seat, until the person comes back. The person you are filling a seat for may be accepting an award, presenting an award, performing, or they may simply be visiting the ladies' room or the concession stand. When the person returns to his or her seat you get up and walk back to the back of the line to begin the whole process again. Not as glamorous or fun as I had anticipated.

The seat-fillers were told to arrive no later than 4:00 pm for the Dove Awards. We were instructed to wear dark, solid colors and clothing ranging in formality from "church" to "prom". That's a pretty big gap, if you ask me. I chose a lovely little black number which I purchased for only $24.99 from the fabulous discount boutique known as Target. I paired it with a bright red camisole (only slightly bending the rules), black heels, a huge gaudy red plastic bracelet , red earrings, a black necklace, the dramatic makeup of a showgirl or Tammy Faye Bakker, and my hair loosely up in some sort of twisted pattern, affixed just so with a conglomeration of bobby pins and hair spray. If you, my reader, will kindly indulge me for a brief moment of vanity…I looked p.d. good*. I approached the front doors of the Opry House at the Opryland convention center and showed my ID, just as we were instructed. Now, I know I have lived in Tennessee for over eight months now, but I still have not made my way to the Tennessee Department of Motor Vehicles to obtain a new Driver's License and/or tags for my car. But as I handed my driver's license over to the kid who was checking ID's, he said, in his best valley girl voice, "Oh. I am like so glad to finally see someone from Illinois. Decatur is so………(long pause)………isolated." What? What is that supposed to mean? Decatur happens to have many surrounding towns and even a couple major cities within a two-hour radius. It is my estimation that the ID kid did not understand the meaning of the word "isolated". But I didn't have time for a grammar lesson, I had an important role to fill at the 38th Annual GMA Dove Awards…so I shrugged him off and walked inside.

The seat-fillers were all told to fill a section of the upper balcony of the auditorium and to await further instruction. After sitting there for approximately one hour and fifteen minutes, we were told to leave our seats in the upper balcony and head down to the lobby for snacks or whatever we needed, to take our purses, jackets, etc. back to our cars so we didn't have to fight with them all evening, and to reconvene in the lobby at 6:45. At 6:45, I promptly reunited with my group (after having met a very creepy young man who was freely giving out high fives for no apparent reason and preferred lingering, piercing stares to the more traditional, and more widely accepted occasional break from eye contact in conversation). My group consisted of a friend from church, my roommate, three of her friends from college and myself. So there were six of us in all. We continued to stand in the lobby for the better part of an hour until we were finally told to reclaim our seats in the upper balcony until someone from production would come and collect us, small groups at a time, to perform our duties of filling seats. The Awards show began taping at 8:00, and immediately four members of my group were whisked away to fill the seats of the greatest heroes of Christian music the world has ever known. My friend Jennifer and I were still stuck in the balcony, watching the performance on a screen.

Probably half an hour had passed when a production team member (who happened to be the ID kid from earlier who told me my home town was "isolated") asked us to follow him. We were instructed to walk over and stand outside of the huge double doors and to wait for someone to retrieve us.

Twenty minutes passed and nobody came, so my friend Jennifer and I, in our rebellious spirits, decided to head back up to the balcony where we could at least see the show, rather than standing outside the doors.

As we sustained our former positions in the balcony, we were rejoined by my roommate Katie and her friend Claire. Just when we had all gotten settled, the ID kid came back and, once again, asked us to go to the lobby and await further instruction. We walked inside and stood along the wall with all of the other seat-fillers. One by one, each seat filler was escorted to a seat in need of filling, and finally, after about 25 minutes of waiting (standing in stilettos), it was finally our turn. Claire was taken away to fill a seat, and Katie would be next, followed by myself and then Jennifer. Jennifer and I had resolved that if we hadn't been placed in seats by the next commercial break, we were going to sneak back up to the upper balcony, but sit in a different location so the ID kid couldn't find us.

Just as we had made our decision, the producer came up to us and said she needed three people. Katie, Myself and Jennifer followed her, like baby ducklings following their mother across a busy street. We were walking through the auditorium, with all the bright lights, cameras rolling, the show in progress. Katie was placed in a seat near the back on the aisle, and Jennifer was taken by another producer to the opposite side of the auditorium. I was still following the original producer….through the middle of the auditorium…..in the midst of filming the show, when she turned and said to me, "I'm sorry. We don't have a spot for you after all. I'm really sorry." She then instructed me to remain right where I was and not to move, that she would be right back. So there I was, standing in the middle of the aisle, I felt like all the lights in the room were shining on me as I waited for an eternity for her to come back. I was blocking people behind me. I stood there, rocked back and forth on my heels a little, pursed my lips, looked to my left, looked to my right, continued holding my purse in front of me (once again feeling rebellious, I had refused to return it to my car…it was only a little clutch. It wasn't going to ruin the Dove Awards).

Finally, my agony came to an end when the producer returned and said, "Ok. We had a seat open up in the front row. So can you just go down there and sit for a minute?" She must have understood my "Woman, you have GOT to be crazy if you think I'm about to walk down to the front row of this thing all by myself and start looking for a vacant seat when I have no idea where it is" look because then she grabbed my arm and said, "Come on. I'll show you where it is."

As I took my seat, I noticed to my left, a VERY handsome young man. I recognized him, but I couldn't quite figure out who he was. He gently leaned over and quietly said, "Hey. How are you?" "I'm fine," I coolly and eloquently replied, "How are you?"

And before he had the chance to respond, a tall, beautiful Brazilian woman was standing in front of me and the handsome man said, "Oh. Here she is."

"Great," I thought to myself, "My seat-filling experience lasted a grand total of three seconds." And as I began to stand up and walk away, the Brazilian woman said to me, "Oh. That's okay. We make room for you."

Now, I know that my responsibility as a seat-filler was to fill the empty seats as their normal fillers vacated them. I understand that was the premise of my receiving complimentary admittance to the Awards ceremony.

BUT I WAS SITTING ON THE STINKING FRONT ROW AND THEY HAD PLENTY OF ROOM FOR ME AND SHE OFFERED!

So I thought about it for a second, and sat back down in my spot. I figured the Brazilian woman was with the couple sitting to my right, and perhaps I could continue my conversation with Mr. Incredible to my left.

A couple minutes passed, and the Brazilian woman retrieved a half-eaten Milky Way Candy Bar from her purse. She reached over me and tapped the gorgeous man on his arm, "Here. Are you hungry?" She said.

"Yeah. Thanks. I was wondering if you went out there and got something to eat." He reached over me and grabbed the candy bar from her.

"Well, they didn't have much out there. So I went to the ladies' room and then bought this." She said.

"Yeah. They never have very much good food at these things," was his reply.
It was then that I determined I had just invaded this happy couple's date. Had I been on top of my game that night, I would have turned to him and said, "Excuse me, why don't we switch spots?" thus enabling him to sit next to his beautiful Brazilian date, while also allowing me to continue in our deep and meaningful conversation which had so far consisted of "How are you?"

But instead, I turned to the Brazilian girl and told her that we should switch spots. ARGH. Hindsight is 20/20, as they say. And I knew I would still enjoy my front-row seat at the 38th Annual GMA Dove Awards. I looked around to take in the whole experience.

Sitting on the same bench with me was Watermark, also known as the dynamic duo of Nathan and Christy Nockels, who recently announced that they are leaving the music business in order to focus more on raising their family. Ahead of me and to my left were Steven Curtis Chapman and his wife. Directly behind them were Jeremy Camp and his wife Adie, followed by Aaron Shust and his wife and Mark Schultz and his wife. Behind them was Third Day in its entirety and a little further back were David Crowder and his wife. Surprisingly, his wife does not have hair that stands straight up, nor does she sport a long goatee. Directly behind me was Natalie Grant's entourage, followed by Nichole Nordeman. And behind me to my right was the band Leeland. I had faired pretty well at my first venture as a seat-filler at the Doves.

There was about an hour and a half left of taping, so I got comfortable and proceeded to listen in on the conversation of the couple sitting next to me. Please allow me to give you a mental picture of what was unfolding before my eyes. The man I had been talking to earlier was wearing faded jeans, brown shoes, a patterned button-down shirt and a vintage semi-fitted jacket. He had an unshaven face and blonde, spiky hair, and he was probably about 5'10 or 5'11…average height…not that I really noticed him or anything. The Brazilian woman was approximately 6 feet tall. She was beautiful. She looked as if she could have hailed from an Asian country, although she had very light blue eyes. She was wearing the latest trend in lipstick…bright red (I'm not planning to fall into that trend anytime soon). She was wearing a raisin colored ball gown (not prom dress, mind you….but a full-on ball gown), with a gold shawl. She had on leopard print lacy shoes and a small tiara. Her hair was pulled back into a ponytail with a faded black scrunchie…I suppose she didn't want to go overboard with the hair as she was wearing such a fancy dress. And I'm not blaming her for overdressing. She probably had no idea what to wear…..and I am convinced that she was a mail-order date.

We've all heard of a mail-order bride. A middle-aged man becomes tired of the single life, but can't seem to find someone he loves in his own culture, so he calls the Philippines or Nicaragua and orders up a woman who will be subservient, quiet, demure, beautiful, and desiring of him. She won't talk back because she won't be able to speak his language, and she will treat him like a king because she is so grateful to have come out of poverty in her home country and to live in the land of opportunity in the United States. It is a truly barbaric and racist process, if you ask me…but that soapbox is for a different time and place.

I am being slightly facetious here. I don't really believe this Brazilian woman was a mail-order date…but I do believe that this handsome young man, who had previously engaged me in such a meaningful and deep conversation (remember, "hey. How are you?"), I believe that he had not ever met this woman prior to the Dove Awards. Perhaps a mutual friend set them up. Perhaps he called an escort service. Perhaps he found her at the mall working at the Gap and asked her to join him. Whatever the case….I'm certain he had never spent time with her before that fateful night.

Now I have already explained to you her attire for the evening….a little much. And her look, paired with her behavior was enough to make me sympathize for this kind, gentle young Casanova to my left. This woman repeatedly pulled her tiny pink Sony Cybershot camera from her little purse (I'm surprised she was not carrying a Hello Kitty or Bratz purse). She took pictures of everything. She snapped people in the audience, performers, presenters, award winners…there is no possible way she knew who most of these people were…but still, she snapped pictures of them. The Dove Awards are a big event in Christian music.

As with any Awards show, audience members are asked not to use cameras or cell phones of any kind. Particularly if you are sitting in the front row of the freaking auditorium.

As if the pink camera were not enough, the woman also uttered phrases such as, "Oh. That's so cool." Or "Awesome" to everything that took place.

And then Bob and Larry came out. You know, the tomato and the cucumber (respectively) from Big Idea's VeggieTales. This woman went nuts. There was clapping, jumping in her seat, incessant laughter, pink cameras lighting flashes into the atmosphere and exclamations of awe and wonder. I was surprised every eye in the auditorium didn't turn to watch the outburst that was occurring next to me. I guess she must be a huge VeggieTale fan.

I was severely annoyed, and I was certain that my handsome friend on the other side of her was grateful during that brief moment I had sat down next to him. He probably enjoyed conversing with someone who was a little more…how shall I say….down to earth.

The remainder of the evening included more picture taking, more amazement, more "that's so cool," and even the periodical checking of the email via her sidekick phone.

I was entertained by her, and very grateful that she had provided me with a place to sit for the rest of the evening….but I'm positive this handsome man could have found someone else to go with.

Incidentally, you may see me on TV when the show is televised. I know the camera was pointing in my direction when Aaron Shust accepted his award for song of the year, and also when Chris Tomlin accepted his award for Artist of the Year.

Check here for when the Doves will be showing in your area:
http://www.gmamusicawards.com/pdf/38th_DoveAwards_SyndList.pdf

Despite the distraction sitting to my immediate left, I still managed to ascertain a few important lessons from the 38th Annual GMA Dove Awards:
Chris Tomlin is the new Steven Curtis Chapman in that he will win in EVERY category for which he is nominated.
Aaron Shust is the new Chris Tomlin in that he will win in every category for which he is nominated except when he's up against the real Chris Tomlin.
The Gospel Music Association uses the term "Of the Year" very loosely:
Aaron Shust won for New Artist of the Year…his album was released in August of 2005.
Natalie Grant won for Female Vocalist of the Year…her album came out in early 2005.
Chris Tomlin's "Holy is the Lord" took home a Dove for Worship Song of the Year…this song was released on Tomlin's Arriving project, which streeted in 2004! Chris has since released a plethora of singles and a new full-length album.
The Gospel Music Association members who select the winners are rather stale. They are not wiling or able to expand their horizons and select winners who are making ripples in the industry. There is no room for innovation (i.e. Leeland and Mat Kearney).
Regardless of my discrepancies with the Gospel Music Association, I still had an amazing time. Hopefully one year I'll be able to attend as an artist manager or something equally as involved.

*p.d. good – Pretty Darn Good, for those who are not up to speed with the teenage slang language of our day.
Currently listening : Sound of Melodies By Leeland Release date: 15 August, 2006