"God has planted eternity in the heart of man." I've often speculated about this piece of scripture and discovered many interpretations. Lately, I'm landing on the concept that God has planted within each of us specific dreams and purposes (or purposi--:)) Is it possible that the eternity planted in our hearts specifically relates to the way we are to contribute to humanity? I do believe that we are all uniquely gifted to contribute to humanity, yet too often we sacrifice what's been planted in our hearts for more palatable dreams. Just listen to kids. They'll tell you they want to be a policeman or a teacher or a pop singer or a basketball star. I've yet to hear a kid tell me that he dreams of eeking by on government assistance for the rest of his life. So what happens on the road to adulthood? My dreams have been through several transformations. I vividly recall the years when I wanted to be the pilot of the space shuttle. How I envied the astronauts eac

I went shopping yesterday for some household items. I left my house at 1:00 with my list for laundry detergent, eyeshadow, toenail clippers, Diet Pepsi, water, and eye makeup remover. I'm really not much of a shopper. I like to get in and get out with what I need. I tend to cringe when someone wants to go "window" shopping. Please, I don't need to be there unless I'm walking out with a bag. Anyway, I wandered around Ulta for over an hour, looking at all the hair color and nailpolish, trying to figure out just what the difference is between styling spray, finishing spray, and workable spray, and pondering the age-old question: is ammonium laureth sulfate better for your hair than sodium laureth sulfate. I left the shoe store empty-handed, which is a shame since I'm in desperate need of new sneakers. The old ones are covered in poison-plant oil. So I ventured into Ross where I proudly walked out with a CD of Mexican music for a friend, and a how-to DVD on Salsa

I have an interesting relationship with guilt. Growing up in a protestant home (an odd mixture of Assemblies of God and Southern Baptist), I was always told the Catholics are guilt-ridden. Hmm, I disagree. My biggest enemy sometimes is the overwhelming sense of guilt and shame that I carry through my life. It goes something like this... Last night, I went out with some friends to this fabulous piano bar. We sat in the front and listened to the music, laughed at the antics, carried on screaming conversations, danced when the mood struck, and drank vodka and cranberry juice. I stayed longer than I planned, especially when my friend and I sat in my car talking until 2 a.m. That's it. I had a ton of fun. I'm really more of a homebody, so this was a refreshing change of pace. I'm probably good for a few months now. So this morning I woke at 11:00 (way past my usual time), and it hit me. Am I really a bad person? Why is it that hanging out with my friends, dancing, and imbibing j

I'm feeling a little melodramatic right now. I've seen two doctors now. One (my GP) gave me two options for what's going on on my leg. The other (dermatologist) said one of the previous options was more likely. I prefer that diagnosis, but it's funny how the mind works. Even though I want to believe the dermatologist, my mind keeps searching for other signs that my GP is right. Maybe I am a hypochondriac. When something is awry, I immediately begin searching for all the possibilities. Last December my right foot started going numb. My final conclusion was that is must be MS. After several encouragements to "not stress" and a painful EMG, I received a "You do have some nerve damage, but I don't think it's MS" conclusion. I said all that to say that I know the way I think. I want answers immediately and with assurance. I've been face to face lately with my desire to control all aspects of my life and coming to grips with the fact that I ha

Quick note before I run off to the doctor. I slept cradling my Bible last night; I'm feeling fairly despondent. This morning I wanted to read SOMETHING, so I did my usual "What day is today--let's find that Psalm number." Lo and behold it is the 23rd. Usually I skip over that Psalm because I've heard it so often, but for some reason I read it. Here's hope: "He restores my soul." I'm not there yet, and who knows when I'll feel restored, but it's a promise now.

When I decided to start this blog, I intended for it to be a reflection of the lessons I'm learning on the paths of my life. I haven't written anything lately because I couldn't think of anything worthy of a post. I've been in a crummy mood. I feel stagnant. I'm having a hard time seeing anything praisworthy around me. Right now I really want to just hop on a plane and fly as far away as I can. The more I think about it, the more I realize that if I'm going to be true to my ideas here, I need to be honest. So here goes... I have an infected spot on my leg. I know this isn't a pleasant thought, but it's there. It's really gross. I'm worried about it constantly. It's embarrassing. It's not healing quickly enough for me. The spot has grown larger in the last 5 days. This spot is a physical representation of the festering wound inside my soul. There is a place in my soul that is wounded. I've done a fantastic job avoiding it--covering it

One of the greatest lessons I've learned in the last year is the power of gratitude. It's not that I'm an ungrateful person. Even in the wake of the challenges I've faced with a mentally ill mother and confused father, I always managed to focus on the gifts around me like an open family (I love them!), supportive friends, and God-directed opportunities. What's struck me lately is how easy it is to lose sight of joy in life. Ecclesiastes (one of my favorite books of the Bible) says "A man can do nothing better than to eat and drink and find satisfaction in his work. This, too, I see is from the hand of God." This is an amazing idea--that God has given us the gift of ENJOYING our lives. I've had the first part down. I work hard. I eat. I drink. I even find some satisfaction is what I do. However, I never really grasped the concept that God wants me to enjoy my life. The more I consider this, the more I see that God places in my path moments to celebrate

at the bottom of a bag of peanut butter m&ms i see the emptiness and the white plastic i wonder why i ate the entire bag i realize my soul is still empty i sense my stomach is sickly full i wish it was the other way around - A.B., 2006

When I left my house at 6:15 yesterday morning, my shoes were clean. I liked my shoes. They were comfortable. They fit my feet beautifully. They received many compliments from my 8th graders. They're not clean anymore. Yesterday, I went on an 11-mile hike with 39 8th graders, two other teachers, and a parent. It was an interesting terrain through pine forests (where we were all on the look-out for flying pinecones), over stagnant creeks, and dried-up marsh. We walked through sugar sand, jumped over stumps, and crawled under fallen branches. I shook my head when the girls screamed at the sight of a banana spider 20 feet over our heads. I laughed at the students' analysis of the excrement filled with undigested berries. (Is it a deer...a hog...a bear...or Sasquatch?) We all complained a little, especially when we thought we were near the end. I am thrilled to say that I made it to the end. We all did, complete burr scratches, tick marks, filthy pants, and sweaty t-shirts. That

To say my life is a *little* chaotic is an understatement. So far we've had two surgeries in the family, complications from the surgeries, loopy arguments that I hope are related to pain meds, torturous boredom, morning duty at work, and now a family feud. This is all on top of teaching 80 8th graders each day on less than 4 hours of sleep each night. My bones are literally aching right now. But that's not the point. The point is that I have a choice. I can choose to give into the madness swirling around me. I can feel sorry for myself. I can fight back. I can blame the world. It's a fight sometimes. The people in my little universe are so caring that they will listen to me vent to the point of wallowing...and some of them encourage it. (Not you, NS!) However, this afternoon, in the middle of a little self-doubt about my abilities as a teacher--and a human--two students gave me a wonderful gift. "Miss, I don't get it. I never liked writing before. I hated it, but w