House on the Rock

It is absolutely crazy to think that this marks my 5th annual year-end recap blog. The first one happened when I was a college sophomore. Clueless, hopeful, and completely oblivious to all the work God was going to do over the next five years. As 2022 draws to a close, I cherish this time to reflect on His faithfulness from beginning to end. January: The month of the grueling Whole(almost)30. We tried to remedy a year of bad eating by a month of dietary detoxing, which bound us to spaghetti squash and pitted dates for dessert. It was humbling, infuriating, unfulfilling and short-lived. We made it two weeks before caving on a wintry Friday night and eating an entire bag of Fannie May's S'mores Mix. We also played three dozen games of Catan and finished all of Friday Night Lights. February: February is probably the biggest blur. We met with people who would eventually join The Fields Church, watched the SuperBowl with company new and old, enjoyed being almost a full month removed...

 It's December 21. We just sent out a batch of Walgreens-printed Christmas cards, this year featuring desperate red-eye concealer dots on two shiny faces nestled in front of a dimly-lit tree. We took it at my parents' house following a Thanksgiving Feast because we (mostly Joe) couldn't fathom the thought of paying someone and we (mostly me) never conveniently had people nearby to take a picture while looking presentable. So, we settled for green flannels masking some Thanksgiving pudge and an iPhone-camera picture printed on a glossy pharmacy card. Merry Christmas.  I probably wouldn't even bother with cards this year except I acquired a journal which summons you to place all your Christmas cards through the years in a burlap-colored slot with room for handwritten updates from the year. Last year's nearly filled a whole page: Graduated college/grad school, got jobs at Westfield, got married, moved to Westfield, changed churches, became members at Castleview, helped...

I remember it being September, the air still thick with summer's hot breath of humidity. I was back on Facebook after a long and healing hiatus, and I thought, maybe this year, I'll post things I'm thankful for. I'll do it in November, of course, the month where you have to be thankful, and I'll just publicly praise God for sweet gifts like slow mornings and fun friends. At the very least, I'd journal about it. And if that didn't work out, I promised myself I would think thankful thoughts. And yet I woke up this morning, November 8th, the sky streaked pink in the post-Daylight Savings dawn. I didn't have a slow morning. In fact, I didn't get out of bed until well after seven. I hurriedly put on stretched-out jeans from a half-decade of use and willed the clogged, slowly-dying coffee machine to please spit me out enough McCafe bean juice to fill a mug. I rushed through my quiet time (ironic when my head is spinning and my mind is shouting), rushed to ...

Another fall break has come and gone. I felt noticeably less desperate for it this year; credits of course to our gracious God, my relatively VERY well-behaved students, and the restfulness that comes with no longer being a first-year teacher. Nonetheless, a week of nothingness was much anticipated and we eagerly awaited the small-scale adventure that might present itself within the Hoosier State boundary lines. Joe took off to Bloomington for another disappointing almost-win by the Cream and Crimson. He enjoyed time with his siblings and I plopped myself in front of the TV with a sky-high stack of grading that I was determined to knock out before the actual fall break week had begun. I was unsuccessful but knocked out period 2, which on that day, felt like enough. We went to church on Sunday and prepared to journey southbound for a two-night stay at the Brown County Inn, a quaint and rustic Priceline find tucked right in the heart of Nashville. Temperatures plummeted for our getaway, ...

I seldom find myself more insecure than the moments I'm exploring Pinterest. The DIY doom-scrolling triggers more feelings of inadequacy than Facebook and Instagram combined. I'm coming to the blogsite today after not one, but two botched wooden canvases. For some reason, I still haven't come to terms with reality that I'm not crafty. I really can't paint. My calligraphy looks okay on a chalkboard but the second it is put on a canvas or an easel, it's elementary. And I get paint everywhere. And I get furious. So I move on from painting, and then I think, "maybe I'll redecorate our apartment!" I quickly find I'm worse at that than painting, and my garage-sale pink poufs can attest. All this time of saying I would "refurbish", and yet every single one of our guests still traces the zebra-print pattern because I never figured out how where to even buy the right fabric, let alone attach it to the pouf.  And then, what seems like the best ...

 It's the first day of August, and the chill in the air feels like summer and fall are at war with one another. I'm living in denial that summer is ending - sitting on the balcony watching goosebumps prickle my skin while simultaneously slurping a popsicle. Putting on a sweatshirt would make me so much more comfortable but would also acknowledge that truth I'm trying to avoid - that summer will soon give way to bitter cold and the death of all things green. Some people call it "autumn," I'm just not that optimistic. I'm coming to the computer today with not much to say. I have a compelling desire to create, which can feel a bit dead-endish considering I lack the patience to bake artisan bread, lack the tools to refurbish a table, and lack the skills to paint anything but the same semi-circle sunset which now covers six canvases in our guest room. Writing it is. Last week, one of my best friends stopped by to tell me she was expecting. Honeymoon baby, a gif...

The day has finally dawned: down time. Our travels have concluded, conferences ended, swim camp is closed, and I can just simply sit. and rest. and read! and occasionally, when there's a little extra brain juice, write.  I would be remiss to not reflect on the first year of teaching. It is notoriously the hardest year of one's teaching career - a seemingly ceaseless journey of "figuring things out." Of learning what to do in hard situations. Of planning lessons that best usher young minds into cognitive dissonance so that they may grow. Of saying no. But, also, of saying yes. Year one was unbelievably joyful. Once the hellish hump of October was in the rearview, I genuinely looked forward to going in every day. Thank you God for the gift of this vocation that feels like vacation!!! Not always...but often. So to reflect - so that I always remember the moment Noah shattered a Goodwill glass vase and I convinced him it was my grandmother's (worth 14,000 dollars). So ...

Disclaimer: This is the conclusion of an ESPN-Top Ten-Style Ranking List of Mundane things in my Life that I Have Ranked From Worst to Best. For the initial explanation, click here . For items 10-2, start here .) I can't believe it's finally here. The grand reveal of the #1 ranked perfectly mundane and normal part of my life that I have, for some reason, chosen to put in numerical order. This has been a project three months in the making. It has forced me to think deeply. Ask questions. Write and revise. Reflect. Consider where my time is spent. Consider what brings me joy.  And here we have it! I'm going to try to first describe this number one thing, only to reveal it at the end. If you skip to the bottom, you're a cheater! If you stick with me, you're a hero.  I remember the first time we went. By accident, I believe. It was a Thursday. We were on that side of town. Despite living right next to a similar facility, it was worth a shot to swing by while we were clo...

My husband was absolutely aghast upon reading that I dubbed "book recommendations" #3. And I don't exactly have a lot of evidence to back up why that came out as high as it did. I'll even confess that there are times I much prefer an Olive Garden breadstick over someone telling me what to read. But I'm making it up as I go, and I'm trying. And in that season, during that week, book recommendations was warming my heart. I can't justify it with any more solidity than the ESPN Top Ten Ranker who put a half-court sinker over a Stanley Cup buzzer beater. To be honest, I've watched ESPN Top Ten Rankings almost every day for a year, thanks to the Planet Fitness treadmill I keep happening to choose at the time I keep happening to go with the TV happening to be on that channel. Sometimes, #8 feels even more impressive than #1. Now, I understand why. But I have to press on. I can't quit now. I certainly think my husband will agree with me more on this one. A...

Man it has been a long time since I have written. I surely thought that being out of school for summer would lend itself to more blog time. I probably even intended on writing some sort of summary of the year with lessons learned, mountains climbed, and memories made. I still intend to do that, I suppose. It just feels…far off. Not as urgent as rest. So I’m closing out the countdown – the build-up – the slow and suspenseful reveal of my top-ranked thing on a completely unsystematic ranking scale. And I’m at number 3. Which means my next one has to be the second best. And this one has to be just slightly less best. The pressure’s on. And to be frank, I'm tired. I'm coming off a crappy work conference which turned my brain to mush: one of those forced-enthusiasm teacher carnivals where they teach us the same strategies people have been doing for decades; they just label it with their latest-and-greatest multi-thousand dollar branding. AVID, this time. "Engaging Students....

My original title was “Measuring How Much Longer Your Conversation Will Continue By The Amount of Burnability Left in Bonfire Logs.” For the sake of brevity, we’ll call that the abstract. I remember working as a student ministries intern at Rock Point. We had a weekly Bible Study which was typically well-attended but seldom fronted much depth of conversation. Pastor Jeff suggested hosting a meeting at my house, hinting that maybe a bonfire would instigate better conversation than weeks prior. I wasn’t totally sure what he meant, until sixteen sweaty students encircled an inferno that would miraculously externalize the hills and valleys of their young lives. Something about staring into flames broke down barriers: kids began to talk about sin and struggles, loneliness and loss, and we blazed (not literally) through pages of Scripture as the Holy Spirit consumed us.  All of a sudden, I was sold. I still don’t know what it is about bonfires that allow the deepest parts of our souls to...

I think in order to combat the looming despair that I can’t actually ascribe measurable value to this list, maybe I’ll conclude with a thorough justification of why certain items beat out others. Or maybe I won’t, and that will have to be okay with you.  That is what I say to myself a lot when composing Sticky Note To-Do Lists. My school laptop has a perfectly suitable place for such a list, so I can keep it on hand at all times and regularly celebrate both the triumphant victory of crossed-off items and also acutely aware of the items yet to accomplish. I love to-do lists. I get it from my mom. It’s surely genetic that we both will write things that we’ve already done simply for the pleasure of crossing it off. You wouldn’t believe the mundane and meticulous tasks I have written simply because I know that once they’re crossed off, I’ll feel like a champion: Shower Play Wordle Read paper Wash stain  And the list goes on. I love lists. But the specificity of sticky note to do l...

Joe (the crushing but cute statistical analyst I married) has found a flaw - not fatal but probably close - in my method. How are these rankings legitimate? How can I prove that Friday Night Lights truly are better than Olive Garden Breadsticks? And my answer to that is that I can’t. Not really, anyway. Subjectively, with words, I can probably try. But there’s no mathematical algorithm to express why one surpasses the other. Much to the dismay of my number-loving husband, you’re just gonna have to take my word for it.  The sixth-place item is a 27-mile rail trail that extends from downtown Indianapolis to the cornfields and horse farms of Sheridan, Indiana. It is a paved trail that crosses creeks, subscends highways, and traces walkers and bikers from the bustle of Broad Ripple to the serenity of golden-grass plans up north. It’s a path that Joe and I have regularly traversed -- to Chipotle in our dating days, multiple runs during our wed-shred engagement, and now (farther north) a...

  I’ll not deny it: I suffer from seasonal depression. Winter brings the blues and I struggle with the early darkness, constant coldness, and overwhelming trapped-insideness that consumes the winter months. January was especially hard as it was accompanied by not only a stressful start of the semester, but also the Whole30. Any joy I might have found from baking cookies or going out to eat was pretty much reduced to dates and green peppers. So it was a beautiful gift, one dreary winter night, to be walking on our apartment complex treadmill (the only treadmill, mind you, which had to be shared by every exercise-striving resident) and to stumble across the TV show Friday Night Lights. I had the place to myself -- it was so cold and slushy that I didn’t anticipate having to hammer out a 20-minute sprint before having to share with the next person in line. I hit play. I had time. 30 minutes in, I couldn’t have been more thankful to be the only person in that workout room. (Spoiler ale...

My dad, though adopted, is the biological grandson of an Italian immigrant, I believe, named Fredrich Sabatini. I feel quite certain he has died, on account of the Fred Sabatini Memorial Scholarship I found online, but can’t seem to locate any sort of obituary. Perhaps it’s like the summer I worked at our city pool - the same city where they just built a downtown plaza and relied on the community to help name it. Our entire lifeguarding staff voted on the name of our boss at the time, followed by Memorial Plaza. She wasn’t dead, and we didn’t even mean it as a bad omen, but she cut our hours and the plaza is called Pike Place.  Anyway, I have many questions about the Fred Sabatini scholarship, but all I can gather is that he was a Logansport lawyer, and maybe he’s not dead after all. What I do know, however, is that whatever trace of Italian blood flows through my veins has left me with a semi-permanent pasta craving, remedied only by America’s favorite inauthentic Italian bistro: ...

I still remember my first bunion. It came after a trip to Belize, when I had taken over a month off of exercise and then jumped right into daily running and lifting. The shoes I had at the time were ill-fitting, which shaped the bones in my foot into a pointy and painful “protuberance” as Michael Scott would say.  I tried numerous remedies for said bunion: ice, rest, open-toed shoes, breaks from running…but the pain persisted, and the bump became a boulder. Brooks were no longer cutting it as running shoes. It was time to try something New.  So I got a pair of New Balances. I always heard that if you see something at the store that you like, don’t buy it right away: see if you can’t stop thinking about it, and then buy it. Such proved to be true with my shiny gray cushioned-soles that expanded wide enough for my blooming bunions to do their morning stretch. I thought about them for four months before finally going back and making the purchase, and it was almost as though I fin...

As a present-day Hamilton County dweller, I would be remiss to not rank the roundabouts that have traced traffic in circles around our town. Hamilton County, Indiana is the roundabout capital of the nation, boasting nearly 200 circular vehicle routes that slow traffic but don’t stop it, although ironically, the process of building the roundabouts across the county can halt traffic for up to an hour at a time. This rebuilding requires rerouting which results in bumper-to-bumper backups down 31 and Oak Road, making us wonder if the work is worth it but trusting the process nonetheless.  My perception of roundabouts was not unlike my perception of dogs. First, I feared them. Then, I realized that if you get to know them, they’re not so bad. Next, I realized you must still proceed with caution, for they can be reckless and unpredictable. Finally, I decided that I don’t mind them…I get the point…I just don’t think everyone HAS to be all about them. This was reiterated by a letter to the...

  In the spirit of The Anthropocene Reviewed, I have a hankering to review some products in my life. My hopes are that by writing a review of various faculties of my day-to-day existence, mundane will move to remarkable.  However, I still have to fend off the ever-present tug of plagiarizing, which means I ought not fall into the temptation of ranking items with one to five stars like John Green did. Instead, I’ll pick ten things in my life - average, run-of-the-mill, completely normal things which I (at worst) tolerate and (at best) adore. And I’ll rank them. Worst to best. The trick here is that my list is not yet complete. Which means I have to pick one thing in my life - not necessarily a bad thing, but not the best thing either - a perfectly average thing - as the starting point. And I have to make sure that the next thing is a slightly better thing than the last thing. Sort of ESPN Top Ten style, the items I’m ranking will gradually get better, leading up to the grand re...

You might have noticed I concluded my last post with "I give it four stars." You might have found that odd. You might be wondering whether my dialogue has morphed into Amazon-review style lingo. The fact of the matter is that I have just finished reading a book by John Green, one of my all-time favorite authors, called The Anthropocene Reviewed, which thoughtfully and cleverly expounds upon components of the anthropocene, this present geological era in which humans inhabit (and sometimes destroy) (and sometimes greatly benefit) the Earth.  Throughout the book, which was mostly written during the Covid shutdown and into spring of 2021, he reviews a wide variety of products, places, experiences, and tendencies of the human era as we live in the world. Every chapter is a review, and every review ends with "I give it __ stars," on a 1-5 scale, as he relates that particular thing to the larger scale of its place in society.  For example, he reviews Monopoly and talks abo...

 We're in the midst of the pinnacle of every teacher's teaching career: Spring Break. This is, after all, why we do what we do -- it's not for the kids. It's for that early-April grading hiatus where the lucky head south and the less-so stay settled for some rest. It's ten days of pure, uninterrupted bliss, R & R, mindless piddling and planning nothing. I'm kidding, of course, but the days leading up to April 1st do make Spring Break seem like a bit of an oasis after years at sea.  Joe and I were sort of a spicy mixer between the lucky and the less-so, heading South for just four (wonderful) days before coming back and getting rest but also getting things done: fixing broken bike tires, new phones, hair appointments, and all the other easy-to-put-off tasks that become backburned amidst the bustle of school.  Florida, in a word, was a rollercoaster. Perhaps a more honest reflection is that I was a rollercoaster, but as I reminisce on our four days on the forg...