Update From Your Friendly Neighborhood City Girl

Hey, all. Just thought I'd check in to the land of the living and give those interested a brief update. :)

I just went to the local farmers' market for the first time. There's something so refreshing about the atmosphere of a farmers' market. It gives you a feeling of simultaneous touristic novelty and civic familiarity. That is, until you ask one of the vendors if they take credit cards, like I did. Then you just feel like a typical clueless city-goer.

The last two weeks have been busy and pleasant. Due to the fact I'm an introvert, I have been feeling very fatigued though everything that's happened has been good. My parents visited us in NC for the first time June 16 through 22, and a few days after that, Ellie and I flew to Norman for a week to attend Laura Piersall's baby shower and visit friends. Seeing old friends greatly uplifted me! As I explained to Chris, by the end of the week I was ready to come home, but not to leave my friends behind. Would that I could take them all with me to Wake Forest, but alas, we cannot always get what we want.

Ellie did great on the plane, in case you were wondering how that went. I tell you, the girl gets more attention from random strangers than the Kardashians get from the tabloids. I guess that's what happens when you're the cutest possible baby of all possible worlds. I often wonder if that will cause a struggle for her if and when a second child comes along. If it does, that could actually be good, since don't we all have to learn at some point that the world doesn't revolve around us?

Also: Ellie is turning into an adorable girly-girl, which makes me mentally giggle with glee . She has recently realized (thanks to Laura), that headbands are pretty decorations for your hair. Therefore, she will incline her head if you hold out a headband to her, and try to put it on herself if you give it to her. She also learned how to brush her hair just by watching me. She's a smart cookie, that one!

Due to the visits and travels, I haven't written anything in a little while. I have, however, been tossing around a few projects in my head. Remember how I wanted to write a systematic theology book for teenage girls? Well, that is morphing into a desire to write a devotional, instead - a hermeneutically sound devotional that doesn't take one verse out of its context in order to make a point (albeit a good point). It is an attainable goal, and will challenge me in many ways - not only in writing, but in prayer and Bible study as well.

I'm also developing ideas for fantasy novel no. 2. Having a blank slate is incredibly freeing and refreshing. There are so many themes and scenes and characters bouncing around in my head waiting to be given life, be thrown out, or be modified and filed away for a later time.

I've read two very good nonfiction books this summer - "When People are Big and God is Small," by Welch, and "Love to Eat, Hate to Eat," by Fitzpatrick. I highly recommend the former to all Christians, particularly those who find that the fear of man (or, to put it euphemistically, "people-pleasing") characterizes the majority of their interactions with the world and others.

I urge anyone woman who struggles with either under- or over-eating - whether out of bad habit or an actual eating disorder/mental and emotional struggle - to read Fitzpatrick's "Love to Eat, Hate to Eat." As someone who has historically struggled with disordered eating and still often with disordered thinking, if you will, I found this book to be the piercing sword of truth I needed to make my heart feel the weight of the wrongness of my physical and mental habits. The author is dead-on about the root of the problem and the source of the solution. It is no surprise that this - the most "spiritual" advice I've read about the topic - has ended up being the most practical advice, as well. If you want to ask more on the topic, please feel free to contact me!

Well, there's a bit of my life in a nice little nutshell. I hope to hear from you, dear reader, in a comment, email, or whatever else you feel like. Until next time.

How Murphy Tried to Hijack Our Girls' Vacation

Murphy's Law: anything that can go wrong, will go wrong.

It was a lovely, sunny Monday, and Ellie and I were all packed up and ready to hit the road to Davis, Oklahoma, with three wonderful girl friends (and one Boy Toddler) who I'll call Sweet, Spirited and Adventurous.

It all started with it being "that time of the month."  Forgive me if that's TMI, but it really does make a difference, which all women - and any men who have spent time around a woman - know. I was desperately trying not to grump around the house, instead repelling my sour mood by baking chocolate cake, eating the chocolate chips as I went, concocting homemade wheat bread, and enjoying my baby's giggles.

Sweet, Spirited and Adventurous were on their way to my apartment, since we were going to split our group into two separate vehicles, my Lexus (aka Pretty Car) included. Just before they arrived, I checked on the wheat bread only to discover it hadn't risen. Instead it had remained a dense, rectangular brick that might or might not be fit for consumption. I bagged and packed it anyway (Ha-hah, you were my lab rats, Sweet, Spirited and Adventurous!).

Moments later, the girls arrived. That's when Spirited realized that she had left Boy Toddler's high chair at home. After she departed to retrieve it, I recalled that I owned a high chair, and she could've just borrowed it. By that time, though, she was already well on her way back to her house.

I later learned that as Spirited was driving away from her house with Boy Toddler's  high chair, she got a phone call from her younger sister. "There's a big box of food here," Younger Sister explained. "Did you mean to take that with you?"

Indeed, Spirited had meant to take it - it contained the ingredients we would need for dinner. She drove back to the house once more and retrieved the food, then rendezvoused with the rest of us at my apartment.

Finally, we were ready to go - Spirited, Boy Toddler and Adventurous loaded into one car, and Sweet, Ellie and I in the other. I turned the keys in Pretty Car's ignition, and that's when Murphy sowed chaos.

All the warning lights - oil, oil temp, engine and battery - blinked on on my instrument panel, and the car would not back out. I pressed down the gas fairly hard to make it reverse at all, and when I began to move, the steering wheel decided to go all ghost-y on me and forcefully lock into forward position, and then the car stopped moving altogether. After stopping and starting the car several times, I decided to put my money on the bet that we probably weren't going to be able to take Pretty Car after all.

Sweet got on the phone with Spirited and Adventurous, who had already started down Lindsey Street for the highway. Meanwhile, I was trying to call Chris over and over without success. As I dialed my dad instead, with Sweet still on the phone trying to explain what was going on, Ellie - who was sticking her little fingers as far inside her mouth as she could manage - scratched the inside of her mouth very hard and burst into loud, pained squalls.  So Sweet jumped out of the car to get and comfort Ellie, whose mouth was bleeding, while I talked to my dad and tried to get my dying car out of the middle of the parking lot.

Fortunately, Sweet's car was still available for use, so she and Adventurous decided to go to Sweet's apartment to get it. Spirited stayed with Ellie and I. I was so frazzled that I decided it might be nice to have a delicious Starbucks drink to lift my spirits, but just when I was about to ask Spirited if she wanted to get one...I remembered I didn't have a car (yeah, yeah, First World problems).

A few minutes later, Spirited gets a call from Sweet. She had just arrived at her apartment and realized that she had left her purse with her car keys behind at my apartment. At this point, Spirited and I looked at each other and started cracking up, because otherwise we might well have cried.

Sweet arrived back, picked up her keys, and she and Adventurous went once again to her apartment to get the car. And I am happy to announce they made it back with no snafus, and we were able to toss the bags and strap the babies into the new vehicle and go.

The rest of the vacation went great, except for the part where I decided to free-climb some rocks and take the path of most resistance back down, whence I got stuck on a ledge with the next good foothold ten feet below me... Besides that, our stay in a lakeside house near Turner Falls was peaceful, gorgeous and refreshing. We shared many great conversations and late-night laughs. Furthermore, my car is now repaired and back at home.

I guess Murphy may have his days, but someone much bigger and much kinder has my life. In the end, the dear reader, it's much easier to see how he has it under control after all.

Welcome to Our Neighborhood.

I'm a tad burnt out on writing serious posts, so here's an introduction to where we live for those of you who have never visited the Krycho apartment.

Our apartment complex is a strange place - its convenient location a few minutes from OU would suggest that it would be filled with college students, but it is instead filled with a mixture of cute families and seedy groups of dubious relations. Despite the speed bumps, it is also a prime place for cars to speed through, often blaring the sweet strains of rap music. 

I don't understand the speeding, especially given the number of children who play right in front of their doorstep where the cars are parked. Though right now, it seems most of the kids have flocked to one of the two swimming pools located on the premises. The swimming pools are a veritable smorgasbord of people-watching pleasure. That is, if you can tolerate the awkward PDA of late-twenties couples who don't seem to be bothered by the fact that there is a maelstrom of six- to ten-year-olds playing Marco Polo beside them. I often see characters at the pool that I don't see anywhere but the pool, and I make it my business to observe as many different people in the complex as possible. 

However, you can be certain you'll see a few particular people on most days. Our very friendly upstairs neighbor walks by our window at least five times a day and is nearly always shirtless. I often wonder if that's his convenient way of not accumulating laundry. This is the same fellow that very kindly let me shoot off a full-sized firework on the Fourth of July, which was great fun. What was not fun is when he shot off another one at 3 in the morning the next day. My first thought on bolting awake was, "Rockets!", my second, "Hope the apartment doesn't catch on fire." I also hoped the baby didn't wake up. She didn't, and neither did my husband.

Another noise you might hear at dark o' clock is a very profane domestic disturbance. These have not occurred so much, as of late, but maybe that's because neighbors, myself included, have had to call 9-1-1 a few too many times. 

The police recently spent three full days hanging out outside my particular apartment building, going in and out of one of our neighbor's apartments. That was interesting. I really wanted to ask them what was going on, knowing the worst they could tell me was, "I can't tell you," but I didn't think that would be very politic - therefore, I refrained. 

See? I have some control over my curiosity. :)

In all of this, I must remember that the neighbors also have to put up with Chris and me. I can't imagine what they must think on hearing Chris sing about munchkins on fire, or about penguins eating my mom's toenails. I also occasionally do strange things, like look out my window until someone walks by who looks like they can help me with a jar of sun-dried tomatoes that I can't get open for the life of me. In this instance it happened to be my brand-new military neighbor. He was in his camo when I darted outside to ask him if he'd open the jar, which he probably thought was the reason I decided he was an ideal candidate to perform this feat of strength. That might've been a little awkward for him, I guess, since I had never introduced myself before, and didn't then. But I'm telling you - that jar was stuck. Maybe only someone military could've opened it. That's what I like to tell myself.

All in all, we live in a neighborhood of fascinating and weird neighbors, but I suppose you don't have to be a normal neighbor to be a good one.

Oh, Oklahoma...

I'll Give it a Fourth Shot

The winds of change are blowing again. I'm about to start my senior year of college. Whoa. Where has the time gone?

I am acutely aware I'll never have a repeat opportunity to be in such close proximity with a large group of peers. Therefore, I don't want to waste the year. OU is both a fantastic social environment and rich mission field for me. I ask myself: what will I do with it?

Then, I remember. I don't "do anything with it."

 I don't regret my first three years of school, even the situations I felt I was failing in at the time. However, I spent those years trying to run my own life, to make sure I wasn't missing any steps. I wanted to "have a ministry," so I ran myself into the ground trying to make that happen. I wanted to be a good friend, so I poured myself out so much that I was not only emotionally dry, but bitter towards others, in the end. I tried to keep tabs on every area of my life out of fear that if I didn't, I would just fly off the handle, sinning right and left, letting my character, academics and social life go to pot.

This year, I will pursue God, and him alone.

Jesus wasn't kidding or mincing words when he said not to be anxious about tomorrow. Paul wasn't joking around or spouting drivel when he said not to be anxious about anything.  I conclude that I cannot fix my life by doing exactly what the Bible says not to.

All this time, I have pursued perfection. I have relinquished control in one area only to pick up another and insist that this one is the one I need to micromanage in order to "please God." Doing things right becomes an idol as soon as I start desiring it over God.

No more worrying about how I'm going to ensure that I don't squander my last year at the University of Oklahoma. The time I have on this earth is best spent getting to know the God who gives me the ability to do everything worth anything. As I do, he will move, I am sure of it. He always has, and he never, ever changes.

Chris and Me, Avril and Me

Hi, everyone.

I've been sliiiightly out of commission this last week. I didn't make a Krychocosm, for one, but I think that's pretty excusable, considering the fact that Chris and I were out of town for our friends David and Bethany's wedding from Friday to Sunday, and Sunday was our first anniversary. We got all gussied up fancy-shmancy went to Cheesecake Factory.

Photo courtesy eataroundokc.com

Then, we stayed at the gorgeous Skirvin-Hilton hotel in OKC!

Photo courtesy www1.hilton.com

Also, there are pretty flowers sitting on my coffee table.

Isn't that awesome? God is good.

In the car yesterday, Chris and I were listening to Avril Lavigne's Let Go.  Great memories. I am unashamed that that CD is still one of my favorites -- not only does Avril have a beautiful voice, I identify (and did in the past) with many of her songs.

My mentioning this sparked an interesting conversation, in which I tried to explain why I -- very normal (well...), very girlish and very peppy -- felt so in touch with very punk, very edgy and very angst-y Avril. In fact, since Let Go came out,  my heart has hurt for her many times as I listened to the sad stories contained in her songs.

Chris listened to the lyrics of "Anything But Ordinary" and said, "Okay, I can see why you identify with her, in some good ways and bad ways." For example: A good way is that, as the song says, "I'd rather be anything but ordinary, please." A bad way is my unhealthy restlessness and discontent, reflected in the lyrics, "Is it enough to love? Is it enough to breathe?" And later, "[I'll do] anything to make me feel alive."

I mused that I wasn't sure someone like Avril and I would be friends if we actually knew one another. Then, the thought hit me (hear me out on it): There are really only a few types of people in the world.

I think we all have our categories of pain and insecurity that overlap with a larger chunk of humanity than we can fully comprehend. At the same time we're utterly unique, we're also so very similar. Isn't that crazy?

P.S. More not-so-happy mail. Got a manuscript back today that I've sent in twice (graciously, the editor let me make corrections and try again the first time). Once again, she made edits and said to fix it up and send it back to her. Meh. Let's try this dance again...

Tales from the CART

I ride the CART bus to and from school every day--it's a fun and educational experience. You never know what kind of characters you will meet or observe.

One thing I've noticed is that when passengers make small talk with each other or the driver, they always discuss the weather. I won't be pharisaical--I do it, too. It's easy to discuss the weather in Oklahoma because the weather's so erratic. A typical conversation goes like this:

"Hi, how're ya doin'?"
"Good! Jus' enjoying the weather. I thought it was gonna be so hot today, but the temper'ture dropped to seventy. I jus' wish it would make up its mind!"
*chuckles* "Yeeeah...I tell ya..."

I thought the age-old joke about filling conversation gaps with weather-talk was just that: an age old joke. Even if it wasn't I joke, I was sure it only applied to the British. It turns out that it's surprisingly true here today.

---

On my ride home today, an old man slipped into the seat across the aisle from me. I tapped a text message into my env2 as the bus bumped down Lindsey Street (I was discussing Atticus Finch with Annie). Out of nowhere, the man leaned over with squinted eyes on my phone.

"Is that a...phone?"
"Uh-huh."
"Ah." *nods and turns away*

I conclude that he thought it was a miniature laptop.

           Photo courtesy ActionWireless.com

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I have a dear, elderly bus-driver friend named Tom. When I first met Tom, we exchanged the typical biographical information, and I told him I was from Texas.
He proceeded to say in his thick Oklahoma accent that he "wasn't just saying this because you're from Texas," but in his opinion, the prettiest squirrels come from Texas.
The prettiest what? I cracked up.
He didn't seem to think it a weird or funny statement at all, and began to explain further.
A bit later, I realized he said the prettiest girls, not squirrels.