Monkey Bread

Tonight, I decided to bake something. In all honesty, I probably would have baked about any ol' recipe that popped up on the screen, but I really wanted something sweet, something challenging and most importantly, something which I had the ingredients to make. I found a recipe for a "coffee cake" that was really monkey bread and I thought- "Eh! Why not?"

It's probably always a good idea to read the comments at the bottom of the online recipe. Phrases such as, "took me four hours" and "really time consuming" are always a helpful way to gauge how much you really need to have this particular food dish. I didn't read them.

I have a thing. Well, I have many things, but I have this one thing about following directions. I will, if at all possible, avoid following directions even if only in the most innocuous, mundane ways. For example, the recipe called for warm milk and I refused. I'm sure this had some incredibly significant effect on the bread and I know it would have taken me the enormous amount of time to press "reheat" on the microwave, but Noooo. Not me, I thought to myself. Maybe everyone else who made this warmed their milk, but me- HA!

Honestly, please tell me, why can't I just follow the darn instructions? Because I'm actually having to spend more time thinking about ways to not follow the directions rather than just DOING WHAT THEY SAY.

I'm writing this post before the darn thing even comes out of the oven. Tonight I have washed more dishes than anyone should ever have to wash in a single sitting. So many dishes, in fact, that my neck hurts from staring at the sink. I have gotten my hands sticky (ew), I have flour smeared across my midsection and I used an ungodly amount of butter for this silly adventure but I feel fabulous! I feel like my entire universe is balanced. Everytime I remove something from the oven I think about how amazing it is that separate entities could become one with as little effort as stirring and heating.

We live in a beautiful, incredible world. Why not go on an adventure with your cooking supplies and your own stubborn, willful self? Oh- there's the timer. Better go see if this recipe is worth keeping!

Striving for Naught

I spent nearly 15 hours this weekend at a competition for solo singing. I competed in two catagories, musical theatre and classical singing and had a total of eight pieces that I had been slaving over for the past two months. For the record, the competition was great experience and I didn't crash and burn. But I had plenty of time (in between the singing, warming up, actual performance and subsequent agonizing over the mistakes) to contemplate the nature of competition.

I saw a variety ways in which people deal with competing exemplified this weekend:

#1. "Nailed It"

Unfortunately the most common attitude in the singing world- the "nailed it" competitor walks out of the room feeling not just confident, but assured of a win. When asked how it went, this person with respond, with a chuckle, "Oh, it was fine... no mistakes. They loved it." If no one else around them giggles, one can only assume they were being serious and then can catagorize them as a "nailed it" competitor. This person, if informed they were not the winner, will not be able to understand why they were not the best. They will roll their eyes and give you lists of reasons why the judges were biased. Watch out for "nailed it" conspiracy theorists: aka "Well, if you ask me, the entire competition is rigged because..."

#2. "Poor Me"

The slightly less popular, but ever present, competitor attitude is the "Poor Me". These creatures have, apparently, never experienced a day in which they were in "good voice". They are always plugged up, snotty and flemish; adjectives which, ironically, usually describe their personalities as well. When this person leaves the competition, they are never surprised that the judges "hated them" because they were not having a good day, the room was too dry, the piano was out of tune and, finally, they really just weren't having a good vocal day.

#3. "Eh..."

Strangely enough, the smallest percentage of competitors fit into this catagory. Sometimes "eh.."s will lean towards "Poor Me" but they rarely lean towards nailed it. The "eh..." sees their performance for what it was: the best they could have done. They realize that there may have been flaws and that there were also probably great moments. They are able to realize that judges aren't the voice of God, but rather just people asked for their opinion. The classic "eh.." can separate themselves from their score.

There are, of course, more types of competitors, but these three seem to describe the majority of the people I encountered this weekend. The problem with singing competitions is that the singer cannot put his instrument away. There is walking away from the music, but never away from the voice. When a judge critiques the voice or the performance, the singer must fight to distinguish the criticism of his instrument from criticism of himself.

In one catagory I was given a "superior" rating and a "good" rating by two separate judges. I was told one of my songs was "wonderful" and then told the same song "didn't show you off vocally or dramatically." One said my pianos were spot on and one said they didn't like the dynamic levels. Two judges said that my register changes were great and the other one suggested that I work on my register changes. If I spent time trying to please everyone or taking all of those words to heart, I'd implode.

But I walked away from the weekend with the knowledge that I am loved. The judges may not have loved me, the other singers certainly didn't love me, and I may have not loved myself all that much after reading all of those criticisms. But in the deep recesses of my mind, I know that I am loved by God and by the people who matter. I could come in dead last place every time. I could be told that I should never sing again. God still loves me.

I could win every time. I could be told that I was the most amazing singer they'd ever heard. God doesn't love me any more. See, not only are my works not enough to gain God's love, but my talents aren't going to get me anywhere either. God gave us our talents to glorify Him! Being more talented than others doesn't mean diddley squat to Him.

So if you think you may be a "Nailed It" or a "Poor Me" when it comes to competition, perhaps you should join me in my quest to be more "Eh..." ish. I want to put my successes aside and focus on the fact that I am loved completely and totally as well as separately from any accolades, works or wins that I may accrue.

Plus, "Nailed It" and "Poor Me" just get tiring for both those saying it and those listening. So, there's that...

Excuse me pretty baby but I always take the long way home...

It's a rare Winter Wonderland outside today and I have been feeling pretty sentimental... Here's why:

#1. I live in a home built on a mountain. I hear the wind howling past the walls and whipping through the trees as I am falling asleep. There is nature crowding in around me at all hours of the day, poking its head through my superficial fog and reminding me of what beauty means. Today, I look outside and I see trees weighed down with inches of snow as light as powdered sugar but still heavy when piled on and I am reminded of how grace can cover our mistakes as smoothly and as gracefully (no pun intended) as the white blanket that fell over the world last night.

#2. I found a bird yesterday. It had been snowing an hour and as I walked to my car, snowflakes falling in my hair and landing in my eyelashes, I nearly stepped on a ball of feathers on the asphalt. I stopped, looked and realized it was a bird. Benji, who was with me warned that it was a dead bird carrying diseases, but I reached down and picked the golf sized ball of fluff up anyways. Have you ever held a bird in your hand? It is an experience that makes you feel like Snow White at her finest. There is a disbelief that floods your mind as you look down at an altogether flighty creature that is now curled up in your palm with no intentions of moving. I clutched the small green and yellow bird to my chest, trying to determine whether it was injured or just cold. I couldn't find any wounds or broken bones, and so I just stood and stared at it as it clung to my dress. A group of men crowded around me, inquiring if they could "pet" it. As I stared at grown males who were now acting like second grade girls, I realized that it doesn't matter how old or manly you may be: a bird in someone's palm fills you with wonder. The bird couldn't come home with me but I didn't feel okay just tossing it into the cold so I found a tree with a Y at the bottom and placed my scarf in a nest like bundle on the ledge. I put the little bird in the scarf and watched as it tucked its little head into its shoulder and huddled down into its warm bed. As I walked away, I said a little prayer.

#3. Things are rough, emotionally, for me. I feel wounded and vulnerable. And yet, with every hurt and disappointment, I feel God's grace finding me at an even deeper level. Here I am, worried sick about this and that, and a bird and a blanket of snow are placed at my doorstep all within a 24 hour period. HE shows His love for me in ways that are individual and personal. He loves me enough to know my innermost desires; ones like peace (a wintery morning) and fulfillment (tucking a bird into a warm scarf). I am loved by a Savior that knows who I am and what I need.

Norah Jones sings: "Excuse me pretty baby, but I always take the long way home." I do too. And do you want to know why? Because the long way home is marked with beauty. On the long way home, I get a chance to think, to contemplate, to romanticize. And I want my reality to be the kind that I find on the long way home.