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I don't do New Year's resolutions... Never have. Never will.

It probably has something to do with the fact that I don't like doing the "in" thing. If everyone else is doing it, count me out... even if it's something I know I'd like and could possibly be beneficial for my life. I'd rather wait for the hype to pass and then delve into whatever it was that somehow managed to capture the attention of everyone else. Being associated with the "crowd" seriously gives me the heebie-jeebies.

New Year's resolutions are one of those things I avoid like the plague. Along with a certain singer whose name rhymes with "fever".

I like the concept. I like setting goals (believe me, I'm an awesome goal-setter). It's the follow through that bothers me. Or really, lack of follow through.

Because really, how many of us actually keep our New Year's resolutions throughout the entire year? How many of us actually reach the goals we set for ourselves? How many of us give up only after one week? Or two days?

If I made resolutions, I can promise you I'd fall into the latter category. Every. Single. Time.

Just the other day, I told the Mr. that we really need to start making an effort to workout. Because we're not getting any younger, and I'm pretty sure our occasional Ramen-noodle diet is going to do some serious things to our heart.

Serious as in not good things.

So, being the naturally compliant husband he is, he said "Ok."

Simple as that. Accountability made.

Later that day, he broached the topic. While I was in the middle of eating a bowl of peppermint ice cream, mind you.

The Mr: "So, are we going to go workout tonight?"

Me: "Uh, no."

The Mr.: "Well, you said you wanted to. I'm just making the effort."

Me: "It's too late...and cold."

The Mr: "Ok. Just asking."

And that's how I single-handedly broke a goal I'd made not even 6 hours earlier.

So New Year's resolutions? Um, rather not. 

Despite my reluctance to set resolutions, I do desire change. I want to intentionally start the year off right. I want this year to be better than the last. I want to seize opportunities by the horn and not let them go.

I read a blog over at (in)courage this morning that really got me thinking. It talked about "rewriting" our New Year's resolutions and choosing ONE word to sum up who you want to be and how you want to live this year. One word to guide your thoughts, your actions, and your purposes throughout the year. One word by which to shape everything you do each and every day.

My word for the New Year is more.

Not as in more money. More stuff. More opportunity. More pursuits.

More as in more love. More grace. More trust. More truth. More faith. More commitment. More intentionality. More understanding. More sacrifice.

...and less self-focus.

As I think about the year ahead, I see more. I see the unraveling of a purpose that will lead to more of the good things and less of the bad. I see opportunities that will create more trust in God and who He says I am. I see a chance for more growth - personally, relationally, and spiritually. When I look 2014 in the face, I see God doing more in and through my life.

So I don't have a resolution. I don't have a list of measurable goals that I'll forget about in five seconds.

I have an intentionality to seek out the more and become more to those around me.

 

Happy New Year!

Love Josh, Alexis, The Holy Terror & Miss-Priss

This One's to You

Six years ago, I met a girl who changed my perspective on life.

And people.

Our encounter was brief in comparison to all of the people I've met since then. Our time together nothing more than a blip on my radar.We were quite the unlikely pair, she and I.

She, dressed in black from head to toe, hid beneath the hair always covering her face. I, dressed in whatever would cover me the most, hid beneath the face of perfection. She lived in the world where “numb” was the only available emotion; I lived in the world that never ran out of tears.

We didn’t meet in the most ideal of circumstances. In fact, we were both pretty much as far “rock bottom” as rock bottom can get.

I didn’t plan on talking to anyone there. With my face toward the white expanse and my chair back against the room, I was pretty much unapproachable.

She found me, nevertheless.

As she sat down at the table and turned her chair toward mine, I was already planning an excuse to hightail it out of there. There were “weirdos” here, and I wanted nothing to do with any of them. As I formulated my escape plan, she started talking to me.

“What are you doing?”

I’m pretty sure I looked at her like she was an idiot at this point. I mean, how much more obvious could staring at the wall be? Did I need to put up a sign saying, “Staring at Wall. Do Not Disturb”? Don’t worry though, I appeased her.

“Knitting a scarf, and-after lunch-I’ll be sewing mittens to match.”

It must have been my charm that encouraged her to keep on talking…because she did.

“Why are you here?”

“I have issues.”

She sat there for a moment and then said, “Yeah, me too.”

Wow. Shocker. All that time I had been thinking she was there on vacation.

She joined me at that table and never left. Every free moment, she sat there, sharing her story with me. As I listened to her life, I realized that she was not much different than me. Yes, the events were different. Deep down, however, she and I were cut from the same cloth. We both felt invisible in a big, scary world, and we both tried to gain the attention we craved any way we could.

“Sometimes I would give anything for someone to notice me.”

She told me this after showing me her scars. Scars that spoke of deep pain she couldn’t even name. Scars that cried out for attention. Scars that wanted to be seen and touched.

Scars that would never take the pain away.

I don’t remember her name. I didn’t keep the phone number that she stuffed in my hands before she left. I don’t even remember the school she told me she went to.

All I remember is her story and its theme.

She comes to my mind often. I pray that she has found some source of healthy attention, but parts of me doubt it. Statistics show that the majority of teens who leave the institutions of the world return worse than they came in. They have no hope. All they see is what they know, and what they know holds no hope.

So they end up back in the arms of institutions, hospitals, and-eventually-jails.

It’s really all so sad.

Her struggle is not so foreign. We all want to be noticed. We all want to be seen. None of us want to be invisible, so we gain the attention any way we can. Some of us act out, holding the belief that any attention is better than no attention at all. Some of us chase perfection, believing that it will fill all of our needs. Some of us cling in desperation to every person we know, terrified of that moment they decide we are not worthy enough to be seen. Some of us create hopeless situations that warrant the need of a savior.

And we wait and wait and wait for that savior to come…only he never does. The human hero will never be able to save you, no matter how fancy his hero cape.

There is hope, though. There is someone who sees you in the midst of your pain, and He’s waiting for you to stop chasing human heros and look to Him. He has His own scarred hands. Scars that speak of your pain. Scars that speak of your own hopelessness. Scars that speak of the victory He has won for you.

He bore your scars so you would have no need for your own.

The truth is, we all struggle with wanting to be seen. We all fear becoming invisible. Some of us just go farther for attention than others. Some of us go all the way to rock bottom, and those of us who have been there can testify that even rock bottom will not make a difference.

God sees you, no matter where you are.

Think of Hagar, the unseen woman who said of God, “You are the God who sees me” (Genesis 16:13). Think of David, who again and again thanked God for seeing him and rescuing him from the pit. Think of Paul, who lived with absolute assurance that God saw him and knew him. Think of Jesus, confident and secure in the knowledge that He was loved and seen by the Most High God.

My friend, you don’t have to battle for attention here on this earth. You don’t have to chase one image after another. All you have to do is rest in Him, for He sees you even from the darkest place.

I don’t know where she is today, but God knows. He sees her, and He feels her pain. Where I, as a human, could not heal her, He can. He can go in and heal her wounds from the inside out.

And He will.

Living Life with #NoFilter

 

 

I was scrolling through my Facebook feed the other day when I saw it.

A pregnancy announcement.

Again.

Lately it seems that all of our friends and acquaintances are moving on to that "next" phase in life. The baby phase. The phase that seems to move you from the plateau of "just married" to "you've finally arrived".

Or so it seems.

The funny thing about social media is that it makes you care about things you never cared about before. Jealousy and insecurity creep in through the posts of someone else's highlight reel. Doubt lingers as you compare your life to theirs.

"Am I where I'm supposed to be?"

"Should I be doing what they're doing?"

"How do I get from here to there?"

Vacation photos become aspirations. Self portraits become thieves of confidence. Job announcements become goals to attain.

In the margins between my screen and my life, I begin to write new goals. New dreams. New aspirations... because mine just don't seem to be "enough".

Life is summarized by pictures that are perfect and words that are poised, and - if we don't look hard enough - we'll fall for the façade.

We'll believe that our lives are significantly less. We'll begin measuring our day to day lives with the posts we see on Facebook and Instagram. We'll compare our ordinary and mundane with the highlights of someone else's life.

And we'll convince ourselves that that is what life is really like.

The highlights.

Life doesn't consist of just the highlights, though. It's full of highs, sure. But it's also full of lows and in-betweens. It's messy and scary and sometimes it falls short of our expectations.

Life cannot be summarized in a Facebook post. Life cannot be represented by a picture on Instagram. Life is meant to be lived. Authentically. Truthfully. Unfiltered.

Is social media bad? Not necessarily. It keeps us connected to friends and loved ones positioned all around the world. It allows us to celebrate the highs of life and come together for the lows. It inspires us. It propels us to move forward and do good things. It helps us spread our messages of hope.

When used correctly, it can become a beautiful avenue for living life authentically.

It's all in how you use it.

The problem with social media is not with social media itself. The problem is with us and how we receive what we see and what we read. Jealousy and discontentment are not byproducts of social media; they are byproducts of ourselves. They are the overflow of our doubts and insecurities, projected onto someone else.

When we learn to accept our lives for what they are, our perspectives will change. We won't be so focused on what everyone else is doing. Our value won't be determined by the milestones of somebody else. Our worth won't be tied to where we're positioned in the rat race of life.

And in that moment, it won't matter what anyone else is doing. It won't matter that your life hasn't turned out like everyone in your age group or graduation class. It won't matter that you're married or unmarried, with kids or without kids. It won't matter that you don't own a house or take vacations twice a year.

None of that will matter because you know that you are right where you are supposed to be.

Here.

Now.

Today.

And even an Earlybird filtered photo can't change that.

Season Number What?

So this happened last night:


And it was epic.

I mean, seriously, what did we ever do without Pinterest? How did wives around the world know what to make for dinner every. single. night?

I don't know, but it's a mystery to me.

Other than managing to actually make dinner twice (gasp!) this week, our week has been fairly uneventful.

Unless you count the fact that Season 2 of Chicago Fire started this week. That was pretty eventful. Mainly for the Mr. because he started getting inundated with questions that sounded oddly like, "Has God told you of His plans to make you a firefighter yet?"

Yes, I'm sure the Mr. is super excited to have that show back in the weekly rotation.

Four months after our move, we are finally starting to get back into what some would call a "routine". People our age would probably call it succumbing to our elderly ways but hey - it is what it is. I've already accepted the fact that the Mr. and I are drastically different from our peers.

Mainly due to the fact that we prefer to go to bed at 8:30 and are severely allergic to anything with the word "fun" in it.

Just kidding. We are totally fun people.

If you're 35.

Anyway, as I was saying, the move took some adjusting but we are finally in a place that feels like home. Not necessarily because we're in Texas (although I will gladly support that theory), but mainly because for the first time in our lives together we feel like we are right where we're supposed to be. It hasn't been easy; that's for sure. We've had to give up quite a few comforts to walk this path, but it's been worth it.

We've been ready for something new for a long time.

When the Mr. and I met, we were both in uncertain places in our lives. Spiritually we teetered on the edge, unsure of how to move forward. He was burnt out on church in general, and I was struggling to balance what I knew to be true of God with my relapse into all things bad. Emotionally we were both a mess: desperate to please everyone around us and struggling with some deep-rooted insecurities and doubts. Add to that the fact that, after almost a year and a half in recovery, I walked right back into the eating disorder that I had struggled with for 6 years.

It was a chaotic time.

The thing I love about our relationship is that we've been able to grow together. Neither of us are the same person we were when we met... and that's a good thing. We've grown in our faith through the trials we've faced (both individually and jointly). We've developed better coping skills so we can actually deal with life rather than run from it. We've established better boundaries so our relationships are healthy, and we've finally come to accept ourselves for who we are rather than who we'd like to be.

And after all that growth and change, we're ready for a new chapter. Full of new growth and new change. One of our joint dreams and desires has always been that our lives would make an impact and be a catalyst for good. Before I moved to Colorado and long before I met the Mr., that's where my life was heading. I had a passion to share my story and spread the message that there is hope in this world. I started writing a book for girls who struggled with eating disorders. My mess had become my message, and I was passionate about my purpose in life.

Those dreams were pivotal in my decision to move to Colorado and join a church plant. Looking back, I know that the journey was directed by God... even if it didn't turn out exactly as I had planned. I walked away from a lot during my 3 years in Colorado and am just now starting to understand the price I paid.

I lost my passion and didn't want to be associated with my message anymore. When I finally got my life back together, I wanted nothing to do with my past. I didn't want people to know who I was, where I came from, and the struggles that had shaped me. I wanted a new start, a new life.

What I didn't realize, though, was my past will always be a part of my present. When I discredit that part of my story, I'm discrediting everything God has done for my life thus far.

And He has done so much.

All that to say that the Mr. and I are finally at a place where we're ready to be used. All that we've been through together has brought us to where we are now - a new chapter. A new journey.

Which, if I have my way, that journey will include the important things in life.

Like cupcakes and fire trucks.

Real-Life Marriage

The past six weeks have been weird, to say the least. The Mr. finally took the risk and left the Chicken Coop for good. While I'm sad about the fact that he won't be able to supply me with an endless amount of my former favorite fast food, I am happy that I get to see his face more often than not.

He has 7 more weeks of training before his "real" schedule begins, so we get to enjoy an actual 2 day weekend for 7 more weeks. We don't even know what to do with ourselves. I keep researching day trips to take, but by the time the weekend rolls around all we want to do is collapse on the couch and not move until Sunday.

Plus, we can't really go too far from home because of aforementioned high-maintenance dogs. I still haven't met someone capable of handling their extreme levels of high-maintenance.

Although they do seem to like my sister... maybe I can bribe her with Red Vines.  

And books.

This year has been a growing experience, that's for sure. Not only have we moved cross-country (positive), undergone two major job changes in two months (positive-negative...can you say just plain stressful?!), but we're also coming up on our second year of marriage.

Which means that we've almost survived two years of figuring out this thing called marriage without killing each other.

Or severely damaging each other's morale. I'd say that's a win-win situation.

Seriously, though... marriage? It's hard. Not only is there no in-depth, step-by-step instruction manual for every possible scenario, but there are close to a million opinions and perspectives that can leave you scratching your head for days wondering how that was supposed to help.

And the movies? Marriage is nothing like you see in the movies. Real-life marriage is messy and raw. It's about making sure that you take the time to think about the other person in every situation and learning to not be so selfish. It's about compromise and "I'm sorry". It's about joining together two very different people (with two very different backgrounds) for the sake of one cause.

It's about dying to yourself and loving the other person even though they breathe loudly.

Not that that's an issue.

I've learned a lot about life in the past (almost) two years of marriage. I've learned that life is not always fair and sometimes you just really don't need to "win" that argument. I've learned that more often than not, the best reply is silence (not the silent treatment kind... the "I really want to tell you exactly what I'm thinking but I won't because I love you and I won't feel that way tomorrow" kind). I've learned that two people can conquer anything when they are united and don't let outside influences sway them.

And there are a lot of influences that want to sway. Some well-meaning, some not.

The most important thing I've learned about marriage is that it can only survive with a whole lot of prayer. Because even the most promising, well-meaning marriages can fall short. Even the most grounded and secure couples can give a little to outside influences and watch their marriages crumble. I've seen it, and I've felt it happen even in our short two years.

Every so often, we get comments about being married so young. We get the "why would you want to throw your life away already?" questions and the "it's not going to last" comments. We get the looks, and we get the lectures from older generations about how awful marriage really is. We get all of that, but it's not what we hold onto.

What we hold onto are the stories of people just like us. People in real-life, messy marriages. People who realize that marriage is hard but wouldn't trade it for anything. The people who look at us and remember what it was like when they were young and in love.

Those are the people we listen to. Those are the people who inspire us.

Because in the end, it's not about an age or particular milestone passed. It's not about what your family says or what society thinks. It's about love and commitment. It's about knowing beyond a shadow of a doubt that your life is better because that person is in it

And it's about not getting mad when they drink too loudly...or when their dog is just a little too high maintenance.

I Blame My Parents for This One

Last night, someone (namely my husband) had the great idea to drive around Boerne and look for a neighborhood my parents had been telling us about. I only agreed because my mouth was full of frozen yogurt, and I wasn't about to complain about the gas we would be wasting driving around since apparently I am a "fun sucker".

His words, not mine. Apparently it's a mortal sin to be concerned about the price of gas now days.

So it's 8:00 at night, and we're driving around Boerne in circles looking for Champion High School (because that's the only part of the location we remembered my parents saying). The problem with finding said high school, however, is that neither our iPhones nor our GPS could locate it.

So we're driving around in circles, Josh is talking about how he knows we're just about to find it, and all I can think about is how I should have never asked for frozen yogurt in the first place. Because if there's one thing I hate more than wasting gas, it's driving around aimlessly looking for a specific location.

Eventually I busted out the Google map on my phone and found the high school. {God bless Google. It is superior in all location-finding aspects.}

We finally found the neighborhood, and as we drove in, my heart decided to stop beating. I was expecting a little run-down neighborhood full of cute, but character-filled houses because my parents said it looked like a neighborhood we could afford for our first home buying experience.

Uh, no.

My parents, apparently, have more faith in our financial situation than we do. Because this neighborhood was Alexis' house heaven (which translates into "we couldn't touch it for, like, 10 years").

I'm serious. I had found my dream neighborhood.

As we drove around looking at the new, cottage-esque houses, I tried to brainstorm ways to save thousands upon thousands of dollars for a down payment within a year. All I could come up with was selling our dogs on the Black Market, trying to figure out how to work that complicated website called Elance, writing stellar article content that would entice magazines to publish me, or winning the lottery.

They are all very far-fetched goals.

In an effort to torture ourselves even more, we kept driving around and drooling over said dream houses. Josh kept talking about how we could raise our kids here and look! There's an elementary school! You love elementary schools! {Yes, I do. If I didn't think I'd go crazy being around kids all day, I would totally be a teacher. Just so I could spend my days basking in all the goodness that is elementary schools.}

We eventually stopped our neighborhood-stalking efforts and drove home. On the way home, I declared that I was totally ok with living in an apartment for the next ten years if we could buy one of those houses as our first home. Because once I've found what I want, you know I will never settle for anything less.

Josh agreed, and I sentenced myself to ten years of apartment living. Just to torture myself even more, I went online to look at the houses and get an idea of their prices.

What I found made me so excited that I jumped up & down and did the happy dance. Because - in my little dream neighborhood - I found some houses that we could afford when it's time to buy a house.

I guess I should thank my parents for telling me about that neighborhood after all.

{If the Mr. thought I was frugal when it came to gas now, he has no idea what's about to hit him.}

The Andrews Cookie-Making Dilemma

It's officially Friday, and that can mean a lot of things.

This week it means that I am trying to get as much work done as possible as early as possible, so I can bake some awesome treats for the Annual Andrews Family Reunion.

I was voluntold to make them, in case you were wondering.

If you don't know what voluntold means, you must not know an Andrews woman.

To give you an idea, the Mr.'s motto is that you "never cross an Andrews woman or tell them what to do". Unless you're an Andrews woman, that is.

I've trained him right.

Anywho, this whole figuring out what to bake for the Family Reunion has been stressful. So stressful, in fact, that I've even considered skipping out on it altogether because my creative baking ideas were seriously lacking.

I would have strongly considered it if it weren't for the fact that I'm pretty sure said-Andrews women would hunt me down with a pitchfork and force me out of my humble abode.

Especially since I've missed the past three years of Andrews fun.

So in the middle of trying to attend to my sick-y husband yesterday, crank out some work projects and wish I was the one laying on the couch instead of the Mr., I looked up as many dessert recipes on Pinterest as I could find.

There were a lot, by the way. Pinterest is, after all, anything if not plethoric.

{By the way, I totally just Googled "Is plethoric even a word?". It is... in case you were wondering.}

I found a lot of recipes that I wanted to try and a lot that I wanted to remake. However, the problem with me picking out recipes is that I tend to choose the most complicated recipes that are required to set for hours... or days.

Like this one:

Source: http://www.globalgourmet.com

So those were immediately tossed out of the idea bag.

After realizing that I am not Super Woman and cannot simultaneously get all dolled up, crank out work, and bake heavenly treats, I made the executive decision to just make cookies.

But not just any kind of cookies. These cookies:


Source: picky-palate.com

I'm pretty sure I gained five pounds just looking at them.

But that's ok because I totally need to gain five pounds so I can fit into these shorts at Banana Republic:

Source: bananarepublic.gap.com

I don't see any potential roadblocks to making these cookies. Well, unless you factor in the fact that HEB may not - in fact - carry the crucial cinnamon chips.

My grandma Susie, by the way, is convinced that HEB makes the decision to discontinue items solely based on her debit card purchases at said establishment. So if that's the case, they probably won't have said chips and my cookie making will be doomed to failure.

If that's the case, I'll just have to make these:

Source: http://www.doughmesstic.net

Because you've always got to have a good back-up plan.