tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-64727730647236119772024-03-07T11:36:07.396-08:00Spirit 105.3 Sarah Taylorwww.spirit1053.comSarah Taylorhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11513144970931290816noreply@blogger.comBlogger230125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6472773064723611977.post-12025687329742250632011-06-01T15:00:00.001-07:002011-06-01T15:01:16.569-07:00God, Do You See Me?<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgjRYCyCSYzjFEiw8wkPfrarx5woqvrmWuf3Lc0KAnr2uZH53UBHoRY85AAo0W_Imc4u96TgdZTNlhpvU8ww5-lTI7L3tiivR4rZm6Vtn_HKhl6v8YAt_WZLUdlYBD7ZATsN9KCq3qTJdM/s1600/Tiny+Dancer.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 238px; height: 320px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgjRYCyCSYzjFEiw8wkPfrarx5woqvrmWuf3Lc0KAnr2uZH53UBHoRY85AAo0W_Imc4u96TgdZTNlhpvU8ww5-lTI7L3tiivR4rZm6Vtn_HKhl6v8YAt_WZLUdlYBD7ZATsN9KCq3qTJdM/s320/Tiny+Dancer.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5613374753563285394" /></a><br />It was a deer-in-headlights moment.<br /><br />Our daughter was on stage for her first ballet recital. I had forgotten to warn her about those bright stage lights beforehand, which meant she wouldn’t be able to see us in the audience. In an instant, I saw her searching eyes and anxiety. Although we could see her just fine, all she saw was darkness.<br /> <br />I wanted to shout out: “I’m here, sweetheart! I SEE YOU!” but that would have been inappropriate. It broke my heart and she was near tears.<br /><br />How often is this me when I’m talking to God? <em>Jesus, I need you! Do you see me? I can’t see you!</em><br /> <br />At the end of the dance, the stage lights went off and the house lights came up. My husband and I sprung from our seats and waved frantically until Olivia's eyes caught ours. Relief washed over her face the second she spotted us.<br /><br /><em>We can’t see Him yet. But we trust that He’s there.</em><br /> <br />Bring those houselights up soon, Lord.Sarah Taylorhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11513144970931290816noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6472773064723611977.post-18605363297359444322011-01-10T13:45:00.000-08:002011-01-10T13:50:56.769-08:0010,900Usually when you hit a “rollover” birthday, you get some pretty funny cards and text messages. <br /><br />I loved my friend Callies, which said: <em>Inside every 30 year old is an 18 year old asking “What happened?” </em><br /><br />I loved Callies husbands text: <em>Happy Birthday, ya ol’ bag a bones.</em><br /><br />I loved Taras handwritten note: <em>Glad you’re going first.</em><br /><br />I loved that my husband bought me an incredibly conservative dress from Nordstrom which he deemed “age-appropriate” and we laughed and laughed. <br /><br />But the card that got me good was the one from my mom. <br /><br />Although it didn’t make fun of me. It didn’t say I was old. <br /><br />In her beautiful handwriting, the front of the envelope read: <em>10,950 days</em><br /><br />The card mentioned that not a day goes by that she doesn’t’ think about me, care about me and wish good things for me. <br /><br />Inside, I found this:<br /><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjctC_vUeqtxAW4vUcOJ3ZtFUeZCdPK4WwY-V_2XUZ4bCakidmJUi8j3DLaPbzECeT62wNXZOTDXSCe1Px_R5Nt6Fv7huN3LkDEPPyrZE1DDTCp36PNVhqFwjeWjh5h9-uY5ei0D3RBUJ8/s1600/10900.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjctC_vUeqtxAW4vUcOJ3ZtFUeZCdPK4WwY-V_2XUZ4bCakidmJUi8j3DLaPbzECeT62wNXZOTDXSCe1Px_R5Nt6Fv7huN3LkDEPPyrZE1DDTCp36PNVhqFwjeWjh5h9-uY5ei0D3RBUJ8/s320/10900.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5560677296399742674" /></a><br /><br />My eyes got misty because I think about how I feel about my own daughter, now four. I know the feeling of always holding on to someone in your heart. And I only have 1,460 days of this down…. My mom has me beat by so many! <br /><br />Some people said “Happy Birthday, Sarah” but the truth is, “Way to go, Robin!” on surviving 10,950 days of newborn cries, toddler antics, first days of school, sick days, family vacations, teenager rebellion, college term paper editing, a wedding and a pregnancy and a grandchild birth. <br /><br />Sheesh, I think maybe SHES the one who deserves the card.Sarah Taylorhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11513144970931290816noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6472773064723611977.post-12493717655097439632010-10-14T17:40:00.000-07:002010-10-14T17:48:26.246-07:00Sparkle<em>For Gran</em><br /><br />The aroma of vanilla extract and warm sugar filled the kitchen as she made my favorite breakfast, Swedish pancakes. She never balked at the fact that I’d eat about six of them until my stomach couldn’t take anymore. <br /><br />Set up like a queen at the kitchen Island counter with the placemat already set out, she’d warmed the syrup and filled a glass with ice cold milk. <br /><br />I was seven. <br /><br />I could get used to this.<br /><br />**<br /><br />Sitting at a wooden desk with my binder in front, anxiously tapping my pencil until the clock struck 11am and the Field Trip would begin, I kept my eye on the door. The parent volunteers would be arriving soon. Cars would fill-up based on each fourth-graders preference, but I was unfazed. I knew we’d all flock to her car first. <br /><br />I was ten.<br /><br />I was used to this. <br /><br />Because my mom worked full-time, my Gran would fill in as a room mom. I was so proud to have her show up and take that involvement in my life. All my friends loved her. We ran to her. <br /><br />**<br /><br />She was my sparkle girl; my Gran. <br /><br />Others had Grandmas. I had a Gran. Theirs drove Buicks. Mine rolled a Datsun 280Z with T-tops that she’d take off so the wind blew in our hair as we listened to Neil Diamond. <br /><br />**<br /><br />When we would visit her house for dinners, her garage door would always be open. Its as if the front door wasn’t a big enough welcome for the ones she loved. Nope. The garage door needed to be open as well. It was her way of saying to the neighborhood: My company is coming! Welcome!!! And when we’d leave? She’d walk us out to the driveway and chat some more. We’d put the key in the ignition and she’d wave. Then she’d walk to the street and wave some more. Until our car was out of view. My guess is she still lingered there a minute longer after we were gone. <br /><br />There was never a birthday she missed. She’d time it so the Hallmark card would arrive in your mailbox perfectly on the day. How did she know? Never a day early. Never a day late. It was slightly annoying. <br /> <br />Id find cards in my mailbox for holidays I didn’t know existed. Just her way of saying hello. She’d underline adjectives and put quotation marks around the words she wanted to enhance. I’d tease her about her improper grammar. She was unfazed. <br />Her love for all things glitter and gold has somehow skipped a generation (Mom!) and found its way to me. My Gran and I are Nordstrom girls, through and through. They know us by name there. I remember when I told her I was dating Joel back-in-the-day. “He works for Nordstrom, Gran,” and then I whispered, “I’m gonna marry this man. He gets a discount.”<br /><br />I couldn’t tell if she was proud or jealous. Probably both.<br /><br />**<br /><br />My Gran had her share of a battle over these last seven years as she fought that ovarian cancer. Sometimes I think I gave her too much credit for how well she was doing because she kept up appearances so well. I think that was why I was surprised a few weeks ago to get the call from my mom.<br /> <br />“Sarah, she’s in the hospital. Sweetheart, this time she’s not going to recover.”<br /> <br />It was the phone call I’d been preparing for but was still blindsided by. <br /><br />As I drove to the hospital, I prayed that God would prepare my heart. I asked him for one last moment to tell her how much I loved her. I’d been so busy these past few years; I hadn’t stopped by enough! I hadn’t done enough for her! Did she know how much she meant to me? How did I let this much time go by without telling her? And now it was too late. So much left to say. <br /><br />I started talking out loud, through tears, in the car. “Gran! How many childhood memories I have of your laughter! Your cooking! And no one can give a hug like you. I practically get lost in you when you hug me!"<br /><br />But those hugs are different now. She used to be sorta squishy and bosomy – you know the type – when you’re a little kid and your Grandma comes barreling at you wanting to kiss and hug and you’re just supposed to stand there and let her do it but you secretly like it? Now, with the cancer, her body is no longer what it was. And I’m no longer this tiny granddaughter. Time has this way of marching on; of changing us. And yet, we’re still the same. How did we come to this final moment so quickly? Isn’t she still healthy and vibrant? Aren’t I still eight years old? <br /><br />At her bedside, I held her hand and kissed her face and snuggled her. I all but crawled into that hospital bed with her. <br /><br />“Gran. I love you. I’m so sorry I’ve been so busy. I’m not too busy now. I am here now. I love you so much.” <br /><br />She heard me. She squeezed my hand. <br /><br />**<br /><br />Her memorial is this Sunday. I have a feeling its going to be bigger than we are expecting; she was loved by so many. I will be dressed in a Nordstrom dress with just the right amount of sparkle. The key piece of jewelry will be a sapphire and diamond ring on my right hand which has been my favorite of hers since I was five. She gave it to me last Christmas – she must have known in her soul it would be her last. <br /><br />For a woman who loved sparkle so much, Gran, you have quite the view now, don’t you? I hear the streets are made of gold. <br /><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg8Qsc845_KRriOvP3c8nlv81rvu0dOYnKTCXFs3ELh22ZNK5xeTU3tq8vpjAku09aLnYPA5QvT4VetesASRBylDiCJdOGwPBfqf5g8Smo0MdBWiHidTfsxODhvC0wxF5V-slCWJ41xa4M/s1600/4+generations.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 214px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg8Qsc845_KRriOvP3c8nlv81rvu0dOYnKTCXFs3ELh22ZNK5xeTU3tq8vpjAku09aLnYPA5QvT4VetesASRBylDiCJdOGwPBfqf5g8Smo0MdBWiHidTfsxODhvC0wxF5V-slCWJ41xa4M/s320/4+generations.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5528068003547845586" /></a><br />4 GenerationsSarah Taylorhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11513144970931290816noreply@blogger.com9tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6472773064723611977.post-15548519280016909432010-08-13T13:47:00.000-07:002010-08-13T14:12:06.488-07:00Joy with a capital JIf you looked up the word joy in the dictionary, you might read something about a feeling of great happiness.<br /><br />When I hear the word joy, all I see is her face. <br /><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi9xLRG0CXiMxnUaYJB0Npd4403tz8k2EDNTFzjqNbPbVWCFyo-IByvW0tPRssnkG7X5s9gAfRfMDCUTZdyGzsgc7mTL8aRKpostXN77FZDgTqE9xn2Kd-CbaGZUwzlZVe31gxphOH_wLk/s1600/Copy+of+WaterLoverLivi+021.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 214px; height: 320px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi9xLRG0CXiMxnUaYJB0Npd4403tz8k2EDNTFzjqNbPbVWCFyo-IByvW0tPRssnkG7X5s9gAfRfMDCUTZdyGzsgc7mTL8aRKpostXN77FZDgTqE9xn2Kd-CbaGZUwzlZVe31gxphOH_wLk/s320/Copy+of+WaterLoverLivi+021.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5504999878374316194" /></a><br /><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiTOEODPgduc8ncP-pVROprwBqp82Zn7iwRV01_hGQ6t_2RqacicvnCfv-VCQng5f29oqqL1Hdv8wcTkNDko8HyLrZe0K9PsJLqODz1dXhSoM1ifcHWlo4xiVmGSjD64lImjAu86dR24CY/s1600/Copy+of+WaterLoverLivi+013.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 214px; height: 320px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiTOEODPgduc8ncP-pVROprwBqp82Zn7iwRV01_hGQ6t_2RqacicvnCfv-VCQng5f29oqqL1Hdv8wcTkNDko8HyLrZe0K9PsJLqODz1dXhSoM1ifcHWlo4xiVmGSjD64lImjAu86dR24CY/s320/Copy+of+WaterLoverLivi+013.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5504999873934725266" /></a><br /><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiUdIR_XvON293iWAj6ThWZ2MRiyp65xn7-CNqc7_xaiZsgvDq2wdpRuZD-chdoqnyO1gT-FgDN-iZqCEhp2fiyhHeHSQ92-3TfCDxGLHebuhSwmb9vUwyXpC0GEzl2JlcZ0oxjY9AZyOY/s1600/WaterLoverLivi+001+copy.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 214px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiUdIR_XvON293iWAj6ThWZ2MRiyp65xn7-CNqc7_xaiZsgvDq2wdpRuZD-chdoqnyO1gT-FgDN-iZqCEhp2fiyhHeHSQ92-3TfCDxGLHebuhSwmb9vUwyXpC0GEzl2JlcZ0oxjY9AZyOY/s320/WaterLoverLivi+001+copy.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5505000649876563378" /></a>Sarah Taylorhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11513144970931290816noreply@blogger.com7tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6472773064723611977.post-91829492309957907102010-08-05T13:56:00.000-07:002010-08-05T14:02:47.216-07:00Footprints of a PrincessThis morning an email came in from my dad:<br /><br /><em>"Bugsly,</em> (what he calls me), <em>I suppose you know me better than anyone, so I’ll tell you a little story about how life can change even those who are set in their ways. As you’re aware, I’m sort of a neat freak and like everything clean and organized. I’ve been known to drive others crazy with this behavior, but I guess there can be worse things to be burdened with. <br /><br />I stopped off at the carwash the other day to get the car cleaned and vacuumed out; with as much driving as I do, the car gets that summer collection of bugs and stuff that really doesn’t look good (again, a bit of an obsession to clean). As I finished vacuuming out the front and moved to the backseat I stopped and noticed the footprints of my beautiful granddaughter from our afternoon adventures Saturday at the park in Bellingham. <br /><br />I literally stood there with the hose in my hand, the sound of the motor of the commercial vacuum nearly deafening and couldn’t bring myself to clean away the shoeprints. Truthfully, I couldn’t move for another few minutes and just waited for the 50 cent vacuum to stop as I continued to stare at the seat. I now have an immaculately clean car with footprints of a child on the backseat.<br /><br />This morning, just like yesterday, I put my briefcase and coffee thermos in the back of my car before I go to the office and stare at those same shoeprints and smile; a beautiful reminder that some messes are just too precious to clean away. These were not just ordinary shoe prints. They were left by a princess…<br /><br />Love, <br />Dad</em><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgjNUjBT4_Ycz36pGgP4JQc8bJWFFi8f1U9RASiTCdqbPrZAxzpEl2ruAi_0cGbZg63wceK4rnjxBb3kvxWaKPekK7YOGw4iEX-mwbE5nF55ybS_nb8WqSGcdPGnM6BjhFFJXvQkeYEDUM/s1600/SB+pictures+001.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgjNUjBT4_Ycz36pGgP4JQc8bJWFFi8f1U9RASiTCdqbPrZAxzpEl2ruAi_0cGbZg63wceK4rnjxBb3kvxWaKPekK7YOGw4iEX-mwbE5nF55ybS_nb8WqSGcdPGnM6BjhFFJXvQkeYEDUM/s320/SB+pictures+001.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5502033404602564002" /></a>Sarah Taylorhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11513144970931290816noreply@blogger.com7tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6472773064723611977.post-85819577327085897802010-07-30T09:19:00.000-07:002010-07-30T09:52:50.558-07:00I dont mind being wrongThe other day I made a slight blunder on-air. <br /><br />I was talking about a new book I'm reading called <em>Humility: True Greatness</em>. Its a risky little book - and I didn't see it coming. It was recommended to me by a friend, so I just picked it up and started reading. Looking back, I should have contemplated the title for more than 2.5 seconds. <br /><br />Now, about 4 chapters in, I'm thinking: "Why on earth did I start reading this? Now I'm aware! I can't plead ignorance anymore!" <br /><br />The book (so-far) proposes that we've all learned how to act humble in front of others, but we lack true humility. I can understand this. If someone compliments me, I'm well aware that the appropriate social reaction is to blush and say "aw, shucks" and kick the dirt. <br /><br />But true humility? The kind that causes me to honestly assess my sinfulness in light of His holiness? The kind that demands I lay down every ounce of my pride and sit still at the foot of the cross? This is a humility I need to learn more about.<br /><br />Like I said, this book is a little too much right now. Care to read it with me? ;-)<br /><br />Back to my blunder on-air. I was sharing about this book, and at the end, I remarked that it was by author "C.J. Mahoney." <br /><br />(insert sound of a game show buzzer) WRONG. <br /><br />His name is C.J. Mahaney. Do you hear the vowel difference? <br /><br />Now, I know that doesn't seem like a big deal, but let me share with you a little-known-fact about being on the radio.<br /><br /><strong>People LOVE to correct me. </strong><br /><br />As in, I honestly believe, some people sit by the radio and wait for me to make a mistake, and then press their speed dial so quickly that the phone literally blinks in the studio before I have a chance to finish a traffic report. <br /><br />I share this with you with a slight smile on my face, because I've learned to deal with it and it doesn't really bother me.... that much. <br /><br />So as soon as I said "C.J. Mahoney" and the microphone shut off, Tom looked at me and we both began to giggle and look at the phone lines, waiting for our stampede of correctors to come through with flying colors. <br /><br />I was especially excited to be corrected about reading a book on humility... especially because that would imply the correcter was familiar with C.J. Mahaney and thus familiar with his work, perhaps even the book on humility. ;-) Do you see my delicious irony? <br /><br />My point is this: I'm learning to live more and more in grace. More and more in giving the benefit of the doubt. The more I'm corrected, the less I want to correct others. <br /><br />So, I extend an invitation to you: <br /><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhHxfoPG4camYE__QR5V-Fv139G680iwUt3_1d5k2Ghg1Jg6bdWWauCfHBaBQoeKft-LYRY72V5TARMuIqpz48mYORhSF_zcUKVAqzBvr0kefWfEk-s0osN5FAJV1Jj1hprHhTbZxWVrig/s1600/half-page-flyer-469px.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 206px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhHxfoPG4camYE__QR5V-Fv139G680iwUt3_1d5k2Ghg1Jg6bdWWauCfHBaBQoeKft-LYRY72V5TARMuIqpz48mYORhSF_zcUKVAqzBvr0kefWfEk-s0osN5FAJV1Jj1hprHhTbZxWVrig/s320/half-page-flyer-469px.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5499735010603027794" /></a><br /><br /><a href="http://www.graceinauburn.com/">Grace Community Church </a> is hosting a Women's Friendship Dessert on Wednesday, August 25th. It begins at 6:30 pm. <br /><br />The theme is Embrace your Grace, and I've been asked to speak. I'm thrilled - as these type of events are my favorite to do. Because instead of sitting in a studio and talking to you through a microphone, we get to see each other face-to-face.<br /><br />And I love the theme: Embrace Your Grace. To me, this has always meant embracing my full story; allowing God to use the tougher parts of my life to reveal His love. I'll be sharing a few personal stories as well as how I <em>try </em>to live this out day to day. <br /><br />Did I mention theres a chocolate fountain there?<br /><br />And that tickets are only $7.00? And they're available online!<br /><br />Grab a girlfriend or two. I'll see you there. <br /><br />Sarah<br /><br /><em>"To live by grace means to acknowledge my whole life story, the light side and the dark. In admitting my shadow side I learn who I am and what God's grace means." <br />— Brennan Manning</em>Sarah Taylorhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11513144970931290816noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6472773064723611977.post-66169894422283745342010-07-19T15:31:00.000-07:002010-07-19T15:43:39.255-07:00I Remember It Well<strong>The following is an actual email that I just sent my parents:</strong><br /><br />Hey Mom, Hey Kevin...<br /><br />One upon a time, I was a little girl, probably six.<br /><br />You guys took me to Baskin Robbins, and I asked to have a sundae in a "helmet cup." <br /><br />You guys said "No, you wont even remember that plastic cup in a couple of days."<br /><br />I cried.<br /><br />Now is your chance to make it up to me... as they have them again. Don't screw up this opportunity. <br /><br />-SarahSarah Taylorhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11513144970931290816noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6472773064723611977.post-22743429024952233092010-07-01T10:21:00.000-07:002010-07-01T10:47:10.284-07:00Unexpected Company<em>Ding dong.</em><br /><br />I faintly hear the doorbell as I'm upstairs, changing from work clothes to home clothes. Exhausted after another typical day, I can hardly wait to take my contacts out, put my glasses on, and throw my hair into a ponytail.<br /><br />And sit down.<br /><br /><em>Ding dong.</em><br /><br />Then I vaguely remember Joel saying "....oh hey, my dad might be stopping by." <br /><br />Don't get me wrong, I'm glad to see him. I love when Kenny visits, we always have a good time. Its just that from the second I heard that doorbell, I was instantly aware of my messy ponytail, my messy clothes, and my messy house.<br /><br />Down the stairs I flew, opened the front door and invited him in. <br /><br />"Hey Kenny! Don't mind all these shoes here in the entry way. Just step over them." <br /><br />In my head, I pictured myself as a flight attendant on the airlines. <em>To our left, you'll notice cereal bowls stacked in the sink. To our right? Fisher-Price has exploded in our living room. </em><br /><br />"Granddaddy!" Olivia smiles. <br /><br />"Hey, Dad." says Joel from the computer.<br /><br />I shove things out of the way so Kenny can actually take a seat on the couch. <br /><br /><em>How long has it been since I've cleaned the downstairs bathroom? Man, I hope he doesn't need to use it. Is there even toilet paper in there?</em><br /><br />I want to shout out "Kenny, I’m so sorry! This house is a mess! I promise I’m a good wife to your son and a good mother to your granddaughter. Things are just a little chaotic right now!" <br /><br />Instead, I sheepishly say: "Please excuse our mess." <br /><br />And then came my favorite part: Kenny paused and smiled at me. So sincerely! He reminded me so much of Joel when he chose his words carefully and lovingly. He said he hardly noticed the clutter. He said it actually made him glad - and reminded him of when all his children were little. <br /><br />"Really," I asked. "Your house looked like this?" <br /><br />"For years." And then his face turned a little more serious. "The only reason its clean now is because its just me." <br /><br />I thought about that for a minute as Kenny and Joel started chatting. Olivia was putting together a puzzle. I fought the urge to start picking things up. Instead, I just sat. <br /><br />My father-in-law feels welcome in my messy house. He is kind to me amidst my chaos. I honestly believe he doesn't even hold it against me! He knows we have a busy life; he wasn't coming over to check-in on the status of our cleanliness. He's not an inspector, he's my dad. And, lets just call a spade a spade here...He was coming over to see that precious curly haired granddaughter of his. I'm no fool.<br /><br />As Joel and Kenny kept talking, my mind wandered. I thought about Jesus, and the fact that he feels welcome in my messy life. He is kind to me amidst my chaos. He does not hold it against me. He doesn't check-in on the state of my cleanliness. He is not an inspector. He simply comes (knocks) to spend time with me. <br /><br />I'm learning to not be afraid of the doorbell.Sarah Taylorhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11513144970931290816noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6472773064723611977.post-52180493995438957982010-05-13T11:21:00.000-07:002010-05-13T12:37:04.151-07:00I Will Be A Fool For YouDriving down Aurora Avenue, I often see those windsock things in car lots that wiggle around. You know the ones? They look like clowns or aliens or something, and evidently they're supposed to get your attention and make you buy a used car... the air flows up through them and they bounce too-and-fro.... please tell me you know what I'm talking about or this post will make no sense. <br /><br />Each time I see one of those floppy bobble-head things, I'm reminded of the Holy Spirit.<br /><br />Stick with me here.<br /><br />See, when we're filled with Gods Spirit, does that not mean that we move how He wants us to move, and walk where He wants us to walk? No matter how foolish we might look to others? <br /><br />Thats how I feel sometimes... like a Jesus windsock/bobblehead. When I have the presence of mind to commit my day to him, I usually ask for things like "eyes to see what You see, Lord" or "help me not direct my day by my calendar. Keep me open to what You have in store." <br /><br />Yesterday, I was listening to the new Jimmy Needham album "Nightlights." (Which comes out Tuesday, by the way.) I'm a big fan of his soulful sound, and theres a song on there called Just a Heartbeat. It has a fabulous groove and the chorus speaks straight to me: <br /><em><br />You can do a lot with just a heartbeat<br />Give it two feet and suddenly you got me<br />Top it off with ears that listen closely<br />Then speak into me and put my mouth on repeat</em><br /><br />How freaking simple. Perhaps its the sunshine, or the blue sky, or the piece of chocolate I just ate from my desk drawer, but today I just feel a little brighter: Jesus gave me a heartbeat. He gave me two feet. I know whats important to Him and therefore he can put my mouth on repeat. There IS something that He wants to accomplish through me today. And today, I am willing. <br /><br />I really over complicate it most of the time. I think "I don't know my Bible well enough" or "I was really rude to that person who just called" or insert just about any other sinful, negative, guilt-ridden thought here. Then I get down on myself and it stops all my joy. AND it stops my actions. My windsock/bobblehead deflates to the ground. Its as if I intercepted the Holy Spirit and said "Hold on, You can't work through me yet. I need to get my act together and pray more first. Oh, and lose this last five pounds. Then You can have me." <br /><br />Not today. Today, I wont put conditions on God. He can have me, just as I am. All the things on my calendar; all the things in my heart.<br /><br />Sheesh, if this is what Jimmy Needhams music does to me, imagine what it can do for you :-) <br /><br />I'm giving away a few copies of "Nightlights." But you have to promise me, if you win, you'll pop this uptempo, blue-eyed-soul record into your car and roll the windows down and let the wind blow through your hair. <br /><br />Its the only way you can listen to his music. <br /><br />If you're up to the task, leave a comment about a time where you felt like God was asking you to do something a little bit outside of your comfort zone, like my foolish car-lot windsocks. <br /><br />I'll start:<br /><br />Spirit 105.3 was out at a grocery store in Woodinville, and I had the presence of mind to pray before we set up the booth and start up the music. <br /><br />"Lord, this time is Yours." <br /><br />About an hour into our broadcast, I noticed an older woman walking towards me. She caught my eye because she reminded me of my Gran, who dresses really sparkly. :-) I noticed this woman was probably in her 60s or 70s, and she had gold bracelets and earrings on, and just seemed very "put together." I cant explain this next part further, but all I know is that I felt like she had taken extra time on her appearance that day, and needed someone to notice. <br /><br />Then I heard a whisper in my mind:<br /><br /><em>Tell her she looks beautiful. </em><br /><br />Now, I know that doesn't seem like a big request. But I'm also not in the habit of just walking around telling people they're beautiful. Perhaps I should. But I don't.<br /><br />Anyway, as she got closer to our booth, I started to get apprehensive, the way I always do when I feel like maybe God is telling me to do something. Just when I was about to chicken out and keep my mouth shut, I caught her eye and I said "I just have to tell you.... you are beautiful." <br /><br />She stopped. <br /><br />She walked towards me slowly.<br /><br />She put her hand on my hand and slowly said:<br /><br />"I had a stroke 2 months ago. This is the first time I've left my house. I thought, maybe today I can just go to the grocery store."Sarah Taylorhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11513144970931290816noreply@blogger.com17tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6472773064723611977.post-938240449220326412010-05-03T17:11:00.000-07:002010-05-04T09:37:12.581-07:00I Just Want To Hold The BagWith a smirk, my husband motions his hand for me to follow him into the kitchen. He shows me an open bag of mini-marshmallows on the shelf and begins to inform me of the afternoons events.<br /><br />I'd been out of the house, and Olivia had grabbed the bag of marshmallows and wandered into the living room, asking Joel if she could have some.<br /><br />"Not right now, Honey. Not before dinner." <br /><br />She hung her head and looked at the ground. Before returning to the pantry, she looked back at him and very confidently said "Ok, well, then <em>I'm just gonna hold the bag</em>." <br /><br />Lets pause for a moment here.<br /><br /><em>"I'm just gonna hold the bag." </em><br /><br />We all know exactly what this means, do we not? In fact, the minute I heard Joel say that line, I knew what the outcome would be. I laughed out loud with anticipation to hear the story resolve exactly the way I knew it would. I mean, seriously, who among us can "just hold the bag." That's what I thought.<br /><br />Where would he find her, elbow deep in marshmallow-land? <br /><br />A few all-to-quiet moments pass, and Joel looks around, with his daughter nowhere to be found. <br /><br />Then he hears a faint *crinkle, crinkle* of plastic coming from the kitchen pantry.<br /><br />With the pantry door halfway shut, he finds his little curly-topped girl standing there, still, with the bag clutched to her chest. <br /><br />One thing you should know about Joel is that he has the kindest, most even-toned voice of any guy I've ever known. Even when he's upset, he never yells. So in this moment, I can just hear him, calm as ever, saying: <br /><br />"Olivia, did you eat one when I told you not to?"<br /><br />Her head shakes no.<br /><br />"You sure about that answer, Sweetheart?"<br /><br />Silence.<br /><br />Now is when Joel gets down on her level and very softly says: "Olivia.... I need you to open your mouth. Show me whats in your mouth, please." <br /><br />That was all it took. A look from Dad at eye-level and a call to action. <br /><br />Two little tiny hands moved up towards her mouth and covered it, as if to form a barrier no one could remove. Her eyes welled with tears.<br /><br />Oh, how well I know this feeling! The guilt! Sure, it starts out as marshmallows in a pantry... but wait until shes in grade school! And high school! And College! Oh...not College! :-) I take that back.<br /><br />The circumstances change (and heighten) as we get older - and the consequences become much more severe than a tummy-ache from a fist-full of marshmallows... but the underlying issue remains the same. We do the things we are not supposed to do. Our father says one thing, we do another. <br /><br />Olivia began to cry. She couldn't bear the thought of opening her mouth to show Joel what she'd done. <br /><br />He scooped her up and hugged her and said something like "If we eat marshmallows when we're not supposed to, we get a stomach ache. And when we eat them after daddy tells us not to, we get in trouble. But today...well, today...we'll let it slide." And he wiped her tears. <br /><br />Grace. In a kitchen pantry. Between a daddy and a daughter. :-) <br /><br />I can't imagine a lesson on guilt ending in a better way.Sarah Taylorhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11513144970931290816noreply@blogger.com15tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6472773064723611977.post-41890095578794644192010-04-21T11:16:00.000-07:002010-04-21T12:46:15.391-07:00Smoothing out the edges<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgMjIfA3z-db0eF37HMcnkijf2f-X6if4OBDZ1hSIr8JLJ6n12BRyT2HMgFWX7TbV0_nCGKurgkwPO3fGiN_cTDHJ2mEcrHmWzEO8PE-nkS-rmxupvC1jpy5GZNqdS4_ltWobwA_Tkdwro/s1600/RIVER.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 256px; height: 320px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgMjIfA3z-db0eF37HMcnkijf2f-X6if4OBDZ1hSIr8JLJ6n12BRyT2HMgFWX7TbV0_nCGKurgkwPO3fGiN_cTDHJ2mEcrHmWzEO8PE-nkS-rmxupvC1jpy5GZNqdS4_ltWobwA_Tkdwro/s320/RIVER.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5462679409020646370" /></a><br />We all have non-verbal signs we give off when we're having a rough day. A furrowed brow. Swollen eyes. Absentmindedness. Impatience. <br /><br />I've been known to show all these things from time to time. But for me, my biggest non-verbal cue can be found in the music I'm listening to. If its gone a little melancholy, thats the warning flag. And if I dust off my Nichole Nordeman CD, then you know I'm really fighting a battle.<br /><br />Well, this last week, I took <em>five </em>of the Nichole Nordeman CDs from the Spirit 105.3 archives. Just took 'em. As in "these are mine now." Nichole Nordeman lyrics are like my armor when I'm taking on some tough things. Her music goes so deep into my soul that I feel like all thats left are tears and Jesus. <br /><br />Lately, this one song has been getting me through my days. If you haven't heard it before, you owe it to yourself to pick up her album. Or every album she ever made. Or, better yet, FIND HER (I think she lives in Texas) and BEG her to make more music. Its been years since I've heard new music from her, and I think she took a little time off just to be with her family. But in my secret dreams, she has a little studio in her house with just a piano and she writes music that we will someday hear again. :-) <br /><br /><strong>River God</strong><br /><br />Rolling River God<br />Little stones are smooth<br />Only once the water passes through<br />So I am a stone<br />rough and grainy still<br />Trying to reconcile this river's chill<br /><br />But when I close my eyes<br />and feel you rushing by<br />I know that time brings change<br />and change takes time<br /><br />And when the sunset comes<br />my prayer would be this one<br />that you might pick me up <br />and notice that I am<br />just a little smoother in your hand<br /><br />Sometimes raging wild<br />sometimes swollen high<br />never have I known this river dry<br /><br />The deepest part of you<br />is where I want to stay<br />and feel the sharpest edges wash away<br /><br />And when I close my eyes<br />and feel you rushing by<br />I know that time brings change<br />and change takes time<br /><br />And when the sunset comes<br />my prayer would be just this one<br />that you might pick me up <br />and notice that I am<br />just a little smoother in your handSarah Taylorhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11513144970931290816noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6472773064723611977.post-20750364675458593072010-02-16T12:31:00.000-08:002010-02-16T12:57:36.877-08:00This Gets The GoldI love me some Olympics.<br /><br />Joel and I have been snuggled up on the couch each night - rooting for people we don't even know and tearing up when they win. <br /><br />And have you noticed how every single commercial is also branded with the Olympics? Heaven forbid we just drink a regular Coca-Cola during the broadcast. :-) I'm not mocking it so much as simply enjoying the fact that I am a marketers dream during this time, and here is my favorite commercial so far:<br /><br /><object width="560" height="340"><param name="movie" value="http://www.youtube.com/v/VSn5Z7EC4ME&hl=en_US&fs=1&"></param><param name="allowFullScreen" value="true"></param><param name="allowscriptaccess" value="always"></param><embed src="http://www.youtube.com/v/VSn5Z7EC4ME&hl=en_US&fs=1&" type="application/x-shockwave-flash" allowscriptaccess="always" allowfullscreen="true" width="560" height="340"></embed></object><br /><br />HOW do they do that? How do some people sit around in a conference room and come up with a marketing strategy that will have my eyes well up in less than a minute and ready to buy Tide and Crest? <br /><br />I'm such a pushover. :-)Sarah Taylorhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11513144970931290816noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6472773064723611977.post-29783330627496960662009-12-28T16:27:00.000-08:002009-12-28T16:36:15.521-08:003 years - What I've Learned So FarI am your parent, you are my child<br />I am your quiet place, you are my wild<br /><br />I am your calm face, you are my giggle<br />I am your wait, you are my wiggle<br /><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgX5YXNxV2p4Ey1AT5ImdD02i-_P1kQ5NXveUuVVekvmIotJVDVK0NKTcbUIQa3lo-A_XMPK14Vd2BpXFNzed3Z3AuheUKxem9fEWM28Eu1a1YtCEVopnfdfn81AeztxvYI_Y55yaIiWlE/s1600-h/jelly.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 214px; height: 320px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgX5YXNxV2p4Ey1AT5ImdD02i-_P1kQ5NXveUuVVekvmIotJVDVK0NKTcbUIQa3lo-A_XMPK14Vd2BpXFNzed3Z3AuheUKxem9fEWM28Eu1a1YtCEVopnfdfn81AeztxvYI_Y55yaIiWlE/s320/jelly.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5420448563227279682" /></a><br /><br />I am your audience, you are my clown<br />I am your London Bridge, you are my falling down<br /><br />I am your carrot sticks, you are my licorice<br />I am your dandelion, you are my first wish<br /><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj1fiDc3cKWnR-B6dnPyHVlQGrqfiyP7gmIMs1aqZVVw-xvojh4QBagUZf2qfZYNk5rSxzyEUFcqkLlhHBA_bybHff9PSwx6M2Mi-ebJLNzOIO9Jqql3ZDHAz8rHzVt1Ms4TzXHbE8bUMI/s1600-h/Dog+Days+of+Summer+017.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 214px; height: 320px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj1fiDc3cKWnR-B6dnPyHVlQGrqfiyP7gmIMs1aqZVVw-xvojh4QBagUZf2qfZYNk5rSxzyEUFcqkLlhHBA_bybHff9PSwx6M2Mi-ebJLNzOIO9Jqql3ZDHAz8rHzVt1Ms4TzXHbE8bUMI/s320/Dog+Days+of+Summer+017.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5420448551720846754" /></a><br /><br />I am your water wings, you are my deep<br />I am your open arms, you are my running leap<br /><br />I am your way home, you are my new path<br />I am your dry towel, you are my wet bath<br /><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi20j0mIw27hTbjTtURJJJgrjyBDojD3heII-uHxTkzP_6ZUUhd8xT0YpQvnLJrjZYlIizivPLd6dcSQd7JRgWVOmT9-xYvp8WO_VCTPxIiENObvX6WlfSEGIJXDO-J3tmu6pa4JpUZIhs/s1600-h/food+face.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 214px; height: 320px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi20j0mIw27hTbjTtURJJJgrjyBDojD3heII-uHxTkzP_6ZUUhd8xT0YpQvnLJrjZYlIizivPLd6dcSQd7JRgWVOmT9-xYvp8WO_VCTPxIiENObvX6WlfSEGIJXDO-J3tmu6pa4JpUZIhs/s320/food+face.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5420448556326261474" /></a><br /><br />I am your dinner, you are my chocolate cake<br />I am your bedtime, you are my wide awake<br /><br />I am your finish line, you are my race<br />I am your praying hands, you are my saving grace<br /><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgr3INJRt-jwAAoTBuSOJ8m8puKKJs0leP_pvqJq6rmRImHULyfDN2gKAplaOA04U71VKwxNRspmd45Gcgv9vms2LVw6luzhj_eeWCsT3DlcDSDoq-fGpFGshZePmFfFLEDrvdzz901wQY/s1600-h/Busy+Bumble+Bee+176.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 214px; height: 320px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgr3INJRt-jwAAoTBuSOJ8m8puKKJs0leP_pvqJq6rmRImHULyfDN2gKAplaOA04U71VKwxNRspmd45Gcgv9vms2LVw6luzhj_eeWCsT3DlcDSDoq-fGpFGshZePmFfFLEDrvdzz901wQY/s320/Busy+Bumble+Bee+176.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5420448535322704050" /></a><br /><br />I am your favorite book, you are my new lines<br />I am your nightlight, you are my sunshine<br /><br />I am your lullaby, you are my peek-a-boo<br />I am your kiss goodnight, you are my "I love you"<br /><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhz50fj5tmtamPWPLcm2cnOaNUzP3D_o1y5asGX43flnIzYTyXdTSAwt8O5SBngP9a-yJHiZjOzGXZaGst0n5CBLZthc8Ok06VVpEkwLKJ6A6GHL0g0-kdctFCvylUG9rGpdCKiUCUdIy4/s1600-h/Dees+%26+Mamas.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhz50fj5tmtamPWPLcm2cnOaNUzP3D_o1y5asGX43flnIzYTyXdTSAwt8O5SBngP9a-yJHiZjOzGXZaGst0n5CBLZthc8Ok06VVpEkwLKJ6A6GHL0g0-kdctFCvylUG9rGpdCKiUCUdIy4/s320/Dees+%26+Mamas.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5420448548380759922" /></a><br /><em>(all excerpts from the book "You Are My 'I Love You'" by Maryann K Cusimano and Satomi Ichikawa)</em>Sarah Taylorhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11513144970931290816noreply@blogger.com9tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6472773064723611977.post-87980445902974695412009-11-30T12:28:00.000-08:002009-11-30T12:50:11.420-08:00Come & ReceiveIf I'm honest, I'll admit that growing up, my Christmas was about 98% Santa and about 2% Nativity. <br /><br />Make that 99%, 1%. <br /><br />Between chocolate-filled advent calendars, the latest Toys R Us ads, and wish-lists longer than our fridge, I didn't have much leftover room in my heart or mind for Christ. In fact, the only thoughts I gave Him were selfish/irritated ones that I was born on December 22nd, and wondered why He and I had to share our birthdays so close together. <br /><br />On Christmas Eve, the classic book we read from was "Twas the Night Before Christmas," and not the chapter of Luke. <br /><br />The last thing I was thinking about on Christmas morning was a baby in a manger. <br /><br />**<br /><br />This may very well be the first year I'm learning to re-orient my mind. <br /><br />If you've ever found yourself in a similar situation, perhaps I can extend an invitation. <br /><br />I will be speaking at <a href="http://www.lscc.org/">Lake Sawyer Christian Church</a> this upcoming Friday, December 4th. They have an annual Womens Christmas gathering, and I was honored to be asked to be a part of it this year! A fabulous dinner is included, plus carols and cheesecake.<br /><br />Most importantly, I'm looking forward to going because this year, I want to have a fresh outlook on this season that we are all so familiar with. I want to see things a little differently than I have in years past. I'm looking for a different kind of joy. Perhaps, together, we can find a new perspective with which to navigate this busy month. <br /><br />Doors open at 6:15 pm. The theme is "A Gift Worth Giving." Hope to see you there! <br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEidcUm_50L7LO7wCVT4FI-P0P9dEkQ4oJflOoLGMQLgS7yHHfsTAXV2utP8YWUqzGI5V8JrLSKRkKGq4Zxh0vo7jRfecfEw5vyl_4aWrvCWUjhqfVWJUvqhXVtBwgrHBCa8PwF60sL1WB4/s1600/a+gift+worth+giving.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 277px; height: 320px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEidcUm_50L7LO7wCVT4FI-P0P9dEkQ4oJflOoLGMQLgS7yHHfsTAXV2utP8YWUqzGI5V8JrLSKRkKGq4Zxh0vo7jRfecfEw5vyl_4aWrvCWUjhqfVWJUvqhXVtBwgrHBCa8PwF60sL1WB4/s320/a+gift+worth+giving.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5409997058863879106" /></a>Sarah Taylorhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11513144970931290816noreply@blogger.com7tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6472773064723611977.post-87979317042252418182009-11-16T13:14:00.000-08:002009-11-16T13:25:45.517-08:00Its time for a haircutI guess you can say I've been a little giveaway happy lately. But with holiday season upon us, can you blame me? <br /><br />Besides, I think you need a little time to yourself...at Salon Dolche. The name just sounds sweet, doesn't it? <br /><br />I had my much-needed root touch-up not too long ago at Salon Dolche in Everett and walked away relaxed (and blonde again.) Such a friendly, capable staff. <br /><br />Plus, I got my husband to go with me and finally get a hair cut. As in finally, I mean I had been asking him for about a month to "please get a haircut" and "would you just get a haircut already" and finally posted on his facebook "Sarah became a fan of Joel getting a haircut" and FINALLY made a dad-gum appointment for him. <br /><br />So if you win one of these four $25.00 gift cards I'm giving away, then its your choice if you use it for yourself (mmmm, Bumble and Bumble shampoo smells so good...) or someone else in your family who RIDICULOUSLY needs a haircut more than you do. <br /><br />Enter in the comments section, as always. Drawing is random, as always. I will contact you if you are one of the four winners!<br /><br />Sarah<br /><br />PS Salon Dolche is located on Everett Mall Way. www.salondolche.comSarah Taylorhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11513144970931290816noreply@blogger.com18tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6472773064723611977.post-39684706813260778922009-10-27T16:17:00.000-07:002009-10-27T16:26:53.011-07:00Tell Me The Story AgainMy first memory of Sunday School must have been around age three. You’re going to think I’m making it up, but the truth of the matter is, the first visual I have was sitting in a circle with other kids my age, watching a kind woman put a piece of felt on a board.<br /><br />Felt on a board. My first impression of Jesus. <br /><br />I don’t remember understanding a lick of what this well-intentioned Sunday School teacher said, but I did want to touch the felt. <br /><br />That was a little church in Bellingham. I don’t have any other memories from that, but I have seen home videos of me dressed up for the Christmas service, singing Jesus songs with a bunch of other kids, up on stage. The home video clearly shows me playing with the boy next to me, who was jumping on the risers, and so I jumped, and then a teacher came to settle us down. <br /><br />The next memory I have of church came around age 8, when I was in another Sunday School. Because my family did not attend church regularly, my attendance was hit-or-miss. Our neighbor was the one who offered to drive me, and I went because I liked her kids and I liked her family. But once her blue van pulled into the Church parking lot, I felt nervous. We sang songs that I didn’t know, and I sat at a circle table full of kids I didn’t know, listening to a woman talk about verses I didn’t know and didn’t understand. Some kids remembered their Bibles. I did not. Some kids remembered their offering money. I did not. I felt stupid and alone. <br /><br />I remember thinking my eight-year-old thoughts about God, wondering why He chose to reveal Himself to some people and not to others. How come other 8 year olds knew their Bible verses, and seemed to nod when the teacher spoke? Why did those same kids have more "Awana bucks" than I did to buy candy on Wednesday nights? What was I doing wrong?<br /><br />**<br /><br />Now that I am a mother, raising a daughter who is almost of the age where I had my first felt-board memory, I find myself asking God how to introduce Him to Olivia. My hope is that perhaps I can save her from some of those lonely, confused feelings I dealt with as a child when I thought about God. <br /><br />My main concern is this: How do I differentiate between the stories I tell Olivia about God and Jesus along with stories of Cinderella, Snow White and the Tooth Fairy? How can I help my child grasp that one is fairy tale and the other is absolute Truth? At what age do children understand these things? And if its as early as three, like it was for me, then we are fast approaching that birthday for my daughter and I’m asking God for direction. My prayer sounds like this: “Jesus, how can I introduce You best to her?” When I hear Him whisper back, I hear “model My love.” <br /><br />**<br /><br />So, as I consider these things (both here on this blog and alone in my thoughts) I wanted to introduce a Childrens Bible that I’ve heard about from a few different women. Its called <a href="http://www.amazon.com/Jesus-Storybook-Bible-Deluxe-Lloyd-Jones/dp/0310718783">The Jesus Storybook Bible </a>and what I like about it is that its not “cutesy.” In other words, there is no felt-board involved. Just clear text that is faithful to the Bible, yet able to capture the attention of children. So far, I’m really enjoying reading it with Olivia at night. Granted, we've only just begun. But this beginning feels good. <br /><br />And you don’t think I’d tell you about this Bible without giving a few away, do you? Of course not. I have five brand-new Deluxe Edition copies right here at my desk, thanks to Sally Lloyd-Jones, who is a wonderful childrens author and weaves her faith into all her books.<br /><br />Simply leave a comment (with your contact information) and if you’re one of the five winners, I’ll get a hold of you. I’d love if you’d share in the comments section ways that you are sharing your faith with your children. <br /><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh1ZukyMP_lIXmGvHtBCitC_QKW48kRvUTkQohpJVzlrz83GKpR4xRt94xeoycYKt9Ms4v01Jj27W6F7d9oewIF-gslE-s7Zdo7gEOcVMvJlSLj_qyn-qXyOyKFrw8P_mKWfOvsY9iKUfc/s1600-h/jesus+storybook.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 266px; height: 320px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh1ZukyMP_lIXmGvHtBCitC_QKW48kRvUTkQohpJVzlrz83GKpR4xRt94xeoycYKt9Ms4v01Jj27W6F7d9oewIF-gslE-s7Zdo7gEOcVMvJlSLj_qyn-qXyOyKFrw8P_mKWfOvsY9iKUfc/s320/jesus+storybook.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5397423880020257330" /></a>Sarah Taylorhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11513144970931290816noreply@blogger.com21tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6472773064723611977.post-60885473724053135232009-09-24T13:30:00.000-07:002009-10-02T13:52:35.437-07:00BookmarkI go through seasons of inspiration. When this blog first took form, I was a little over a month away from my due date with Olivia. It was my "baby blog" of sorts, and remained that way for the first year. Then I began to talk about things other than Olivia (gasp!) and found my groove with writing. Of course, we all remember my juicing phase... Well, now I'm in my book phase, if you cant tell. I've got a stack of paperbacks and hardcovers near my night stand. Some are downstairs, some are upstairs, and my husband has mentioned the word "Kindle" to me more than once.<br /><br />I read books of all sorts, depending on what mood I'm in. Currently in rotation (in no particular order) includes the new Nicholas Sparks "The Last Song," Kathy Griffin "Official Book Club Selection," and "The End Of Overeating" by an author whos name I can't recall at the moment and am too lazy to Google. <br /><br />My favorite over the past month has been Donald Millers "A Million Miles in A Thousand Years." Perhaps you are familiar with one of his first books, <em>Blue Like Jazz. </em> I'd call this new book somewhat of a follow-up to the first one. For some reason, I connect with his writing immensely and find myself wishing my eyes could move faster and drink in more words so I could turn pages at a quicker pace. And when the book is done, I'm ready for more. If you are even the slightest bit interested in starting even one book, I'd suggest this one. <br /><br />All this to say, sometimes I'm so busy reading that I forget to blog. <br /><br />And the next post on here will be about books again, so brace yourself. Only this next post might just be about the most important book there ever was and how I'm learning to read that book in a different way.<br /><br />SarahSarah Taylorhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11513144970931290816noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6472773064723611977.post-38761268050388312612009-09-04T15:32:00.000-07:002009-09-08T09:43:24.431-07:00FearlessCan you remember a moment in your life where you were the most afraid? <br /><br />I remember one of mine. A cold, dark January night… alone at Childrens Hospital with 1-year-old Olivia in my arms, her tiny head spiking a fever of 104. The doctors had to give her a steroid shot in her leg because her Strider (a deep cough and inflammation) was so bad. They said the shot would most likely help her, but in some cases it actually made things worse…and could restrict her airway completely if she had an adverse reaction. They told me that if this was the case, they had a “crash cart” in the hallway and were prepared to use it.<br /><br />A crash cart? For my baby?<br /><br />They looked at me. I was the decision maker. My husband was not there. I was it.<br /><br />Yes or no to this shot? JESUS WHAT DO I DO? WHAT IS THE RIGHT ANSWER HERE?<br /><br />Tears poured from my face as I held Olivia and said yes. I prayed over her <strong>out loud </strong>as they treated her. “Jesus be with her! Jesus help her!” I can’t remember how loud my voice was, but lets just say it was the voice a mother gets when she is going to battle for her child. <br /><br />***<br /><br />Looking back, and knowing that Olivia is totally fine, I have a better perspective and the whole scene seems overly dramatic. But in the moment, I was desperate and afraid. <br /><br />I mention all this to introduce you to a new book by Max Lucado. <br /><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi-_s0boxZKeVKCTTQ9xyc3jG5kVOhi2JeHHL_PH-dHVST0O78eJUotrkWd6VLmi2euxin1CFYvgbn074Rq7wEYKLusWULqq-2c4dvCCNrWjfOxu4z5JZiBCd72wapEzpvdYI_sj6u0y9I/s1600-h/fearless.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 212px; height: 320px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi-_s0boxZKeVKCTTQ9xyc3jG5kVOhi2JeHHL_PH-dHVST0O78eJUotrkWd6VLmi2euxin1CFYvgbn074Rq7wEYKLusWULqq-2c4dvCCNrWjfOxu4z5JZiBCd72wapEzpvdYI_sj6u0y9I/s320/fearless.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5377744128136294066" /></a><br /><br />There are only a handful of authors whos books I buy every time a new one comes out… And Max Lucado makes the list. <br /><br />I’ve always felt like he strings words together in a gentle way… kind of like spoon-feeding me the message of Jesus. Its as if Lucado knows I’m fragile, so he treads lightly.<br /><br />In his latest book, Fearless, Lucado was able to do what he does best: paint a picture with words, back it up with Scripture, and close each chapter with an “atta girl, you can do it!” attitude. I devour his books like a warm casserole out of the oven...comfort food at its best - yet his chapters come with no calories! Win. <br /><br />One chapter in Fearless is titled “Fear of Not Protecting My Kids.” I’ve needed this chapter for a long time, because I’m an expert worrier. Lucado, a father of three daughters himself, is quick to acknowledge that the “semitruck of parenting comes loaded with fears…” and then he is gentle when he gives us the answer. Its an answer we already know, but it’s the truth none-the-less: Prayer. I guess I just needed him to remind me...<em>again</em>.<br /><br />Lucado says that “Prayer is the saucer into which parental fears are poured to cool.” I love that image. This is something I CAN do. I can take my worries and ask God to help me shape them into prayers. <br /><br />“Parents, we can’t protect children from every threat in life, but we can take them to the Source of life.” Pg 61<br /><br />There are several other chapters in the book, Fearless, that deal with the Fear of Disappointing God, the Fear of Overwhelming Challenges, and the Fear that God Is Not Real. <br /><br />And every chapter offers the antidote to fear… and that is faith. <br /><br />Read on, friends. <br /><br />(This was my first blog review for Thomas Nelson Publishers. You can review books for them, too! They send you a free copy and you post your review on the blog. Give it a try: <a href="http://brb.thomasnelson.com/">Click Here</a>.)Sarah Taylorhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11513144970931290816noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6472773064723611977.post-55924850186001520252009-08-10T10:51:00.000-07:002009-08-10T12:01:01.265-07:00I'll run this race for YouI can still remember the wet grass and the fog during early morning PE in Junior High. We got to school just after 6 AM - and put on our red shorts and our grey T-shirts with our names written in black Sharpie and started jogging around the track. I dreaded it.<br /><br />And I remember 9th grade, when a cute boy I liked joined the Varsity track team.....so I joined the Varsity track team. Literally to chase after him.<br /><br />Running has never been something I enjoyed while I was doing it...but there was a distinct feeling I remember upon finishing. A feeling of intense accomplishment. <br /><br />I can't explain how or why I started running again, I just know it was something I was longing to do. And after days (and weeks) of saying "I'll start tomorrow," I finally laced up my shoes and just took off. <br /><br />And as the air burned in my chest as I slowly made my way around the track, I began to talk to Jesus. Out loud. <br /><br /><em>Teach me to run.</em><br /><br />My friend SarahAnn has been instrumental in getting me started. Perhaps you heard me talking about her on the radio. She runs by my side and provides accountability for the days I don't feel like beginning again. She is the one who got me signed up for my first 5k, along with her husband Josh, and our friend Holly. <br /><br /><em>Don't let me quit.</em><br /><br />About two weeks into our new routine, our co-worker Tina decided to join in. Our duo was now a trio. Because of Tina, I found myself at my old Junior High track again because its close to her house. There was an eery feeling as my now 28-year-old feet hit the clay track where my then 13-year-old feet used to run. I felt like a child again, all self-conscious and unsure of myself. As Tina and I ran that course, I remembered all the insecurity I carried in Junior High, and with each stride I took, I thought about how far God has brought me. I wasn't prepared for what an emotional experience that would be.<br /><br />A few more weeks went by and two other girls from Spirit 105.3 joined in. We now have a beehive of runners. It reminds me of Fight Club. One turned into two, into three, and now five. Before long, I'm sure we'll have nothing short of a parade of people signing up for these 5k's. I'm still not quite sure how this happened. <br /><br />I forked over some serious cash and bought BOB, the newest member of our Fight Club. BOB is a kickin' jogging stroller that I purchased for Olivia at REI. She loves riding in it, and below is us finishing our second 5k. <br /><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgBpx_4sh5peLMAO2gnzv_WjDqVIfnbE5dCEpB1nNI7t4A0PEtlOo9n05rjIteG2YnCciyJFUaAHzzbtrkqE-gvOXTNjR3Aog1cvMso1mbiUsbR2yZmJH_CDjLqX1y85Ez4PaXkblvvE9A/s1600-h/torchlight+image.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 213px; height: 320px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgBpx_4sh5peLMAO2gnzv_WjDqVIfnbE5dCEpB1nNI7t4A0PEtlOo9n05rjIteG2YnCciyJFUaAHzzbtrkqE-gvOXTNjR3Aog1cvMso1mbiUsbR2yZmJH_CDjLqX1y85Ez4PaXkblvvE9A/s320/torchlight+image.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5368394399905568594" /></a><br />Photo credit: Bright Room<br />Pictured: Me, Olivia, SarahAnn & Josh (SarahAnn's husband). Tina isn't pictured because she finished ahead of us!!!<br /><br />Running is quickly becoming a model for life for me. Its hard. Often times, I don't want to do it. I get nervous, afraid to fail. I think "perhaps today is the day I will be disappointed." I pray for strength and tell myself just to start, to worry about the rest later. <br /><em><br />Help me go farther.</em><br /><br />Jesus brings friends along to run beside me. Their encouragement gets me to the finish line. My favorite part is when we round the final corner, and I see "FINISH" ahead. It seems so close, and yet so far. My legs are like Jell-O, and although they are moving, I don't really feel them. I hear Olivia squeal "I see it! I see the finish line! Lets Go!" and I laugh to myself and think "Easy for you to say, you're being <em>pushed </em>in a stroller!" <br /><br />When I cross with my daughter, she puts her hands in the air! We smile and cheer and search for water. And in that moment, I think: It was worth it. <br /><br /><em>2 Timothy 4:7 "I have fought the good fight, I have finished the race, I have kept the faith."</em>Sarah Taylorhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11513144970931290816noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6472773064723611977.post-1703119906687356732009-07-23T15:14:00.001-07:002009-08-04T12:58:32.215-07:00Free Vegetables**BUT WAIT - theres more! Although this blog contest is now closed, there is still a chance for you to win a 75.00 Giftcard to www.freggies.com - Tom & I are giving them away all this week in the afternoons. Call around 3pm and we'll put you in the daily drawing - we have 5 cards to give away. Our studio line is 1-877-275-1053.**<br /><br />**Contest now closed: Congrats to Jessi, Katie & Callie, our 3 Freggies winners.**<br /><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjNXPO3yo1fE4TcL08Vk_bG80liJj6y6nBfcgx1t4tofxBHUwB1gSK8vWPeNYrgmsBnhrzyP2APXJSY9Ry0vT8FUbpKrxl4hdvtIxBjNgxbKOeGnHQGBC9WCweqQ0zQkuaPMvj2pg6frB8/s1600-h/fruit+veg.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 213px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjNXPO3yo1fE4TcL08Vk_bG80liJj6y6nBfcgx1t4tofxBHUwB1gSK8vWPeNYrgmsBnhrzyP2APXJSY9Ry0vT8FUbpKrxl4hdvtIxBjNgxbKOeGnHQGBC9WCweqQ0zQkuaPMvj2pg6frB8/s320/fruit+veg.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5361791586121419394" /></a><br />Bob the Tomato and Larry the Cucumber would be proud of this post.<br /><br />For almost a year now, I've been telling you how my health has changed simply by doing something most of you are already doing: Fresh vegetables & fruits. In fact, I want to write a diet book called "How I stopped eating Tator Tots everyday and start eating vegetables and *surprise* lost weight." I think it could be a best seller. <br /><br />Brilliant, I know, right? It reminds me of the real bestseller called "In Defense of Food" that has my favorite byline ever: "Eat food. Not too much. Mostly plants." <br /><br />Remember, I wasn't always this way. I was the girl in preschool that refused to eat my cooked carrots and peas, so the little girl next to me, Lindsey, ate them for me. We are still friends to this day. God bless that little Lindsey. Is it any wonder that that same, sweet kindhearted four year old grew up to be a missionary who travels the globe? Her picture is on my fridge - and even though we are both almost 30 years old, I only see someone who is four. <br /><br />Back to the veggies: after years of slowly putting on more weight, and feeling sluggish and depressed, well.... I reached a point of despair. I knew if I didn't get this under control now, I would never get it under control. <br /><br />Thus, cucumbers. Carrots. Celery. Grapefruit. Apples. Pears. Bananas. Kale. <br /><br />This afternoon I threw some ground flax seed on my yogurt. I laughed out loud as Brandon Heath's song played, "I'm not who I was..." My diet has drastically changed over the past year. I am so thankful. Not to overspiritualize things, but I feel like God did it for me. <br /><br />Anyway - I love passing along a few of my "finds" to you - in case you find yourself on this journey with me. <br /><br />Todays find? <a href="http://www.freggies.com">Freggies</a>.<br /><br />Freggies is the answer to this question: "How can I get affordable organic produce delivered right to my door?" Freggies!<br /><br />I found out about Freggies through a friend here at Spirit, because 99% of us are all on a health kick lately. Its good accountability, I'll tell you that much! On days where I want to cave and eat 10 doughnuts, I see someone else walk by with their protein shake, and I head the other direction. Crisis averted.<br /><br />The owner of Freggies (Jerrod) has an amazing story of overcoming cancer - and he attributes his recovery to Jesus and a better diet. Sounds like my kinda guy! He and his wife are committed to helping others have a healthier lifestyle - I just love this mission, and I feel myself following in that direction. Jerrod says that starting <a href="http://www.freggies.com">Freggies </a>was a very spiritual experience for him - he knew how much God had helped him take control over his health and life with fresh nutrition - and he wanted to make a way to BRING that nutrition to others. Literally, to their door. <br /><br />I logged on to Freggies.com and saw that the prices are extremely affordable, and had my first batch delivered the other day. SO simple, and it was actually really fun because I ordered a few fruits & veggies I don't normally order. Its so convenient - and I find that our family eats healthier. Well, Olivia and I do, anyway. We're still workin' on Joel. Lucky guy can eat whatever in the world he wants and still looks great. He's got some good genes. <br /><br />And YES - the title of this post is "free veggies" - I spoke with Jerrod and he's agreed to give away THREE $50.00 giftcards to www.freggies.com! So simply leave a comment here - lets do comments that keep us motivated to get (or stay) healthy. Maybe its a quote, or a scripture you know - whatever inspires you, leave it in the comments section and I'll choose three winners. Remember to leave an email address so I can contact you if you win. No email, no freggies. :-)<br /><br />Sarah<br /><br />PS I like starting our comments off, here's mine: <br /><em>When I stand before God at the end of my life, I would hope that I would not have a single bit of talent left and could say, "I used everything You gave me." Erma Bombeck</em>Sarah Taylorhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11513144970931290816noreply@blogger.com28tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6472773064723611977.post-22337691769927870222009-07-21T10:24:00.000-07:002009-07-21T10:58:47.870-07:00Such RestraintAnyone remember <a href="http://spirit1053sarahtaylor.blogspot.com/2008_12_01_archive.html">this</a> post? You know, the one where I basically told you I'd rather meet <a href="http://www.audreycaroline.blogspot.com/">her</a> than Justin Timberlake?<br /><br />Well...<br /><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEidi6ttpdo8744HN8aK8-EnolK9yQZXsVBSqR_S9iH7cin-BCZTFBq5NoCSkIJ8tKKp9c9WFgtg0QEjkNZUnGFXUK0dxkT08D6Wt6JeoAdbZy-nb2EnskAu18htxQ9wt0u6LMZGB6CNasg/s1600-h/me+and+angie.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 240px; height: 320px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEidi6ttpdo8744HN8aK8-EnolK9yQZXsVBSqR_S9iH7cin-BCZTFBq5NoCSkIJ8tKKp9c9WFgtg0QEjkNZUnGFXUK0dxkT08D6Wt6JeoAdbZy-nb2EnskAu18htxQ9wt0u6LMZGB6CNasg/s320/me+and+angie.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5360966033536881986" /></a><br /><br />I guess I can cross that one off my list now. <br /><br />Angie came to town with her husband, Todd, and the musical group he's in, Selah. Can I just tell you something? I am a Selah fanatic now. I mean, I always liked their music - we've played their cover of "God Bless The Broken Road" and we've played "Light of The Stable" around Christmas time. But this new record? The one that (plug) comes out August 25th (plug) and is titled "You Deliver Me" (plug) is going to blow you away. I have only heard a handful of the new songs - but its been enough to have me ready to sit at my computer on August 24th and click "refresh" every 10 seconds as midnight approaches so I can get the disc on Amazon.com the second it goes on sale. Whats that? You want to do that, too? You want to preorder it? Ok. Heres the link: <a href="http://www.familychristian.com/shop/product.asp?prodID=58477">Preorder</a>.<br /><br />The gal in the group is named Amy, and she has a powerhouse of a voice. Its the kind of voice we all pretend to have when we daydream about what we could sound like if we could really sing. Todd and Allen have powerful voices as well - and when all three sing at once in harmony, the music takes you to another place. I've never been to a Selah concert before - until this past week when they stopped by the radio station to play some new music for us. They set up on our conference room here at Spirit - and the room was packed. (Mostly because I invited a few extra people... you know who you are.) <br /><br />Oh. And afterwards? I got to spend a little more time with Angie. Such a sacrifice, I know. See, they don't have a Nordstrom where Angie lives in Nashville, and she was really hoping to pick up a few things. So, I volunteered to take her. :-) Downtown we went, for a quick little perfume shopping spree. And friends? I showed SUCH restraint. Although everything inside my being wants to smell just like Angie, I did NOT purchase the same fragrance as her. Because <em>that </em>would just be over the line. <br /><br />SarahSarah Taylorhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11513144970931290816noreply@blogger.com9tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6472773064723611977.post-91616722859350991732009-07-10T13:55:00.000-07:002009-07-10T14:04:45.854-07:00The number one question<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi9biXguAxX7JlfI7ovi41F_g5NA_BXdxPiDjI2yTtBT33LOWyYLssNAJeeRbkkv6efSz3J9aJqFoZzMHWtifp0ZMLolO8lHd5oFc89Aim6NG3h3NcFWzlixW4m_ZSAS5xFVTIJ9G6gHMo/s1600-h/Olivia+Smile.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 214px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi9biXguAxX7JlfI7ovi41F_g5NA_BXdxPiDjI2yTtBT33LOWyYLssNAJeeRbkkv6efSz3J9aJqFoZzMHWtifp0ZMLolO8lHd5oFc89Aim6NG3h3NcFWzlixW4m_ZSAS5xFVTIJ9G6gHMo/s320/Olivia+Smile.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5356938482978942546" /></a><br />"Where DID she get those curls?" <br /><br />I have no idea. Both Joel & I both had "baby" curls when we were small, but nothing like this. Shes my little Shirley Temple. I never pictured myself with a curly-top girl, mostly because my hair is stick straight...and I've spent half the better part of my adult life trying to find a hairspray strong enough to help my hair hold curl for at least a half hour. <br /><br />I love when people ask "Do YOU curl her hair?" and I'm all like, "Yes. I permed it this morning." ;-) <br /><br />Sometimes I catch my mom delicately twirling each curl around her finger, to make it go 'boing!' I don't know how long she'll have this head of hair, but you better believe I have no plans on her first haircut any time soon.Sarah Taylorhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11513144970931290816noreply@blogger.com11tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6472773064723611977.post-51158565618290858552009-06-29T13:58:00.000-07:002009-06-29T15:21:07.760-07:00Turning PagesSomebody find my seventh grade yearbook, because I'm turning back into that little 13-year-old girl I once was. <br /><br />A few of you know me from back-in-the-day when I wore overalls to school and did math...for fun...at recess. I also read. A lot. <br /><br />And I'm proud to say: that girl is back! I may have contacts now - and the braces are gone - but deep in my heart, I'm a student who loves to learn. I was thisclose to being valedictorian (darn you, Callie!). <em>Nevermind the fact that I had to just Google valedictorian in order to spell it correctly. </em> What I'm trying to say is, I'm embracing the inner part of who I am - which is that nerdy little 13 year old whos reflection I still see in the mirror each day. I've tried to outgrow her, but she's persistent, and no matter how hip & trendy I try and be on the outside, I will always be the straight-A-striving, overachieving, book-loving fool I was meant to be. Is no wonder I fell in love with a man who was homeschooled and graduated high-school at the age of 16! My heart nearly burst out of my chest when we started dating: "Hooray, we can do cross-words together!" <br /><br />But back to the reading. I just signed on to be a Thomas Nelson book-reviewer-blogger-whathaveyou. Have you heard about this? Brilliant! The publishing company, Thomas Nelson, is giving away free books to bloggers to review. Sign up <a href="http://brb.thomasnelson.com/">here </a>if the seventh-grader inside you wants to do book reports, too.<br /><br />So anyway, I figured, as I wait for my first book to arrive, I will choose one of my own favorite books to review just to get started. Upon looking at the back page however, I realized that this book is <em>also </em>indeed a Thomas Nelson book, so go figure. <br /><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhqPs0rzBwk5HAs_SHCF6MK1ZEjIzvyOokLhSL6slGc49-LzO8YTTpN6lsB568z8R6gyAVk3uXJkASQXLCx5pdI7u5eLUKUk08LwfXavGX9AEXiCYiOABLTHbfOUcB9pj9ix-MHpDqMwj4/s1600-h/jesus+calling.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 218px; height: 320px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhqPs0rzBwk5HAs_SHCF6MK1ZEjIzvyOokLhSL6slGc49-LzO8YTTpN6lsB568z8R6gyAVk3uXJkASQXLCx5pdI7u5eLUKUk08LwfXavGX9AEXiCYiOABLTHbfOUcB9pj9ix-MHpDqMwj4/s320/jesus+calling.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5352858229334427730" /></a><br />Sam introduced me to this book a few months ago. She said: "Its like Jesus calls you up each morning and leaves a voicemail..." <br /><br />The author, Sarah Young, explains that she had read a book years ago that talked about waiting quietly in Gods Presence, pencil and paper in hand, recording what she believed He was saying. This was so refreshing to me, to read someone else who shares this experience, because often this is what I do when I find some time to sit quietly. So the book, Jesus Calling, is written in the first person, as if Jesus were talking. <br /><br />I was reading todays and thought I'd share: <br /><br />"As you get out of bed in the morning, be aware of My Presence with you. You may not be thinking clearly yet, but I am. Your early morning thoughts tend to be anxious ones until you get connected with Me. Invite Me into your thoughts by whispering My Name. Suddenly your day brightens and feels more user-friendly. You cannot dread a day that is vibrant with My Presence. <br /><br />You gain confidence through knowing that I am with you - that you face nothing alone. Anxiety stems from asking the wrong question: "If such and such happens, can I handle it?" The true question is not whether you can cope with whatever happens, but whether you and I together can handle anything that occurs. It is this you-and-I-together factor that gives you confidence to face the day cheerfully." <br /><br />Psalm 5:3<br /><em>3 In the morning, O LORD, you hear my voice; <br />in the morning I lay my requests before you <br />and wait in expectation</em>Sarah Taylorhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11513144970931290816noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6472773064723611977.post-55948722333028756502009-06-05T12:33:00.000-07:002009-06-05T12:38:51.034-07:00Across The Street<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhDyvPecTVGV0BYHWTkD67cnTnXPeduubnRttb4MGuRBxUfAE6pnjEuA_3DSEr8BshHoNbk5N7KqAaIQkFjGBoxeTvtHXAN-BV8Y9Xz-ncFT-71Sg_9Y7-Wv-_fJjUmyOWPxOT6Uhb2LQM/s1600-h/paperwork.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 250px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhDyvPecTVGV0BYHWTkD67cnTnXPeduubnRttb4MGuRBxUfAE6pnjEuA_3DSEr8BshHoNbk5N7KqAaIQkFjGBoxeTvtHXAN-BV8Y9Xz-ncFT-71Sg_9Y7-Wv-_fJjUmyOWPxOT6Uhb2LQM/s320/paperwork.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5343928995920222338" /></a><br />Its symbolized by a stack of paperwork on the kitchen table that never moves. <br />A few file folders, a bunch of bills, some school registration forms and maybe a book or two. Lots of Post-Its. <br /><br />Its often a joke around my parents house – that stack of paper. <br />If my mom is reading this right now, she’s smiling I’ll bet. <br /><br />But I want to tell you what it represents.<br /><br />The other day, I was at my parents house picking up my daughter, and I saw the stack. (It seemed to be growing larger.) Not all of the paperwork is urgent… its just important enough not to toss. It basically represents a long to-do list. <br /><br />Yet, the other day when I noticed it again, neither my mom nor my step-dad was inside. No one was at the kitchen table working on the stack. <br /><br />Instead, my step-dad was across the street, helping his neighbor move some furniture. My mom was at the same house; weeding. <br /><br />But let me step back a moment. <br /><br />I loved the neighborhood I grew up in. My parents house was at the top of a cul-de-sac, perfect for riding bikes with the neighborhood kids.<br /><br />We knew our neighbors names. Their kids were my best friends growing up. Sometimes we would have Christmas parties together and put on a little talent show. I enjoyed the neighborhood.<br /><br />Except for one house.<br /><br />As a little girl, I was afraid of the man who lived there, because one time I hit a baseball into his garage and he said "Its mine now!" and slammed the door. He and his wife didn’t have small children, so I assumed he didn’t like any children. Therefore, it was the one house I skipped when I sold Girl Scout cookies. <br /><br />I remember my step-dad telling me a story that years ago, his car wouldn’t start and he desperately needed a ride to the airport. He began knocking on neighbors doors, seeing if anyone was home. When he got to that house, and the man answered, my step-dad humbly asked for a ride. The answer was no, and the door was shut. <br /><br />Even after all these years, its the one house I ignore when I drive into my parents driveway to visit.<br /><br />A month ago, my mom called me and sounded serious. She informed me that the man who lived there had just passed away suddenly. He left behind his wife, who was on vacation when he passed. <br /><br />Can you imagine being that woman? I pictured her, on an airplane, knowing when it landed at Sea-Tac that she’d be coming home to an empty house. It broke all of our hearts – so my parents decided to do something about it. <br /><br />I have watched my parents, over the course of the past month, carry over food, mow her lawn, weed her garden, do her laundry, fix her lightbulbs, feed her cats, and everything else under the sun. What’s more is that they spend time with her. Sometimes at night, when the sun is going down, my parents go over just to watch television with her, so she's not alone. And I know for a fact that its not their choice of programming. They simply sit with her on the couch, and laugh with her at the comedy on television, so that shes not by herself. <br /><br />So, what does this have to do with the stack of paperwork? <br /><br />It would be easy for my parents to be too “busy” to do any of these things. They both work, they take care of my daughter in the afternoon when I’m on-air, and they have active lives. Its not like they are sitting around each day looking for something extra to do. Their plate is full. And the stack of papers proves it. Plenty of bills to pay, plenty of decisions to make, plenty of things to get done for the next day. <br /><br />Yet they prioritize. The paperwork can wait another day. <br /><br />They choose to walk across the street.Sarah Taylorhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11513144970931290816noreply@blogger.com10tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6472773064723611977.post-38033446655739980322009-06-05T10:58:00.000-07:002009-06-05T11:18:06.823-07:00What does God expect of us?<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjZNucgY6s_746I2hkrCz0mQPU6SXowCe_5XzNfIVYwQWbrC2qXTJSB45Dws8jxB4b-00rQWbHqIDSROyB_JhCJBXf6UG1jtiJR1qCAA08Jf2MFpiV_C6pISQleOS7MxRHbxS9P29amq4M/s1600-h/holeinourgospel.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 213px; height: 320px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjZNucgY6s_746I2hkrCz0mQPU6SXowCe_5XzNfIVYwQWbrC2qXTJSB45Dws8jxB4b-00rQWbHqIDSROyB_JhCJBXf6UG1jtiJR1qCAA08Jf2MFpiV_C6pISQleOS7MxRHbxS9P29amq4M/s320/holeinourgospel.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5343904880128354130" /></a><br />A few days ago, a friend of mine who works at World Vision handed me a copy of this book. <br /><br />Man, I'm glad he did.<br /><br />I have not.been.able.to.put.it.down.<br /><br />Granted, I'm only on chapter 3, but thats already deep enough to pause and tell you about the book. <br /><br />Its written by the president of World Vision, Richard Stearns. He quickly drew me in by sharing the story of how God brought him to World Vision in the first place. Richard was a very successful businessman at a large fine-tableware company called Lenox. He had previously been the CEO of Parker Brothers (Monopoly, Clue, etc). He was in NO WAY looking to leave his position and join World Vision. He was quite comfortable in his large house, with his Jaguar in the driveway, living comfortably with his wife and 5 children.<br /><br />I'll let you start the book to find out what happened next. <br /><br />On a personal note, I've toured the World Vision building. Did you know we are lucky enough to have World Vision headquarters right here in Washington State? I'm sad to say I only realized that a few years ago! Located in Federal Way, the World Vision building is something to behold. I walked through the mail room, where every letter is sorted and sent. I attended one of their chapels, and watched a few employees receive recognition for a number of years of service. I saw pictures lining the hallways, each with a story. I left feeling humbled, and excited, knowing that the more I learn about what is <em>actually </em>going on around the world, the more I want to get involved. My husband and I sponsor a little girl named Juliet through World Vision. She lives in Zambia, Africa, and is the same age as our daughter Olivia. Sometimes when Olivia does something new (new words, new milestones) I think of Juliet, and wonder if she's doing the same. <br /><br />On to chapter four,<br />SarahSarah Taylorhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11513144970931290816noreply@blogger.com3