one does not conquer a black diamond in reverse

NOTE: i wrote this post LAST winter. so it's old. but it still holds true. enjoy! (also, just fyi, all the photos are from pinterest.) (also, this counts as day 26 of blogtober: share an opinion. this is my opinion on perfectionism. and salvation. bombdiggity.)

okay, so I'm going through a ski obsession. Most of my awesome friends snowboard. But a few ski. While I am not an incredible skier, it is one of my most. favorite. things. to do. EVER.

My mom and I were talking about my perfectionism, which has begun to become just a little bit overwhelming. I told her that I felt like I was trying to ski my way UP a black diamond.
For me, this is a fairly hilarious mental picture. Think about it: I ski without poles. So whenever there is a slight incline which I must scale, I have to do the wide-legged, inverse-snowplow, almost-cross-country-ski (which I hate) motion which is basically me flinging my self forward and hoping I can complete that ridiculous action again before I start to slide backwards.
It's lovely.
By trying to go up a black diamond like this? That would be self-inflicted torture.
So, perfectionism = making myself climb a black diamond.

It can't be done. I cannot be perfect. (Not to bust your bubble, but neither can you.)
So, we're all going to fail. We are all going to make bobbles and slip-ups, and it's going to hurt as bad as my legs do the day after skiing.

Here's the catch: this guy lives on our metaphorical ski hill. And he walks around to the people like me who are trying to get up the black diamond. Or maybe they aren't even past the bunny hill. Maybe they are injured and hanging out at the lodge or the first aid hut. Maybe they are even the people who are at that almost-Olympic-skier level that make you kinda sick, because they go flying down the mountain doing moguls and flips and bleh. Anyway - this guy has lift tickets. Free ones. And he sees people like me, and the injured ones, and the inexperienced ones, and even the awesome ones and he gives us free tickets. We don't have to try and get up the mountain on our own. We just have to stick the ticket on our coat and get in line for the lift. The ticket is unlimited. Every. Single. Day. We are allowed to go skiing as much as we want. The ticket gets us to the top of the mountain every time without fail.

(This is such an awesome ski hill...it should be a thing. Free lift tickets? Heck yeah.)

So, we can't get up the perfection ski hill. But this guy gives us a free lift ticket that allows us to get to the top of the mountain, so that we don't have to be perfect.

I'm just going to say it: Its GRACE. The ticket is grace and salvation and God's love for us. When we think about it like this, it's really kind of easy to grasp. All we have to do is accept the ticket, and then use the lift.

We don't have to be perfect, because we CAN'T be perfect. We will fail and slide down that stupid steep ski slope every time.

Thank goodness for free lift tickets.

indian trees

The tree leans over our house

waiting for wind.

A scar runs deep in its skin

and memories are scattered around its base

in tiny fragments.

It wishes to

scream out its story,

but it has no mouth to do so.

It's family is around us,

standing among the other trees,

each leaning in its own way,

each scarred differently,

each having different memories of the past.

The past tells of these trees

- they cannot tell for themselves -

and how the people off the land

journeyed through and

stripped off

the covering of the trees,

eating the woody flesh.

There was no other food,

and they did not take

enough to kill the trees.

Only enough to leave scars.

It makes one realize

that sacrifices leave scars.

Pain leaves marks.

Suffering leaves wounds.

And sometimes

one must sacrifice

unwillingly,

as the trees.

They did not choose to be the trees.

They did not choose to provide food

for the people of the land.

They did not choose to be scarred.

But:

They did choose to not die

from the pain.

They chose to keep living;

to keep breathing;

to keep making shade and oxygen;

to keep being trees.

They did not fall

to the ground and

rot into the dirt. They hurt.

They bled their sap.

They felt the wind against bare

wood and winced at it's cold teeth.

But though they hurt,

they continued living

long enough

to lean

over our house.

darn you, john green (my 10 favorite quotes)

So, you say John Green quote and its like #heaven.

Rule #1. Don't read the books becuase they are not clean. There is a hearty percentage of non-Christian content in these. And that content is gross and repulsive.
Rule #2. If you do read these books, there is some really profound and intense writing (I am indecently jealous of John Green's abilities as a writer) which will make you think that it makes up for the bad stuff which is wrong. The bad stuff is bad enough that you shouldn't read these.

but I did. and darn you, John Green, you came up with some INCREDIBLE quotes.

Allow me to share them with you:

note: these are all from Pinterest. But PROBLEM: some of them are grainy. sorry.

i didn't know how to fix it.  dang it, technology.

Day 31: costumes for Halloween

i wanted to dress up as Sadness from Inside Out.

that didn't happen.

i was not exactly forced, and i did have a good time, but it was something that was uncomfortable. and weird. and honestly i hate high heels. (although they are adorable.....)

WHO'S FREAKIN' IDEA WAS IT TO CREATE LIPSTICK.
because they just made it to the top of my hit-list.

we had a grand time. i mean: let's dress up and go to the Pride and Prejudice theater production (that was AMAZING i might add).

i love non-conventional Halloweens. 

note: photos are courtesy of Taylor....she's in the polka dots. :)

DAY 30: October Favorites

how to you say THIS IS MY FAVORITE.

(lol. it's called fangirling.)

October is OCTOBER. how can it not be a favorite?



it involves leggings and hot coffee instead of the iced we get in summertime. it means more blankets on your bed and awaking groggily to find that the sun is not up yet at 8:30.

October means its okay to spend an afternoon inside reading a book. because in the summertime that's apparently not okay. it also means new kittens because we need more mouse murderers.

it means that hunting season is here so Dad is gone for 10 days and every weekend until Thanksgiving. but when he comes back he smells faintly of woodsmoke and gunpowder and leather and if we're lucky, the iron-tinted odor of blood. (which is gross, but not actually that gross when you're used to it.)

it means that its okay to make pumpkin spiced EVERYTHING. it means its okay to turn on the heater. it means its okay to say 'ITS SO COLD' and your co-workers don't laugh at you.

it means comfort, and family, and giddiness because the leaves on the sidewalk crunch.

it means when you find that friend that absolutely LOVES red leaves that have landed on the round and she's SO HAPPY to have some to throw up into the air and you get a photo like this:

it means taking seven million pictures in the morning when the sun is just coming through the leaves on the trees and you're on the front porch taking them in your pajamas and bare feet and your toes almost freeze off.

its October. how can it not be a favorite? its the last hurrah before winter. its the last sprint, the last adrenaline rush, the last leaf as it falls from the tree.