This past Monday, I was fired from my job. I feel no ill will towards the organization at all. It is a magnificent place that has a pretty beautiful mission.

For the first time in almost two years, I'm unemployed. I'd almost forgotten what it was like! Since Jarod works at a boy's home from Wednesday at 1pm to Sunday at 6am, I'm alone most of the time.

Well... almost alone. I have two step-cats. When Jarod was 19 and living in Oklahoma, he decided to pick up two kittens from the same litter. They were the only two left, and he's raised them very well. They're also the most expressive and hilarious cats I've ever seen. They like me and everything, but they know that Jarod is their daddy and his word is law. They love him more than I've ever seen an animal love a person. (JUSTIN BANEY please do not make some stupid bestiality joke and ruin my magnificent blog with your hilarious yet disgusting humor)



This is Gwen. She is very sweet, likes people, and is very smart. When I'm upset or sick, Gwen always knows to crawl up on my stomach and purr until I feel better. She's not much of a talker unless she's bored. Then she won't shut the hell up. She cuddles a lot and sleeps in my bed with me every night. Gwen also loves to watch tv and be petted - but on her own terms. Gwen will only tolerate affection if she still gets to move around. Picking Gwen up will result in a low mournful "moo". Yes, "moo".



This is Jen. She is Gwen's sister. Even though they're from the same litter, I like to think that Jen is much younger. She's lovely and soft and has big green eyes - and an outrageously vociferous appetite. This little girl (Jarod calls her "chunk") can eat her weight in cat food every hour if you let her. She is also a bit jumpy around new people. She hides a lot. For a shy kitty, Jen talks a LOT...if "talk" is even the correct term. In the morning, she wants to tell you all about how lonely she was while you were asleep. In one weird yowl, Jen lets you know three things:
1. Refill the food dish.
2. Please pet me while you pee or I'll pat you on the leg incessantly while you're on the potty.
3. You're a selfish bastard for sleeping while I was bored.

I haven't been at home a lot this week until last night. I think the girls missed me.

They've been tearing around the house all morning. Gwen sat calmly in the corner after a while - but Jen wouldn't have it. I've never seen a cat slap another cat in the face before. It even made a thud noise. Gwen turned around and counter-attacked with an uppercut. Cats that have been raised by Jarod Abbott are extremely interesting to watch. These bitches is crazy.

I've been giving a lot of thought to what being a grown-up means. I figure that - since I'm almost a MOM, I should figure this shit out. Let's make a list and see how far I've gotten:

1. Pay bills - check.
2. Move away from Mom and Dad - check.
3. Obtain and keep a good job for at least one year - check.
4. Find a man, get married - check.
5. Quit letting my house look like such a bachelor pad when Jarod's not home - ehhh I'm getting there.
6. Feed myself - ..............crap. I'm sunk.

When Jarod makes a meal, it looks like this:



It's beautiful! Well-balanced, attractive, probably smells like everything you'd ever want in life, and is delicious.

This is what happens when I make a meal:


I wish I could claim that this is a dramatization and has little to no value in reality...but I'd be lying. Today, I've eaten two canned biscuits with nutella and one entire cantaloupe. I am no longer hungry, but I did bake all eight biscuits (I am ashamed to admit that I might just eat the last six for dinner with cinnamon and sugar or something).

I'm going to be the worst mom in the world!! My kids are going to come home for dinner and they'll look to the table and see one squash, 1/2 a tomato, some grated cheese, and a butterscotch candy! They're going to grimace and moan and say, "Mom, we really love you....but when is DAD coming home?"

Eventually, I will learn how to feed myself like a normal human being. These are things I need to figure out:

1. Why do I have baking powder in my cupboard and what is it used for?
2. What is a "meal"?
3. When is the food DONE and how can you tell? (I feel like every other human has this built-in knowledge, but I must have missed out on that)
3. When do normal people eat?
4. What is that godawful smell in my fridge?
5. ........Do strawberries go bad?

(Directly after typing #5, #4 was discovered and dealt with)

Quest of food knowledge: Here I come!

I haven't written in ages. Here's a tiny update:

I am 12 weeks pregnant, and our teensy little one is now apparently 3 inches (from head to butt, legs aren't measured yet), has fingernails and toenails, some organs, a face, and a very excited mommy and daddy.

To start off, my first trimester has been absolute and utter Hell. I don't mean "hell" as a slang or swear word (i.e. "AW HELL NAW!" as a reaction of incredulity), I mean it as the actual location, HELL - like with the devil and the eternal scorching fires (a.k.a. heartburn that radiates in my elbows and unbelievable fire-hose pukage). I have been sick, mind-bendingly bitchy and just plain MEAN, pathetic, and very leaky around my tear-ducts. I'm a sobby pathetic mess.

But I love my brand new family more than I can articulate.

Jarod has a new job that is a complete God-send. He works with boys that the CPS (Child Protection Services) picks up and sends to a home. He is a temporary dad for 5-6 boys at a time in their own little house on the campus, and he does a great job. He loves those boys like they're all his sons or little brothers, and they flock to him like flies to a light source. When I dropped him off Wednesday, he unpacked fishing poles, books, his guitar, and other things just for the boys. I have never been this impressed by a man in my life.

One night last week, he came home utterly sad. He had spent all day reading his boys' case files. Cases of abuse, abandonment, oversight, and bad parenting in general. He said that one of the boys had such a horrible story that he had to take a break and go outside just to breathe. One of the boys had actually been adopted from the home and sent back.

Just imagine what that must have felt like: You're a little boy living in a place with no mommy and no daddy, then you find yourself in a real family for the first time.

"You'll be with us forever."

"We love you and you're our son now."

But, because of a certain situation with the other adopted children, he was sent back to being an orphan with no family. Those powerful statements were annulled and taken back. No family, no parents' loving care. All he had was snatched away by the hand of cruel abuse.

I thought about him all day today.

The family I grew up with is the closest to perfection this side of Heaven. I have a mom and a dad who love each other so much it makes ME sick sometimes, and I have two amazing brothers who call me "just to say hi".

Now, I have a new family with the most incredible man in the world and a tiny peach-sized baby that we both already adore more than breath.

I am overwhelmed with my own wealth at the moment. Who can claim that? My situation is not normal in this day and age. Kids grow up unwanted and abused, and I never once knew what that felt like. I was always safe, I always had a bed to sleep on, and I always had food when I needed it. I have been utterly over-blessed.

Aside from my amazing worldly families, I have a God that means what he says. When he says, "You are my child now." He means forever. I will never be un-adopted by my Heavenly Father. I will never, ever be unwanted.

I'm not sure what else to say. I love my parents, my brothers, my husband, my Savior, and my child.

P.S. Can you believe I'm a freakin MOM?! Still weird as hell. Just sayin.

"When you buy a jigsaw puzzle at a yard sale, you can pretty much bank on having 97% of the pieces...if you're lucky. There are always at least a couple missing. What happens to those pieces?

I'll find out sooner or later, considering I'm one of them."

I wrote that about a year ago.

I used to think that I'd never find a man who would fit me. I always thought I was too weird, too tall, too silly, and much too intimidating to attract anyone of consequence. However, I'm engaged to someone beautiful who is weirder, taller, sillier, and far more intimidating than I am. I guess God did know what he was doing. I told Jarod about my puzzle piece theory, and he laughed. Apparently, he'd come up with the same theory about himself. We are just two oddly-shaped puzzle pieces without a puzzle, but somehow - all my weird bits and corners that never seemed to fit anywhere else are mirrored in this man.

I couldn't be happier.

That silent voice that just spoke nothing, that is me. I’m listening to your plea with open ears - counting all your tears flowing from your irritated eyes searching the skies looking for that hope that beyond there lies.... When I am silent, I am listening. Not abandoning.
-Bradley Hathaway, Silence

Sometimes, I feel like I need to blasted by some huge and different experience or epiphany in order to write about my Jesus.

However, in the past few weeks, something has been scratching at the corners of my mind - trying to quietly gnaw its way out. I am not sure how to articulate it, and that's been really bothering me.

I don't need something dramatic to happen to me to remind me of my faith. Every once in a while, when I'm alone in my car, I'll talk to Jesus and tell him about my day. Every I remember to speak up, I always end up apologizing profusely and saying how much I miss him and I love him over and over again.

It might be time for me to stop apologizing and trying to convince him of my good intentions to speak with him more often. I need to grow up and embrace the fact that I don't have an excuse to stay away from him.

Most of the time I feel very unlovable. I know this is silly. I have incredible friends and an amazing family who love me very much - but, occasionally, my depression creeps back and turns me sour. I feel like they're wasting their time, loving someone like me. I feel like God's wasting his time - and the biggest waste of all was to die for someone as self-absorbed and needy as I am. Sometimes I wonder why he made me look like I do - most days I look in the mirror and vow that I'd give anything to look completely different. I am so arrogant that all I can think about is my ugliness. I am insignificant, and I do not matter.

Punchinello laughed.
"Me, special? Why? I can't walk fast. I can't jump. My paint is peeling. Why do I matter to you?"

Eli looked at Punchinello, put his hands on those small wooden shoulders, and spoke very slowly.
"Because you're mine. That's why you matter to me."

Punchinello had never had anyone look at him like this - much less his maker. He didn't know what to say.

-Max Lucado, You are Special

Apparently, I matter to God because I am his. He made me, and he loves me. You matter to God, too - because you're his and he loves you.

I don't know if anyone else needed to hear that, but I did. I knew I needed to write something to this effect, and I think I've done it.

He can took my wretchedness and made it his own - and he loves me.

What's bigger and more dramatic than that?

So sorry to all of my avid readers (I know I may have fudged a bit while using the word "avid", but it makes me feel more loved), I've been far too strange to write anything lately. Do you ever have several weeks at a time when you feel so uncharacteristically "un-you"? I haven't been acting like myself lately, but I don't think it's a bad thing. Normally, I'm a fly-by-the-seat-of-my-pants type gal with nothing but snatches of inner turmoil and memories to keep myself busy. I write a lot about my heart, or I take seemingly insignificant moments and create melodramatic pieces of literature that no one really cares about - with the exception of myself, of course. I normally write about my undying love for Jesus...or the fact that I like the turgidity of water on the top of an almost-too-full glass.

I graduated high school in a very pretty dress of blue and white. Last month, the poor strained zipper barely made it halfway up my back fat before it choked out in a fit of despair. This morning, I slid the zipper up with ease - and no strange puffy fat rolls protruded out of the arm holes, either. I am the proud loser of fifty pounds since Christmas.

Warning: If you know me well, what I am about to say might shock you. Make sure you are seated before you read the next remark.

(I'm not sure why you would be standing up while reading my blog, but it seemed like an appropriate thing to say)

I started counting calories and eating low-fat stuff.

This is exceedingly UNLIKE me. I loathe anything having to do with numbers. (or anything NOT having to do with unhealthy food, for that matter) Even though I can stumble my way through telling time on an analog watch, I prefer to ask someone the time to save myself the headache. When I was in third grade, we were instructed to go through and memorize multiplication facts. I quickly rattled off my 2s, 9s, 5s, 10s, and 11s (up to 9x11). I let the complicated ones be because I didn't feel like it was worth my time. I never learned them. I've done horribly in every math course that prohibits the use of a calculator.

But now, I count calories in food. How silly!

I also exercise.

"What?!"

I used to make fun of people that went to the gym. I thought they seemed a bit narcissistic to always be in front of those horrible mirrors, treading on treadmills that never went anywhere. This is how I got over my aversion to the gym:

Turn the stupid machine AWAY from the mirror!!!! That way, I don't have to watch the pounds I have yet to lose thrashing all over the place, looking like a soggy mess of a human being.

Here's another thing I've been doing. (This is a real shocker, too, but not as huge as the math-hating calorie-counter) I've gone tanning a few times...


....and....

...I really enjoy it.

"Fake-n-baking?! NO WAY!"

Yes, way. I find it relaxing and it makes my skin look nice.

Even though I have been indulging in strange behaviors, I am reminded that I am still irrevocably "me". I need people more than air. I have made such wonderful and beautiful friends. They are the new-found glue that holds my sanity in place. If I hadn't moved to Texas, I would never have become close with these incredible people.

I met Heather on the ship. When I first moved here, I lived in her house for a month. We have been getting closer recently, and I couldn't enjoy it more. The boys we hang out with refer to us as "the girls" and I kind of like it. With Heather, I can "geek out" and not have to worry if she'll still like me. I can be as much of a girl as I want around her without feeling like a ditz.

Aaron is an artist, and he is very intentional when working on a piece. For Aaron, the beginning and the end of the project are the two scariest parts. He doesn't want to start off with a mistake, and he always second-guesses himself at the end. "Should I do something else here? NO. I don't want to ruin it... But what if it needs another splash of pink?" Dear Aaron is nothing if not genuinely friendly. His heart is swollen with how much he loves his friends. Even though I let him in on scary ghosts from my past, he takes everything in stride and is nearly always available for a hug. He inspires me to write more intentionally (and more often).

Jared is called "Jigga". I have no idea why, but it fits him. Picture this: "The Dude" in the Big Lebowski had some outfits that looked nice, lost the drugs and booze - but kept the silly personality and a few quirky wardrobe choices. He takes fantastic photographs and lives with Aaron. Here's one of my favorite things about this new friend: Jigga has an authentic interest in other people - rare these days. When he asks me a question about my life, I feel like he actually wants to hear the answer.

These are only three examples of reasons why moving to Texas was a blessing instead of a curse.

Sometimes, God works very slowly. I didn't realize how much he'd done until I started writing tonight. I've stayed up far too late, but it's been worth it. God has given me friendships, a wonderful job, a great place to live, and the energy to be healthier and happier.

I am not content, I am happy. The word "content" makes God's blessings sound like a compromise. This is no compromise. I am so happy that God placed me here, and I couldn't be more thankful for what he's done in me during the past six months.

He's a brilliant being.