When I first began to pray, perched in my window, listening to the tick of irrigation,

my prayers were concrete and desperate pleas.

So aware of my own smallness, trusting something bigger than myself…

“Heal my daddys back”, “help me fit in at school”

As a teen my prayers were trapped in melodrama, hidden in religious lace.

Certain I was holier than thou,

watching the sinners pound their chests while I prayed

“thank you God, that I am not like them’

As a young adult, my prayers found their feet.

They shifted as my identity and priorities did.

They changed as I met Jesus in all my ineptitude.

They changed as I realized how wrong my priorities had been,

“Oh Lord, break my heart with the things that break yours”

And now my prayers are raw.
A heart laid bare.
Desperate pleas for wisdom, for grace, for patience.

Pretense aside.

Humbled by a call much too big.

So aware of my own smallness

All I can do is plead and praise.

Linking from my archives to:

“It is not the critic who counts; not the man who points out how the strong man stumbles, or where the doer of deeds could have done them better. The credit belongs to the man who is actually in the arena, whose face is marred by dust and sweat and blood; who strives valiantly; who errs, who comes short again and again, because there is no effort without error and shortcoming; but who does actually strive to do the deeds; who knows great enthusiasms, the great devotions; who spends himself in a worthy cause; who at the best knows in the end the triumph of high achievement, and who at the worst, if he fails, at least fails while daring greatly, so that his place shall never be with those cold and timid souls who neither know victory nor defeat.”

– Theodore Roosevelt

Sometimes, when you are on the field, you kick your team-mate right in the shins. Sometimes even when your heart is in the right place and you are playing your very best, you score on your own net. Sometimes even when you want to be a good sport, you treat the opposition unfairly. Sometimes…you fall flat on your face.

Learning to fail well is important. Learning that even if you say the wrong thing or stumble over yourself in public it won’t define you. Choosing not to see a poorly done task for work as indicative of your entire career. Choosing to see mistakes as opportunity for growth instead of as a fatal character flaw is good. Humility helps this task because it means you are not shocked by your failure, instead you look again at how to get better. Too love better. Too learn to not be so clumsy with others. To learn how to get stains out. How to say sorry. How to give grace…and receive it.

That is what I’m thinking about today. So thankful to be in the arena. Even on the days when I kick my team mates in the shins…

We’ve been sick for ages over her. The baby girl has been ill for one full week which has meant that I can’t put her down. Not even for a moment. Not to make coffee and certainly not to make dinner. So we’ve not really had dinner for awhile over here. I start to get a little irritated when I don’t get to cook for a while. Last night Emily turned a corner and asked to snuggle daddy instead of me. YES! I can cook something!!!

Currently our family has a slight obsession with gnocchi. This summer in Geneva, I sat in a cobblestone street and ate the most delicious meal ever. Gnocchi with scallops and mushrooms…Oy.

About to eat the most delicious meal...

Perhaps it was the atmosphere. I was pretty thrilled to be sitting there, but I am still quite certain it was the most delicious meal I’ve ever had. I’ve been trying to recreate it ever since! Last night I got the closest yet. You know it is good when my husband brings the leftovers into the living room at 9 pm and finishes the bowl.

Recipe:

My dear sister-in-law has this fantastic habit of buying me interesting and wonderful cooking additions. Things I would never buy for myself. Most recently she bought me truffle oil. It may have been what turned the corner on this recipe!

I heated the oil (smells SO good), then added a few cloves of garlic. Next I added the scallops and the mushrooms.

Stir fried them until cooked through.

Added fresh parsley.

Added a splash of cream.

Added a splash of white wine.

Added lots of grated parmesan.

Added the cooked gnocchi. Heat through and serve.

I served with balsamic marinated tomatoes, roasted asparagus and foccacia bread. It was so good to have a good dinner together! Finally!

Next Mr. O and I are trying this. We watched it on her show yesterday and he was fascinated by the prospect!

What is the best recipe you tried out this week??? I would love ideas for tonight!

Loving this photo of this adorable babe I met at the wedding last weekend! The lighting was awesome in the balcony of this old church, with light streaming in the stained glass! Visit other favorite faces from January here:

It’s the things I’ll never get back that hurt the most.

That time that I didn’t swim because I thought the way I wore swim-wear would cause others to weep.

That time when my new husband went para-sailing but I was sure my 145 lbs would cause the rope to snap and launch me off to space.

The dozen times in high school I skipped my grannys pies, my mothers Sunday dinners.

It’s the million beautiful thoughts I could have thought, the adventures I skipped, the beauty I could have experienced if my mind weren’t riddles with ME and MY BODY.

There are the times now, when I watch teen girls press into walls and try to make themselves invisible. I watch them cross their arms, clumsy, over their middles, hiding roles that don’t even live there. I watch them watch each other with envy and greed, longing for ‘her abdomen’ or ‘her breasts’. I watch them attack each other, thinking if they tear her down, that perhaps as part of the bounty, they will gain her beauty.

I want to scream “GET IN THERE…YOU’RE MISSING IT”.

MISSING IT. MISSING EVERYTHING.

All of it is being stolen from right under your nose. Right under your lips…

There is no greater crime. I’ve never heard better definition of STEAL. KILL. DESTROY.

How about you? Tell me what this sort of thinking has stolen from you?

(Speaking at a women’s group in the morning on body image. I am needing a couple mores stories besides my own. Should you read this tonight…I would love to hear from you. What was stolen? How did you save your thought life from the thief? Thanks for your help!)

Linking today with: