House Monkey

Happy Thanksgiving to you all!

My siblings and I have coined a term for who we become during the holidays when we are at home. The term is, "house monkey." It is commonly used in our family in the following way: "Dude, when are you getting home to be a house monkey with me?!" This translates to: "Dude, when are you getting home so that we can sit around in our pajamas playing on our computers and eat loads of junk food together?!" I think it was actually my mom who first called us house monkeys. At first we were slightly offended, but then we realized that it was hilarious (not to mention true) and we embraced the name ourselves.

When it's super snowy outside, below freezing, and we have nowhere to be, we prefer to lounge around inside, cracking jokes and sharing funny YouTube videos and only brave the elements in order to let the dogs outside once in a while. Seeing as how all of the kids in my family are still in school in one form or another, it is always a treat to descend into the lazy realm of house monkey life together. We are a driven, regimented bunch in general, which often leads to excessive studying/working and then usually to an educational burnout. It is for this reason that we are such exceptional house monkeys, especially on school breaks.

Once we had a contest to see who could last the longest without showering or changing their clothes. I won. If you think going 4 days in the same pajamas with no shower is gross, you would be correct! These days we keep the outfits changing and the bathing daily, thankfully. I am grateful that I have a family that I love hanging out with. It makes the time spent together during the holidays pretty awesome.

My dad gets to be a house monkey the least, due to his work schedule. We are so appreciative of his hard work, but it's hard to see him drive off in the dark morning hours and return long after the sun has set. I wish he could enjoy more of our house monkey days with us. My mom is also required to break the "house monkey code" quite a lot to run errands and see to it that everything in the house runs smoothly. My parents have worked hard to provide their kids with a comfortable home and loving family. They are outstanding people.

I hope when I have a family some day that I can provide for them just like my parents provided for us. I want to raise kids who work hard and can count on having plenty of house monkey time at home during the holidays.

Long live house monkeys!

Love,
Charlotte

Piano Master

Good evening!

It seems that at some point in the last year, my brother has transformed into a piano master. He has devoted his life to his craft and has achieved great successes. Today I had the pleasure of attending a recital he performed. It was captivating.

He and the piano belong together. They are two parts of one unit, and it is obvious to anyone that watches him play that the combination of the two is magical. He opens up his mind and his soul to the music and we are in turn treated to a glimpse of his genius. It is strange to think that I'm his sister. It's also strange to remember the times growing up when I wanted to wring his neck. I will always be grateful to our parents for impressing upon the kids in my family the extreme importance of maintaining friendships with each other. There were trying times growing up of course, but now that we are adults, I know that I can always count on my brother and sister for pretty much anything.

There were times during his recital that I couldn't keep the smile off of my face. I am so proud of him. Although he might not know it, he has given me a second chance to connect with classical music. After a short stint studying voice I realized that I wasn't meant to exist in the music world. The stress, anxiety, unpredictability, and viciousness of classical singing is astounding. My battle with music left traumatic scars on my heart and shook my sense of stability. Thankfully, I turned my back on that destructive path and started a new journey, marked by healing.

Needless to say, it has taken me quite some time to even be able to listen to classical music, let alone enjoy it. My brother's love for piano has gifted me with the ability to love music again. I see the peace with which he performs and it gives me hope. Maybe I can try to sing again. Maybe watching him perform has given me the courage to start singing lessons again. Maybe he has no idea that he has made this huge impact on my life today. Don't worry, he'll read this post and then he will begin to understand.

I hope that one of these days you have an undeniable God-moment like I had today during my brother's recital. I pray that you will see God's great works and smile. We are so blessed.

Love,
Charlotte

Hobby

When I get bored I become kind of......... surly. Throw out a fun idea? I'll shut it down. Ask me what I want to do? I'll sass you in response. Offer me a cookie? I don't want it. Boredom is vicious and it makes me act like an idiot.

I recently attempted searching the internet for "fun things to do" and I was inundated with websites, blogs, and posts describing fun date activities and fun things to do with a bored toddler. Although I may act like one sometimes, I'm not a toddler and as far as I know, I'm not going on a date tonight. Hmph.

My mom has tried extremely hard to get me addicted to a hobby so that I would have something fun to do during the down times in my life. We tried everything. Drawing, painting, baking, cake decorating, needle point, knitting, scrap booking, and the list goes on. My parents even got me a Wii so that I would hopefully become addicted to one of the games and have something to do when I was bored. Unfortunately none of those things kept my attention for very long. Video games stress me out, artsy things frustrate me, and I'm just kind of hard to please.

Sometimes when people are trying to get to know you better they ask what your favorite hobbies are. That implies that you have more than one hobby to choose from. When they ask me, I usually say that cooking is my hobby just to avoid explaining that I am bored a lot and I haven't found a hobby yet that I love.

People make hobbies look like so much fun, whether it is collecting stamps or painting model planes. I wish I had a hobby that I could enjoy. There is something in my brain that stops me from focusing on any hobby-like task I attempt. It's the same roadblock I face when I try to watch a movie. The best way that I can explain what happens to me is that I don't want to tune out my mind and focus on something completely unrelated to my thoughts. Watching movies makes me feel anxious because I feel like my life is passing me by while I sit like a zombie staring at a glowing box. Is that weird? Probably. I'm anything but normal.

I would love to be able to zone out while knitting or drawing. Maybe some day I will? Maybe in the future I will be able to tune out my thoughts? Maybe when I'm older I'll be able to conquer my boredom?  I'm just grateful that each day keeps moving and with each day comes life. I'm grateful for being alive. I'm grateful that God has gifted me with a life that tells a story. So far my story has been quite eventful, despite the recurring boring days. I guess boredom is alright. Perhaps God is using the boredom time to heal me or help me grow. I can't imagine that there is a moment in any of our lives in which "nothing" is happening. God is too great for that. I wonder what He's up to right now.

Love,
Charlotte

Body

Once upon a time I had six pack abs, toned arms, and I could do so many sit-ups that my trainer on the Wii fit gave up trying to beat me. I'm serious. I was buff. Every day in my single dorm room I turned on my Wii Fit and pushed myself to the nauseating limit. It was not a happy time.

Those days were some of the darkest in my life. I was engulfed in depression and I desperately tried every remedy to make myself come out of that downward spiral. My psychiatrist told me that I needed to carve out time in my intense school schedule to exercise every day. He said that exercise is a depression cure for lots of people. When I say I was desperate, I really mean it. My grip on life was slipping and I was scared. I began to opt out of completing homework assignments and studying for exams to make time for exercise. My parents and I realized that my mental health was vastly more important than my schooling, but none of us wanted me to give up on school yet.

Another function of the depression at that time was a loss of appetite. I smelled food and wanted to hurl. Previously, one of the characteristics of my depression was my tendency to overeat. I knew things were changing for the worse when I couldn't force myself to eat three meals a day. I would eat some cereal in the afternoon and that would be it. I was getting really sick.

People started commenting on the physical changes happening to my body. Most of the comments stemmed from concern for my health, but a few oblivious voices praised me for the weight loss and muscle tone. I hated talking to people about my body. It didn't seem like it was any of their business. I was just trying to do what my doctor told me to do.

The sad thing was that I loved the way I looked. My clothes hung off of my body and I felt comfortable in my skin for the first time I could ever remember. I didn't want to go back to my normal body. I liked being bony and thin. My parents were worried. There was so much tension in my life. It felt like everyone was waiting for something. Waiting for me to come to my senses and start eating.

I remember talking with my psychiatrist and my mom one afternoon in his office. He told me he had another drug that he thought might help me feel better. One of the side-effects was weight gain. Hearing him say those words broke me. I held my breath as that nasty stinging feeling smarted behind my nose, as my eyes welled with tears. I could barely speak. I looked at him. I looked at my mom. I told them that I couldn't take it. I was finally happy with my body for the first time in my life and I was so not ready to have that taken away from me.

Without my loving parents, I would not have had the strength to say goodbye to the body I loved and begin a regimen of new meds. We all knew that my brain's health was more important that how my body looked, but it hurt so deeply in my heart to lose something that made me happy. I started the new medicine and soon I started putting on weight. My appetite came back eventually. I don't even remember if that drug improved my depression or not. I was still mourning the loss of the body I had always wanted.

I still miss looking like a fitness model. I keep reminding myself that the loss of appetite and the weight loss were actually negative side effects of the depression. It's so hard to see past a dreary body image. It is still difficult to look at myself in a full length mirror and be satisfied with what I see. I know I am blessed and I know there are people with much greater problems than me. It is hard not to be ashamed of such a hateful self awareness.

This is something I struggle with. I will continue to battle negative views of my body for the rest of my life. Please understand that if you suffer from this as well, you are not alone. It's a painful thing to admit, and it's kind of terrifying to post it on a blog. But I want to help you and I want to help me. I want to help us love ourselves. I want us to see ourselves as God sees us. I don't know a cure for this mindset, but I do know that I have good days and bad days. I pray that Jesus holds our hands as we walk through the good days and carries us through the bad ones. No matter what, there is a light at the end of the tunnel. The bright love of Heaven waits for those who walk with the Lord, despite the ups and downs of our mortal days.

Let's not get down on ourselves. Let rise up to God's love together. Love yourself. You were made in the image of our creator. You are truly, truly beautiful.

Love,
Charlotte

Selfless

Selflessness is incredible. Incredible to behold, and incredibly hard to live out. Merriam-Webster describes "incredible" in these terms: "difficult, or impossible to believe. Extremely good, great, or large." Personally, it feels like being selfless is pretty close to impossible most of the time. Does it seem that way to you?

At my Middle City church, we just began the Christmas sermon series, entitled "Selfless." Although the series has just begun, I already feel extremely challenged by the message. Maybe it is a function of being inherently selfish, but I feel like being a twenty-something is like living in Selfish City. My twenties thus far have been swamped with questions like, "When are you going to get married? When are you going to choose a career? When are you going to settle down?" I will freely admit that I ask myself these questions more than I have them posed to me by others.

I want to grow up. I want to feel secure in a job that I love and make enough money to comfortably enjoy my life. I want to marry a God-loving man who will adventure through the trials and joys of life with me. This list could go on, but I need to stop there. Those "I want" statements contradict the selfless life that Jesus calls us to. Just re-reading those sentences makes me feel slightly sheepish. What about what Jesus wants? What about all of His people that are struggling? What about the people that haven't heard about His incredible love?

There is an enormous gap between my selfish lifestyle and the selfless lifestyle that Jesus modeled. I know I am human and I blunder constantly, but whoa now. Where have I been? Why did I miss the selfless train? Where can I buy my ticket? Is there room in the train for my dog??

Seriously though, I need to not only examine my selfish life, but change a part of it this Christmas season. I want to make a change that makes God smile extra big. This weekend I will be praying especially for God to open our eyes to the part of our lives that we need to remodel. I pray that He gives us the strength and wisdom to change. Boy do I need His help with this one.

I hope the selfless train is ready for another passenger (and a dog).

Love,
Charlotte

Gym

Good day friends.

Do you enjoy exercising? I assuredly do not. I do not enjoy wearing "work out" clothes, I hate sweating, and I'm not a big fan of people watching me at the gym. Even if I just decide to bounce around on an Elliptical machine for half an hour, my whole day's routine is upset. Obviously this happens because I don't make time to work out in the first place, but I don't like to admit that.

I've talked to many people who say, "I love the feeling you get after a great work out!" In my head I'm thinking, "You enjoy the pain in your chest, the burning in your lungs, and the feeling of cold sweat dripping down your spine?" After I work out I feel like curling up in a heap of warm towels and not coming out until my vitals have returned to normal working order.

When I was growing up, I worked my butt off as a dancer. I vacillated between loving and hating it. I didn't have any interest in sports so dance kept me active. I quit when was in high school and it felt like gained a life but lost a family. It was hard to stay positive as a dancer when you spent every day after school staring at yourself in a mirror comparing yourself to the thinner, more toned girls next to you. However, my instructors were amazing. They pushed me to the limits of my physical and mental abilities and made the blood, sweat, and tears worth it (most of the time).

As I matured I realized that I didn't love dance as much as I used to. It was hard to leave my dance family, and thinking about it still makes my heart hurt a little bit. God had different things for me to work on, though. I immediately began singing lessons and from then on music was my hobby. Although singing is definitely a physical pass-time, the end of dance marked the real end of my commitment to physical fitness. It sounds more dramatic than it really was though. I was thrilled to have free time and be able to do my homework right after school, instead of late at night when dance got out. I enjoyed following my mom around, running errands with her, and helping her make dinner. But then my pants started to get a little smallish around the waist.

Since then I've been in and out of gyms countless times. I have adult-sized responsibilities these days, including taking care of a tiny dog, finding a job, and learning things at college. I can come up with a trillion excuses as to why I don't have time to exercise. I'm really good at it. One might say that making excuses has become something of a hobby....

Some day though, I'm going to have kids who will question everything I do and I'm going to have to tell them why I chose not to keep myself healthy. I'm not sure I want to go that route. I think I'd rather show them that they can exercise and avoid super sugary foods while still maintaining a joyous lifestyle. I think it's time to go to the gym.

Let's brave the sweat.

Love,
Charlotte

Like An Awkward Pigeon

Two posts in one day? Why, yes I will! I have good news regarding the interview I had earlier today. It went quite smoothly and my interviewer told me to expect a call next week for a second interview. I practically had to pick my jaw up off of the floor. It seems like lately I have not been in the right spot at the right time when it comes to finding a job. I was prepared for him to glance at my resume, ask about my greatest personal weakness, and dismiss me with a tired sigh. I was wrong.

While I was sitting in a chair waiting to be summoned into the interview room, I awkwardly shuffled my papers in my hands. After crossing and uncrossing my legs five times, I realized that I hadn't given one thought to the three things I was supposed to be focusing on to lessen the anxiety of this scary situation. I squinted out the window as I tried to recall all three: 1) breathe, 2) ask for the guidance of the Holy Spirit, and 3) smile. I was so proud of myself for remembering all three that I grinned absentmindedly at the woman sitting across from me. Thankfully she was too busy looking bored to notice. I quickly offered up a prayer for the Holy Spirit to guide me.

In two shakes of a lamb's tail I was sitting down in front of my interviewer and experiencing the most pleasant interview I could ever imagine. He did not grill me, but instead praised me for being both ServSafe and TIPS certified. He loved that I had a culinary background and he told me to expect a call next week for a second interview. It was over in a flash. I shook his hand and strode back to the lobby area. Not knowing if there was anything else I had to do, I stood in the lobby like a confused pigeon for half a second, then huffed out the door.

Who knows if I actually will get a call or not. A second interview would mean a lot to me. However if I don't get a call, the look on my therapist's face when I tell her the story of my successful anti-anxiety strategy will be quite a good consolation prize. (Note: it took me ten minutes to remember the phrase "consolation prize." No joke.)

Thank you all for your prayers. I felt Jesus leading me through the interview today. His calming presence was definitely overshadowing my fear.

Thank the Lord for the Holy Spirit!

Love,
Charlotte

Job Interview

Good morning my friends.

I have a job interview today. Yikes. I am not a fan of dressing up in crunchy clothes and fussing about my hair, all for 10 minutes of face time with people I have never met, whose primary job is to judge me. However, I would like to earn some dollars that I can put towards doggy daycare and Christmas presents for my family. I guess I can spare a day of frayed nerves and possibly a dented ego in the hopes of making some cash.

I didn't want to blog about this particular event because I thought that focusing on it would worsen my anxiety. It turns out though that putting my thoughts into words is helping me clear up the foggy, anxious thoughts I am so good at producing. My thoughts tend to bounce around in my head in ALL CAPS with dozens of exclamation points. When I write to you though, using those text modifiers would seem a little silly.  JOB INTERVIEWS ARE A PART OF LIFE THAT EVERYONE MUST SUFFER THROUGH!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! See what I mean?

I'm blessed to have my Heavenly Father holding my hand as I progress through this day. He has called me to be "a simple sheep" (Jesus Calling- Sarah Young). This means that I can look to Him and depend on Him without worrying about what today holds. This sounds easy but it is sure a struggle for me.

When I was first introduced to cognitive behavioral therapy I was hoping that it would help me to abolish all anxiety from my life. This hope was dashed when my therapist informed me that maintaining a certain level of anxiety is what keeps us alive and safe. If we didn't have that little voice in our heads telling us to step away from the rabid raccoon who appears on our doorstep, we would be in big trouble.

Today the helpful anxiety is telling me to dress up, don't put on excessive amounts of perfume, and to not be late. The not so helpful anxiety is telling me that I'm going to be so nervous that my hands will start shaking, I'll be sweating bullets, and the interviewers are going to ask me if I'm a morning person and I'm going to have to tell them the truth. These things are not helping me right now.

 If I were a therapist for myself I might say the following to me: "Charlotte, make three goals for yourself in this interview. Make them simple, like 1) breathe deeply, 2) ask for the Holy Spirit to be with you, and 3) smile. Focus on these three manageable tasks before and during the interview instead of allowing your mind to form useless "what-if" statements." To that wise, therapist-like part of myself I would then say, "Wow, that's a good idea! I shall try it."

I am making a promise to you, friends, that I will try these three things. The interview is at 1:30. Would you send up a prayer for me today? Thank you kindly!

All glory to our Good Shepherd!

Love,
Charlotte

70/30

 

 Some days words come easily to me, but today is a different story. I think 70% of the time I can explain what goes on in my head with pretty clear wording, but the other 30% is just a swirling vortex of emotions, questions, and blank stares. Maybe that 30% is where the Holy Spirit speaks to me. Maybe the Spirit uses my catatonic state to speak to my heart. Maybe.

The majority of the time I have so many sentences forming in my brain that I'm pretty sure I could have a short conversation with each human on earth and still be left with unspoken thoughts. This super verbal part of me loves to talk to other people, text them, and leave them excessively detailed notes on the kitchen table to make sure they understand exactly what I'm trying to tell them.

The 30% side of me is quite different. A defining characteristic of a "30%" moment is the blank stare. Do you ever find yourself fixated on something in front of you and you feel like if you take your eyes off of it some sort of spell will be broken? Sometimes I'll be staring at a chair or something when someone walks in front of it and temporarily breaks my trance. I've noticed myself once or twice trying to squint to see through them to the chair that previously held my gaze, trying to re-enter the trance. My family and friends have informed me that I look like a crazy loon when I zone out, but since it only happens 30% of the time, I don't worry about it.

It's always awkward when I have a 30% moment with a new acquaintance. They typically have only seen the smiley, blabbing 70% side, so when I fail to come up with opinionated, slightly sassy chatter, things get a little weird. Those who know me are aware that my 30% days or moments have very little to do with the people around me, but those new to my zombie stares have to be assured that I am not actually mad or upset with them. I'm usually just living out the introverted, blue-tinted side of my personality. 

Do you have a combination personality similar to what I described above? My guess is that most of us do, although it may take some oversimplification to get an easy to use ratio percentage. I think it would be interesting to get feedback from readers as to what their self-determined personality ratio is. There are many more categories than the two I mentioned, of course. Hearing a person describe himself/herself is usually quite eye-opening. Only God knows you better than you know yourself. I bet if He charted our personalities in a similar way, the results would be quite fascinating.

Long live our quirky differences!

Love,

Charlotte

IHOP

Good Sunday my friends.

I had the pleasure of dining at IHOP with one of my wonderful cousins this morning. I tend to focus almost exclusively on the person I am eating with, but this morning we witnessed some trouble in the workplace at this bustling establishment. One waitress was being physically restrained by the manager while she and another worker had it out. They made no attempts to conceal the exchange from the customers. Although they weren't being excessively noisy, one could feel the tension radiating from them throughout the area where we were seated.

I couldn't take my eyes off the fight. It was mesmerizing because I remember once in my life being in a similar (but not as physical) situation. Spats in the workplace have a special folder in the file cabinet of my anxiety. The nerves that ensue before, during, and after a tiff are enough to make me want to hurl. I don't like stirring up trouble, but once in a while I lose my cool and spout off at someone who has been getting on my nerves. I think this is a normal and pretty common occurrence in all occupations. Nevertheless, I always regret my part in these issues.

Whatever I do or say plays on repeat in my head for weeks on end. I over-analyze and think obsessively about what I should have done or said. The anxiety that is associated with the workplace problems is an especially scary kind because you have to return to your work and interact with those that you are on the outs with. I remember the days after the blow-up as kind of unreal. The anxiety picks up my normal fears and magnifies them to epic proportions that totally freak me out.

This is where an outside voice of reason always comes in handy. I am not an unreasonable person, nor do I act out of malice and ill will. When I get angry or upset it is usually for a good reason. Anger doesn't lend itself to great decisions, but we all have to deal with it anyways. I often turn to my mom to assure me that I'm being too hard on myself and that in two months from now the whole problem will seem quite insignificant. Sometimes those soothing words fall on deaf ears though. Sometimes the nagging anxiety sticks around for way too long.

This is a problem that I admit I cannot handle on my own. God has blessed me with a handful of gifted therapists over the years who help me to see what's going on in my brain from an objective perspective. I owe much of my healing over the years to my therapists. They have played a significant role in my life that no other person could fill. Although the stigma of "seeing a shrink" is still rampant in our society, I will gladly talk with anyone who is interested about my experiences with a trained therapist. Along with my faith and my family, my therapists have helped to turn my life around after many different trials and tribulations.

I believe in the power of my thoughts. I believe in the power of your thoughts. We can change the thoughts we don't like and encourage the ones we need more of.

Long live cognitive behavioral therapy!

Love,
Charlotte

Mistakes

I make a lot of mistakes. It's hard for me to remember that "trying" or "attempting" is what keeps me going forward. Trying IS the goal. Trying, putting forth effort, is where the success lies.

It has taken so long for me to comprehend that, and still I forget it daily and get mad at myself for making mistakes. They teach in school to strive for perfection. They teach at church to strive to be more like our Lord. What I missed out on learning was that mistakes are beautiful.  My devotional reminds me that each hardship and struggle is an opportunity to turn to God first, and grow closer to Him. This is so difficult to remember and put into practice. If I lived a life with no mistakes though, I wouldn't have anything to blog about!

I battle constantly with perfectionism, and maybe some of you do as well. We are conditioned to expect the best of ourselves. Let's not forget though that the bottom line is this: as long as we keep breathing, we are pleasing to God. He wants us to live and sometimes the very basics of that function are all that we can manage. And that's okay. We're okay. Cut yourself some slack.

Let us shoot for the best we can be each day, whether that is thriving or simply surviving.

Love,
Charlotte

Newspaper

Guten Morgen lovely people.

Do you like reading an actual newspaper that you can hold in your hands and snap open with a flick of the wrist? I most certainly do. Reading the paper has become a rare and glorious pleasure for me. Being a student, I tend to move around like a semi-nomad to different domiciles with large times of absence for school holidays. This, unfortunately, prevents me from getting a subscription to a paper. These days I read most of the news online, but boy do I love getting a real newspaper in my hands.

Yesterday I got my paws on a copy of the Grand Rapids Press and found that I could not put it down. Reading a paper is more like reading a book than reading the news online. Online you quickly scan the list of headlines and click on the ones that jump out at you. When I read the paper I tend to move through it methodically, giving each story some attention. Reading this way takes longer, but that's the joy of it. A cup of coffee and good paper are all I need for a morning or evening's worth of amusement.

And did I mention the smell? The smell of a freshly opened paper is unlike any other. Opening it is like opening a present full of current events, puzzles, and interesting editorials. When someone bothers to write a story for the news, the least we can do is read it, right? Right.

I hope some day soon I will be able to buy a subscription to some papers and have them delivered to my home. When that day comes I will have to adjust my schedule significantly due to the beautifully distracting paper gifts that arrive in my mailbox.

Huzzah for the paper!

Love,
Charlotte

A Mouse Story

Good day my dear friends.

Have you ever experienced something so profound and moving that you can't shut up about it? It's an awesome feeling. However, sometimes the thing you are so jazzed about doesn't seem to make the same everlasting impression on your chosen audience. I think it's better that way though. It keeps the memory special for you.

When I was going to high school in the middle of the woods in Michigan I had one of those experiences. To set the scene I've got to tell you that I pretty much thought school was a life-draining parasite that I had been burdened with. I didn't fit in, I was insecure, and I was struggling with lots of emotional baggage.

At that point in my life, my relationship with God was strained at best. Attempts at prayer frequently caused me to dissolve into tears. Sermons often overwhelmed me with guilt that prevented me from hearing the good news of Jesus' love for me. I was lost and utterly depressed.

Each day at school had its ups and downs. One chilly Fall day I was trudging to my car to switch out the textbooks in my backpack when something amazing happened. I saw something move on the gravel out of the corner of my eye, and I froze. The next thing I knew a tiny, tiny brown mouse was perched on top of my right shoe. (Take note: I think mice are super adorable.) I stared down at it, with my mouth hanging open like a goon, for minutes on end. What are the odds of a tiny, super cute mouse relaxing on your clog in the wild?! Pretty slim!

At this point all thoughts of school, when my next class started, or the possibility of contracting a disease from this tiny creature were far from my mind. I slowly bent down and picked the little guy up. He semi-freaked out and tried to bite me but then I deposited him in the warm scarf I had just been wearing and he relaxed. He was warm and safe.

It's a miracle I made it to class at all that afternoon, and I'm sure I didn't hear a word my teachers spoke to me. God had just sent me love in the form of an itsy bitsy mouse. He had seen my suffering and He had heard my cries for help. He knew, in His infinite wisdom, that all it would take to lift my eyes back to him was a visit from a mouse. How weird is that?

Even now it's hard to explain how I felt that afternoon, after the mouse encounter. I felt God's presence in a way that I had never believed I could. He had entrusted the life of one of his precious, small, furry creatures, to my care. He saw that I didn't love myself. He saw that I felt alone. He sent me an angel. A little, furry, mousy angel.

When I finally made it to class, I left the scarf (with mouse on it) outside of the building, hoping fervently that he would still be there when I got out. After class I practically galloped back to see him, but he had gone on his merry way. When you have a connection like that with an animal, there is no other explanation, in my mind, than God's love.

Long live the animals!

Love,
Charlotte

Leo

Good Morning friends.

This picture features Leo, a marvelous cat that I was privileged to grow up with. He was seriously amazing. He was an outdoor/indoor cat who could take care of himself while managing to appear loving and cute all at the same time. Back when elementary school started at 9 in the morning (!) my brother and I used to walk the few blocks to our crazy establishment of education. Leo used to follow us all the way to school, and many days, once we were released from our classes, we would catch a glimpse of Leo skulking around the neighborhood, waiting for us to walk home.

Leo, my friends, was pretty BA. He owned the block we lived on and I wouldn't be surprised if he ruled the entire downtown area. Sometimes at night my mom would wake up to a horrific caterwauling in the alley. She'd scurry out to break up the cat fight that usually ended with Leo as the victor. The funny thing was that Leo didn't have claws on his front paws. This leads me to imagine a hilarious cat fight in which Leo used his hind legs to beat up any cat who looked at him the wrong way. In the morning the alley would be littered with clumps of cat fur. Leo was a fighter.

When Leo wanted to come back in the house he would perch on a pedestal right outside our back door and meow frantically until someone let him in. When it started to rain, his meows would reach a fever pitch as his fur became drenched with precipitation.

Sometimes we wouldn't see Leo for a whole day and find out later that he had spent the day snoozing in our neighbor's house. I guess at times we were a little much for him. He would always reappear for breakfast and dinner, which was a relief.

When I was feeling blue I used to carry Leo up to my bed at night and he would lay with me until I fell asleep. I used to pretend to fall asleep just to see if he would stay. Like clockwork he would doze until a few minutes after I had "fallen asleep," then he would silently jump off of the bed and continue with his night routine. I loved Leo fiercely. He was a constant source of fluffy love. I'll admit that his breath smelled like death and if you got too close to his face he would bite your nose, but I saw him as some sort of a feline guardian.

As I look back on my childhood, I can see God comforting me through the love of our cat. Leo didn't have all the answers (trust me, I asked him lots of questions), but he helped me through the dark times I had growing up. I am so glad my parents made the commitment to take care of 3 kids, 1 Australian shepherd, and Leo. I only have one, 6 pound dog now and sometimes the responsibility seems overwhelming! I intend to invite pets into my family for as long as I can take care of them because they really do give back more love than we could ever deserve.

Long live the pets!

Love,
Charlotte

Mornings

Guten Morgen!

It's another Monday morning in paradise (read: cold/rainy/dark/gloom). Although gloomy days are not my personal favorite they do seem to offer a wondrous opportunity to snuggle, if you are given the opportunity. This morning I made a fancy chocolate coffee concoction and I swear it tasted better just because it's so yucky outside. Sometimes the gloom tries to dictate my mood, and I don't appreciate that. Starting the day with a hot caffeinated beverage helps me to retain whatever positive thoughts I had about the coming hours upon waking.

I do not subscribe to the belief that caffeine is necessary to function properly. I'm pretty sure that the comfort I draw from drinking one cup of coffee per morning is almost purely psychological. It's fun though to have a little morning routine. My routine usually goes like this:

1. Get out of bed (quite difficult).
2. Bundle up in warm clothes to imitate the warmth of my bed (only difficult if clothes are dirty).
3. Take Tank outside to do his business (never fun, but quite necessary).
4. Brew coffee (difficulty level is void due to the amazing smell of fresh coffee).
5. Brush Tank and reward his tolerance with shredded Mozzarella (he loves this part).
6. Sip coffee, read daily devotional, and browse the interweb (the best part of the morning).

When I say that it's "fun" to have a morning routine, what I really mean to say is that I would be utterly lost without it. I literally would not get out of bed until the very last minute if I didn't have a schedule to follow. Sometimes that extra rest is necessary, but I tend to sleep a whole lot, so I don't get to use that excuse.

I hope that your Monday goes well and that you find a couple minutes to do something cozy.

Long live the coze!

Love,
Charlotte

Beginning

Greetings friends.

My pseudo-name is Charlotte Papillon and I would like to share with you my insights, questions, and thoughts about life in a middle sized city. Sounds exhilirating, no? I'll warn you now that my sense of humor is about as dry as a cracker without any cheese or spread to soften it. Take it as you will.

I love writing, but only when it does not involve a confusing thesis and a minimum word count. In those cases, my enjoyment ceases to exist and I get very surly and trite. I'm glad I won't have to share that with you, for it is an ugly thing.

I recently moved from a small city in Michigan to a middle sized city in Michigan. The changes are many in number, and some are dire. Mostly though, life continues to be a blessing as it unfolds day by day. Journeying with me through this middle city I now call home is my 1 year old dog named Tank. That's him in the picture. He's a nut. We both love to snuggle and agree that loud noises are truly frightening.

Tank and I would like to invite you to embark on this blogging journey with us. Will you walk with us as we brave another Michigan winter and prepare for another rip roaring holiday season? I sincerely hope so.

Let the new week commence!

Love,
Charlotte