It’s starting to snow outside — a very fine, light, dusty snow. We haven’t had much snow here yet this year, so every little bit we get is a treasure. Fall here in Casper was long and gorgeous, but now the colder temperatures have hit and the weather is getting a little more “Christmassy.”
We decorated for Christmas just this last weekend, after Thanksgiving. Friends and family have blessed us with an abundance of Christmas decorations, so our home is quite festive. And God blessed us with a Christmas tree, which is a story worth sharing….
I’m going to tackle a touchy issue. (And if there are any guys out there reading this, feel free to stick around; I believe that this post applies to men and women alike.)
What is body shaming? Basically, it’s scrutinizing my own body, picking out the pieces I’m dissatisfied with because I think they should look differently (often by comparing them to people around me or to the media’s standards), dwelling on and hating those parts because they’re not what I want them to be, and constantly wishing they were different or trying to change how they look.
Okay, fine, it’s kind of cliché. Exaggerated. Boastful.
Honestly, I kind of cringed, too when it came into my head. But when I was at the top of the hill, panting to catch my breath, and trying to take a picture of the incredible horizon, that phrase was what popped into my mind. “Victory View.”
Stories. I have a rather weird habit of narrating my daily actions in my head as if they were a story – “She walked out to feed the horses” or “She curled up on her bed with her toy in her arms.” Sometimes the thoughts are deliberate, but more often than not they’re just floating around in the back of my head, rather subconsciously.
Each day is a story. There’s a beginning and an ending. More likely than not, there’s some climax – good or bad – to the day. Maybe the story wouldn’t be interesting enough to write down; and then again maybe it would be. But apparently it’s interesting enough to be worth living because, you know what, I live it. Every single day, I live a new story.
Less than a year ago, my sister Leah and I were camped on her dorm room floor, snuggled up in blankets and pillows with microwaveable Chinese food in hand, watching Frozen on my sister’s laptop. Two nights in a row — we couldn’t get enough of that movie. For the rest of the year, we affectionately referred to one another as Olaf (her) and Sven (me).
Remembering to pray for other people on a regular basis is not exactly one of my strong points. It’s especially hard when I haven’t seen some of those people in several years, but I have to admit that I often don’t even think to pray for friends or fellow students I see on a daily basis.
But I desire to pray for those people. I want God to touch their lives; in many cases, I want my old (and new) friends to come to know Him.