Allow Me to Introduce Myself

Hello. My name is Sharon.

After I graduated high school in 1992, I took advantage of a music scholarship to Azusa Pacific University near Los Angeles, where I attended and studied music for two years.

I then transferred to San Diego State University where I received my degree in marine biology in 1996.

There was little difficulty getting hired on at Sea World San Diego as a killer whale trainer, since I had interned there during my senior year.

The man of my dreams entered into my life while attending SDSU, and we eventually married in December of 1997.

Our first child, a son, was born on February 29, 2000, followed by our daughter, born in 2003.

My work schedule lent itself fabulously to being a mom and actively participating in the worship team at church.

Life was perfect and sunny all year round.

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That was the script of my life that I had written early in high school.

How fortunate I am that the words of Proverbs 19:21 have proven so true:

"Many plans are in a man's mind, but it is the Lord's purpose for him that will stand."

As I have studied the life of Paul with my Bible study group for the past couple of months, I am amazed at how often Paul's plans didn't turn out as he had anticipated, yet the purpose that God had for him always proved greater.

That resonates with me.

As I look at the path that God has led me down, oh so far away from Sea World, I rejoice and find contentment in knowing that I am fulfilling God's purpose for my life.

I am striving to live the words that Paul says in Philippians 4:12, "I have learned the secret of being content in any and every situation."

Contentment can be allusive for some. When expectations are not met or when plans go awry or we fall into the trap of comparing ourselves with others, it is easy to find oneself discontented.

However, when our focus is on the core of fulfilling God's purpose in our lives and striving to be in His will, we can't help but find contentment in whatever we find ourselves doing. That does not mean our path will be easy, as Paul could surely attest to--having been whipped within an inch of his life five times, beaten with rods three times, stoned once, and shipwrecked three times.

I have not been whipped or beaten, but there were definitely times where I was less than content with the turn my life had taken. Contentment is not an inherited trait, it is a learned trait.

And a rare gem, at that.

I pray that you are finding contentment where you are--not complacency--but contentment.

The Truths Revealed, the Lie Unveiled

Ok, the votes are in.

For you type-A's out there, the tallies were: 5 votes for #1, 4 votes for #2, and 3 votes for #3. So I think it's safe to say that I am a talented liar, seeing as how the voting was so evenly spread. Quite a talent for a pastor's wife, eh?

So here's the facts:

1. I "enjoyed" my first taste of sushi while in San Francisco last week.

TRUE

For those of you who are unaware, I HATE seafood. I realize that I grew up in Seattle, just minutes from the Pike Place Market so that should be illegal, but, hey, that's just how God made me. I do, however, like to practice what I preach. So, when having lunch with Gabby's friend, Paige, at Great America last week I realized that I had do just that. I had successfully coaxed Paige into trying her very first roller coaster--which she LOVED, by the way--so she challenged me to try my first roll of sushi. What else could I do? I popped that whole puppy--seaweed and all--right into my mouth, thought happy thoughts so as not to gag, and got it all down, confirming my belief that sushi is nasty. But at least now I know.

Note: the fact that "enjoyed" was in quotes was to signify sarcasm. That's how I roll.




2. I auditioned and was accepted into the Seattle Opera Chorus in 1992.

TRUE

For three years, from 1991-1993, I focused mostly on classical and opera singing. I had auditioned for the Seattle Opera Chorus shortly before my high school graduation in 1992, hoping to sing with them during the summer before I was to start college. I sang the aria "O Mio Babbino Caro" from Puccini's Gianni Schicchi. After successfully auditioning and being invited to participate in the chorus, I began having problems with stress laryngitis. A doctor's visit revealed two cysts growing on my vocal chords and I was instructed to refrain from singing for the entire summer. It was devastating, but in order to be able to sing in college, I needed to abide, therefore sadly bidding the Seattle Opera arrivederci.

Here is a picture of me performing "Lusinghe piu Care" by Handel, in a 1992 vocal competition.

3. I have met and had tea with the King and Queen of Denmark.

FALSE

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Ok, I admit, I was a little devious on this fact because I have, actually, had tea with a king and queen, just not the ones from Denmark.

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Here I am with the King and Queen of Sweden in 1983. Can you figure out which one is me? Do you see the tea cup in Queen Sylvia's hands? Apparently, I had decided that my faux rabbit fur jacket would be appropriate to wear to this occasion.....with pig-tailed braids of course.

This is where Queen Sylvia calls me Pippi Longstocking.

Resemblance??

Thanks for playing along! Now let's hear yours on your blogs......I'm waiting!

Two Truths and a Lie

How well do you know me?

Two Truths and a Lie is a fun game I like to play whenever I'm in a group of people that need to get to know one another a little better, such as a pool of jurors or a rambunctious group of teenagers.

Following, you will find three facts about me. Two of them are completely real and honest. One of them, however, is a total lie. It is your job to spot the deception.

Seeing that I have revealed quite a bit about myself in these prose, I will need to reach deep into the depths of Sharon trivia in order to stump you.

Good luck!

1. I "enjoyed" my first taste of sushi while in San Francisco last week.

2. I auditioned and was accepted into the Seattle Opera Chorus in 1992.

3. I have met and had tea with the King and Queen of Denmark.


Get your votes in, then try this out on your blog and see how well we all know you!

Patience

Patience is.....

....teaching your cat how to use the toilet.

This post in loving memory of Puff.

1992-2006.

The Prose Turns One

Don't you just love unexpected blessings?

From the little things like a friend surprising you at home with a plate of cookies when you and the kids are sick with the flu. To the big things like God leading your husband to a ministry that is beyond what you had scripted for your life.

Blogland has been an unexpected blessing in my life, for several reasons.

I have been blessed by getting to know many of my friends on deeper and interesting levels.

I have been blessed by forming brand-new friendships with some fabulous women.

I have been blessed by being able to express myself in writing.

On this one year anniversary of my very first post, I find that I am thankful for discovering this outlet.

Whenever I find a new blog that I enjoy, I always go back to their very first post to see how they began and what inspired them to begin blogging. Some people begin blogging to document a new child. Others blog to keep records of their growing children. Others share an intimate look at their spiritual growth. Still others simply enjoy sharing the little pleasures that greet their day-to-day lives.

I started blogging so that I could more actively participate in the lives of several friends in Blogland, while at the same time, satisfying my desire to write. I was not expecting to find new friends that would become dear, and to be filled up so wonderfully by the inspiring posts of all those I regularly visit.

Thank you, Blogland friends.

Here is how the Prose of Sharon began.

May there be many more anniversaries to come. Keep writing, dear friends! I only hope you enjoy my prose as much as I enjoy yours!

Photo Aversion

I'm sure you are all aware that there are some brilliantly talented photographers out there in blogland. Whether the subject be children or crafts or animals or even barbed wire, I always find myself captivated by the amazing quality of capturing something in such a beautiful manner.
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Some of you, it seems, must carry your camera around with you anywhere you go. I have witnessed so many wonderful moments caught on film, like a sunny fall day of raking the leaves, or catching a daddy lovingly pampering his little girl, or spying on the kids enjoying kid-dom, or even finding a rare Pegasus in all its glory. These are all moments that I would never even dream of pulling out my camera for.
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Why is that, you ask?
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Exhibit A:

The Camcorder

Upon its original mass-distribution in the mid-1980's, my life became a literal reality-TV show. In fact, as a wedding gift, perhaps, I received approximately 400 hours of VHS video tape chronicling my life. I have since transferred all 400 hours onto DVD for "easy viewing":

That was a psychological journey that I wouldn't wish on anyone. I firmly believe that God granted us a fallible and imperfect memory as a favor to us. In my mind, I was much cooler and wittier during the pre-game dinner with my varsity basketball game my sophomore year, and I distinctly remember being taller and better spoken that one time I came home late at 5am with some friends. The videos, or DVDs rather, point out quite the contrary, however. Fortunately, those, and countless other moments, are captured on film to set the record straight.

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Snippets of a child's life are treasured and valuable, but the human memory far exceeds the documentation of our entire life onto a handy contraption that once set atop the right shoulder, but now fits neatly into the palm of one's hand.

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By the way, in case you were wondering how in the world my mom captured any moments before the amazing invention of the camcorder, have no fear. She was a genius at taking "movies," which are silent films projected on to a screen. She would tote her movie camera along with a small tape recorder that would run simultaneously, so to accompany the movie with sound for all to enjoy.

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Exhibit B:

The Camera

If you were surprised by the volume of my home video library, I can't even begin to explain how many pictures my mom has snapped over the years. I believe there is literally a picture to represent every moment of my life. There were pictures at your typical picture moments, such as birthday parties and holidays. But there were also pictures of the not-so-typical moments such as every single meal in which a guest was present, or every single time we ate at a restaurant in which there was a menu, or doctors visits, or of the kid who pushed me down at school, or the string that entertained me during a Mariner's game, or even the first day of my period. Yes, that's right.

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Traumatized? Yes, I would say I was. But the picture moments that really chapped my hide, were the "re-created" moments. You know, those times where she missed the shot!! Heaven forbid! Those were the times when we'd have to re-stage the event in order to capture the moment as if it were first happening. Being a strong-willed child, I was particularly opposed to these times. Here's a prime example of a re-created moment in which I distinctly remember refusing to participate in. I'm not even left-handed:

As I recall, it took upwards of twenty minutes for my mom to get me back into that position which somewhat resembled the original scene, but we'd have to check the movie footage to be sure. See the tape recorder sitting next to me?
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As a result, I have found that in my adult life I have a bit of a phobia toward the camera or its kin the camcorder. It is very rare that you find me with a camera, let alone a camcorder. I have to purposely think about moments that I might enjoy capturing, otherwise I will be long gone without it. It is literally an extension of my mom's arm, therefore she is never caught without a photo-op, but I have turned out quite the opposite. Ben, who grew up with very few captured memories, balances me out a bit, for which I am grateful.

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So, as I peruse the beautiful images of my friends in blogland, I sometimes think that maybe I should be taking more pictures, or at least bringing my camera along "just in case" more often. But, alas, it is just not me, nor do I think it ever will be. Can you really blame me?

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In the stead, I will continue to enjoy your moments that are captured so wonderfully in lieu of my own. Thank you for sharing your talents. But if any of you would like to view some of my eighth grade cheer leading or maybe the time I walked home from school all by myself (I thought) or maybe the time I re-created finding an Easter egg, or perhaps........you get the point...just let me know! I'll hook you up with some prime footage.

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And I do hope you clicked to the links I supplied you with to enjoy the images of precious friends in blogland. You'll be glad you did.

Turning Teen

Presently, conversation around the house revolves around party planning for Gabby's 13th birthday. It's a big one, a special one. She's turning the corner into Teenland. It needs to be a fun and memorable party for her, but we're struggling to find just the right activity for it.
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Bowling? Done it. Skate Palace? Closed. Swimming? Done it. Movie? Nope. Mall? Last year. Snow? Too cold. Dance Dance Revolution? Over done.
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Hmmm. Nothing seems quite right. Why is this year different than every other year?
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Boys.
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That's right. This year boys will be coming to the party. That's a lot of pressure for the party planner: to provide fun for all, regardless of gender.
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So, in my quest for ideas, I tried to remember back to my own 13th birthday. For some reason, I couldn't remember it. I knew that my 12th birthday was a boy/girl party and we went to Chuck E. Cheeses in Tacoma (still a novelty back then, and quite a bit nicer than our Lan-Trash-ter one). Then the boys went home and the girls spent the night. It was fun!
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But, alas, my 13th birthday was escaping me! What to do? Mom. Call Mom. Here was the result of that phone call:



Apparently mine was an all-girl party that year. They came over on a Friday evening and we hung out and played some games.


We "slept" in our totally party-friendly basement. I remember doing Madonna make-overs and dancing to the cassette tape of "Who's that Girl" that I'd received as a gift....much to my Mom's dismay.



Come morning, we made our way out to the AquaBarn Ranch for a little horse-riding action.

And, hence the name "AquaBarn," there was also a nifty pool!

Thanks, Mom! It all came flooding back to me. Good times.

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And on a side note, regarding the before mentioned "Who's that Girl" soundtrack cassette: that night was the first and last that I got to listen to it. My mom took it away. But, if any of you know my mom, she saves absolutely everything. I asked her a few years back if she still had it. Madonna's short, platinum Blonde 'do now resides happily in my retro cassette collection nestled inbetween Milli Vanilli and REO Speedwagon.

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As for Gabby's party? I think we finally decided on doing a Medieval Murder Mystery Party! I think (hope) it should be a lot of fun. Everyone will come in costume and Ben will die sometime during the evening! I'll let you know how it turns out!

You Title the Photo

Ah, my sweet Greta Rose at 6 months old.





Here are some possible titles for this photo:



"A Wrinkle in Time"

"They're Real and They're Spectacular"

"Because So Much is Riding on Your Tires"

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Now, be kind, and let me know how you'd title it.

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*She took this last photo with her brand new, $30 digital camera that she bought with her own money. How cute is this girl??

All's Fair

Gabby was less than thrilled that I posted her braces pictures......So, to redeem myself, I had my mom e-mail me some gems from the past. Enjoy.

April 8, 1987: I was the exact same age as Gabby.

Now you may blackmail me for whatever you'd like.

School Daze

I used to think that I could spot a home schooled kid a mile away. In my mind, they all seemed to be very quiet, plain, well-behaved children. Usually they were dressed in second-hand clothing and, even in their high school years didn't wear a stitch of make-up. That was the stereo-type, unfair as it was, that I had in my mind.

Until the summer of 2000.

I made my annual trek to Camp Cherith for a week of summer camp. I had ten high school girls in my cabin that year, half of which turned out to be home schooled. Two of them fit my aforementioned stereo-type, but the other three smashed the mold. One was adorably out-going and bubbly, one was a fashion queen, and one was a pure thespian. They were all so different from one another and I thoroughly enjoyed getting to know each and every one of them.

Driving the five hours home from camp provided ample time for me to reflect on what I had learned and experienced that past week. Realizing that my oldest daughter was preparing to start kindergarten that fall, I began to ponder the possibility of home schooling, which was something that had never entered my mind before. In fact, up until that point, I honestly thought that it did a disservice to your children, and was so thankful my mom hadn't home schooled me.

As I thought about those five home schooled girls in my cabin, I marveled at how different they were from one another, which I learned was a direct result of the different personality types of their parents. Yet, they all shared something in common. This was what had captured my attention. Despite their differences in personality and appearance, all five of them loved the Lord, had a great relationship with their parents, and had an awesome friendship with their siblings. That was what I wanted for my kids!

I understood that there are exceptions to those rules, meaning not every home schooled child possesses those traits, while there are, in fact, many public schooled kids that do. But, remembering back on many of my school years, of the three traits, the only one that remained consistent was my great relationship with my brother.

So, to help avoid the pitfalls that I fell into as a youth, I had made my decision to buck the system and teach my kids at home.

Very quickly did I find out that this was not a very popular nor applauded decision by many, including my husband! I had nonchalantly told him over the phone that I'd made this decision and he just about dropped the receiver. Apparently this was to be a joint decision, and he needed some time to get to the point I was at!

After a month of researching on both our parts, and even registering at the local public school, it finally came down to the kindergarten open house that finally sealed the deal. We both walked away from that experience feeling like we'd both been handed a letter of confirmation directly from God Himself, affirming that the home school option was the one for us.

Thus began one of the biggest blessings in my life! It fits our family so well! The flexibility and freedom is wonderful, and so far, I am so thankful that both of my girls do, in fact, love the Lord, love Ben & me, and love each other. That is all I ever wanted, but the benefits have proven to be even greater than I could have imagined.

We have just completed the third day of my eighth year of teaching my girls. So far so good! Gabby started taking some electives last year in sixth grade at our local middle school, and we continued that this year for seventh grade. She takes PE sports, drama, jazz choir and concert choir there. I do everything else at home. Greta still stays home 100% of the time. She is in fourth grade this year, and just loves to learn!

I am blessed by my children and so thankful that God led me down the path of home schooling. He knew what would be best for my family, as always. Thank you, God!

Here we are in August of 2005 for the girls' baptisms. God is good. All the time.

The Great American Family Vacation

In classic Griswold fashion, my parents loaded my brother and me into the wood-paneled station wagon for a three-week, cross-country trek.

It was August of 1987, making this the 20 year anniversary of one of the most endearing childhood memories I have. To bring perspective to how long ago this actually was, check out my brother's boom-box, tucked neatly under his arm.

From our starting point in Seattle, we headed due east, passing by Grand Coulee Dam and then moving through Idaho. Our first major stop was in Yellowstone National Park, where we enjoyed this spectacular view out of our window in the Old Faithful Inn.

My mom was a master vacation planner. Armed with her AAA highlighted map of the U.S., she made sure this expedition contained fun for all. Specifically for my benefit, she planned two separate days of horse riding adventures. Here is the first one, in Yellowstone Park. I believe this picture graced our 1987 Christmas card.

Upon leaving Yellowstone, we made our way through parts of Montana, with our next major goal being South Dakota. More specifically, Wall Drug and Mt. Rushmore. If you've ever driven rural America toward this destination, you undoubtedly came across several clever little signs encouraging drivers to stop off at Wall Drug. It makes driving through Big Sky Country a little more entertaining. What we were unaware of, however, at the time of this particular leg of our journey, was that we were about to inadvertently partake in the 64th Annual Harley Davidson Convention in Sturgis, South Dakota. Finally reaching Wall Drug, we found ourselves surrounded by 80,000 pony-tailed and tattooed motorcyclists. They were quite jovial, but unfortunately occupied every single hotel bed within a 60 mile radius of the city. After driving through the Badlands at 1am, we finally resigned ourselves to the fact that we would be bedding down in the wagon that night, watching the severe thunder storm and listening to fire alarms sound all night long.

In a cafe enjoying lunch, we overheard one of the bikers tell his woman that he'd like to go see the "guys on the hill" later that day. We decided to see the "guys," too.

A large priority on this adventure was to take in as many Major League Baseball parks as was humanly possible. This was primarily for my brother's benefit, but really it was very much enjoyed by all of us. Here, the Twins are playing in the inflated Metrodome in Minneapolis, Minnesota.

While in Minnesota, my mom arranged to have a family reunion for many of her Aunts, Uncles and Cousins that live in the area. I especially enjoyed meeting my second cousins and seeing where my blonde hair came from. Finally my brother was the odd man out.

In Milwaukee, Wisconsin, we cheered as the Brewers beat the Rangers in Milwaukee County Stadium.

Reaching Illinois, where my mom spent her early childhood, one of the highlights (pun intended) was the view from the top of the Sears Tower.

Chi-Town enjoys two MLB teams, so, of course, we took them both in at their historic ball fields: The White Sox at Comiskey Park, and The Cubs at Wrigley Field.

It was due time for another day on horseback.

Making the big turn and heading back toward the west, we took in the breath-taking St. Louis Arch.

Then, back to the ballpark it was! We watched the Phillies visit the Cardinals here at Busch Stadium in St. Louis, Missouri.

The next day, the next baseball game. Royal's Stadium in Kansas City, Missouri, was, by far, the most beautiful of its day, despite the searing heat.

To add to the excitement of the journey, we endured a few days of monsoon-like, record-breaking rainfall and flash-floods. The wagon stood firm through it all, unlike my mom, at times.

My mom absolutely lost it, though, on the death-defying drive to the summit of Pike's Peak in Colorado. She was very certain that my dad was going to send us plummeting over the un-guarded edge to our deaths.

We made it, however, and enjoyed the gorgeous views.

Colorado also exposed us to some stellar caves where we learned the differences between stalactites and stalagmites.

Heading back west through Utah, my brother needed to check and make sure that the Great Salt Lake was living up to its name.

After a quick stop in Bend, Oregon, we finally returned home to the greatest city of all, Seattle.

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Armed with unimaginable memories and American trivia learned first-hand, this vacation remains among the best we'd ever had. Despite my love of flying, I realize that there is no substitute for watching this great land unfold right out of the backseat window at 65 mph. And certainly the greatest benefit of a vacation of that nature is the inevitable family bonding. No time spent with family is wasted time.

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I will treasure these memories for as long as I live, and Ben and I are working toward providing our two girls with their own stockpile of treasured family memories.

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Where did you go on your favorite family vacation? I'd encourage you to take a stroll down memory lane. It's a great feeling. Thanks for joining me in my stroll!

Camp Cherith Legacy

It's that time of year! Every July, I make my annual trek up north for a fun-filled week at Cascade Camp Cherith. It's a camp through Pioneer Clubs, which is like a Christian Girl Scouts type of thing. It's really awesome and I'm always so excited to go! In fact, I've been going there since 1982! I guess I just can't get enough! The coolest thing now, though, is that my kids get to come with me! I'm the counselor for the high school aged girls, so I'm not with my daughters very much, but it's so much fun to see them at meals and other passings during the day.


Here I am in 1982 with my very first counselor!



This is Gabby's first time at camp back in 2003. She's in the striped shirt.




And here's Greta's first year of camp in 2005, canoeing with Maggie.



I covet your prayers throughout the week as I minister and build relationships with my high school girls, and for my own kids that they truly have a fun time and experience God in a real and powerful way.

See you all in a week!

Sport for thought

I love sports. I love watching and participating in all kinds of sports.

My older brother made sure that I didn't throw like a girl and that I knew how to make a lay-in. He was an all-star athlete, so I felt privileged to have had my very own private coach at my disposal.

YMCA co-ed basketball started my official sporting career at the age of eight. My main goal in those games was to run down the court faster than all the other kids on the court. I didn't get the ball much in those days. Boys.

Organized softball came to me through church, which prepared me well for high school softball. And thanks to my brother, I had one of the best outfield arms out there.

I started playing volleyball the summer before my freshman year. No one in my family had played volleyball so I had no expert coach at my disposal, but I really loved the sport and worked hard to learn the skills, going to summer volleyball camps and working at home.

Of the three sports I pursued, my middle school only offered basketball. This is when I was first introduced to the world of stats. In sports, you count everything, and I mean EVERYTHING. Assists, rebounds, steals, turn-overs, shot attempts, and yes, even actual points scored. My coach, Mr. Dyck, would post all the stats in his room. By my eighth grade year I had inched my way up to the top of a few of those lists. It felt good.

In high school I enjoyed playing all three sports, one leading right into the other. I was in very good shape and having so much fun.

During volleyball season in the fall, I ate, drank and slept volleyball. My favorite team to watch was the UW Huskies. But when basketball rolled around in the winter, my allegiance quickly changed sports as well. I was in love with the Seattle Supersonics--actually in love with them. I wanted to marry Dale Ellis and have little fuzzy-headed brown babies. I did manage to get my picture with him on center court at Key Arena. That was as close as I got to matrimony. Softball would begin in the spring, as did the Mariner season. Suddenly, all I cared about watching was those boys in blue: Griffey Jr., Buhner, Martinez.

My dad helped me gain an appreciation for Nascar. My Grandpa Kulle showed me how to enjoy watching golf. My brother liked to watch tennis, so that rubbed off on me as well. I loved the Rocky movies, so even boxing was somewhat enjoyable, too.

But there was one sport that I and my entire family had deemed intolerable. We didn't even feel it worthy of the term "sport." No one in my family played it; no one in my family watched it. In fact, it was often the butt of many jokes.

Soccer.

During volleyball season, the locker room was an interesting place to be. While we volleyball girls would be singing "Straight Up," fixing the bows in each other's hair, there would be a whole other kind of breed of girl preparing in an entirely different way for their sport. They were the soccer girls. I did not understand them. They were strange and foreign to me. They were always a little dirty and rough, it seemed. It was quite a contrast to the sparkly white, bubbly volleyball team primping in front of the mirror. At the time, that was the closest I thought I'd ever get to a soccer player.

Then, I bore one.

Yes, out of my womb, came a full-fledged, souled-out soccer player. Gabby lives and breaths soccer. She started playing at age six, because her friend Lydia played. Ben and I thought, well, ok! It'll be fun for a while. At least she'll get some good exercise. Then we'll get her into a real sport.

Nothing doing. After an unsuccessful attempt at basketball (a co-ed team that actually had boys that were born holding a basketball), we realized that it was soccer all the way for our oldest daughter.

So here we are, six years later, armed with all the tools necessary to watch soccer in all seasons: three folding chairs, two enormous umbrellas, one waterproof blanket, rain pants, rain coat, gloves, boots, and the occasional dab of sunscreen. We have learned that soccer games are cancelled for NO reason. We have watched our daughter play in 38 degree rain, and 108 degree sweltering heat.

I have come to gain an appreciation for the sport, and understand the general workings of the game, but after watching my cousin (actually my first cousin once removed) play in his All-Star Little League baseball game the other night, I realized something very significant: soccer is not a very relaxing sport to watch. You see, in my cousin's baseball game, between pitches and innings, I could enjoy pleasant conversation with my family and enjoy the sunshine. It was a lovely evening. But with soccer, the clock never stops. They just keep running and kicking and running and kicking and running and kicking.

Here's my conclusion on soccer as a spectator sport: It is the sport where you ALWAYS think that something is ABOUT to happen, but NOTHING ever does. You can never relax and visit with the person next to you because inevitably you will be interrupted by a roaring "OOOOHHH!!!!" as everyone was SURE that we were about to score a goal. But no. Gabby's game on Friday is a prime example of that. After two intense 35 minute halves, we lost 0-1. One goal in that entire game. The rest was filled with "OOOHHHHH!!"

But, alas, after years of playing other sports, I have successfully morphed into a soccer mom. And I do, in fact, enjoy seeing my daughter participate in something that she loves and is good at. I can appreciate that. I do still play volleyball and softball, but I am first and foremost a soccer mom. And, amazingly, she prepares for the game much like the volleyball breed of my day: singing and primping in front of the mirror. At least I have that.

Go, Gab! You rock!

What's your favorite sports to play and watch?

Music: part 6, The Finale

"And the winner of the vocal solo category is," read Mrs. Pennoyer, "Becky and Sharon! It's a tie!"

Becky and I had been lying on the floor holding hands, and upon hearing the words we sprung up and hugged each other, so happy for the results. It felt really good, especially to share it with such a great friend. So, the next evening, I was to sing one of my numbers in the Grand Performance, as was Becky.

I awoke that next morning and struggled to find even a speaking voice. The strain I had been putting on my vocal chords was enormous. I fixed myself some hot tea with honey and began to warm-up, gaining a few notes with each scale. I knew I had to be careful today, however our choir had yet to compete. But being an all-or-nothing kind of a gal, when it did come time for our choir to face the adjudicator, I sang my first soprano part with everything that I had.

And it did turn out to be everything that I had. My choir successfully took first place, fulfilling the sweep that my director had hoped for, but by the time it came for me to sing my song that evening I had barely a semblance of a voice left with which to do it.

I took the stage and stood before the mic stand under the glaring spotlight. My voice teacher started the intro. I silently prayed.

"Lusinge Piu Care, " I began, but that was it.

My voice was completely gone. I was able to eek out the lower range of the song, but the majority was just too far out of reach. Fighting the urge to run off the stage, I gave what little I had and waited for the song to come to an end. Graciously, my voice teacher abbreviated it slightly, so when it finally finished, all that was left to do was humbly bow my head and walk toward the stairs. My friend met me at the bottom of the stage with a bouquet of flowers from my mom, and the tears started streaming down my face.

I reached the back of the auditorium, and I turned to hear the emcee announce that "that was one of the greatest displays of Christian character you will ever see. She nailed that song in adjudication, and I commend her for having the bravery to stand before you tonight and give it her all."

God is good. All the time. I will never forget how He answered my prayers in that situation. He brought about an ending that I could have never foreseen, and it was just what I needed. Isn't that so often the case?

I am so thankful for the journey that He saw me through with my love for music. He never gave up on me and delivered me to a place where I can say beyond a shadow of a doubt that it's all for Him. I absolutely love the stage that I get to sing on now. It's different than any other stage I have ever sung on, in that the purpose of this stage is to become invisible as a person.

As for my listening enjoyment, shortly after Ben & I were married, we realized that the rules of legalism were not God's plan either. We understood that we would not burn in hades for listening to secular music. God just asks for discretion, that we filter these things in a healthy manner. So, yes, I fondly look back on the songs of the eighties and smile. And now that I have a middle school daughter who also shares my love of music, I am so happy to be able to sing some Kelly Clarkson with her at the top of our lungs and dance around the house with her to "Let's Get it Started" by the Black Eyed Peas. I am so thankful that she doesn't have to cower in her room and secretly listen to Ryan Seacrest count down the week's top songs.

But by far, my favorite music remains what you are listening to here on my blog. My radio dial is most often tuned to 90.3, Air1. These are the songs that fill me up and I am so thankful that there are so many great contemporary Christian artists out there to meet our various musical needs. My favorites are PFR, Relient K, Hawk Nelson, Superchi[k], Stellar Kart, Newsboys and so many others. And, yes, sometimes I pull out some old Amy Grant, too!

So there you have it. Thanks for sticking with me on this long journey. It feels good to finally have it documented, and I appreciate you being at all interested.

Oh, and one more thing. One of the best things that I inherited when I married Ben: a cassette tape of Milli Vanilli.