(click on it to see where I got it from)
Carefree. No worries. Without care. That’s what Sans Souci means in French. This phrase showed up today on my page-a-day calendar. It reminded me of a verse I memorized last year.
Cast all your anxiety on Him because he cares for you. (1 Peter 5:7, NIV)
This one little sentence has been nagging at me for the past few days. Why? Because I haven’t been casting all of my anxieties on Christ. I’ve been doing it with some of them. The others, though, I keep forgetting about, or I don’t think they’re important.
But that’s the thing. God thinks everything is important, because, to Him, I am important. He cares about the little things just as much as I do.
So He cares about that math problem I couldn’t figure out this morning (I got it wrong, by the way). He cares that I can’t seem to remember how to make a cursive capital “S,” and that when I try, the result looks something like a pregnant duck (no joke). He wants me to be able to figure out how I’m like Pip (Great Expectations) so I can write my paper and hand it in to my mom.
He cares about everything.
So I need to bring Him everything—the good and the bad, the humongous and the tiny. Because He cares, and He’ll help me.
What I love about Valentine’s Day:
-Seeing my parents happily going out on a date.
-Getting Valentines and feeling super-duper special even though everyone else got one almost exactly like it.
What I don’t like about Valentine’s Day:
-It’s not a holiday for single people.
-Me=single. But I’m okay with that. Except on Valentine’s Day.
(But the chocolate makes it all okay.)
Happy Valentine’s Day!
Today I came across this piece that I made in my much-loved, half-broken, worn notebook. I vaguely remember writing it, but don’t recall what brought around these thoughts. All I remember is that it all started with that circle on the page. I was trying to figure out how to turn a blank page with a black ring on it into a beautiful piece of art.
And then there it was. Fill half of the circle with synonyms for “beautiful,” and the other half with antonyms. And, somehow (I guess), the rest of the words just flowed from my head, through my hands, and onto the paper.
Which is stronger? A kind word, or a derogatory one?
If first: what about one’s insecurities? Would they not kill any goodness in an instant?
If second: how could men possibly be so cruel to each other? Even a weaker but nice word is better than a strong, mean one.
What on earth is wrong with this place?
Contradicting but beautiful. Large, yet so, so small. Full of idolotry and purity. Supposedly sinnless, but so broken we can’t even see our ugliness. So vain, so humble. Confusingly simple. So full of hatred.
I don’t understand this world I live in.
So I’ll cling to Christ, who will save me from this place.
This crazy, twisting, long, fantastic, odd, beautiful life means something to Him.
And I don’t mean to disappoint Him.
3 cups quick cooking oats
3 cups traditional oats
1 tablespoon cinnamon
1/4 cup maple syrup
1 cup applesauce
2 tablespoons butter, melted
Preheat the oven to 300. Line a rimmed baking sheet with parchment paper or silicone mat.
In a large mixing bowl, toss together the 2 kinds of oats with the cinnamon. Stir in the maple syrup, applesauce and melted butter. Mix well.
Spread the granola onto the lined baking sheet and bake for 25 to 30 minutes in the preheated oven. Check the granola after 20 minutes and turn around the edges of they become too dark. (They shouldn’t when cooking on the parchment or silicone mat.)
Remove from the oven and let cool completely. Store in an airtight container, or in a plastic freezer baggie in the freezer.
Enjoy homemade granola with milk and fresh fruit, yogurt and berries, or mixed into a pantry trail mix.
I got this recipe from over here. The granola isn’t very sweet. I love sweet stuff, so I don’t like it alone. If I make it again, I’d try adding some sugar or something. But it tastes great with applesauce.
I never thought I’d make it to sixteen. This age has always been somewhere far away in time. It’s always been a time I’d never reach. And yet here I am, able to say I’m sixteen.
It’s kind of creepy. But that’s okay. I can handle this kind of creepy, because it comes with a lot of good, and so many new dreams and ideas I think my head is going to explode.
See, I have almost impossible goals for my sixteenth year. I don’t want to say what, because I know that the chances of them happening are negative 100%. But I can hope and dream and try my very hardest to succeed. Also, I can say this: what I want to do with this year is huge (like, so huge it feels like Mt. Everest to me). It’s something that, if everything goes as planned (*laughs*), will touch a lot of people.
But I have to trust God and pray a lot to get there. And then there’s the hard work and the concentration. But maybe, just maybe, I’ll succeed. And when I do, we can all celebrate together. And if I don’t get there, seventeen will come around soon enough.
But for now, I’ve only got a year to be sixteen, and I’m going to make it the best I can.
**WARNING:** This is the most clichéd (and repetitive [it was in the middle of the night when I made it. Give me a break]) poem you will ever read (or I will ever write—hopefully). I wrote it a few nights ago after falling asleep, waking up, and realizing that somehow, someday, all those words I’ve written and kept hidden in Microsoft Word documents will have a purpose.
Like the flowers,
I will bloom.
Like the sun,
I will burn.
Like the stars,
I will shine.
Like the trees,
I will grow.
Like the leaves,
I will dance.
Like the wind,
I will push
Those who need
Toward the light
of my Savior.
Like a baby bird,
I will fly.
And then fall.
But I will land
On a branch,
And keep trying.
I’m not giving up.