Sarah Joy Albrecht » In My Shoes

Where is Christ in the Small Things?

Sarah Joy Albrecht — Thu, 29 Jul 2010 05:31:22 +0000

Via Facebook, my friend wrote,

“In Christ Alone” seems so irrelevant when you’ve just spilled 2.5 pounds of flour everywhere. Where is Christ in the small things?”

My dear friend,

I’m sorry about the flour!! :(

I’ve had my share of messes to clean, even really stinky ones. I find that “the small things” are disguised little tweaks along the process of molding you into the person God wants for you to be.

Some ‘small things’ are especially frustrating, like losing your passport the night before your big trip –but, they are more than that. They are valuable teaching moments that draw you closer to God if you soften your heart.

‘Small things’ are opportunities for you to think of Christ and what he would do in the situation, even though you feel like losing your temper or questioning your faith.

Focus on your Savior instead of the clean up, as if you were doing the work just for him.

Picking up the proverbial flour and throwing it around the room in a heated rant is probably not the most profitable way to deal with messy situations.

Even if we are upset, we can also be…

Humble – Yes, I’m an adult and sometimes I spill flour!

Thankful – I am upset this flour is ruined, but thankful God provides for our food needs, and that this isn’t the only substance of our last meal like the widow and son met by Elijah the prophet!

Gracious – Despite it being one of my least favorite things to clean up horrible messes, I will do my best for God’s glory.

It is tough sometimes, though! Like, I don’t know, hmm…. when your five year old is sprayed in the face by a skunk or your seven year old physically fights with you because he’s afraid to get closer to the “spider toilet” and instead pukes on your only pair of sneakers.

(Okay, in that latter incident, I did lose my temper BIG TIME… and had to apologize to my son!)

We truly see Christ when we choose to put off the flesh and to put on the heart of Christ. We see him when we consciously applying the cross to the details of our life, knowing he laid down his life for us.

One last thing — there is nothing wrong with having emotions. Christ was just as human as you and I and he understands what it’s like to be faced with a bad day or a ridiculous incident. Such things are part of life. It is good for us to pour our hearts out to Him who understands us so completely, body and soul.

Accidentally spilling flour isn’t a sin, and I’m sure Christ had his share of interesting things happen while he was here on this earth! Certainly he knows what it feels like to have an annoying day!

What if Jesus was in your kitchen when you accidentally spilled? Would he tell you how clumsy you are and make fun of you? Or would he just say, “It’s okay. You have a lot on your plate, and this is just too plain overwhelming at the moment. Let me help you clean it up?”

Sometimes we get angry with ourselves and project that God must be angry with us, too. When you think of God’s voice, especially in frustrating situations, do not think of it as angry, overbearing, quick-tempered, and as coming from one who is seeking only perfectionism. Instead, picture the voice of someone who loves you very much, even when you’re feeling your worst.

Remember — it is while we were ‘yet sinners’ that he died for us.

Where is Christ in the Small Things?

1,000 Words : Girls Night Out

Sarah Joy Albrecht — Wed, 28 Jul 2010 03:41:32 +0000

Girls Night Out : (Blogs linked) (L to R) Me, Elrena, Susan, Kass, Amelia (baby) + Karen, Sarah

We talked about everything from spiritual abuse to writing to vampires to edema to parenting to dance. My cheeks hurt from smiling so much!

Although we dined at Cheeseburger in Paradise, not a single one of us ate a burger.

I highly recommend the Mango Sangria AND the Spice Berry Sangria!

When is the last time you had a girls night out? Where did you go? What did you talk about?

1,000 Words : Girls Night Out

I Cut Down My Lilies

Sarah Joy Albrecht — Tue, 27 Jul 2010 05:15:34 +0000

I cut down my lilies today.

My dear friend and neighbor, Laura said I was sobbing so hard that she could hear me over the lawn mower.

Pink, yellow, orange lilies, Asiatic and Stargazer lilies. Their empty stalks had been choked out by eager, Morning Glories and thistles long before any of them even had a chance to bloom this year. Underneath them, no mulch was to be seen, the weeds were so dense. There was simply nothing left, no remnants of all of the love I had poured into the ground.

I mowed over my once-vibrant Black Eyed Susans… more like a Black Eyed Susan… as there was only a solitary stalk left from the patch, like a soldier desperately trying to keep his flag flying.

As I worked, one of the other neighbors came out and started screaming at me over the fence.

He rides and repairs motorcycles. He’s one scary dude, and some of the neighbors are so afraid of him they won’t talk to him. I always had made it a point to talk to him anyway. Before we left, we were on very good terms and even shared special batches of foods and freshly picked produce and flowers from our gardens.

None of this seemed to come to his mind at that moment. He was livid, spit flying with every word.

I was still choking back the tears over my beloved flowers. He didn’t care. He let me have it, full force.

“Since you’ve been gone, no one has consistently kept up with the yard. The weeds in the front are as tall as my waist. I have had to call the police more times than I can count for people trespassing in your yard, and once even for a guy trying to climb into your basement window. The sidewalks are covered in ice in the winter….” he went on, in this manner, inserting some very pointed cuss words throughout.

“The trash has been piled up for a long time,” he continued. “There are animals that come to check it out on your porches and then they come into my yard…”

Finally, I clenched my fists at my side and shouted back.

He wouldn’t have heard me otherwise.

“PLEASE STOP YELLING AT ME!” I said loudly. “I just mowed down my most favorite flower garden,” I screamed back, so angry and hurt I didn’t care that I was crying in front of him. “Did you know that I dream about this garden when I’m away? And then to find it like this? I am absolutely heartbroken over this yard! This house! And you stand here, swearing at me and threatening me over the condition of my house and you’ve been throwing large BRANCHES into my yard!”

This made him even more angry.

He started to yell about the branches overhanging his house and how he’s had to cut them himself… how there was no contact information for us.

This part wasn’t true, and I stopped him. I had given his wife contact information before we left, and noted that he even acknowledged that some neighbors had mentioned they talked to me online. I called him out on this, and he said that perhaps he hadn’t pursued getting in touch with me as well as he could have.

He started to calm down a bit.

“Look, I think of you as a friend,” I said. “I had no idea that things were this bad. I haven’t been here for two years. All I know is what I’m seeing right now. I am sick over the condition of this house and it is against what I believe about stewardship for it to have gotten this way. I know that the upkeep of this house is my responsibility alone, no matter who else was living here or who was hired to keep up with things. I truly didn’t know this was going on.”

He mentioned that he was upset because he felt like it was bringing down the value of his house.

He was becoming more quiet.

“It is bringing down the value of your house, and I’m sorry,” I said. “I will be working to correct this problem. I love this neighborhood and I want it to thrive – not just be trashed with junky houses like mine!’

He said, “I’m sorry for making you cry, Sarah. Deep down, I had a feeling you didn’t know. You put so much work into making this yard lovely. You must be really sad to see it like this.”

I said, “I am. You didn’t make me cry. I was already crying when you came over. This is my fault for not keeping closer tabs on this place personally. I totally understand why you are upset, and you have every right to be. It’s not your responsibility to keep an eye on the house. You have enough on your plate as it is. Thanks for calling the police when someone was trying to break in.”

I gave him my phone number, and he gave me his. “I’d be happy to help you in any way I can, Sarah. Sorry for yelling at you. I’ve just been really fed up about this place and felt frustrated that I didn’t know how to get a hold of you. I was actually going to call the police again tomorrow about it.”

Again. Sigh.

“I understand you were frustrated. I’m not mad at you for feeling a need to call the police over it. You were just trying to get something done about this place,” I said, again acknowledging his position.

He said to say hello to Tom for him, and I asked if he would say hello to his wife. He said that he would. “You call me if you need anything, Sarah. I’m serious. I want to help. I wouldn’t have given you my number if I didn’t mean it.”

We said goodbyes on neighborly terms, and with the assurance he’d call me first before calling the police in the future.

In the cool of the night, and safe from the bees that buzz around the weed flowers, I culled four enormous garbage bags of prickly thistles from the English ivy on the hill.

Meanwhile, he sat on his porch nearby and smoked a cigarette.

I imagine he needed one after that.

I Cut Down My Lilies

The Jamaican Hustle (Or, Why You Should Obey Your Tour Guide)

Sarah Joy Albrecht — Sat, 24 Jul 2010 04:13:04 +0000

“Whatever you do,” said our tour guide for Dunn River Falls, Jamaica, “do not tell anyone your name or buy any souvenirs from the merchants – they are overpriced.”

With that, our royal blue bus, a refurbished airport limousine from Japan of all places, some ancient stickers on the backs of the seats giving away its familiar place of origination, swung around the corner and lurched into a parking spot.

The driver opened the door, and we climbed down the beat up, black linoleum-covered steps.

After an hour’s ride over steep highways and winding shoreline roads, it felt good to stretch while standing on the sidewalk. The sun was brutally hot, and I took a few steps toward the shade of a nearby tree.

“Ya mon!” said a guy standing next to our bus. “Welcome to Dunn River Falls! Is this your first time?”

“Yes!” I answered, truthfully.

“My name is CJ. I work here. What’s your name?”

“Sarah.”

“The falls are beautiful, Sarah,” he said. “The guys clean the rocks every day, so they’re pretty safe. It looks scary, but you will be fine.”

“Thanks, CJ.”

“Is this your husband?” he asked.

“Yes.” I was thankful to be stepping closer to Tom. Something didn’t quite seem right all of the sudden. Why did this guy care?

“He has a beard that looks like Moses! What is his name?”

“Tom…”

Oh, craaaaap. Suddenly, the tour guide’s words came back to me and made perfect sense.

Mr. Shadypants was putting something in my hand. A woman. Carved from wood. With my name etched on the side… next to someone the name of someone else that had been quickly scratched off.

“In Jamaica, the woman is the boss,” he said, trying to impress me.

I was mad. Mostly at myself.

“Yeah? Your wife is your boss? And you’re okay with this?” I said, trying to hand him back his trinket.

“Oh, that’s a gift for you,” said Mr. Shadypants, pushing it back towards me with his open palm. “We men say, ‘No problem!’ See how it’s carved right here?”

My skin crawled as I noticed the guy’s pupils were dilated as big as saucers. Why didn’t I see this before? Crap! Crap! Double Crap! Stupid! Stupid! Stupid!

In his other hand magically appeared a male figurine with Tom’s name carved along the side. Beard and all. Wow, Mr. Shadypants was fast.

“Tom, mon!” he said, getting Tom’s attention. “See how they kiss?” He smooched the two figurines together. “This is a gift for your wife. She’s a good woman,” he said. “This one, though, well, I was hoping you could give me something for it… you know… whatever you think it’s worth. I have a family to feed, mon!”

Tom shot me a lethal look, retrieved his wallet, and gave Mr. Shadypants $10.

Mr. Shadypants went to go hustle the people getting off of the next bus.

“You had to tell him your name, didn’t you?!” growled Tom.

“You had to pay him!” I retorted. “You could have said, ‘my wife is crazy… no thanks!’”

“He was a scary dude!” said Tom. “Aren’t you afraid of big scary dudes?”

To my detriment, no.

I am a naïve little girl who always thinks the best of people… especially on vacation when my guard is, apparently, down. (Note to self!)

I hate myself because I know better.

Dunn River falls is amazing, and you must climb it if you go to Jamaica.

Just, please, don’t give anyone your name.

Have you ever been hustled into buying something? At what point did you realize you’ve been had? Please tell me your story so we can commiserate together.

The Jamaican Hustle (Or, Why You Should Obey Your Tour Guide)

Skunk Attack: Micah, Age 5, Sprayed in the Face

Sarah Joy Albrecht — Fri, 23 Jul 2010 22:31:04 +0000

Micah, 5, was sprayed in the face by a skunk.

While vacationing in Tunkhannock, PA, this past week, Micah and Aiden were driving Aiden’s radio controlled monster truck through the campground and encountered a skunk.

Micah got a little too close.

In this YouTube clip, Micah describes what the stink cloud looked like just before it hit him.

He vows to keep away from wildlife, and, for the record, his eyebrows still stink.

Skunk Attack: Micah, Age 5, Sprayed in the Face

Aliens With Compound Eyes

Sarah Joy Albrecht — Sun, 18 Jul 2010 22:22:17 +0000

Aiden and Leah : Aliens with Compound Eyes

While I shopped for sunglasses, two of my “children” revealed their true identities. In their warbled, extraterrestrial voices, they explained they were aliens with many eyes.

The better to see you with, my dear.

Aliens With Compound Eyes

“I am Assassin’s Creed II” said Leah, over Pork Mango Picadillo.

Sarah Joy Albrecht — Mon, 28 Jun 2010 11:42:59 +0000

If you ask Leah what she wants to be when she grows up, she’ll still tell you she wants to be an assassin.

Recently, on the xBox360, Tom and the boys have been playing Assassin’s Creed II.In it, Ezio, the assassin, has a poisoned blade he uses to poke targets. They die moments later, after he is long gone.

While I was making Elise Bauer’s Pork Mango Picadillo this evening, Leah snuck up on me and pricked me with her homemade poisoned blade, fashioned by Aiden out of masking tape and a chopstick. “Tsss!” she hissed, and then ran into the other room announcing, “Hey guys, I poisoned mom and she will be dying soon!”

To which, I screamed, grasping at my throat and falling to the floor, “HEY! Who is going to cook for you… aaaaaaaaaahhh!!! I’m dying!!!!!”

Apparently the promise of not killing me only applied to being mauled to death by tigers.

If it wasn’t for her bringing me back to life with her kisses, I’d still be dead and you wouldn’t be reading this. (Nope. Still dead. See? I can only open one eye!)

As she sat at my table eating her scrumptious dinner, poison blade still attached, she declared, “”Mom, the aliens in Mars Attacks said (alien voice and all) “‘We come in peace, we come in peace.’ But, they KILLED everyone so they’re LIARS!”

She’ll be different, of course.

She will only tell the truth as she kills people.

“I am Assassin’s Creed II,” Leah said, non-nonchalantly pointing to her contraption with her fork, as if I hadn’t noticed or remembered what it felt like to be poisoned.

“Even assassins need to eat their dinner,” I said as seriously as possible, hoping she didn’t notice me snickering into my armpit! I didn’t have to remind her twice, though. It was gone.

She wanted seconds.

So, I’ve eaten two plates of Pork Mango Picadillo… um… and a few bites right from the pot. Make this and you may just have some interesting dinner conversation, like we did. Then, stop over to Simply Recipes and tell Elise how amazing she is! You can also follow her (personal tweets) on Twitter @simplyrecipes and again at @recipeupdates (recipe feed).

“I am Assassin’s Creed II” said Leah, over Pork Mango Picadillo.

Unexpectedly Found Beauty : The Black Obi by Okada Saburosuke

Sarah Joy Albrecht — Sun, 27 Jun 2010 07:28:54 +0000

The Black Obi by Okada Saburosuke

Oh the rush of unexpectedly being smitten by beauty!

I had bought some new drinking glasses at the Daiso 100 ¥ Shop. Daiso provides scraps of newspaper, on worktables placed at the end of the cash register aisles, so that breakables can be wrapped for safe transport.

I picked up a handful of scraps and began to cover each glass and tuck them into my shopping bag.

The sad, frustrating truth is that I cannot read Japanese. The many vertical characters on the newspapers’ pages blurred together into mysterious meaninglessness.

When I glanced down at the stack of paper to grab a fresh sheet, I found this lovely young woman staring up at me! There were few photos printed on the paper scraps that day, and so the contrast – this beauty standing out amongst the rows of gibberish – was especially striking. The painting, in art’s universal language, was something I could understand. I tucked the scrap into my purse for safe keeping.

This morning, I had brunch with my friends Sonia and Miyo and, as I went to retrieve a pen, I felt the saved newspaper in my purse and excitedly showed Miyo. She translated it for me.

I learned that the 1915 painting is called “The Black Obi” and it was painted by Okada Saburosuke. His style was heavily influenced by Kuroda Seiki, whose real name was Kuroda Kiyoteru. Seiki went to Paris as a young man, where he lived in an artist colony that included several Americans. He even studied English. Such things are difficult to comprehend, as I tend to forget that Japanese were in the US prior to World War II.

(Once before, this very thought really got to me after watching Letters from Iwo Jima, where Ken Watanabe’s character, General Kuribayashi, speaks of his life in California before the war and how he socialized with actors, and even received silver pistol as a gift, but then returned home when the war broke out to fight for Japan.)

One of the thing I love about The Black Obi is that it is the first time I’ve ever seen a Japanese woman in the context of an Impressionistic painting. It is exquisitely surreal as if she was cut from elsewhere and affixed to a Monet or a Renoir.

Such talent!

Seeing this painting made me wonder — Would this style of art would have continued in Japan if history’s course had been different?

More on Japanese art history can be found here.

Unexpectedly Found Beauty : The Black Obi by Okada Saburosuke

Takin’ Five and Thinking About Living in a Shipping Container House

Sarah Joy Albrecht — Thu, 24 Jun 2010 15:35:57 +0000

I have a lot on my mind at the moment and not enough time to write down my thoughts!

Here are some random tidbits :

As of the last day of May, 2010, I am no longer in my 20s.

This week, I decided to color my hair not just for the sake of something new and wild (like pink highlights) but to color gray! I used an awesome organic haircolor called Organic Color Systems which I found through my friend Robyn at Shear Miracles.

One of my conversations with fellow blogger Megan Dunham at HalfPintHouse was quoted at World Magazine online!

Our time in Japan is just about up! I will miss the karate dojo where my children and I have been practicing Shotokan karate, the lush green plant life, our close proximity to the sea, and the peaceful lifestyle of not having to lock our doors. Details forthcoming as they solidify.

Currently, I am…

-Working on my full accreditation through the Bradley Method of Natural Childbirth… over 100 essay questions!

-Eagerly awaiting the arrival of our Veritas Press homeschooling curriculum for the 2010-2011 school year! Micah is officially starting school this year, although we’ve been working on his reading and math skills these past two years ;)

-Preparing for our upcoming month-long home leave to the US, just a few weeks away!

-Researching housing made out of storage containers (We are considering building our own house when we move back to the US!)

Check out these links on storage container housing:

The Cordell House – Numen Development (Model we like best so far!)

Shipping Container Housing Guide

Qwik House

Intermodal Steel Building Units and Container Homes

ContainerHome.Info

ZeroHouse.net

What do you think? Could you live in a house built of shipping containers? Why does or doesn’t it appeal to you? What features would you want included in your home?

… and now, I will fall into my bed and hopefully sleep through the night without anyone tearfully sleep-walking into my room or mistaking my stack of cloth grocery bags in the foyer for a potty!

Takin’ Five and Thinking About Living in a Shipping Container House

Eternally Thankful : Guest Post at NoWealthButLife.com

Sarah Joy Albrecht — Wed, 02 Jun 2010 20:43:55 +0000

Pregnant!!! by DDanzig via Flickr

This past week, I commented on What I Want, a post at There Is No Wealth But Life about expectations and parenting. The post began, “When I say that I do not want to be a stay at home mother, it is because I want something else…” and it drew me in.

At the end of her post, Rae (Twitter @nowealthbutlife ) asked, “What do you want? If you are already a parent, how has reality changed your plans and dreams?”

Rae asked if she may use the comment as a guest post.

I said yes.

An excerpt:

I found out I was pregnant in the midst of big deadlines at work at the bank. I didn’t even tell my husband I had bought the test. Why should I? It would be negative anyway.

I took it after work, still wearing my snappy navy dress suit and classic leather heels.

My expensive woolen executive armor didn’t shield me from the truth in the urine.

You can find the rest of the guest post as well as Rae’s thought-provoking blog here.

How would you have answered Rae’s question?

Eternally Thankful : Guest Post at NoWealthButLife.com

Sarah Joy Albrecht » In My Shoes

Where is Christ in the Small Things?

Related Posts

1,000 Words : Girls Night Out

Related Posts

I Cut Down My Lilies

Related Posts

The Jamaican Hustle (Or, Why You Should Obey Your Tour Guide)

Related Posts

Skunk Attack: Micah, Age 5, Sprayed in the Face

Related Posts

Aliens With Compound Eyes

Related Posts

“I am Assassin’s Creed II” said Leah, over Pork Mango Picadillo.

Related Posts

Unexpectedly Found Beauty : The Black Obi by Okada Saburosuke

Related Posts

Takin’ Five and Thinking About Living in a Shipping Container House

Related Posts

Eternally Thankful : Guest Post at NoWealthButLife.com

Related Posts