I have been blessed beyond measure with lovely friends. I don’t think I could be more happy for and proud of them, even if I tried. People joke about the movie 27 Dresses when they realize how many weddings I’ve been apart of over the years (and I’m only 24, mind you). Let’s see, just two summers ago, there were 3 backyard weddings, 5 church weddings, 1 wedding at a Manor, 1 beach wedding, and 1 barn wedding. Needless to say, my wardrobe has stepped it up a notch in the dress department. That being said, watching the Lord work through their relationships has touched my soul. They give me hope. Love exists.
I'm not a pessimist. I enjoy love and celebrate whole heartedly with every bride and groom. Brett and I just got married a few months ago, and it really was the best day of my life. We couldn't be more grateful for all the love and support we recieved from all of our favorite people. All that being said, years ago I harbored this outrageous thought, and all I want now is to release it into the wild, dust my hands off, and press on. Enjoy:
Your wedding day is only the most important day in the world to you. We love you, but we love lounging around and watching the Reds more. But soak it in and drink it up, my bride friends, because the only other time you’ll have a day that’s all about you will be your funeral. And you won’t even be there to enjoy it. Cheers.
Tuesday, December 20, 2011
Goodbye, sweet gluten.
Let’s venture back. We’ve all been there. We’ve all experienced something so bittersweet. Something so good, yet so bad. Take Sun-In, for example. Who didn’t want to be blonde in the 90′s? We sprayed and sprayed that lemon juice and flower extract all over our innocent locks in hopes to become bleach blonde legends like Princess Diana or Zack Morris. Over time, however, we had to face the truth. The “lighter, sun-kissed” hair we were once longing for had evolved what was left of our hair into brassy, overused garage broom bristles. I, for one, felt a little foolish. And orange. Very, very orange.
Unbeknown to me, I had indulged in you, Gluten. I delighted in your flavors for over twenty years. You had been my midnight Baja Chicken Chalupa and my Papa Johns pizza crust and my Cinnamon Toast Crunch…oh, the Cinnamon Toast Crunch. You deceitful son of a protein.
It came to my attention a few years ago that you were my personal Sun-In. You were the promise of satisfied taste buds and fast food forever. Now, you’re nothing more than an inconvenience on the road and a pricey grocery bill. Sure I stay skinny, but not without turning down my own stinkin’ birthday cake. Do you have any idea what it’s like to look a kid in the eye and tell him you can’t make a purchase from his lemonade stand because the maltodextrin would lead to an inflamed small intestine?
In the beginning, I felt so defeated. Every aisle I would forgo in the grocery store would talk about me behind my back. So did the people who judged me every time I read a label before I decided if I should put the particular brand of peanut butter back on the shelf or in the cart. But what I’ve come to claim is the fact that I’m one tough gluten free cookie. And be it bitter or bland, at least I can wash it down with a glass of milk.