Joy

Well, I promised I would be back... so here I am.

Recently, I read one of my earlier posts (from 2006... when I was in college) and I was startled at how much I have changed. Obviously, I have grown older and matured, but also, I found myself laughing.

I laughed because I used to be so much more open and candid. I wasn't afraid to write about much of anything. I was so real and out there... and these days...

I find I am more guarded.

Right or wrong, it's just the way it is, and I found it to be an interesting observation.

Maybe I psycho-analyze too much, but at any rate, I want it to be a goal of mine to be genuine, always.

So lately, I have found the supernatural joy of the Lord being infused back into my life. For this, I am thankful. I went through a recent valley lately. I'm not sure what caused it or why it was there, but with a little bit of work (because climbing up a mountain from the bottom isn't always easy) I am finding that I am on my way back up. Part of me is enjoying the climb, because I know that once I reach the top... although it is a BEAUTIFUL view, the only place to go is down, unless I can sustain my spot of mountaintop awesomeness.

And with God's good grace and help, I can. So, I continue to envelope myself with the joy of Jesus and let that be the driving force to get me through each and every day. After all, that's all I can rely on, anyway. To rely on anything else usually results in disaster, eventually.

I am encouraged that everything I read right now, whether it be in devotions, Jesus Calling, or as a topic of a bible study, is exactly what I need. God has a beautiful way of giving us what we need, when we need it, as long as we are willing to receive.

Anyway, I am excited to continue on in my journey and see what good things God continues to provide in my life.

IA has been... stressful, to say the least. But good. And getting better. We are on the uphill swing, I would say. We went through a tough time recently of "defining and redefining" who we were and what we wanted to be, but now that we have that figured out, it just takes courage, perseverance, and wisdom to keep things rolling. Every time it gets tough, I always view our business as a gift from God and my working relationship with Kristi as a marriage-- we made a vow of "commitment" and even when it gets tough, that's not excuse to give up. God brought it all together for a reason and blessed it with success, and there's a reason for it. At times, I do wonder what God was thinking when He put Kristi and I together because we couldn't be any more different, but somehow, by His grace, we've gotten this far. And I always think... if we have gotten THIS far, then we can get through anything.

Home life has been... lacking. That sounds terrible, but I feel like I'm hardly home. Except on the weekends, which are spent cleaning or organizing or paying bills or buying groceries or just CRASHING on the couch with my popcorn and kitty. I have loved living on my own, but it has definitely been an adjustment. I DO get my "me" time but a lot of my "me" time is spent doing the things that my Mom used to take care of for me :) So it's just getting used to the change.

My passion has been... growing. Each and every situation life takes me through refines me and teaches me that God can only use me--Taryn--in a special, unique way. This way is apart from anyone else's way. That, to me, is a beautiful thought. With that in mind, I am trying to stay as plugged in as possible to the Lord's plan in using my talents and personality to bless others. Without that, what am I really living for? Myself?

Attitude is so important, I am finding. I love that quote that says, "Most people are about as happy as they make up their minds to be." It's so true. Not that "happiness" is our ultime goal, but the point is, WE are in charge of how we let certain situations, words, thoughts, emotions, or anything else affect us. I can either choose to let something destroy me, or teach me. I can let it tear me down, or make me stronger. I can let it kill my mood, or make me thankful. I can choose to become irritated, or smile my way through. I can let all the little things bring me down, or let the One I DO have lift me up.

It's all a perspective check, really. And it's all in having an attitude of gratitude.

I'm just thankful for a Jesus who is so patient and kind!

Love you all,

T

Be Back Soon.

I have less than 5 minutes to write this.

Lucky you.

Tomorrow, we have a wedding. Will be our first HOT one.

This Sunday is Father's day... and my parents will be gone. :(

I have lots of little updates and some new insights, but there is just not enough time to fill you in on everything tonight.

So we'll just review a few fun facts:

1) My new morning routine is as follows:
Get out of bed.
(And because the mornings have actually been DELIGHTFULLY cool...)
Wrap myself in my hot pink soft blanket.
Fix a bowl of cereal.
Go outside.
Sit on the little lawn chair in my backyard with my face completely basking in the sun.
(But my body is wrapped up and warm in my blanket, of course.)
Eat my bowl of cereal.
Read Jesus Calling.
Pray.
Obtain Vitamin D and needed sun-on-face for 5 minutes.
Go inside and get ready for the day.

This routine has had amazing results! It could just be in my head, but I feel more joyful and ready to tackle my day when started this way.

2) Ever since I started making stovetop popcorn with extra virgin olive oil & a dash of Morton Salt, I have had a very difficult time returning to microwave popcorn.

It's just not the same.

3) My favorite afternoon pick-me-up snack at work is a small cup of the flavor-of-the-day coffee from L&B (my fave is Snickerdoodle) & a chocolate Hershey's bar.

That's all for tonight... we'll talk soon.

Love you all,

T

Keep Coming Back

When I was little, I was very inquisitive. 

I liked to ask lots of questions. 

I can remember sitting in church one Sunday. I was sitting with my Dad, and I leaned over to him. The minister had just said something obvious to me.

"Dad, when you become a Christian, don't you already know this kind of stuff?" I asked.

"Yes," he answered.

"Then why do you have to keep coming to church? If you already know what it takes to get to Heaven and you have done it, then why keep coming back to hear it?"

"Because," he said, "It's always good to be reminded."

In my young little mind, I couldn't understand why someone would need to hear the same thing over and over. And for that matter, I wasn't taking into consideration the fact that the Spirit moves in many ways, and will usually always bring to light something new to learn each and every time.

That memory sticks with me, and I think about it often when I'm sitting in church.

Today, I sat by our elder's wife. Our elder and his wife have been good friends of my parents for as long as I can remember, and our elder is my dad's first cousin.

The morning service was so good and appropriate for the Memorial Day weekend. The minister read about "David's Mighty Men" and also talked about Hebrews 11, going over the "Hall of Faith." He said that reading over all of those people and the accounts of their faith reminds him of a cemetery. When you walk in a cemetery, you see markers of people who have passed from this life to the next, and you may stop and review something they have done. You talk about the impact they made in their life. It challenged me to look at my own life and think: What impact am I making? Would I be listed in a "Hall of Faith?" What will I take with me, and what will others remember me by?

He also talked about life being the "great race" that we finish... and how up in Heaven, those who love us may very well be cheering us on into Victory.

After the service, I received an unexpected word of encouragement.

The edler's wife leaned over and told me that she thought of my grandparents, and how both of them were such pillars of faith. How she believed they were looking down at me and so proud of me. How it took courage to do the things that I do...

Immediately, I became sentimental in remembrance of my beautiful grandparents, and also tried to guess what she was referring to in regards to courage. I thought maybe she would mention stepping out on my own, buying my house, or starting my business. 

But she didn't mention any of those things.

And now that I think about it, none of those things are "tangible" things that I can take with me.

What she was talking about was the prison ministry with which I am involved.

She told me that she thought I was courageous and brave to talk to the women in the prison. How my grandparents would be so proud that I was spreading the Word in that way, and they were cheering me on.

"I know that some day, you will be rewarded for that, Taryn," she told me, "And not just a 'pat on your back' reward. A real reward... something that will change your life. Something inexplicable that will give you peace and joy."

I was momentarily speechless, but I managed to smile and thank her for the wonderful thoughts and encouragement.

She doesn't know that those words came at a time when I needed them the most! Not so much as it refers to the prison ministry, but more so the encouragement in general.

The idea that may grandparents are my heritage, and as my heritage, they were amazing pillars of Faith.

The idea that it is my great pleasure to carry this on in my own life, and hopefully I will have the opportunity to let it be carried on through my future grandchildren.

The idea that the world is not our home, and the "things" we put our hope in here are often not things we take with us. It is the soul, the heart, the spirit of a person we must reach out and touch... and in doing so, that life, that "treasure," suddenly becomes eternal.

Hebrews 11 says that, "Faith is the substance of things hoped for, the evidence of things not seen."

To me, "things not seen" include the intangibles... love, joy, peace, mercy, grace... and the list goes on. Those are the eternal treasures we hope to store up in Heaven. If only the earthly, corruptible "treasures" wouldn't cloud our vision.

Ironically, I visited the jail this morning. When I arrived to the women's pod, the guard excitedly yelled into the ladies, "Girls, the lady minister is here! Who wants to come learn about JESUS? Come on out, and learn about Him-- you will all benefit!"

I so appreciated her enthusiasm.

It was the biggest group I had ever had-- 9 women! And I was by myself.

I had prayed the day before that whatever I chose to speak about would touch even one soul, and I was blessed beyond measure to find the room of women in tears when I was done. They all loved the message and found it applicable to their life situations.

I was so encouraged. I have never been more confident that this ministry is where I need to be.

For some, they love children, so teaching Sunday School or running VBS programs is for them. For others, they enjoy the elderly, so visiting nursing homes and singing to them makes their spirit smile. And others still have a huge heart for orphans, so they give financially and travel on trips to other countries.

But to me, I have a God-given love for the broken. I think it's because I don't see them for what they did, but for who they are. At the end of the day, we are all souls created by God. There is absolutely no difference between me and them, because before Jesus' blood, I wasn't getting to Heaven any sooner than they were. 

Are we all not just people, in need of a Savior?

Love you all!

T

In Due Season

I have been biting my finger nails lately.

That means I'm stressed.

I don't even notice I'm doing it, really. But it's a tell tale sign that too much is going on.

If someone would ask me, "Taryn, are you stressed?"

I would say, "No, I'm fine."

But it's because I like to see the glass half full. And, I'm realizing... I'm so proud. I'm too afraid to admit when life isn't all put together. I want it to appear like everything is smooth sailing. Anything else would show weakness.

Then, I become irritated that I put on a mask, because facades are so fake. And I'm all about REAL. So, in an effort to fool everyone into thinking everything is 100%, I compromise being genuine. And I hate that.

Don't get me wrong-- not everyone wants a thorough outpouring of my heart every time they ask "How are you doing?" nor do people need me to coat every response with emotional drama.

But I don't think that's the point. The point is... I must be honest. With myself, and with others. And especially with God.

So here we go... my best attempt at being real:

Lately, I have been struggling to keep my head above water. To top it off, I have been consistently indifferent towards God-- to my shame. I realize that the life of every Christian tends to be a roller coaster, but it kills me to admit that I'm in a down loop right now.

To explain, I have been slacking on being in the Word. I have also been turning off conversation with God. I didn't realize I was doing it until I came to the core of the problem-- to talk to God would entail honesty. It would entail owning my struggles, owning my pride, and owning my lack of faith. And those are things, quite frankly, that I just don't feel like doing. So I cut off communication.

Trust me-- it's not a good idea. Because, quite simply, it doesn't work.

All it has done is it has left me feeling directionless, and I really don't like that feeling.

Yet, God still proves His faithfulness and provision to me, despite my lack of Faith. And it is in this that I realize that his goodness and Love is not dependent on my performance... thank goodness. I need that reminder from time to time, yet it is no excuse to slack off.

I had a really good conversation with someone last weekend. I was with a group of people, and the two of us walked off alone. I was in a pensive mood-- which is always a recipe for a heart-to-heart.

Thankfully, she is an excellent listener and wonderful advice-giver, and someone I look up to and trust. I don't know her that extremely well, but well enough to confide in.

So I did. I poured out my heart to her, and I was completely uninhibited. It was exactly what I needed to do. Mostly, because I needed to acknowledge where I was-- verbally. I needed someone to hear it, other than the walls of my heart and chambers of my mind.

I told her that I was slacking off on praying. That I wasn't actively communicating to God like I used to-- I used to talk to him every minute of every day and tell Him everything. How I was falling behind on my Bible reading plan, but I desired to do better. I told her about a prayer project I started a couple of years ago that was one of the hugest blessings in my life, but somehow, I had managed to put it off for the last several months. I told her about my business and how it's going through an entirely tough and challenging time, and how overwhelming it is. How insecure it makes me feel, and how it's hard sometimes to come home to an empty house and spend my weekends catching up on laundry and cooking meals... for one. I told her that amidst all of this, none of it is an excuse to put off God, or to ignore Him. Because in it all is a blessing. In it is an amazing timetable and weaving of the Spirit's hands, and I can't challenge that... because His ways are so much higher than my ways.

This friend was an angel to me on this particular night, simply because she listened. And that's what I needed... someone to listen and understand and encourage.

I have been thinking about that conversation and my spiritual state this whole week. As I continue through this typically busy and stressful set of days, I am realizing more and more that the Spirit continues to nudge me and call me back.

The Lord is saying... Taryn. Get in my Word. Taryn... talk to me. Taryn... don't give up, I love you and have been using you all along.

I am convinced that we go through these times in order to give us an opportunity to be refined. On the day I talked to my friend, I read this particular devotion out loud to a few different people, because it spoke volumes to me. It comes from the devotion series I am working on right now called "The Confident Woman," and I loved the words. I'll close with it now:

In Due Season

"Due season" is God's season, not ours. We are in a hurry, God isn't. He takes time to do things right - He lays a solid foundation before He attempts to build a building. We are God's building under construction. He is the Master Builder, and He knows what He is doing. We may not know what He is doing, but He does, and that will have to be good enough. We may not always know, but we can be satisfied to know the One who knows.

God's timing seems to be His own little secret. The Bible promises us that He will never be late, but I have also discovered that He is usually not early. It seems that He takes every available opportunity to develop the fruit of patience in us. Patience is a fruit of the Spirit that grows under trial.

Developed potential without character does not glorify God. If we were to become a huge success and yet be harsh with people - that would not be pleasing to the Lord. Therefore, if we get ahead of ourselves in one area, He gently but firmly blocks our progress in that area until the other ones catch up.

Remember: God is never late.

Pray: Lord, thank You for Your patience with me. I want everything now, but You are building my life with eternity in mind. I don't understand everything You're doing, but I trust You. Amen.

Love you all :) Taryn

Change is Good.

I have Blogger template ADD.

I can't help it!

I like to LOVE something. When I love it, I keep it. I am loyal to it and I stand by it for a long, long time. Like a cute & functional purse, or a particular scent of candle, or a tried & true dessert from a local coffee shop.

But if the L factor isn't there, then I quickly give it up. And I change till I love.

We might be getting there with my blog layout/template. I really wanted something more functional and organized. Some future tweaking will possibly arise, but for now, I am content with how it's shaping up.

For those of you who didn't even notice the change (as the color scheme is similar to my previous but not exact), bless you. I hope to obtain a balance between users who love to read what I have to say, and readers who love to use what I have to provide.

Did that even make sense?

Moving on...

Living on my own and having a home has certainly made me more of a "goal setter." And when I say goals, they are very short-term and little. But hey, they are goals, nonetheless... or maybe a more realistic term is "to-do" items. Calling it a goal makes me sound more ambitious, though.

My personal favorite checkmark on the to-do list was to organize and clean my garage. It is a task that has been haunting me since I moved in last Fall. My garage has never-ending storage options, so guess where all my JUNK ended up? And I didn't bother to clean it out before I continued to use it as a catch-all.

However, it only took a couple hours and I had everything organized & cleaned out. Had a giant pile of flattened boxes, several bags of garbage, and a couple of bags for GoodWill, and voila. It was done. I now enjoy parking in it.

Anyway, all this to say... free time in my evenings and on weekends has become increasingly lame. Although, I don't feel like it's lame because I actually enjoy doing this stuff. I never thought I'd find the day where cleaning my house & organizing my garage sounds like a good idea on a Friday night... but, I'm there.

Don't worry, I always rewards myself with a bowl of popcorn afterwards.

So I have more inspiring things to talk about, but right now I'm getting tired. That's the other thing, my new bedtime has suddenly changed. I used to find it appalling to go to bed before midnight, and now I'm doing good to make it past 10:30.

People may think I'm 18, but really. I'm 26. And it's starting to show.

Be back soon.

Love you all!

T

Busy & Lily

Everyone keeps asking me if I'm busy at work.

Thankfully, this year, our weddings are quite spread out. This is a lot more manageable than the typical 5-in-a-row series we end up booking every season.

Instead, we have a nice wedding schedule, with a 2-3 week break in between each one.

Our current goal is to grow our portrait business as much as we can in the meantime. This includes meeting with vendors, business people, and marketing in ways we haven't before. We also just hired an "art consultant" (i.e. sales girl) and we love having someone fill that position! It frees up a lot of extra time for Kristi and I to do PR and just focus on growing our business strategically.

Aside from new challenges at work, I continue to stay a busy person at home, as usual.

I know I always say that I would rather be busy than bored, but sometimes it's nice to have some down time. I find that most of my down time, if it does occur, happens on the weekends. I look forward to these blocks of time in which I can catch up on laundry, clean my house, do yard work, and just chill on the couch with a bowl of popcorn.

In other news, I have a new kitty :)

The whole situation happened rather quickly and spontaneously.

Shortly after Kitty was put to rest, I began my search for a new kitten. I wasn't about to go out the very next day and find one, but I knew I wanted one soon.

I felt OK. I had convinced myself that I had mourned Kitty's death mostly before she even died. By the time it was right, I was all business. I was sad, but I knew it had to be done.

After, I missed her... a lot. But I also just missed the idea of having another life around... you know? Coming home to an empty house every night isn't ideal. It helps to have a furry friend.

SO, the search began. I had many offers for older cats who needed a home, but I declined each one due to two reasons. First, I for sure wanted a kitten, so I could enjoy kittenhood again. Second, another option would have been to adopt one of these older cats as a "friend" for my new kitten, but after some thought I decided against it. While it sounded like a good plan, I knew in the long run I would want to keep it easy and simple, and I liked the idea of having "one" kitty who traveled to the studio with me and kept me company. Having two means twice the amount of food, toys, and kitty litter, plus I never wanted to "leave one out."

After a week of unsuccessful searching, I sort of went crazy. I went into panic mode and started scouring craigslist for every kitten available in Central IL all the way to the ends of the state.

It seemed like every time I would find kittens, I would strike out. They were all male. Or they were all shorthair. Or they were female medium-haired kittens, but when I called, they were all already taken.

I finally found a black & white "medium-haired" kitten. She was the only available one left, and her picture looked adorable. Her owner told me she didn't have short hair but it wasn't long, either. Sounded like medium hair to me-- perfect.

So, I drug Kristi along with me on a very long car ride to pick her up.

On the way there... I was excited. Excited to meet her, excited to finally have a kitten.

But when I arrived, I was very surprised at how I reacted. She wasn't what I expected, in the first place. She was tiny and adorable-- but, she wasn't a medium hair. Her hair was a bit longer than your typical shorthair, but she wasn't soft and fluffy like Kitty was.

She wasn't spunky like Kitty, either. She was sweet and cuddly. She didn't have the right dose of attitude. She was long and lanky, and I could feel her bones underneath her fur. When I pet her, she wasn't super-soft. Her eyes were dark green, not bright like Kitty's.

As I tucked her in my sweatshirt and headed for the car, the clouds gray overhead and my mind even grayer, I couldn't stop the comparisons.

She wasn't Kitty.

I don't know what I expected. One thing was for sure, though-- I was caught off guard.

I thought I would be excited, and jumping for joy. I thought I would immediately fall in love with this kitten. I thought it would just seem right.

Instead, I felt overwhelmed with sadness. I felt like crying because I missed Kitty even more than I imagined. I felt like handing this kitten off to someone else and going home empty-handed, because it would have been easier.

So for the first time since the day I watched Kitty die... I cried.

I cried for Kitty and for who she was and our short life we had together.

Then I listened to my mom and Kristi tell me to "Give it a week. See how you feel at the end. If you're still not connecting with her, you can give her away. There are a lot of people who want kittens."

I took their advice and took this little kitten home, despite my uneasy feeling.

The first night, she slept with me. I wasn't too attached to her yet so I didn't really care what she did, but at one point I woke up during the night and she had nuzzled herself against my chest and had snuggled in underneath the covers with me.

It was the sweetest thing ever.

But I still wasn't in love. I woke up the next morning, still uneasy.

Yet I took her to work, like I did with Kitty.

And I watched as she didn't look out the front window like Kitty did, and how she didn't sleep on my desk on the pink bed like Kitty did.

But she had her own unique quirks. She sat up on the counter and batted at the planted palm, biting it and attacking it in a cute, playful fashion. She chased a crinkly ball around the office and laid beneath my desk and batted at all the cords hanging down. And she sat in my lap and snuggled in with her blanket on my desk.

On the second day, I was starting to like her but was still unsure. She continued to live life with me as usual, and in the mean time, my mom and Kristi were both in love with her.

By day 3, all of my nieces and nephews had met her and played with her, and my mom had measured her neck to make her a personalized collar.

And she became Facebook official.

So she is a keeper.

I named her Lily, and she definitely fits her name. She is a petitie little spit fire. She darts across the room and up and down my furniture, much like Kitty, but she also plays very nicely with all of her toys. She can occupy herself very easily, but also LOVES to be around people. She is less independent than Kitty, and definitely more of a "lap" cat. She loves to be pet, and will start purring when you pick her up and cuddle her. She will play hard, and then sleep hard. She sleeps for 2-3 hours at a time and slips into a mild coma, in which she curls up into darling positions.

No, she is not Kitty. Kitty will always hold a special place in my heart that no other cat can replace. However, Lily is a sweet little companion to step into place post-Kitty, and I know she will be a great and loving friend.

I am excited to get to know her better and begin life with her.

So, I will conclude on that note about Lily. I'll be back soon, and will hopefully transition to another less-feline topic :) I have a lot floating in my head these days, and a lot I'd like to eventually share, so I'm sure I will be back before long.

Love you all!

T

Farewell Kitty

I will begin with a video I made of Kitty's short but sweet life.

Holding the power of a life in your hands is not easy.

We experience this in a mild sense when we decide to squash an ant with our shoe or swat at a fly that is buzzing around the kitchen. Even when we whiz by and take out a squirrel on the road.

But what about when that creature is more than an insect or a nut-collecting nuisance? What about when it is a friend, a companion, and the one who greets you every time you walk in the door?

I had Kitty’s life in my hands over the past couple of weeks… and I didn’t like it. The stress of deciding “when is the best time” overwhelmed me. At first, it almost consumed me.

Shortly after Kitty’s emergency clinic visit, she improved quite a bit. She was a lot slower than normal, but definitely still had “Kitty-isms” that were true to character: chasing the laser pointer, “nursing” my hot pink blanket, running to the ice maker, and eating & drinking heartily.

As days went on, her breathing picked up quite a bit, but she still seemed happy to be alive. Towards the end of that week, her respirations were quite labored, yet she still had a little perk left in her. My parents were returning that Friday evening, and my goal was to make it until then.

I can’t explain it, but it meant more to me than anything else to have them see her before she died. Kitty stayed with my parents (and I) for the first few months of her life.

I can still remember the day I “asked my Dad permission” to let her live at home with us until I moved out. He was not too happy.

“I guess it’s fine, if that’s what you have to do,” he told me.

I felt guilty and happy all at the same time. My mom and I were excited.

The silly part is, Kitty loved my Dad the most. Probably… because he tried the least. And I would be lying if I said he didn’t love her, too.

Kitty slept in our basement room, which is also my Dad’s closet/shower room. Early each morning, he would be downstairs getting ready, and Kitty would come running up to my Dad, stand up on her hind legs (like a squirrel) and beg for my Dad to pet her.

Funny… because she didn’t like it when anyone else tried to touch her.

She would chase his shoe laces and weave in and out of his legs.

She would also spend a lot of time with my Mom during the day. My mom and I share a mutual affection for cats, so she loved it. Except when Kitty would walk across her kitchen table, try to eat off our plates, bat at her center pieces, and climb our Christmas tree. Then she would yell, “Kitty! OFF MY TABLE!”

J

We all enjoyed her. She was a bundle of energy and full of life, and always had us laughing.

Even after I moved out, Kitty and I would come visit… a lot. Usually, when I came over for a quick dinner or to spend the evening with my parents, so would Kitty. She was always with me, and my parents were always delighted to see her.

Because of the fun times we had together and how special she was to them, I really wanted them to see her.

My parents flew in late Friday night, and returned home just minutes before I had to go into my 3^rd shift job. Kitty’s breathing had stayed pretty labored, so I had scheduled an appointment for Kitty to be put down that following Saturday morning.

As I scooped Kitty up and placed her in my car to go see my parents, my emotions were at the brim. I kept looking over at Kitty and thinking that this would be her last night. I would let her sleep at my parents’ house so she wouldn’t spend her last night alone.

I gathered Kitty into my arms and walked inside. As I did, it was instantaneous—I was sobbing. My Dad saw me and gave me a huge hug and told me not to cry.

That made me cry more.

They were so happy to see Kitty. Her side was shaved, as were her two front legs, and she was thinner. But Kitty sniffed them and greeted them, and my Mom calmed my tears.

“Taryn, we’ll take her in tomorrow morning, and if it’s too soon, we won’t put her down.”

So I slept that night.

And like usual, Kitty woke up early with my Dad and wanted him to pet her. She purred (she doesn’t purr for anyone else). She ate for my mom and sat in front of our back door and looked outside—her favorite thing.

We took her into the vet. Our vet is SO nice. He patiently listened to all my doubts.

What if I put her down too soon?

Is it too soon if she still seems to have a quality of life?

Is she in pain?

Is it possible that it’s not FIP, but something else?

Would she really be eating and drinking if it was towards the end?

He assured me that she was not in pain. Likely… discomfort. But not pain, and that she DID still seem to have a quality of life.

Without telling me what to do or “swaying me one way or another,” as he put it, I gathered from him that he thought I should wait. At that point, I was almost ready to do it and get it done. But my vet and parents were listening to me when my emotions clogged my logic. They explained that it would make me feel better to know that “it was time,” and this time… it didn’t seem right yet.

So we took Kitty home.

For the next few days, Kitty stayed with my parents, mostly. Her breathing stayed about the same… labored, fast… but consistent. She still sniffed around, ate and drank.

On Tuesday, she seemed to slow down quite a bit. I was beginning to think that the end was near. By Wednesday, she could hardly walk 5 steps without stopping to catch her breath, stooped over so she could concentrate on breathing. When we presented her with food or water, she would walk up to it and hang her head over the bowl… she wanted it… but she didn’t have enough air to partake.

It broke my heart.

I had been taking her outside to enjoy the beautiful weather. She LOVES outside and now that she had slowed down so much, it was much easier to keep an eye on her. However, on Wednesday when I did this, while she tried so hard to enjoy it, she was very obviously struggling. At one point, she tried to lie down, but stood right back up and resumed her “I can’t breathe” position.

Again… it brought me to tears.

I phoned my vet… knowing it was the day. Unfortunately, my vet was not in on this particular afternoon. It made me very sad, because everyone at that office knows Kitty so well, and the sentimental part of me wanted the vet who had been working with her to carry it through.

However, after observing her a little bit more, I knew I didn’t want to wait until morning. I phoned another local vet and made an appointment for later that afternoon.

My mom came with me. On the way to the vet’s office, I rode with Kitty in my lap. She was inside her carrier bag. I unzipped the front and stuck my hand in, petting her. Typically, Kitty did not like to be pet but as she had grown more ill, she learned to love the comfort. She rested her little head on my hand and let me stroke her, enjoying every moment.

We walked into the vet’s office, and everyone was nice and accommodating.

The vet there was young, and was so compassionate and kind. He asked all about Kitty—her history, her diagnosis, and then proceeded to explain in great detail the whole process of putting her down.

He brought in a blanket for her to sit on while it was done. My mom and I held her and pet her the whole time. It ended up being too hard to find a good vein in her back legs, because she was unable to breathe when they positioned her a certain way. The vet suggested that we give her a sedative to relax her so they could do what they needed to do. Another friend of mine (a fellow cat lover!) had suggested this to make it easier, so I gladly agreed.

He explained that the sedation would take a few minutes to work, so he injected it and then left the room so we could wait with her.

And this was the saddest part.

Almost immediately, Kitty started panting out of her open mouth—something I had never seen her do. Clearly, she was gasping for air. My mom was supporting her and felt her front legs wobble and then eventually give away.

“Just lay down, Kitty,” we both told her, soothing her as much as we could.

My baby, my black & white fluff ball who was the strongest fighter I knew, who would never in a million years lie on command… she laid down, and gave up.

All it took was something to relax her, and all of the fight came right out of her. She laid on her side and struggled to breathe.

“This may finish her,” I said, tears rolling down my cheek.

My mom’s hands were resting lightly on top of Kitty, feeling her little chest rise and fall. Her normally quick, short breathing turned into a slow, labored breath every 1-2 seconds… and eventually… no breathing.

My mom and I stood above her, stroking her and whispering soothing words, while our salty tears dripped onto her beautiful, soft coat. It was a special time. I knew Kitty was dying in our arms, and without the aid of euthanasia.

In that moment, it was proof to me that it was the right time. The one thing I struggled to wrap my mind around was letting her go too soon. But I knew with all of my heart that this was her time, and she told us by slipping away once she was relaxed enough to stop fighting for us.

I can’t describe to you the mixed emotions that I felt. I felt sadness for losing her, but relief for knowing she was done suffering. Watching her deteriorate each and every day was horribly hard. I tried to mask it as best as I could… much like Kitty masked her difficulty with breathing. I knew in my heart that I didn’t want her to have to get to the point of suffering, but I also knew I would never forgive myself if I didn’t wait long enough to see she had no way of improving.

And somehow, God gave me the perfect timetable to accomplish the balance.

I am so thankful for the prayers, support, and understanding of so many cat and pet-lovers as this all unfolded.

Kitty took her last breaths, and shortly after, the vet walked in. When he realized what had happened, he apologized profusely. However, I was relieved that it happened as it did. He ended up giving her a little bit of euthanasia to ensure she was truly “gone,” since he still picked up a faint flutter of her heart from time to time. He returned her in a special “coffin” box, perfect for us to bury her in.

My mom and I drove home in quiet tears. We exited the car and sat out on our front porch. It was an absolutely beautiful afternoon—sunny, blue skies, and in the 70’s. We sat outside and pet Kitty’s soft fur for awhile, and reminisced about her short but sweet life.

My Dad buried Kitty in my parent’s backyard. I request she be buried there, just several feet away from Belle (and Whiskers).

Most people are either a “cat” person or a “dog” person, and I have concluded that regardless of which you prefer, we all somehow have a special connection with our domestic pets that is unexplainable. It can only come through loving care, and while animals are not children, there is still so much emotional energy invested. So much so, that at the end of the path, it always ends in tears.

I was only able to enjoy Kitty for 8 short months. However, in that little amount of time, I could write a book about her. My friend told me, “No two cats are the same. Some people say: Oh, that’s just a CAT. But you will never meet another Kitty.”

I won’t. And for awhile, it will be hard to put up with any kitty that ISN’T Kitty. Time will help heal my sorrow. God does not let this go unnoticed, and I am convinced that there is a reason behind this circumstance.

My cousin pointed out a beautiful thought to me… that we can’t always know or even come close to fathoming why God works the way He does. But it is so interesting to note how He so often parallels death with life… the death of someone in a family with the birth of another, attending a funeral today and attending a baby shower tomorrow, and the death of my Kitty with the flourish of kitten season.

We serve a beautiful God who wants us to enjoy His creation… and that, I will continue to do. The hardest part about loving is losing… but oh, to think of how much we gain in our Eternal Home! J

Love you all!

T

Miss Kitty

I never wanted to be the type of person who drives around with my pet's head hanging out the car window, or call myself "Mommy" in relation to them. I thought doting on a pet in such a way-- buying them special collars and food and toting them around everywhere like a child-- I thought that was over the top.

That all changed when I decided to adopt Kitty when she was just 3 weeks old. Our intern from work brought her to me from her cousin's farm. She described her as a "black & white fluff ball." Kitty stole my heart immediately. With her soft, fluffy hair, ornery personality and outgoing nature, she quickly became known as the "dog-cat."

She LOVES people, is very nosey, always has to be the center of anything going on, perks up and comes running when you call her name, and sleeps with me every night.

She is a true companion-- and honestly, she keeps me company. I don't ever feel alone because she is around to lift my spirits.

I went on a trip to Arizona to shoot a wedding, and returned last Tuesday. I was excited to go pick up Kitty, who was staying with my parents. In fact, it was one of the first things I did upon arrival home. My parents love Kitty, and she loves staying at their house, as it is where she grew up for the first few months of her life.

I brought Kitty home and we resumed life as normal. I noticed that she was a little bit more subdued than normal, but I chalked it up to her being annoyed with me. After all, I had just left her for a week and it's not unlike Kitty to sport an attitude at times.

This "attitude" continued for the next few days, and if anything, got worse. Kitty started moping around and sleeping for large portions of the day. I kept thinking, "Maybe she is finally growing up and becoming less playful." But something inside of me felt that she just wasn't acting right.

On Friday, I was starting to really get worried, but I decided to get if one more day. I noticed that she started breathing funny-- it was very labored-- but then, was I just making it up? I didn't want to make a big deal out of nothing. Yet what alarmed me the most was her changed personality. She seemed depressed and lifeless. Her spunky sparkle that everyone loves was just gone. On Friday, she sat listlessly on the folding chair and started outside all day, hardly acknowledging me when I called her name.

By Saturday, she completely ignored the food and water bowl that I tried to push under her nose, and she was continuing to slow down. Additionally, she protested with a scratchy meow every time I tried to pick her up, as if it caused her pain.

I called the vet in town, but the doctor was out for the weekend. They gave me the number to the Tri-Country Emergency Animal Clinic in Peoria. I phoned them and found out I could bring her in at anytime.

I loaded Kitty up in the car and continued to observe her on the way. I put her in her carrying bag, which she normally immediately tries to bust out of by nudging her head up towards the zipper and inching it back until she can climb out. I usually let her, as I know she enjoys watching out the window.

After a couple of meager failed attempts, she sat with her little head sticking out of the bag and tried no further. I lifted her out of the bag, and she tried to climb up on top of the console in between the two front seats, but fell to the back. She stayed back there on the floor the entire time, not wanting to move.

Upon arrival at the clinic, we were seen by a very nice female vet. She took some x-rays of Kitty. I could hear her meowing in the other room and at that moment, I wanted to go to her and comfort her, like a mother would a child. It was like my baby was crying.

The vet came in with the x-ray pictures and showed them to me.

"See this right here?" she pointed, indicating a huge area with her finger. "That should all be black. That is her lung. But only this little spot is black," she said, showing me a small circular shape. "The rest of her lung is full of fluid."

She explained that her lungs being full of fluid was blocking her ability to breathe. Possible causes were heart or kidney failure, or FIP-- Feline Infectious Peritonitis. Neither were positive options. She explained that she suspected it to be FIP, since she had a recent surgery in January (spayed) and the vet would've noticed complications with a vital organ if that was the problem.

The vet was very nice and helpful, and also honest, which I appreciated.

"If it is FIP-- which I suspect it is-- it doesn't look good," she told me. "Kitty could die from this. And even if we treat her-- and we would try everything in our power to do it-- she could die from the process of treatment."

My options were-- treat Kitty and hope for the best-- a treatable condition so I could continue to keep her alive--or, let her die. I knew that she wouldn't hold up much longer in her current condition, and I wouldn't want her to suffer, so "let her die" would entail euthanizing her.

Given Kitty's young age and the fact that I wouldn't be able to live with myself if I didn't first try to treat her, I decided to go that route. I love Kitty. If I can treat Kitty and make her better, I would rather pour my money into trying than letting her go without knowing.

I knew I was on my own with making this decision. Unfortunately, my parents were out of town, otherwise my mom would have been with me. As I sat alone in the clinic's small room, running the estimate figures through my head and my potential courses of action, I contemplated phoning my mom. I almost did, and then refrained, as I felt tears brimming at my eyes. To call her would open the flood gates, and this was not a time to drown in my emotions. I needed to stay strong until I left.

In the end, I decided to do it. It cost me a lot of money that I did not want to spend, but my love for Kitty and knowing the tremendous guilt I would feel if I didn't at least TRY to help her get better were a catalyst to my decision.

I went out front and signed papers. As I did so, the girl asked me if I wanted to say "good-bye" to Kitty. Immediately, I said yes, fully aware that this could be the last time I saw her alive.

She led me to a back room where the vet and 4 other assistants were standing, surrounding Kitty. She had an oxygen mask in front of her, and her breathing was still labored.

Immediately, the tears came. And there was no stopping them.

The five individuals in the room were silent and I could feel their quiet understanding as I pet my baby kitty.

"I'm sorry," I choked out.

"It's hard," said the vet.

"You be good, OK Kitty?" I told her. I smiled at everyone and thanked them.

They were there on Easter weekend, giving their time for my pet and many others that would come in at any hour of the day or night with a problem. To that, I am extremely grateful.

Kitty was kept in an oxygen box almost the entire time. Around midnight, they had to to make the decision to do a chest tap. They were giving her diuretics to try to drain her of the fluids, but those alone weren't enough to allow her to breathe on her own with oxygen. After literally gassing her to the point of her falling asleep due to it being impossible to maneuver an IV into her, they drained several mL of fluid from her lungs.

This allowed her to breathe successfully again and sustain herself off of oxygen. After this, she immediately started to improve and regain some of her spunk and sass :)

I was able to go pick up Kitty today-- Easter Sunday-- right after church at 11:30. I got there in time to chat with the vet on shift who was with her all night and helped drain her fluids.

The news he delivered to me was not ideal. I'm not sure what I expected, but overnight I was hanging onto some glimmer of hope that Kitty would be all better-- healed-- and would live on for many years to come.

"She's stable for now," he told me. "Draining her lungs of that fluid allowed her to breathe on her own again without the assistance of oxygen. However, I don't know how long that will last. I helped her for now, but I didn't fix the problem."

He said it looked like FIP. All of the fluid that came out was honey-colored, which is characteristic of the FIP virus. In this case, her lungs will fill up again and she will have the exact same problem.

From what I have gathered from the 2 vets who had assisted me this weekend and reading online, FIP is a feline virus that lies dormant in cats (typically farm cats). Many cats can be exposed and never contract the virus, but once contracted, it lives inside of the cat like a ticking time bomb (similar to have a canker sore-- if you get them, it is because something has triggered it to pop up, otherwise it lies dormant). Once it flares up, there is no stopping it (except to treat Kitty as they did last night) and it is fatal. There is no known cure, and signs and symptoms are what Kitty experienced-- the depression, labored breathing, lungs filling up with honey-colore fluid, etc.

"I wish I could deliver better news to you," he told me, "She's SO stinking cute. Our nurses back there are in love with her. I hope I'm wrong."

I had scheduled a vet appointment for Kitty for Monday morning, so he advised me to keep that and go get a 2nd opinion on how to proceed next. We kept Kitty's IV in (as it was VERY hard to put in) for convenience of her Monday morning appointment.

I never, ever expected this to happen to Kitty, especially so early on in her life. I have only had her for 8 months, but she's already mine. I love her. I love her spunk and attitude, I love how she HATES to have soft paws put on and how she sits in our studio window and watches traffic, and how she loves to look out my front door at home and I love how soft she is. Everyone who meets her-- whether at my house or our studio-- they love her. Even people who are allergic or aren't cat people, they say she's the prettiest kitty they have seen.

I look at Kitty now and it makes me so sad to think her time here with me may be very short from here on out. It sickens me inside. I just laid to rest my other childhood cat 2 months ago, and Kitty was my joyful transition after coping with that loss. If Kitty dies, who is here to lessen the blow?

I know better than to question God, but I did it anyway today. I kept asking so many questions. Why? Why Kitty, and why now-- when she's so young? And while my parents are gone and I'm left to flush her IVs and spend her last days with her alone? Why FIP, which is such a rare condition? Why do I have to mourn the loss of another cat-- didn't I just do that?

I don't have answers to those "why" questions, which is why it's not good to ask them. And honestly, it doesn't really matter WHY. It just matters that I rely on God's strength and comfort to pull me through. And part of me wrestles with feeling like this situation pales in comparison to what my parents are dealing with in Arizona-- which is helping my aunt and uncle (who was just diagnosed with lung cancer) obtain his treatment options to fight his cancer.

But all those things don't take the sadness away. And although my human nature is to question and fight against this, I must surrender and offer it up to God, and let Him do what He will. I love Kitty and that's all I can continue to do, no matter how many days I have left with her.

Love you all,

T

Arizona Highlights

My trip to Arizona is not yet over, but I wanted an excuse to write tonight

So I will review my highlights so far:

{1} Shooting our VERY FIRST wedding in ARIZONA! It was spectacular. This is a place that I have loved since birth, and I was given the opportunity to DO what I loved while HERE!

The wedding was beautiful-- outdoors at the Tempe Center for the Arts. Included a beautiful bride & groom, a lovely family, lakeside outdoor ceremony with negative edge waterfall as the backdrop, a blue-sky sunny day, and many architectural AND desert scape areas for photography!

{2} The sun. Even though we have had an uncharacteristically warm and sunny winter in Illinois, Kristi and I have soaked up the sun as much as possible. (Because let's face it-- the sun is just different in Arizona). Not to mention, you can sit in the shade here and not SWEAT, even though it's 90 degrees! At any given minute from the hours of 10-2, we could be found at my aunt & uncle's community pool... every single day.

{3} Making a new friend. On the air plane, on the way out here, I befriended a little 6-year-old girl. She was absolutely darling and I loved to be in her company for even just a short while. In times like those, I cherish the ability to revisit tic tac toe boards and handfuls of Skittles, because sometimes my life gets too crowded with "big people" decisions and worries. And in the world of drawing daisies and chasing butterflies, you don't have to think about those things.

{4} Freshly-squeeze grapefruit & orange juice. On my first morning here, my aunt pulled some frozen grapefruit/orange juice out of the freezer. She had squeezed it out of her fresh fruit a few weeks ago, and then froze it to keep it good. She defrosted it in the fridge overnight, so on that first morning it tasted like slush... which was, amazingly delicious. Then it turned to extra-pulpy juice, which was, also, amazing delicious.

Needless to say, I have drank it every morning since. It pairs nicely with my cinnamon oatmeal squares.

{5} Beautiful all around me. Multiple times, Kristi has said, "This is so beautiful." The thing is... I can't believe I'm admitting this, but the things I find beautiful in nature are quite unconventional. And mountains aren't one of them (GASP!) I know, I'm terrible. But I usually don't look at rocky desert and prickly bushes and red-rocked mountains and think, "Wow... beautiful." I just don't. The blue sky? The sun? The fresh air and ability to hike up a giant rock? THAT is beautiful. I find experiences beautiful. I look at this time with my aunt and uncle, with my best friend, with everyone around me and think... it has been beautiful.

Don't get me wrong... I love God's creation and how He has hand-crafted this desert-scape which is so different than where I come from; BUT, I guess I'm just mored wired to see beauty in the people and experiences and faces rather than the places.

Lastly, I share a picture. Kristi snapped this of me tonight. Still trying to decide how I feel about it. Let it be known that she told me, "Twirl around and look up." I think my gut reaction is that I feel like this picture is a little cheesy, because rarely am I found twirling around with my camera; OK, I'm never found doing that. But nonetheless, the mountains and camera and carefree nature of this photo sums up this trip quite nicely, so I shall share it.

Love you all!

T

Inspired

I have been feeling quite inspired lately.

Or better put-- filled with the Spirit's whisper.

If I took anything away from my last trip to Africa, it was that I loved to go and capture the lives and spirits of orphans... but I wanted to go somewhere different next time.

Always on my heart has been the desire to want to go to India. It may have started several years ago when I saw Slumdog Millionaire. Several people have told me about the overcrowded and smelly conditions, but it really doesn't matter to me. If I chose to stay away from a place that needs documentation due to preserving my personal comfort, then I wouldn't go anywhere.

A couple of weeks ago, my aunt was in town and shared with me some pictures from her recent trip to India. Her and my uncle were invited by a man who used to work for them. He was getting married, so they were invited to his wedding. I loved seeing all of her images and learning about how their culture handles weddings.

Then, a few days ago, I saw on the Lifesong for Orphans blog this video about Lifesong India. Immediately, my first thought was: I have to go.

It was clear to me that this would be my opportunity. I am not sure how or when this will happen, but I am praying that it works out sometime in my future.

I was talking to my Mom on the phone a couple days ago, slightly overwhelmed and emotional because of it. She asked me what it is I enjoy the most about being involved with certain events or organizations, and I told her:

Being the creative support. I love to go to a new place and capture faces and stories. I want to document it in all its truth and reality so I can then bring it home with me and used it. A picture can do so many things; it can go on a brochure. It can be at the pinnacle of a tear-jerking moment in a video. It can live on a website, or be shared with an audience.

If I can share the pictures of orphans in a way that will tell the story to many who will give, then that many more orphans are helped. And God is glorified.

THAT is what gives me passion and purpose. So, with that in mind, that is my goal if I get the chance to go to India. Capture and create.

Last night, some friends and I put on a dinner for Lifesong for Orphans in Morton. It was an amazing evening! God helped us deliver in ways beyond our control!

The goal is to plan a series of events and/or methods to raise money for a school development project in Zambia. Last night's dinner was just the first of many stepping stones to get there. We brought in $20,000 from a night of delicious food, beautiful pictures, several moving presentations and a youth choir who sang an UNFORGETTABLE song.

I had the chance to speak to a couple of VIPs in the Lifesong world and tell them of my interest in traveling to India, so we will see what happens!

On another topic entirely, today I went to see "October Baby."

Oh my goodness- a definite must-see. It's the story of a girl's journey who suddenly finds out she was the survivor of a failed abortion.

It's a beautiful pro-life film. The theme is "every life is beautiful," and since my favorite chapter in the Bible is Psalm 139, I really connect with this.

Anyway, movies like that inspire me. They inspire me to go out and live my life for purposes mentioned in the beginning of this blog post. What can I do with my talents to bless others?

Love you all!

T

My 12 Ankle-Biters

A few years ago, I had a small problem. I wanted to give my nieces and nephews something for Christmas, but I didn't know what to do.

Giving an actual gift would get lost in the shuffle with everything else, and was becoming an increasingly expensive venture (with 12 to buy for!)

I wanted to give them something that they wouldn't forget, something that was special to them from me. After all, I am their one and only "Aunt T" :)

SO, I had the idea to do something fun with the 5-and-olders after Christmas every year. (Something to look forward to for the ankle biters, AND I don't think the toddlers would get as much joy out of it, thus the age requirement :)

Year 1 was pizza, ice cream and ice skating. I only had 4 for that-- the 3 older boys + Sophia.

The second year, we added a couple more girls and we did spaghetti and bowling.

And THIS year, we added 1 more boy, so I split it up to boys only and girls only, and we did sleepovers at my new house.

Girls were up first (and trust me, they thought it was very cool to be the first ones for the sleepover).

They came over one evening and we made giant skillet cookies with ice cream and toppings, had a dance party, painted nails, and watched a movie. We had a blast, and "Aunt Kristi" even helped out. Definitely down my ally.

The boys' sleepover was last weekend. When I went to pick them up, I was surprised at how grown-up they seemed, just being the boys together.

They were naming off all the current popular music groups and asking me how many miles I had on my car.

When did they get so old?

I decided to do a "Pizza-themed" party for them. We started off and made pepperoni and sausage pizzas for dinner. Then we made a fruit pizza, and lastly, a dessert pizza.

After all of that food, they ran around outside and played tag, then the older boys and I walked to the movie store while Heather (a treasure for helping me!) and Beau stayed behind to clean up.

It was then that I realized that I'm not 12 anymore. The boys started sprinting, and I had to run to keep up. And, they never ran out of breath. I was thankful for the exercise after consuming so much "pizza," BUT I'm not as fast as I used to be!

When we returned, we played a game and made popcorn with the air popper.

It was a very fun night! I'm so thankful to have awesome nieces and nephews, and the opportunity to do special things with them. I am also very grateful to my friends (Kristi & Heather!) who never hesitate to come along and be a co-aunt for the night! It's always easier with a help mate :)

My favorite moment was when my 5-year-old nephew came up to me and said,

"Um, Aunt T?"

"Yeah sweetie?"

"Um, when do I have to go to bed?"

"You can go to bed whenever you want," I told him.

"Thank you Aunt Taryn," he said, "Thank you for having us over."

He has the sweetest little voice and is so endearing when he speaks. It melted my heart.

As I type this, my 8-year-old niece is scooping vanilla ice cream into a bowl for her bed time snack. I told her that she can have ice cream as long as she puts fruit on it. One cancels out the other, right? I'm baby-sitting my sister's 4 kids this week, so the fun has not yet ended! I do love being with the kids, though... it keeps me young!

Love you all...

T

Music to My Ears

The other day, I was sitting at the chiropractor's office, waiting my turn. As the music played overhead, I remembered a particular conversation I had with my chiropractor the week before.

"Let's see... you seem to like Country, and Jazz," I deduced.

He laughed. "If you hang out here long enough, you will hear a little bit of everything."

He was right. On this morning, a Country song was playing. I am not a huge fan of this genre of music. I was flipping through a magazine haphazardly and letting the tunes fill my subconcious.

Suddenly, I noticed my foot was tapping, and I had the sudden urge to stand up and do a cartwheel. I then realized that a jazz song came on...an oldie but a goodie, probably a Frank Sinatra.

It's funny, the change that came over me without realizing it. I can remember when I first figured out that I loved jazz. I was in college, and I always had a brighter outlook when 8 heard this music. It is 'feel good' music, and it inspires something within me.

I find it interesting that by default, we are wired to enjoy a certain type of music. Jazz is one of those things that definitely reaches my soul; it's an internal appreciation that is there by nature.

I can sometimes feel this way about classical music, too. I love to listen to it, and I especially enjoy playing it on the piano. There is something about the way it flows that just makes sense, and it exhilirates me.

One of my other top genres is Pop. The main pitfall here is subject content. Unfortunately, in today's world, there is very little in this genre that isn't...well, simply put, trash. The message of most of this, at least the songs we see hit the top of the charts, is terrible. So I do try to limit my intake, and I search for the treasures in this area that have something nice to say. At the end of the day, though, it just makes me want to keep moving! It's great exercise music :)

In the spiritual world, I love hymns. Nothing says it to me quite like the well-written, insightful, and incredibly unique lyrics in hymns. I love the variety of melody and verse. Praise & Worship has it's place, too, but I find myself more moved by a thoughtful hymn rather than a repetitive and emotional praise song.

Well, there is my music review. Tune in next time for more thoughts on another topic! There are usually lots floating through my head on any given day!

Love you all... T

18 Minutes

Lucky for you (or for the ones who don't prefer my LONG blog posts), I only have 18 minutes to write this. That may seem like a long time, but it's really not when you're writing. Another contributing factor is that I have no topic.

But I promised I would try to write more often, so here I go.

It's funny, but I find that I can easily put things into words when I write, but not so easily when I verbally express. Every once in awhile, I can be vocally inspirational, but mostly, I would rather write a person my thoughts than say them. Some may call this a copout, but really it's just a preference due to how I'm wired. In the past 5 years, I have learned to better communicate verbally to those who prefer that form of communication. And trust me, it has been a learning experience.

Anyway.

A few things I'm thankful for in the present:

1) Popcorn. Just finished a bowl. It's my favorite night-time snack.

2) Daylight Savings. The time changes tonight. I LOVE it that the days will soon be better lit!

3) Real Simple magazine. The most recent issue is sitting beside me on the couch. It's just a fun read.

Very trivial things, but it's fruitful to be thankful. Last night, a friend mused, isn't it funny how most people only remember the good times in life? I do believe that part of that is due to how a particular individual is wired, and those who are more realistic and pessimistic don't always only remember the good things BUT I do think that as humans, we have a tendency to relive and laugh about the moments that are fun and joyful and bright, so that is what sticks. Furthermore, it's a defense mechanism to cover up sadness and hurt... who wants to relive that? OK, enough psychology for tonight. My point is, it's good for your health and mind and well-being to be thankful!

Love you all!

T

Life's Love

It's time for me to start updating more often.

The problem is... well, there are so many excuses I could list.

Too busy. Not enough time. Out of topics.

But the truth is, you make time for what is important.

And I'm finding that as I get older, I truly cherish my memories, and a lot of my memories are only recorded in my writing.

Fortunately, I can also record a lot of my memories with the camera. And while a picture can paint a thousand words, a picture can't remind me how I felt. Or exactly what I did, or what I learned. A picture can show you something; but it can't talk. A picture is open to interpretation; a written entry tells you straight up.

SO. In an effort to start writing more, I decided to write tonight.

I started this book called "Kisses from Katie." It's a true-life story about a girl who gives up every comfort she had in the U.S. to become a children's missionary in Uganda. I'm not very far into it, but I can already tell it's going to make me want to book a trip back to Africa very soon.

The thing is, though... I love Africa. I loved my experiences there, and I have it on my heart to continue to travel throughout my life to different countries and places of need.

But. I am reading the words on the pages of this book... words that speak of how the Lord placed within her heart an instant love for these children. I read about how she never asked for this, never signed up for it, but it just happened and it's real and it's right. How she could look past the filth and disease and see instead a child who needs to be loved.

And I can readily compare it to how I feel with the prison ministry in which I am involved. It seems so similar, because in a way, I never asked to be passionate about prisoners. I have no reason at all to want to connect with them, no hidden story that makes me similar to them. But I do, and somehow, every time I visit the jail... I just feel a love for the women there. A love that is outside of myself, a love that comes from Christ. A love that wants to reach out and teach, and talk and pray.

A love that I feel like Katie has for the children in Uganda.

And a love I feel like everyone individual living for Christ has inside of them. A love worth giving.

For some people, that love is being given to their biological children, and/or adopted children. For others, that love pours out to an employee at work, or the homeless. And even still, for some, that love gets plugged into giving financially to a wonderful cause or to taking several mission trips a year or for ministering to pregnant women who want an abortion or to the little 6-year-old kid on the playground who is bullied every single day.

I'm not sure how God has assigned that Love in each one of us to work; all that I know, is that He does. And as a believer, I have a tremendous responsibility AND opportunity to give that Love. To serve Him, and to do it daily.

I was reminded recently of the time when we will appear before the throne of God in Heaven... the time when He reviews my life and takes into account everything I did or did not do for Christ.

And I suddenly felt ill.

Not because I was afraid I would be missing a few important jewels on my crown, but because the thought of appearing before the Lord of the Universe with only the life I have lived on Earth to offer terrifies me. It caused me to review my life-- what HAVE I done for Him? It's not that I have done nothing, but have I really done everything I can?

And it's not that we are all called to give up our life and travel to a third world country, but am I even recognizing and taking the avenues to Love on a daily basis? AM I? Because in the end, I answer to that.

When I appear before God, the Ruler of my Heart, I want to know that to the best of my ability, I did everything I could to live for Him, no matter what that takes.

Because at the end of the day, my home is in Heaven, and I want to see as many souls there as I see here.

Love you all!

T

Happy 15th to my Mom!

Today, I want to devote my blog post to my Mom. She turns 15 years old.

It’s her birthday, and it’s Leap Year… so I’ll let you do the math. I can truly say, though, that she is still 15 at heart. And she looks very young to match her age!

We also say “Happy Birthday” to my nephew (her grandson!) on this very special day, and her great-niece. The statistics of so many family members sharing a Leap Year birthday are astounding. My dad can explain the math behind it, but I just think it’s cool!

Anyway, the reason I wanted to write about my Mom is because she has been a very instrumental part of our business, from the very beginning.

I can remember sitting on my sister’s floor at her house several years ago, with my head in my hands and tears streaming down my face. I was totally directionless and unsure of what my future would hold, but it was my mom who instilled the confidence and courage in me that I needed. She believed in me, she believed in my talent, and she knew I could do it.

My mom and I are very similar, but we are very different. In the ways that we are different, she is very similar to Kristi. So to have her as a “guidance counselor” in the beginning stages of our business was helpful. She could speak to different facets of both of our personalities, and she always had good ideas.

And she had a way of calming us both down when the world was coming to a crashing end. :)

It is her passion, creativity, and confidence in our business that I really appreciate. She has been involved with us at several points along the way, whether it was providing her basement for us to house our business in the beginning, or filling our first storefront location with trinkets and treasures to draw people in.

Kristi and I always say that both of our moms have been a huge inspiration and help to both of us in our "business" life... both bring such amazing (and different!) talents that have contributed in huge ways. We wouldn't be where we are without them!

I love my Mom lots, and owe my creative spirit and imagination to her! And I don’t usually like to speak for other people, but I do know that my Mom has always said Kristi is like a fourth daughter to her.

Happy 15th Birthday, Mom. We love you!

Losing Belle

On Valentine's Day, when I arrived at work, there was a little gift bag on my keyboard.

"What's this?" I asked.

"I don't know," Kristi said in her-sing-songy-just-open-it voice.

Inside the bag and beneath the tissue paper was an antique-looking plate with beveled edges and the picture of a cat on it.

I love it, because I love cats.

Just 3 days later, I had no clue that one of the cats I love the most would be leaving this life.

Her name is Belle, and my mom received her for a Christmas gift in December of 1998. Just a tiny little calico kitten then, she lived indoors until she was old enough to brave the outdoors. She ran around our house and got lots of attention. She slept in the laundry room, and my mom would often find her fast asleep in the sleeves of our dirty clothes. She would do a "kitty check" before tossing the laundry into the washing machine, just to make sure.

She lived inside for quite awhile. We didn't get her spayed the first year, and consequently, she went "into heat" the next Christmas. For anyone who has been through this, cats in heat are not the most pleasant to be around, especially when you're trying to celebrate Christmas together as a family. So we put her outside and said "Good Riddance."

This resulted in 4 beautiful baby kittens just 2 months later on March 1, 2000. Belle gave birth to 2 black kitties, 1 black & white, and 1 orange. We found homes for 3 of them and kept the orange male, calling him Pumpkin.

Belle and Pumpkin were mother and son, and did just find living outdoors together. But to anyone around, it was clear that Belle was the favorite. As a classic female cat, she walked around high and mighty and with attitude. You earned her respect and love. She LOVED to be vocal about everything. She "talked" to us all the time. My favorite activity was to imitate her meow exactly, and then she would meow back. We would continue this until she would end up tilting her head up with a series of low, satisfied meows, her eyes slightly closed with contentment.

I called Belle "Bellsie" or sometimes just "Sa." Don't ask me how I came up with that latter nickname. I loved Belle-- as a little girl, when Belle still lived indoors, I made a makeshift "leash" out of one of my purse straps and hooked it onto her collar so we could take walks outside.

Belle was also a nice buffer to have around for when my first childhood cat and best friend-- Whiskers-- died. Whiskers was a big gray cat that I had known my entire childhood. I used to have picnics with him and dress him up in clothes. I would bring him inside when I was a little girl and take naps with him or let him lay on my lap in bed while I read books. Even though I always got in trouble for bringing him inside, I did it anyway, because I loved him so much.

I made up a middle named for Whiskers, and I assigned him his favorite colors. I drew pictures on the garage floor by his bed with chalk, and wrote stories about him all the time.

When he turned 18 years old, we found out he had a cancerous tumor on his eye. Before long, it was clear that Whiskers' quality of life was deteriorating, and he was in pain. Against my wishes, my parents made the appointment for him to be euthanized.

But even though I didn't want to see him go, even as a little girl, I understood it was better for him to be put down. It made me sick with sadness to think about it, so I would go outside into the garage and talk to Whiskers. It was winter, so the heat lamp was on overhead, and he would always be curled up and sleeping on a bright blue blanket.

They say that animals help lower your blood pressure, and I believe it to be true. I can remember talking to him when I was sad, and telling him my many woes. Even though he could not talk back to me, I knew he understood my little girl stories, and all I really needed was a listening ear. I can remember crying to him, telling him I loved him and I didn't want him to die.

But I knew he had to die. And letting him die was the nicest thing I could do. So on March 14, 1999, we took him to the vet. I can remember going outside and sitting on a car bumper with my sister Tasha, and staring at the green fence behind the vet's office. I can remember thinking: This is one of Whiskers' favorite colors. Green. Also, the color of his eyes.

I can remember the vet telling us, "He went right to sleep." And the card that came in the mail a week later from the vet's office, offering their condolences. It was signed from everyone at the vet's office.

I can remember mourning him for weeks... months. I was 12 years old, and this was one of the biggest losses I had experienced. Whiskers had been a part of my entire life.

However, as I said, Belle softened the blow. She was around, and although she did not come close to replacing Whiskers, she was a new treasure to be enjoyed.

Eventually, Belle was just what her name means... a beauty. A beautiful creature that helped mend all of our hearts and help us move on.

Within the past year, it suddenly hit me how old Belle was becoming.

"She's 13 years old," I told my parents. "She could die within the next few years."

My mom scolded me for being so morbid, but I couldn't shake the feeling. I loved Belle, and what if her time to die was soon?

It came sooner than anyone of us expected.

No one is exactly sure how it happened.

We had been gone on vacation, so no one was around the house to observe her for almost 2 weeks. Upon return, my parents didn't notice anything out of the ordinary; in fact, the day before she was found sick, my mom said she saw her laying in the front yard by the pine tree, and she stooped down to pet her.

Very early the next morning, my dad heard her meowing outside of his basement bathroom window. It sounded stranger than normal, so he went outside to investigate. Belle was curled up in the corner of the house, trying to keep warm. Seeing that she was cold and weak, and thinking she just needed to warm up, my dad carried her into the garage, placed her in the heated dog house that the cats share, and covered her up.

At lunch time that day, my parents checked on her again. Her condition had not improved. She was still very cold, and could hardly lift her head. This is about the time I was called.

"Taryn," my mom said. "I think Belle is dying."

We made an appointment to see the vet, and I came home to see her.

When I arrived, both of my parents were sitting on the basement room floor with her. She was laid out on a giant pillow and covered with a towel. She couldn't lift her head or do anything. She was still purring, though, and every once in awhile, she would lift her head just a little bit and meow. It was weak, but it was Belle's meow-- her "Hi, I'm here," meow.

Seeing her like this, my eyes filled up with tears. I think my heart knew what was coming before I could mentally process it. When my parents explained to me that if there was nothing we could do...

I knew what would have to be done before they could speak it.

I buried my head in her fur and sobbed.

We took her to the vet. My dad carried her on the giant pillow to keep her comfortable. The vet came in and checked her. He tried to take her temperature, but it would not even register on the thermometer.

"That's not good," he told us. A normal pet's internal temperature is normally over 100 degrees. Belle's wasn't even discernable.

Her paws were cold to the touch, and she was so weak.

"It could be a number of things," the vet surmised, "But I'm afraid that if we treated her, it would kill her."

My mom nodded with understanding, and then spoke the inevitable.

"That is a good option," he told us. "Do you want a moment alone with her?"

Much to my surprise, I nodded my head no.

Almost as soon as I made the decision, I regretted it. I regretted it because what I really wanted to do was to take Belle home with me, to put her under a heat lamp inside and cover her up with blankets and let her get better. I wanted her to recover and live another 3 or 4 years, be able to lay around on our porch in the sun, sit in our grass, welcome me home when I come to visit, let me brush her and talk to her. I wanted all of this but knew I couldn't have it.

So I stood close while they searched for a good vein. She was so dehydrated that they couldn't find one.

"She doesn't want to die," I said, sobbing.

And just like that... she was gone. She didn't look like it, but she was. I pet her fur, and I could still almost feel her purring, feel the soft rise and fall of her belly.

We took her home and buried her in our backyard, right next to Whiskers.

It was a beautiful day outside-- my favorite kind-- with the bright blue sky and sunshine. Even on the saddest days, God has a way of smiling on me.

Immediately, I went inside and dug out our old photo albums. I flipped back to 1998 and collected an assortment of pictures with Belle.

I was astounded at all of the other lives and events that Belle had overlapped... my Grandpa and Grandma Schupbach. My first day of Jr. High. The end of Whiskers' life, and the beginning of Kitty's. She was alive for every single birth of my nieces and nephews.

The rest of the day was hard. That evening, I picked up the phone and called my mom.

"What if we let her go to soon?" I asked, beside myself. "What if we should have waited. Brought her home, to see if she got better? Maybe she just needed to warm up. Maybe..."

"Taryn." My mom told me all the things I knew to be true but couldn't yet accept.

That she was old. She was in pain, and she was very sick. There was no "coming back" from a temperature that couldn't register, and that we did what any pet owner who loves their pet does.

I hung up the phone and I cried. I cried for Belle, for the life she had, for how much I will miss her and already do. I cried for all the memories that she helped me create. All of the people and events she was connected to in my life.

Then I felt foolish. Why cry as if this was a death in the family? It's a cat, not a human. But despite her feline makeup, it felt like she had the impact of a family member.

It's true-- she didn't hold my hand on my first day of school, but she was there to send me off. She didn't attend my High School graduation, but she was at the party. And she may not have bought me Christmas presents every year... but she was there to help me open them. She can't grill a hamburger, but she was more than happy to eat the crumbs that fell off the table at our family events, and put up with all of the grandkids who "pet" her on hot summer days As much as we try to say "Well, it's just an animal," it truly is more than that. At the end of their life, we mourn not only who they were as an animal, but all of the moments they were there in our lives. The good ones, and the bad ones. The important ones, and the ones that weren't so monumental. The days that the sun shone, and the days that the rain poured.

I used to think that "All Dogs go to Heaven" was a silly phrase that someone made up to comfort small children. As I get older and learn more about the real Heaven, I realized that God has made it a perfect place for everyone. It is an amazing, happy, loving place, a place where He places the finest of gifts and the pleasures we enjoyed on Earth will be there in their most perfect form in Heaven. In my heart, I think this includes cats.

I know that animals do not have a soul, and that my experience in eternity does not hinge on whether I get to be reacquainted with my pet cats. What I DO know, though, is that God is a big and mighty and loving Lord, and that He allows us to go through times of loss to refine us. He gives us blessings, and at times, He takes them away.

Luke 12:6 says "Are not give sparrows sold for two pennies? Yet not one of them is forgotten by God."

I love it that we have such a personal God. If a sparrow is not overlooked, then neither was Whiskers, or Belle. God knows each of those felines and who they were in my life... and that's all that matters.

Love you all!

T