I’m still thinking about the meaning of Easter as it pertains to my own life.  I’ve been contemplating each night before going to bed what exactly it means to die to self so Christ can reign in my life.  With no pat answers I’m left with more questions than answers and a hunger to know Christ more.  The concept of dying to oneself is nothing new in the Christian journey but living it out each day can be confusing and challenging.

To me, dying of self almost suggests living out each day in a religiously robotic and moral way.  But for any Christian who has desired to live a life beyond striving and instead has chosen to live motivated by pursuing His will and not their own, dying to self is really about living a life of freedom powered by His grace.

I had a revelation a few nights ago when I woke up at 3:30 am.  An answer to prayer on why I recently felt like God had been silent for an uncomfortable amount of time.  I woke up not from a dream but a conscious awareness of a life lesson I believe God was trying to teach me by bringing an incident to my mind with vivid images and a sense of urgency to pay attention.  A constant prayer I have is for God to reveal aspects of my character or actions I may not be aware of that hinders personal and spiritual growth, or conflicts with what I believe God is doing in my life at any given time.  So when I suddenly woke up, it dawned on me that God was answering multiple prayers simultaneously with one answer.

I believe God was showing me that sometimes I can be working alongside of Him aligning myself with what He is trying to accomplish through my life which is a wonderful and beautiful thing.  But in the moment, sometimes I can steer myself away from God’s plan for a situation powered by impatience and the desire to just do it myself, hoping God will adjust to the new plan as if we’re in it together.  And the funny thing is, both God and I have the same end goal, yet I believe He was showing me that I sometimes want to take a different approach of accomplishing it, essentially not yielding myself to the ways He has already mapped out.  Like a backseat driver, somehow I foolishly insist I know a better route in getting to our destination forgetting God was the engineer who designed the roads in the first place.  Here’s the thing, when I start moving towards my way of doing things, God just lets me.  Because He allows this, this does not mean He goes before me even when our goal is the same.  It’s almost as if He is saying to me, “You have a better way of doing this?  Go right ahead.  I’ll watch from here and if you need me, I’ll be right here.”  Instead, I find myself in the wilderness, once again.

So this is where I am as of today … surrendering, again.  Confessing, repenting, asking forgiveness, reconciling, and partnering with His plan, I’m hoping I will not have to circle this familiar mountain more times than I need to.  Instead, I hope to walk a straight line out of the dessert powered by His grace and hopefully not my stupidity or pride.

I have learned from experience that when you pray from a place of hunger and brokenness, God listens and answers in mysterious and unexpected ways.

The last couple months I have been pouring my heart into a prayer journal, meditating on scriptures, and soaking up the presence of God while listening to worship music by Hillsong United, Casting Crowns, Chris Tomlin, Mercy Me, Brooklyn Tabernacle, Crystal Lewis, and countless other gifted musicians.

My prayer time and journaling sessions have become a documented collection of heartfelt prayers, confessions, and praises.  It is the “safe” place I run to daily to process my thoughts and wait on His still quiet voice which speaks to me with such an indescribable love and sense of comfort – there is nothing else quite like it. 

In one of my earlier journal entries I wrote down a prayer giving God permission to search my heart and lead me into a journey of transformation knowing that what I was asking for would be painful – like asking a surgeon to operate on you while you’re awake with no meds -knowing by the time the surgey is over you will be better off for it.  You can’t ask God for transformation without it costing something.  And I knew it was going to require me to be honest, to be brave, and trust Him to walk me through this.  What I want from God is deliverance from needing to control certain aspects of my life –I can only get so far from striving and accomplishing things on my own strength and abilities.  I want to be able to truly lay all my burdens down with open hands, instead of holding on to things so tightly out of fear that if I let them go I’ll be disappointed in Him.  It is so much easier to not let go of my fears because if I don’t have any expectation that I can conquer my fears, than I won’t be disappointed when I don’t– because disappointment is born from a place of unmet expectations.  And because I have a deep love for Christ, I could not handle being disappointed in Him.  But here’s the thing, He has never disappointed me.  Even in times of despair, God has always been faithful, gentle, and true to His word.  But yet in my neediness, I need Him to constantly prove to me He is true to His word.

Because I know God is more concerned with the process of our transformation and not as much with the outcome, I have come to understand that as much as I want Him to answer my prayers immediately with great details (so I can brace myself for the outcome), He usually gives me puzzle pieces for answers on issues I seek His guidance and never a complete picture. The longer I allow Him to walk with me and I with Him, the more puzzle pieces I pick up along the way.

A couple weeks ago God spoke to my heart.  As I waited in silence during one of my early morning quiet times, I heard God speak to my heart just one word. “Surrender.” 

When I heard this, I knew what it meant.  He was asking me to lay my burdens down without holding on to any of it.  He was asking me to completely let go and trust Him with only one expectation, that I should not have any expectations but to be expectant.  This terrified me.  I don’t do so well with entering into agreements without knowing what the outcome will be.  This is the part of me that needs to be informed of everything because I don’t handle the unknown very well.

So I wrestled with the thought of “surrender” – which is no problem with God since He is very patient.  Days later after I pondered what it would cost me to surrender in the way I know I was being asked to, I wrote in my journal teary eyed, “I surrender .”

The funny thing about God is that He knows me so well, better than I know myself.  He knew I would need signs of confirmation, affirmation, and super-natural encouragement.  And since that day He has not failed.    Every day He has been reassuring me with His word, showing up in divinely appointed conversations with people, or overwhelming me with a sense of His loving kindness and presence. 

In all honesty, it has not been easy for me to let go.  I feel vulnerable and sometimes unsure because of the unknown of where this journey will take me.  It scares me even though I know God has always walked with me through difficulties on route to a better place powered by grace.  I am not kidding when I say walking by faith sometimes means walking in the dark blind-folded trusting the One who holds my hand to lead me.  But what I am realizing is this, God understands this process.   He is not offended by any of this.  Although I never need Him to prove His worthiness to me, God shows me each day I can trust Him and that I’ll be okay even into the land of the unknown.  So I keep praying, journaling, soaking up His presence knowing I am transformation bound on the glory-to-glory train.  With Christ as the train conductor, I surrender my right to understanding so I can be clothed with His peace that surpasses all understanding.

Going into the New Year I had high expectations for myself.  I hoped to be more productive, less of a procrastinator, and to challenge myself to be a better version than my current being.  With March approaching quickly, everything I set out to do has only made me realize that my ambitions are no match for my will. 

I want to do a lot of things in my life, but I never want to do anything half-hearted.  And frankly, I’m struggling in this area.  So forgive me for being a little quiet lately.  I love this space where I can write freely; but for someone who has always struggled with writing and articulating her thoughts, I feel a bit off and lost.  I also know writing consistently is a discipline – another area I could improve in.  Best intentions don’t mean much when it sits on the sidelines watching life pass by. 

The last few weeks I’ve been feeling overwhelmed with family commitments, work projects, and focusing on making sure my walk with God remains a priority – I am definitely in a wilderness season.  As I watched the Whitney Houston funeral service I was struck by the words Kevin Costner used to describe Whitney’s insecurities, “Am I good enough?”   I resonated with his words as I’ve struggled with this very same question most of my life.  But the question I ask myself now isn’t so much of whether or not I’m good enough but whether or not I’m doing what I’m supposed to be doing and for the right reasons.  This past year has been such a roller coaster and the only thing that has brought me through everything has been my faith in God.

Even in a wilderness season, I wait for His manna to sustain me.  I rest in His promises.  I do not want to let circumstances to determine my feelings and emotions.  I also do not want to be led by fear.  I want to be better, striving only for excellence and settling for nothing less.  So here’s to March – hoping that these words will manifest into reality and that my days in the wilderness will be over.

Only a few weeks away from the start of the New Year and I find myself reflecting a lot about 2011.  Most of my posts this year revolved around the sudden death of my dad.  And as we, as a family, approach the 1 year mark of his death, I cannot help but feel both grateful and a little sad. 

My sadness doesn’t come from me wishing my dad could be here to celebrate the holidays with us, although I know he would have loved to have met his two new grandchildren.  I’m just sad he is gone.  But as we all know, life goes on.

The last twelve months have been so crazy (like-a-rollercoaster), I liken it to feeling like I’m drifting in the ocean holding on to a piece of beach wood just to survive.  Major life changes, greater responsibilities, and constantly reassessing my priorities leaves me exhausted most days.  I don’t want to make it sound like my life is horrible or depressing because this simply isn’t true.  Living a life through a filter of gratitude and faith keeps me balanced and always seeking true north. My new normal has me venturing down a different path that I would not have naturally chosen myself but am discovering is exactly where I am suppose to be.  My comfort and peace comes from knowing I do not walk this path alone.

Each day I choose to walk by faith and not by sight.  To trust in God is to let go and live each day knowing His grace is more than enough.  His sweet presence comforts and gives me hope for today and a sustaining joy which is not dependant on outward circumstances or feelings.  He is good…  all the time.

As our family celebrates the birth of Christ this Christmas season I am already looking ahead to 2012 with great optimism that would have made my father proud.

In this season of peace, hope, and joy, I pray that you would experience His grace and love in a profound way.

Wishing you a Merry Christmas and a Happy New Year.

Since Thanksgiving, there has been a greater awareness (within our family) of the 1 year mark of dad’s passing approaching.  Last Friday, the day after Thanksgiving, my husband took my daughter and niece downtown to take in all the Christmas displays, the gingerbread village at the Sheraton, and to experience the holiday spirit.  Before heading home he treated the girls to frozen yogurt sundaes when the three of them had a somber déjà-vu moment when they realized the last time they were downtown together was the night my father died, just two days after Christmas.  They found themselves sitting at the same table as last year, eating frozen yogurt, and being surrounded by familiar festive holiday lights.  They were sitting at this table when I called my husband last year to tell him my father was badly hurt in an accident and that I was heading to the hospital.

As we discussed this, it never occurred to me how my daughters and niece felt when they received the dreaded news over the phone.  So many things happened so fast that I was more concerned about how they were doing once my dad died, not during the hours leading up to us at his bedside saying our final goodbye before he was taken off life support.

They too, experienced shock, denial, fearing for the worst, and a shroud of panic just like the rest of did.  I still remember as if it were yesterday where I was in the house, what I was doing, and everything that happened shortly after.

I don’t struggle with my dad being gone so much these days.  Yet, I’m realizing there is this painful heaviness in my heart when I rewind the details of the night of his death in my mind.  How he died was so unexpected and undignified that it bothers me, still.  Honestly, I don’t know how to reconcile the anniversary of his death without having to relive how he died. I’m not sure if I ever will.  What I do know is that these intense feelings feel very raw and fresh. 

Throughout the year I’ve stuffed my feelings down so deep in order to function as normal as possible.  But these feelings I’ve buried are suddenly showing signs of unearthing to the surface of my consciousness.  I hate that.

I accept that this is part of the cycle of loss and grief.  I’m giving myself permission to give a voice to these feelings.  It’s my way of surrendering them so that I can fill my heart with more peace, love, and joy in its place.

On a side note, my father’s birthday was a couple weeks ago.  A week later we adopted a new dog from the Humane Society rather spontaneously.  When I brought Phoebe home, my mom was rather amused by our newest family member.  She went on to tell me she was never a dog person but that my dad loved dogs.  I’m convinced if my dad were alive he would think Phoebe is the best belated birthday present, ever.

Last Saturday my dad would have turned 69 years old.  Every year my sisters and brother along with our families would meet at someone’s home to celebrate dad’s birthday with a potluck style dinner and a sugar-free apple pie -a favorite of dad’s because of his diabetes.  This year we met at the cemetary in the cold rain.  My youngest sister brought fresh cut dahlias, the last of the season, from my parents house.  She placed a few stems in the holder next to his grave stone and we circled around in silence waiting for direction on what to do from my mom.  It was kind of silly when you think about it because there isn’t any type of ceremony or rules when it comes to this kind of stuff.  So we waited for something to happen.  As my mom stared down at the granite marker, I couldn’t help but wonder what was going through her mind.  To some degree I wondered if she would  start sobbing.  But true to her form, there were no tears.  Instead she had this look on her face, the type of look you give someone when you feel sad for them.  She knelt down and picked off the wet leaves on the marker making sure it was clean from nature’s debris.  It was her loving gesture as my father’s wife to still care for him even though he is no longer with us. 

The ackward silence finally broke when my sister pulled a small clear sandwich bag from her coat pocket.  Inside the bag were pieces of sugar-free chocolate coated peanuts, another of dad’s favorite.  It was a brilliant and thoughtful thing she did.  The bag was passed around from person to person including the kids as each person took only one gumball size piece.  “We remember and honor dad by eating his favorite candy.”  She said with humor and sincerity.  Like eating a small piece of wafer cracker at communion, we chomped on that little piece of candy in remembrance of dad. 

As mom and I drove away from the cemetary I said to her, “If dad could see you now, he would be so happy to see you are doing so well.”  Mom replied with a soft “yes” while remaining deep in thought.

Throughout this year our family has gone through major life adjustments with our deepest concern being for my mother.  We’ve gone through many “firsts” as a family without dad with a hyper-sensitivity towards my mom to see how she copes with her new normal and the reality of what her life looks like now in dad’s absense.  

Having remained strong in our faith throughout this journey we can boldly declare it it only by grace we have not suffered more.  Instead, our hope has always been in Christ, the lifter or our heads and the pillar of our hearts.  I can only describe it as a supernatural type of grace which goes beyond any human comprehension.  God’s love, mercy, peace, and compassion on our family has been more than sufficient and beyond what we could have ever asked for ourselves. 

To God be the glory, we are doing more than okay.  Our hearts are full with gratitude and hope knowing this journey we are on is covered by His grace.

“I do not at all understand the mystery of grace – only that it meets us where we are but does not leave us where it found us.” ~ Anne Lamott

I am so thankful for my close friends who know me so well.  Despite isolating myself from most of them this last year, I am grateful for their friendship and their constant presence in my life.  I say isolation because this year has been rough and I chose to deal with my emotions alone with the help of God’s grace.  It has been ten months of non-stop adjusting, transitioning, and accepting each day for what it is. Some days were good, others were bad.  I thought about updating this blog more regularly as a way to keep you posted as well as process my thoughts but decided not to because I wrestled with myself in many ways. 

My dad taught my siblings and I to be tough, perhaps to the extreme.  Whatever came our way was just the way it was.  There was no whining or negotiating.  We pressed through hardships without ever looking back.  This is what made us strong and gave us thick skin.  Having thick skin is a gift, however it can hinder the process of grieving and healing.

It’s been almost exactly ten months since dad was killed.  There are days I internalize why I cannot grieve.  This thick skin I inherited from my father will not betray years of hardship I endured, not even for him, even just for a moment.   Instead, I continue to be strong for my kids, my mother, and myself.  It’s easier this way.  After all, I know how to be strong.  Being strong and thick skinned go hand in hand. 

With our recent move and our busy family schedule, I’ve had little time for myself.  However, a couple weeks ago I found myself at home alone, a rare moment I did not take for granted.  I sat in silence on the couch in the dark with only the fireplace illuminating the room with its soft amber glow.  All I could think about is how awesome it was to just sit there in the stillness of the night without needing to go anywhere or be accountable to anyone.  

I found myself praying a prayer of gratitude for the gift of grace because it has sustained me throughout this year.  It is by grace I could sense healing happening within me to let go of guilt and expectations.  I found my perspective on life change in a way which was true to who I am and my commitment to my family.  I started reconnecting with good friends who generously gave me space and permission to figure some things out without ever making me feel bad for selfishly disconnecting for awhile.

Tonight I re-read some of the comments from previous posts I wrote.  They were like water to a parched soul.  I was reminded, again, how amazing the readers of Savory Sweet Life are.  Your constant support, grace, and love have been instrumental to me.  I’m sorry I’ve been silent for weeks.  I never want to script my life around my blog, nor do I blog to live.  But just like my friends who surround me here in Seattle, I am so thankful for you who have also given me permission to be myself, even if it means I disconnect for a period of time to reflect and let go. Thank you for the gift of grace which sustains me.

Lake Washington and Mount Rainier

The other day a friend of my daughters came over for a play date.  When she and her mother arrived I invited them both in and we ended up chatting for quite a long time.  As we shared similar stories about life events gone by, I realized how important it is to recall these moments from time to time, especially from a faith perspective.  I think it is so easy to get caught up in present day circumstances which subsequently can dictate my feelings, emotions, and yet-to-happen events that I forget how God has brought me through the lowest of valleys and rejoiced with me when experiencing mountain top highs.  As I listened to myself sharing stories I haven’t told in many years, it was so clearly evident that despite of myself, God has always been faithful, even when I lacked faith myself.  This is the beauty of grace.

Since my dad died eight months ago it’s been a journey of somber reflection, transition, and reprioritization.  As someone whose tendency is to take a lot on, it was so clear to me that I needed to slow down in order to keep my sanity, be present for my family, and to replenish myself spiritually, emotionally, mentally, and physically.  At a time when my work/blog seemed to be growing at an accelerated rate, I felt convicted that one of the first things I needed to let go was blogging, and I did.  I posted very infrequently and kept my Social Media involvement to a minimum, popping in for a minute or two and then checking out just as quick.  Instead, I made myself more available to enjoy my kids, husband, other family, and friends.  As much as I love sharing glimpses of my life online, I think there is a lot to be said of just experiencing life offline away from the public eye, even if it means my online relevancy or influence diminishes as a result.

Now that summer is nearly over I’m feeling more rested and affirmed that working less was truly the best decision for me.  I know I’m not completely ready to blog at the pace I was before and quite honestly I’m not sure if I ever want to.  Instead I am just giving myself permission to take it one day at a time.

I’m thankful for everyone who supported my decision to post very little these last few months.  Without you all lifting my family in your thoughts and prayers I know I would have broken down in exhaustion.  But instead, you carried us and I thank you more than you’ll ever know.

The last twenty-four hours has been an emotional whirlwind of sorts.  Last night my baby sister (Janice) gave birth to her second son (Titus) while her older son (Isaiah) stayed with us.  When he was dropped off, he transitioned into the fun, vibrant kid I know him to be playing with his cousins (my kids) until he wore himself out.  As soon as he was in bed for the night I left my house to the hospital to meet my new nephew.

It was a surreal feeling to drive to the hospital so late at night.  The main entrance to hospital was closed and I had to enter through the Emergency entrance.  The moment I walked in I could see distraught people waiting for triage which triggered a noticable anxiety within me. Even though I knew deep inside me I was at the hospital for a joyous occasion, I could not shake feelings of deja vu from the night my dad was killed. I checked in with security and slowly made my way to my sister’s room.  As I walked through the halls I was caught off guard by thoughts of my dad.  The last time I was in a hospital late at night was the night he died.  I recalled how distraught I was as I tried to emotionally embrace what could be very bad news.  I remember every detail of that horrible night with such clarity starting with the phone call I received from my sister about dad being struck by a car to holding his hand next to the hospital bed as I cried out to his lifeless body. Just being in the hospital last night brought all it back to remembrance.  But strangely, as weird as it was to be there, I was relieved to know that I was about to walk into my sister’s room where the joy of a new life was waiting for me.  And with that thought, my sadness diminished just as quickly as it attacked me.

I walked into room 550 to the sight of my mom holding her new grandson, her 15th and quite possibly her last grandchild.  With each new grandchild my parents would come to the hospital and stay for hours just relishing in the joy of a new life being born into our family.  But this time around it was just mom.  I sat next to her and asked her, “Are you okay?”  In a bittersweet yet gentle and quite voice she replied, “I’m okay.”

As I caught up with my sister about how the delivery went, I was pleasantly surprised to hear my sister and brother-in-law named Titus’ middle name after my dad.  It was a great sign of respect to do this and made me wish all the more my dad was here to enjoy the moment.  Mom and I left shortly after to give my sister and her husband much needed rest.

The next morning I drove my kids, Isaiah, and Rob to the airport.  Rob was taking the kids to Ohio and Michigan to visit his family while I stayed back to help my sister and get our house ready to put on the market.  As Isaiah and I drove from the airport towards downtown, I could tell he knew something was going on.  He was lethargic.  He wouldn’t answer any questions or make eye contact with me.  Instead, he stared out the window.  Up until that moment the only reference of his new baby brother he had known was his mom’s belly.  But I told him on the way we were going to meet his new brother and I knew that he knew this didn’t mean “let’s go visit mom who happens to have a baby in her belly”.

But as long as we were going downtown, I thought we should at the very least go visit my favorite coffee house.  So we made a pit stop at Stumptown Coffee for a latte, juice, and two scones.  Poor Isaiah.  He barely ate his scone and I had a lot of compassion for him.  His world was about to get rocked whether he liked it or not.  In his mind, something was about to change and the unknown of it was scary.  The more I thought about this, the more I thought how applicable this is to my life right now.

To make what has become a long post short, Isaiah met his new baby brother Titus.  At first he was uncertain about this new baby.  But after a couple hours of us all hanging out together, Isaiah went from lethargic to the happy kid I know him to be.  Before we left he gave his brother a kiss.  We held hands as we walked back to the parking garage.  He asked me, “Where’s my brother?”  The moment this happened I knew he would be okay.

Life is crazy.  You just never know what’s going to happen.  I was reminded today that there is life after death.  Even though dad is gone, I’m thankful for Titus and the tremendous joy and hope he adds to our family.

Questions: “Your photos are absolutely gorgeous. What kind of camera equipment do you use and what software do you use to edit them? I’m assuming it’s Photoshop. CS5? And did you basically learn photography on your own or take classes?” -Rachel

“I would love to know what kind of equipment do you use; the camera, lenses, etc. and whether you took the pictures in RAW format and edit them afterwards? Which software and/or plug-ins do you use?” -Siska

Answer: Great questions, ladies!  Most emails I receive from people about blogging is regarding my camera equipment, lenses, and post-processing software.  A better question to be asking is, how well do you know the camera you have?

Recently I flew to Atlanta to speak on a food photography panel for the BlogHer Food conference.  During my session with Sarah Olson, we stressed how important it was to know the camera you already have, including point and shoot models. Repeat after me, “Bigger and more expensive cameras will not translate into better food photographs.” I won’t get into the ins and out of food photography in this post because the questions both Rachel and Siska asked were specifically about my camera.  But for anyone interested in learning the technical aspect of food photography, I highly recommend a great book on food photography and styling by my friend Helene Dujardin (a.k.a. Tartelette) called Plate to Pixel:  Digital Food Photography and Styling. Helene walks you through the basics and more technical aspects on lighting, set-ups, lenses, post-processing software, etc.  It is a fantastic book and a must for anyone wanting to learn more about food photography.

As for the equipment I use, I shoot with a Canon 5D Mark II. I recently upgraded to this camera last year from a Canon 30D.  I would have continued to use my 30D had it not been for some commercial print work I was photographing which required the additional pixels.  I still use my 30D as my backup and everyday shooting.  If you’re new to food photography and are considering a DSLR, I highly recommend an entry-level camera such as the Canon Rebel XS or Nikon equivalent.  Unless there is a strong reason for a pro/pro-sumer DSLR, save your money for a smaller camera body and invest in a great lens.  Surprisingly, the camera I find myself using the most often for everyday photos and the photos on this site is my iPhone 4.

Lenses:  I shoot most of my photos with a Tamron 28-75mm f/2.8 and love it.  It’s about a third of the price of the Canon equivalent and I’ve used it for nearly 10 years.  It is my go-to lens for everyday shooting of my family as well.  I also occasionally shoot with the Canon 50mm f/1.4. Prior to the 1.4, I shot with the Canon 50mm f/1.8 -but it cracked during cold weather conditions which is why I bought the 1.4.

Software:  I use Adobe Photoshop CS4 and occasionally Lightroom.  I also love the Camera RAW software which came with my Canon camera.  The only time I shoot in RAW is when I’m doing commercial work and need to do a lot of post processing and color correction.  98% of the time I shoot photos for Savory Sweet Life or PBS Parents is in .JPG, edited in Photoshop.

There is a learning curve to understanding Photoshop.  Lightroom is more user friendly.  I did teach myself how to use both but there is a ton of free  information on how to use this software on the web.  Another great resource is Lynda.com tutorials, a paid tutorial site.

***If you have  a question for me on blogging, Social Media, or personal growth, feel free to ask them in the original post.  I’ll try to answer 1 or 2 every Wednesday.**