Reality and opportunity

        I wasn't ready to leave Uganda yet, but my exhaustion was okay with the departure. The long journey home seemed like a dream as I finally reached my apartment after nearly 48 hours of travel. I slept a lot the next couple of days and went into a mild depression. I was sad to be back in this extravagant atmosphere. I struggled with listening to my friends talk of vacations and "needs" that in my mind were definitely "wants."

For the first few days I lived in a dream world. Once I returned back to the office, reality set in that I was back to the same life I had left. I honestly felt like a stranger in my own home and office. I wanted to talk about my trip to anyone that would listen, to share the stories and heartaches of the children in the Teso region. Some asked about my trip; others didn't. Once I started talking, it was hard to know when to stop. I felt like people didn't care, but the truth is, most just don't understand. I didn't, either, until I saw it for myself. Pictures can't accurately share the experience, and even these writings don't do the hardships justice. 

I wanted to adjust back into this life, but not enough to get comfortable. I don't ever want to forget the faces or the landscape, or the singing. I don't want to spend money on useless things instead of giving it away to those who need it. I don't want to get back to the typical American Dream that says I should want more, need more, and have more. We've been duped. That's not the dream we should be dreaming. Saving lives, giving others the chance for an education⎯those are dreams worth dreaming. 

Even in this job I have struggled with the purpose I have. What difference does it make if people don't know about the next great event happening in northeast Iowa? Sorry if offend anyone, but this job should not rule my time and ultimately, my life. I am thankful for a job, for this job. Without it, I would not be able to give any money. It is hard, though, to remember that this is just a means to an end. I want to do something meaningful with my life. I want to make a difference.

The primary reason I went to Uganda was to meet the 10-year-old girl I've been sponsoring. Such a small contribution from my bank account each month is paying for her food, medical care, education, and overall well-being. Many people probably do this through similar organizations, without ever thinking about the face behind the transaction. Children's HopeChest, however, purposely encourages sponsors to visit their kids, in order to better understand the difference that $34 a month can make. In turn, they receive free advertising for their work, because not talking about the experience is just impossible. 

The great thing is, you don't have to go to Africa or any other country to make a difference. You can support these children through your finances. Many people have expressed their support for helping children right here in America. I am obviously not opposed to this! My heart is in Africa, and this is why. The difference between being poor in Africa and being poor in America is this; there are no food pantries or homeless shelters, there is no DHS, and there are not people nearly everywhere with money in their pockets. Out there, in the bush, in these villages, everyone is hurting. There are 2.7 million orphans in this small country. The life expectancy is only 53 years old, with a poverty ratio of 31 percent. Giving them a full stomach really is the best use of your money.  Another cool thing is that you aren't just paying for food, but a program that will help change their lives. 

From someone who has seen the difference it makes, I urge you to sponsor a child.  There are just over 50 children left within these two villages who need sponsors right now. Once these kids are sponsored, the team going in January will hopefully be able to add more to the program, making an even bigger difference in these small communities. 

Go to www.hopechest.org/community/bukedea/sponsor, or you can give a one-time, tax-deductible payment in a new campaign called "Change Their Story" focused around Christmas. I'll have more details available for those interested. Email me at jessicaduren@gmail.com.  

Sweet singing, jiggers and hope

Our welcome to Ogoloi was much quieter than to Bukedea. We soon learned why as we were led into the local church building that currently houses the Carepoint. We followed the singing children, ducking down to go through the door and into the dark, oversized hut. Handmade signs hung throughout the structure, welcoming us to the rural village. 

We sat in chairs as we were introduced to the children sitting on the floor in front of us. The sun shone through the building in gentle rays as we listened to Pastor Moses share the village's sad news. Two funerals were being held that morning due to malaria. When we expressed our sympathy to their village, Moses explained that premature deaths were common among their people. I felt such sympathy for these people as they battle such a preventable disease. The price for malaria medicine in Uganda is approximately $7. It is a sad reality when people die when such a small amount of money could save them. 

Despite the somber beginning, our time in Ogoloi was a joyful one. Several caretakers greeted us at the end of day one. Halfway through their song some of the children joined them, and then all of the children joined in, singing and dancing. We couldn't contain ourselves, as we all danced together in one big group. 

Since I didn't have a sponsored girl in this village, I devoted my time to any child that walked by, tickling them and smiling in their general direction.  I gained the affection of two little girls, Juliet and Rhoda. These two were just adorable, clinging to me for several hours out of the day. 

One of my favorite memories from the trip happened while just doing nothing. Without any agenda in mind, I was able to share a sweet moment with a group of six to eight young girls sitting inside the church. With two girls sitting on my lap and others gathered around close, we sang sweet songs of praise. 

As in Bukedea, there were joyful moments and heartbreaking ones. 

Ogoloi was unique in that it sits farther out into the bush. The village is not influenced by a city, and the overall atmosphere was just more simple. The huts were a little larger, but the children seemed less kept. 

One child in particular was at the center of our attention throughout the week. Thomas was a young boy with HIV who was brought into the program last December. His murky eyes, sweet smile, and curious attitude had one of us carting him around or taking his picture more often than not.

Our group learned of a young boy, John, who was found with jiggers in his legs and feet. These small parasites make their way into the skin, killing nerves and laying eggs that turn into worms. The only way to get them out is to dig through the skin, extracting them with a needle. When Julius found him, the jiggers were so bad the boy couldn't even walk. On top of that, he was also severely malnourished. The boy's father is mentally disturbed, and a drunk. He has chased the mother away and beats her when she returns to care for the children. 

This was another heartbreaking story that made me angry when I first heard it. The great thing is that when this boy was discovered, he was helped. He and his siblings are getting food through the Carepoint now and are much healthier. Julius took the time to dig out the jiggers and will receive the care needed to keep them from taking over his body again. 

In a world that is so hopeless, these children have found some refuge in a program that is funded by people they don't know. This program is meeting needs that would otherwise go unmet. I was, and still am, very proud to be a supporter of Children's HopeChest. 

After seeing the problems this world has to offer, I have felt much like a stranger in my own home. 

Produce, poultry and appreciation

This is a continuation of the story of my recent journey to Uganda.

We were warned about this. Dylan said it would be hard. I couldn't have imaged just how hard, though, until I was there, sitting on a plastic chair lined up against the concrete wall of the Carepoint with my team members. 

A nervous feeling came over me as we waited to see what all the fuss was about. Butterflies don't even begin to describe how I felt.

Women, most of them older, lined the back of the room. Their children sat in the space between us, all eyes on us.  

"They've brought you gifts of thanksgiving," Richard translated.

My mood changed from delight to panic.  

"What gifts could they possibly have for us?" I thought. 

I had seen their homes and their children. Most of the kids had been wearing the same outfits all week– with holes, filth, too big or too small. We were there because they needed help; they don't have any excess. 

As women approached us, one by one, with their gifts, I tried to keep it together.  Kneeling down to shake our hands, the widows kissed each of our cheeks as they presented corn, rice, potatoes, and a live chicken with feet tied together for careful handling. As each woman brought her produce (or poultry), I knew this gift represented her livelihood, a week's worth of food at the very least. I couldn't contain the tears anymore as I watched them present bigger gifts than we deserved. I was overwhelmed by their generosity and felt sick about receiving such gratitude. Like other times throughout the trip when presented with tokens of thanks, I felt only cheap and somewhat disgusted with my own lack of generosity. 

One of the boys, Enock, also brought us a chicken. A young lady, Grace, presented us with her own bag of produce. Sweet-hearted children, who work alongside their parents to provide food for their families were also willing to sacrifice for thanksgiving. 

Two more times I watched these beautiful people give all they had, once during the church service at the next village, Ogoloi. Eggs count as money when you have nothing else to give as your offering to God. Again, when we were to say goodbye to the Ogoloi children, more produce and poultry were presented in a demonstration of gratitude. 

While receiving these gifts was absolutely the hardest thing I've ever experienced, to refuse them seems just as hard. How do you tell people you don't need their gifts, when they've given all they have? With a heart so full of thanksgiving, to turn these gifts down would not only be culturally unacceptable, but heartbreaking. 

Later in the day we said goodbye to the children at Bukedea. So as not to cause a mob-like situation, the children were asked to stay seated as we left. My heart still aches at the lack of affection we were able to give during those last moments. More tears fell as I scanned the crowd for my Adongo and her twin sister. I wanted to hug them one last time, I wanted to hug them all. As we drove away, I wondered if they understood that we wouldn't be back the next day.

I watched out the window as we continued on our journey. We would start all over the next day in a new village. A new group of kids to love, a whole new week of investing our time and emotions. I was somber, emotionally and physically exhausted. I didn't want to do it all again, just to say goodbye. 

As we drove farther into the bush the next morning, we were stopped by a small group of children lined up with faces painted. Their sweet song filled the air as we got out of our van and continued the journey on foot. Two children took my hands in theirs and walked me down the unusually sandy path. 

Hello, sweet girl

All summer I anxiously awaited the trip to Uganda, where I could meet that smiling little girl I had chosen to sponsor. A picture and a brief description was all I had to make a connection. Ten years old, Adongo Lillian Josephine , lived with her mother, had a twin sister, and her father died of HIV in 2010. That's all I knew. 

On our first day in Bukedea, I asked the adults at the Carepoint if they could help me find the 10-year-old I so desperately wanted to meet. As I waited in the concrete office located in the back of the Carepoint, I suddenly became nervous. I hadn't really thought about what I would say or do when I met her. 

I didn't have time to think about it then, as Adongo and her sister Apio came around the corner. Both very shy, I asked the translator to explain that I was Adongo's sponsor, and that my friend Kristen Jorgenson was Apio's sponsor. 

I was overjoyed to be face to face with them. I must not have been able to hide my excitement because Mama, a Carepoint employee, told me to go ahead and hug them if I wanted. So I did. I hugged the children I had been praying for. I hugged the kids whose lives I had had an impact on from thousands of miles away. I took some photos with them, and asked if I could come to their house the next day; to to tell their mother I would be visiting. 

Their land was right next to the Carepoint. I was glad for that. I hated hearing about how far away some of the kids lived and how far they had to walk each day. I met Adongo's mother, a short woman, with a smile as sweet her daughters'. She welcomed me and others from my team as we approached their property. She thanked me with hugs and clapping when she found out who I was.  

The caregivers at each house we went to would be sure to place us in a shaded spot, with a chair, even though most of the time they had to go find extra chairs at a neighbor's hut. The greetings were tough for me, because I didn't like being forced to sit on a chair while they sat on the dirt. They also got on their knees to shake our hands and kiss our cheeks. A cultural, but nonetheless, humbling experience. This was the same at Adongo's house. 

Her mother, Christine, was widowed. I found out more of their story as we sat under the only tree on the property. 

The father was a polygamist, like most nonChristian men in Uganda. He had two wives, each of whom had several children, amounting to nine in all. Since the father died in 2010, the two women continued to live on the same land. They care for one another and their children as one family. They gather and sell firewood and they farm to survive. With nine children, there are a lot of mouths to feed. Providing enough food is clearly a struggle. 

The children proudly showed us the inside of their hut. These small brick buildings have no windows and sleep more people than they should. 

I was glad to meet my girl and her family. Before we left, I sat in the dirt, placing my hands on them as I prayed to God, thanking Him for the opportunity, and for these women who care for their children. I was relieved to see that my little Adongo wasn't starving. She wasn't being abused, and she had a caregiver who clearly loved her. These are such rare circumstances among the Ugandan children. 

The rest of the week I picked my girls out of the crowd at every activity, watching their personalities come through. Jump-roping, dancing, playing netball, I was surrounded by these little ladies and their friends. Adongo's smile was contagious, and she has such a sweet spirit. 

My favorite memory from the entire trip was the time I spent inside the Carepoint, just dancing with Adongo. Her small black hands held mine as we jumped around to the African tribal music filling our ears. Time slowed down as I soaked it in; smiling and laughing, I could have stayed right there forever. 

Loving my time with Adongo, the day we had to leave was looming in the back of my mind. With another village waiting, our last day in Bukedea was by far the hardest day of my whole trip. Tears flowed, but maybe not for the reason you might think.

Rejected frustration

       A frail woman with arms the size of my wrist greeted us. She had a large belly,  almost looking pregnant, but she wasn't. Three of her four children gathered around us, two of whom, Samuel and Immaculate,we brought with us. Samuel was so happy, smiling at all times missing several of his top front teeth, he is 6 years old but looks more like 3 or 4. His older sister Immaculate was less outgoing. She wouldn't smile unless you were looking at her and was clearly struggling inside. Once I heard her story, I wondered how she could ever smile. 

The mother was widowed a few years ago. She is HIV-positive and also has a problem with her pancreas, which explained her bulging stomach. The surgery she needed cost a mere $150, but because she had no money she hadn't received it, only worsening her situation. 

When her husband died, she was kicked off the land by her brother-in-law. In Uganda it is very hard for women to obtain land; it always goes to the next available male in the family. So upon returning to her childhood land, she was welcomed by her uncle and his family who live there. That welcome was short-lived. 

Because she is so frail, she is unable to help provide food and is considered a burden. Her four children are also considered a burden. After being kicked off that land, she and her children went to her brother's house, and the same thing happened. 

This woman, who is clearly going to die, has been booted out of each home she should have been welcomed to. Her four children have been moved around with no stability, and no feeling of self-worth. The translators noted that because she has kids, this woman is considered more of a burden. No one wants to end up with those children when she dies. 

I'm pretty sure I cried right there. Looking at those children and their sweet faces, I wanted to snatch them up and bring them home. 

After visiting that family, my mind kept going back to one question: What do we even do? How can we fix this? What do you do? That is a question we were unable to answer. We left money for the woman to have her surgery, but realistically she will probably still die soon from AIDS. At that point there are four orphans who have no one to love them. The Carepoint will take on the responsibility of finding them caregivers. 

Over and over I heard stories of helplessness, most of which involved a widow caring for between five and 10 children on $1 to $2 a week. Sickness and starvation are a way of life. Each place we went, my heart was broken for a broken world. This is not how it was intended to be, you know. The hope is that one day it will all be restored.

Although my journey was sorrowful at some points, the greatest joy of all was meeting the little girl I have been sponsoring. 

Welcomed and wrecked

       Tiny huts appeared in the landscape amid the weeds and farmland as we drove down a red dirt path. Women and children were seen out in the fields and would wave as the van full of Mozungus (white people) passed by. As we neared the Carepoint, I wasn't sure what to expect. The excitement I had lost the night before was back. 

An orange concrete building appeared first, then a group of enthusiastic children. We could hear them from down the path even before we could see them. We climbed out of the van before two long lines of children, singing and dancing. "Ayalama," they sang. "Thank you," the very words I whispered to God as their voices filled my ears. 

An unexplainable joy came over me as I danced through the human tunnel with my fellow team members. As we made our way into the Carepoint building, the voices became stronger, bouncing off the concrete walls. I couldn't help it; I was crying, laughing, and smiling all at once. Their song changed from gratitude to greeting, "Welcome, visitors! We are happy to see you today." Their accents added and took away a few syllables to sing, "Wel-e-come, vistas." 

I had never felt so welcome anywhere in my life. A group of strangers quickly became instant friends. We introduced ourselves to the few hundred kids who spanned all ages. A few of their caregivers were also there to greet us. As I scanned the crowd I studied each of their faces, overwhelmed at the gorgeous smiles pointed back at me. 

Those of us on the team weren't anyone special, just everyday people who sponsor at least one child through the Children's HopeChest organization. There were nine of us in all, from Iowa, Minnesota and Colorado. We were each anxious to meet our "child." Some of us had the chance that week; others would have to wait a week for the next village. 

Our main task at hand was to play with the children. In Ugandan culture they are seen as a nuisance and are often neglected. In the short time we were there, I did all I could to love as many of these little ones as possible, most of whom are orphaned by one or both parents. 

We also planned to visit some of their homes, get photographs of each child to bring back for their sponsors, and hand out and designate some gifts to the children. 

I went on my first home visit with team leaders Dylan and Jen (Swenson) DeBruin. Workers from the Carepoint and the Bukedea HopeChest social worker came as well, to translate and offer advice. We had three children with us, two of whom were siblings. We walked through corn and potato fields, passed groups of huts and women carrying water jugs on their head.  As I walked further into the bush following the path marked out by the small feet walking ahead of me, I had no idea my world was about to wrecked. 

A joyous yelp rang out through the weeds as I followed Levi into his grandmother's arms. The aged woman was greeting us with an overabundance of happiness. She kissed my cheeks as she shook my hand and hugged my neck. Jen and Dylan had met her last December when they visited the Carepoint. At that time the team felt led to purchase her a new hut. That would explain her joy! She and Levi showed off their new home and the old one, which was being torn apart and recycled into a small kitchen. Dylan began recording a video to share the story. That's when I first began to realize how ridiculous my life has been up to this point. 

Seventy-five dollars. 75 U.S. dollars. That's how much it cost to purchase Levi's grandmother a brand-new hut. "How is that even possible?" I thought to myself. That's a new pair of jeans, a weekly grocery run, or even an occasional night out in the city. My throat began to well up. 

When she shared how much money she earns per week, I wanted to cry. "$1 to $2 a week," the translator explained. 

I've heard of people living on $2 per day, and I thought that was bad. But a whole week's wages? That is literally pocket change to me. I thought of all the purses and coin jars in my house that have collected my "spare" change. I felt sick. The caring "taata" (grandmother) was so pleased with us, but I felt cheap. 

As we left her home and ventured a few more kilometers, we came to the most heartbreaking story I'd ever heard.

A journey begins

It hit me. Like a brick wall, it hit me. My first taste, and smell, of the country I so longed to visit. Urine. That's the smell that permeated the air as I walked out of the Entebbe airport and entered Uganda, "The Pearl of Africa." 

  The sky was dark, and so were the people. Two guards stood outside the airport door, armed with machine guns. I followed my team members into the black night, trying not to step in anything wet. With no lights and people scrambling to find their vehicles, the moment seemed to stop for just a second. I took it in with a deep breath, and a glimpse of fear came and went quickly. It was as if someone snapped his fingers and awoke me from this dreamlike episode. 

"Welcome to Africa!" I thought, and continued to make my way toward the 12-passenger van we would rely on for the next two weeks.

  After a long drive, two plane rides and a layover that totaled 27 hours of travel, my eager anticipation for my first trip oversees turned to pure exhaustion. Despite my sleep deprivation, as we drove through the streets of Entebbe I wanted to see everything. The roads were filled with people and a vibrant night life. Cars lined the roadways, and honks rang out almost systematically.

  Our first night was spent in a hotel just 20 minutes from the airport. We ate dinner once we arrived, although it was nearly 11 p.m., and we all felt stuffed from the very efficient flight attendants who continually brought us food. The first meal was a foreshadowing of what was to come, rice, beans, baked chicken, and potatoes. 

  After sleeping under a mosquito net for the first time, I awoke early, ready for the day. I drank coffee on the beach of Lake Victoria, located directly across from the hotel. The waters rushed the shore like an ocean and even the giant bugs hanging in the air couldn't ruin the moment for me. Monkeys met us outside the hotel to give us all a good laugh as we began our journey north. 

  We spent the day traveling through Kampala, the capital city; Jinja, another larger city; and into the rural parts of Uganda. The poverty was greater than I imagined. Tin shacks piled on top of one another lined the streets and up the hills. Trash was thrown everywhere as children and animals alike stood knee-deep, searching. My heart had already begun to hurt as I gazed out the window of the van for five hours. Poverty like this doesn't exist in America. If it does, we should be ashamed. As anywhere, socio-economic classes exist within the borders of Uganda. Behind the tin shacks were small concrete homes with small lawns. As I scanned the landscape back, the homes became bigger and more beautiful. The ones atop the highest hills were most elaborate. I wanted to ask how anyone could possibly live there, looking down at the starving. It made me angry, and then I remembered we do the same thing here. Instead of living directly behind the have-nots, we separate ourselves into special neighborhoods. If we don't see the poverty, we can't feel guilty. 

  My eyes were open and ready to learn, to soak up the culture as much as possible. The roads were bumpy and almost nonexistent past a certain point. People drove on both sides of the road, on the shoulder, wherever. The biggest vehicle has the right-of-way, and all others should view their honks as a warning. 

  We arrived at our next hotel in Soroti, where we would stay the following four nights. The next day we would visit our first village, Bukedea. I couldn't wait for the best part of the trip to start. Anxious, I slept. 

Gorgeous day!

What an awesome God we serve!

Here is the photo I was talking about. This really doesn't even do it justice. Gorgeous day in Northeast Iowa!

May Day, May Day! Time is flying!

    Time has been flying by these last two weeks. Anytime I travel over the weekend I feel like life a hamster on a wheel. I did have fun though, visiting with family and celebrating my little sister's 21st birthday. I must admit, a night out on the town was something I had been craving. Glad we had the perfect excuse. My sister and I, her two friends and one of my old college roomies went to Blueberry Hill on the Loop in St. Louis. It was quite eclectic! We were dressed a little too sorority-like for the joint, but we had a great time anyway.
    Last weekend I attended a college graduation for my friend Kristen. She was receiving her master's. My older sister recently informed me she is going to start classes to get her masters and for a brief moment, I thought I might want to get mine too. Trust me, the moment was very brief! I have no desire at ALL to go back to school In fact, I'm not sure someone could even pay me to go back. I did after all, pick a profession that requires me to write papers every day of my life. Seriously didn't think that one through.
    In other recent action in the thrilling life that I call my own, I have been busy getting ready for garage sales this week. You never realize how much stuff you have that never gets used until you start picking through it! Hoping to get rid of most of it so if you're in the area, please come by, the prices are right!
    I have been thinking a lot over the last two weeks about my goals for the year and am still not finished with the list. I've decided however that I need to be my own advocate for a few things I seem to always put last. Namely sleep, and here I am writing this after midnight on Tuesday. Geesh! I never learn.
    I also need to get organized. I'm thinking the garage sale will help de-clutter a bit, especially in my closet. But more than that, I am never home for long periods of time, which leads to random things placed on any available surface. This habit, I blame, on my parents. Sorry mom! But seriously, this is one habit that I have to break. I've done well this week, consciously taking the extra two minutes to go through the mail and file appropriately, or the extra 10 steps I need to take in order to properly put away an item. It makes a difference for sure.
     So, sleep, organization, and the third thing is discipline. Reading through "Disciplines of a Godly Woman" with a ladies group on Wednesday nights has brought to my attention all the areas of my life without discipline. Which turns out is pretty much everywhere. Last week's chapter on contentment raised some serious questions into my life. The author noted that if you are content in your relationship with God, then the other areas of your life won't suffer as much because the most important thing is taken care of. Since I struggle with contentment in every area of my life, that was a clear warning sign that my relationship with God isn't where it should be. I, of course, already knew this. I am learning more and more the importance of knowing who God is and in turn worshiping Him with my life. Discipline is not an easy goal for me, but with small steps in each area of my life I hope that eventually it will become natural to me.
     So, with that said, I should probably get to bed.

Little pleasures for the week include:
-An amazing design in the sky today by the one and only creator. Amazing clouds! I snapped a picture so I'll share that in the coming days.
-Feeling the reality of my upcoming Uganda trip and knowing God will provide the financing as I begin to fund raise.
-Spending precious time with my friend Kelli on the phone last weekend.
-Seeing the possibilities God has in store for me in the future.

Homemade bowls, shot guns, and diy

As exciting as it may have been, I won't recap my entire last year. I will, however, share some highlights from the last few months.

Like over 10 million others around the world I have been addicted to Pinterest. I am, however, a pretty picky pinner. Or at least I would like to consider myself picky. I am a big fan of the "like" button because I can still bookmark the post without it actually being re-posted to my boards. Anyway, if you aren't on Pinterest, please, do yourself a favor and get on it! I have found so many fun things I am planning to make from that site. It has also turned me on to several great blogs. I will hopefully share some pictures of future projects that WILL be getting done. Haha..that was motivation for myself.

Bowls, Bowls, Bowls

I did a story at work recently on a worth-while fundraiser for the local food banks in northeast Iowa. Empty Bowls is an annual event where people pay $20 and get to pick out their very own handmade bowl. There are several different kinds of homemade soups and breads along with some live music. This was the first year I went to the event and I'm sure I'll be back. The amount of bowls to choose from was ridiculous. I had such a hard time committing. Not only did I get to have a bowl, and enjoy some great food, but I also helped a great cause. Oh, and I had a lovely friend accompany me and we made the day of it. So fun!

Don't you love my outfit? lol. It was cold so I borrowed a jacket.  Matches my skirt so well.

I didn't get to go home for Easter this year, as like the last 2 years. But no worries, as my adopted families here took care of me. I spent the afternoon eating lunch with Bob and Judy Rothlisberger and their daughter Kelly and her husband Chris. I just love this family! They are just the right mix of class and redneck. lol. What better way to celebrate Christ's resurrection  than to shoot clay pigeons? It was a super windy day, but I managed to hit one! (out of like 12, lol.) After a fun time with the Rothlisbergers I was welcomed for dinner by the Butikofers, Jensens, and Bensons. I am so blessed to have "homes away from home" where people invite me in for their own holiday celebrations. Not to mention the food was fantastic! Thanks everyone for making my Easter a great one.

What I'm loving this week....
• Finding time to read for fun
• Planning to spend time celebrating my sister's 21st birthday (stay tuned for a post about the big night!)
• Finding some great new recipes in cookbooks I already had! (mini carrot cakes and mexican cheese guacamole bites! Yum! )

I'm back! For reals. Promise.

Hello world!

Wow! It has been WAY too long since I contributed to the blogging world. While I'm still just as busy as ever, I am going to get back into the habit of blogging. Promise!
I recently celebrated my 25th birthday in March and quickly realized there are some things I want to accomplish in the next year. I've detailed most of my ideas in my journal and will enlighten you all in the coming weeks of what I'll be attempting to do this year. Hopefully I can also share my experiences as I fulfill the goals. I wouldn't be opposed to a little encouragement either.
Since it is almost midnight and I've got lots of things on my agenda for tomorrow, I bid thee goodnight.

As always, here is what is getting me through the week:
1. Pinterest, Pinterest, Pinterest. Just loving all the inspiration. Makes me wanna complete my own projects!
2. Tentatively planning the third annual St. Louis Cardinals game weekend for this summer with my old college roommates.
3. Jenny and Tyler music. They seriously have got me hooked. Have a listen!