Dinner Party Revelation


And let us consider how we may spur one another on toward love and good deeds, 25 not giving up meeting together, as some are in the habit of doing, but encouraging one another—and all the more as you see the Day approaching.”

-Hebrews 10:24-25

The last dinner party of 2015 was so last minute that I didn’t even have make-up on (GASP), but still had a blast. The best part of the dinner party wasn’t at the pretty table- or even the dishes-filled kitchen. After the dinner party a few of us went to grab a Starbucks tea and then sat in the car for hours talking about life. They were the most meaningful conversations of the night- and reminded me that heart conversations don’t have to be had over the prettiest Anthro plates.

Sometimes with dinner parties, it’s easy to focus solely on the aesthetics (at least for me). We forget the true reason of having a few friends over- to listen, to share, to celebrate, to grieve, and to praise God….to…so much more than a pretty Instagram picture.

I forget that. And when I forget the purpose behind belonging to the Body of Christ, I lose out. I lose out on encouraging others, and being encouraged. I lose out on being purely silly. And being invested in.

With so much freaking hate in the World (SO MUCH HATE), why aren’t we living LOVE better? It’s not difficult. It’s literally just sitting down, listening to one another, and breaking bread (and Whole Food’s Chantilly Cake, can I get an amen for that?). And it’s easy to love on people you already like- so this year one of my priorities is more dinner parties and to not give up on meeting with my friends (does anyone else have the most difficult time scheduling hanging out now? Ugh, life of a twenty-something ;)).

“More dinner parties” sounds so silly and almost a bit pretentious. I pray my heart is sincere always when prepping a dinner party- that my heart is true to serving the Body, and less of getting that perfect picture. *(Which is not to say I won’t be taking pictures!)*



(*ALSO I’ve used Hebrews 10:24-25 in another post. What a  sweet reminder (to me) that I need people. I cannot be content in my pseudo-wannabe-hermit life. We are created to live in community.)

When Life Hands You Poop, Go Get Coffee (or Ice Cream)…

Lately there have been quite a few days of ‘ewww’ and ‘ehhhh’ at work. When these days happen there’s usually a good chance one of the girls in the office runs out to get Starbucks or ice cream for all (by all I mean three people, there are three ladies total in the office after 1:30pm. Three. That’s two more than 1).

And you know what? Ice cream works. Coffee works. I believe in the power of an afternoon office pick-me-up.

It works because 1. It’s delicious & 2. Because we all take a break to talk about the day so far. We talk about what’s bothering us, solutions to those problems, and then just tell each other funny stories. Laughter (along with coffee/ ice cream & good company) really is the best medicine for a bad work day.

Yes, we all have a sticky note full of to-do lists. Yes, we all have a million phone calls to make. Yes, we all have a stack of papers on our desk to sort through.


To be productive, sometimes you have to take a mental health break first. Taking a 5/10/30 minute coffee break can only aide efficiency. My office output is only as good as my mental input. If I put good, positive, happy things into myself, I am yielding much more quality work.

Also, this only works if you have a flexible job to leave in the middle of the afternoon to go get coffee. AND if there’s a Starbucks/ ice cream shop nearby. AND if you have coworkers you like to chat with.

If you don’t have any of those; I’m sorry. I still think there are creative mental health break ideas- like take a few minutes to write a story, watch a funny YouTube video, or play your favorite song while lip-syncing to your bestie through FaceTime/ Snapchat.

Breathe- life sometimes hands you poopy days, but it also gives you ice cream.

The Chicken Attack

excerpted essay from The Day the Chickens Went Crazy

Chicken Head.png

As a survivor, I feel obligated to share my story.

In January of my 27th year of life I survived a chicken attack. It wasn’t a normal chicken attack (yes, there is such a thing as a ‘normal’ chicken attack). No, it was a strange, terrible attack. It occurred in the dark- at 9:30pm MST (you must be precise about chicken attacks).

The story begins at 9:20pm, when I arrived at the ‘House of the Porcelain Dolls.’ I made my way to the back of the property where the chicken coop is. A few hens were roosting on top of the hutch which is a big ‘no’ when there are hungry coyotes and raccoons nearby. I grabbed the rake and started to usher the hens off their perch. One hen after another jumped off and ran into the coop. One hen after another, until…

Until a hen decided to ergo the ground idea and instead land on my head. ON MY HEAD. IN MY HAIR. IN MY HAIR. IN MY JUST WASHED THE DAY BEFORE HAIR. TALONS WERE ENTANGLED IN MY HAIR.

As my throat closed in, and pee came out, I screamed (it was a hushed screamed, but nonetheless a scream) “Oh my gosh! Oh my gosh! Oh my gosh!” The bird. That effin’ descendant of dinosaurs, stayed on. Each second I tried to push it off my head, it’s talons wrapped my hair again. Finally after what seemed like five minutes, the claws unfurled. The chicken jumped off and ran into the coop, as if that had been the plan all along.

The chicken was unscathed. I, however, was not.

I decided that the rest of the hens (those who did not get persuaded back into the pen, because after the attack HOW COULD I DO THAT AGAIN!?) would not receive the privilege of my protection. I said a quick prayer for their safety and gave thanks to God for not letting the chicken shit on my head, or rip out a large chunk of hair, or my biggest fear peck out my eyes. I text Gayle and Danielle. The sweet ladies who know my loathing of the feathered beasts both made sure I was ok, before laughing through text. Thank you both for assuring me that 2016 would only get better.

This story, this story of my life, illustrates how you can try to help someone, but unless that chick receives it warmly you will get attacked. And once attacked, it’s very difficult to trust and try to help again. I felt sorry that some (seemingly) innocent hen could possibly be subjected to death because of the acts of one chicken. ONE DEVIL CHICKEN. (So I guess not that sorry.)

To all the chickens out there- I am sorry I will no longer go the extra mile to protect your life. This is something your pea sized brains will have to do alone.

To the coyotes, raccoons, and dogs- you’re welcome.