Cold hands, warm heart

I absolutely hate the cold weather.

And that might be a slight understatement.

I don't like walking outside and feeling chills go through every part of my body. I don't like having to let my car warm up, shivering the entire time until I can finally turn on the heater. I don't like wearing more than four layers at a time when I have to be outside. I don't like losing all feeling in my fingers, even when I am wearing gloves or mittens that are supposed to keep a person from feeling like she is suffering from frostbite. Or hypothermia. I don't like my hands getting so dry that my fingers start cracking and bleeding. Gross. I don't like turning on the heater in my home and constantly keeping a personal space heater near me.

As negative as I sound right now, I could add many more things to the list. I just don't like being cold. Clearly winter is not my favorite time of year.

I have lived in Texas my entire life, and I never plan to make a new home somewhere up North—especially the New England area. It pains me just to hear about some of the temperatures and wintry mixes they get up there. Not my cup of tea.

It's no snow cone...

I miss warm weather. I love the smell of freshly mowed grass on a sunny, summer morning. I love eating snow cones and savoring the combination of ice, high fructose corn syrup and artificial flavoring. I love floating in the pool with a nice book in my hands. I love not wearing four or more layers when I am outside. I love being outside in warm weather. I love the triple digits. I love the days of baseball season. I could probably go on forever about all of the things I love about summer. Perhaps I shall spare you too much reading.

The thing is, though, I cannot make the chilly weather vanish. It will not disappear. It will linger around until it is time for it to leave for good for the year. And I will endure it.

One thing I have to remember is that you can't let the cold weather bring about a cold heart. Sometimes it's easy to become grumpy and a bit snappy when the bleak skies have you feeling down. So, I have compiled a list of some things that are actually good about this time of year. I hope you agree. If not, so be it.

Things that aren't so horrible about cold-weather months:

1. Things that smell like Christmas make me smile.

2. National Lampoon's Christmas Vacation and the Grinch.

3. "All I Want for Christmas is You" by Mariah Carey and the entire Taylor Swift Christmas CD.

4. The food.

5. Scarves.

6. Spending more time with families during the holidays.

7. Winter break.

8. The possibility of ending up under the mistletoe. (Totally kidding. Maybe.)

9. Christmas lights.

As I reflect on this list, it's quite apparent that most of them refer to things Christmas-related. I am aware that I just stated the obvious for you, but I think Christmas does tend to make a lot of people happier. I understand that not everyone celebrates Christmas, and it's more politically correct to say "the holidays." I've never considered myself a PC person, and I don't intend to start now.

I know that people often get so caught up in the frivolous aspects of Christmas—many of which can be found on my above list—but it is also important to remember why we celebrate this time of year. Our Jesus came to the earth from a virgin in some of the poorest conditions possible, and He did it all for us. That is one sacred manger where our Lord slept, and we shouldn't forget to adore Him—now and always.

So, yes, I hate cold weather. But I am more than happy to be celebrating this time of year with the ones I love--even if I have to wear a ski jacket, mittens, and ear warmers to do so.

These are the scars of our lives

I find scars to be rather intriguing.

What's so fascinating about them is that each one has its own, unique story. I scar rather easily, so I have plenty of scars and plenty of stories to go with them.

For instance, there is the scar above my right eye from when I had to get stitches when I was 2 years old. My older brother and I were playing tag in a racquetball court locker room while our mom was tending to my baby sister. I stopped mid-run, but Chris was too dumb to notice (sorry, that was mean). He ran right into me and sent me flying into the corner of a bench. The result was a righteous black eye, multiple stitches, and a scar that will forever remain.

Then there is the scar on my right hand from when my favorite pet scratched me as she was trying to kill a spider that had just crawled on me. I miss you, Tabster.

I have a scar on my left ear from when I was an idiot. Sorry, that was vague—allow me to clarify. I can't get my ears pierced, because my scar tissue is just that bad. I already have little bumps from when I got them pierced when I was in kindergarten, but apparently I thought I was pretty invincible when I was a senior in high school. Big shocker there. I convinced myself it was wise to get my cartilage pierced. The result? Yes, I now have an unnecessary scar in place of where I wore that earring for a few months (if even that long). This is what happens when 18-year-olds make decisions. I clearly need to stick to stick-on earrings.

Even though you can't see it, there is a lovely scar on the back of my head from where the volleyball pole fell on my head the day before my college graduation. I can now say I've had my head stapled, and I have the scar to prove it. While it's not visible, it can definitely be felt. Just let me know if you'd ever like to feel my head.

There is also a scar on my stomach from when I was swimming at my friend's house one summer, and her ridiculously huge dog jumped up and left a bloody scratch across my body. I'm not sure why dogs always feel the need to jump on me, but for some reason I am always their first target. Thanks for the scar and the memories, dear canine pal.

My left knee is gross.

I have two scars on my left knee. One came from my childhood when I was riding bikes with my brother and dad. I was peddling so hard trying to be just like them and go fast, and I wasn't going to let a little (and by little, I mean gigantic) downhill stop me. Needless to say, I had a major wipeout. Massive amounts of blood ensued, and my knee was forever uglified. At least I got a really delicious peanut butter and jelly sandwich to make me forget about the pain for a bit. How is it that moms always know how to make things better?

The second scar on the same knee came my junior year of high school, and it's actually one of my favorite scar stories I own. My school operated on trimesters, and it was kind of weird that year. We started the second trimester for one week, then we went to Thanksgiving break. Well, I was absent the Friday before the break, and of course I forgot about this when we came back. My school had a policy where you had to have an absence slip the day you returned, and you had to get all of your teachers to sign it. Apparently all of my teachers early in the day still had their minds on vacation, because none of them had asked for my pass.

Then I went to English.

Mrs. Perry—who actually turned out to be one of my favorite teachers I ever had—liked to scare her students early before softening up later in the year. It was actually a fairly brilliant tactic, if you ask me. She asked for my absence slip, and I told her I didn't have one. She seemed pretty mad about that and told me to go get one from the office, and it was going to cost me a tardy. Tardy?? I was kind of a goody-goody in some aspects, and I absolutely hated getting in trouble for things other than talking too much or making jokes during class, especially the second week in a teacher's class. So, I hustled big time to go get that pass. I wasn't really thinking about the fact that it was lunchtime, so there might be a line at the office window.

Then I saw it.

Commence anxiety attack.

I was panicking as I waited in line for what seemed like an eternity, and as soon as I got the pass, I took off running back up the stairs so Mrs. Perry wouldn't think I was just taking my time and probably socializing with people who were at the early lunches. The downside to this was that I was wearing flip-flops that day, and my school had brick stairs. Combine that with the fact that I have a tendency to be a complete klutz, and you've got yourself a formula for disaster. One of my flip-flops got caught on the steps, and I had an epic fall. However, I got up as quickly as I could, told myself it would leave a mark but that I needed to suck it up and keep going. Plus, I really didn't want to look back and see how many people were probably entertained by my mishap.

I got back to Perry's room, gave her the pass, sat down and immediately raised my hand. The reason for this was because, as soon as I sat down, I had looked at my jeans and seen blood seeping through at my knee. I pulled my pants up to look at it, and I could see the bone sticking out through the skin. I thought the kid next to me was going to pass out. The good news is that Mrs. Perry felt so awful and impressed after I told her how the bloody mess happened, and I believe this was the moment that changed the way she treated me the rest of the year. We now had a bond—even though it came at my expense. At least I have a cool scar and somewhat deformed knee because of it.

Anytime my left knee even slightly touches something or gets nicked in just the right way, there is an extreme amount of pain that pangs through me, and I'm reminded of why my knee will never be completely normal.

The truth is, we all have scars, and some of them can't be seen. Those are the emotional scars that we carry with us as the result of broken hearts, painful memories, or countless other things in life that leave our minds questioning why such heart-wrenching incidents have to happen to us. But, even though scars are permanent, they still heal. Yes, my knee scars hurt when they get hit, but it's not a constant pain. It's only when those scars are reminded that they are there. Similarly, our emotional scars don't have to be surfaced forever—it's only when we bring them back to light that they hurt again. And, the less we do this, the less pain we will have to undergo.

All scars have their stories, but I think it's important to remember that the greatest story of scars comes from the One who endured tremendous pain that left marks on the hands and feet of our Jesus. Our scar stories are nothing compared to what He did for us.

And that's one scar story that's worth telling as often as possible.

Free cupcakes

There are moments when life just needs a few more colorful sprinkles.

I was in the grocery store the other day and overheard a little girl asking—nay, begging—her mom for a cupcake with purple icing and rainbow sprinkles. Her mom told her that those were not at this grocery store—they were at the special cupcake shop (one can assume something like Sprinkles or Dimples). The girl then pleaded with her mom to take her there, but her mother politely informed her little princess that those cupcakes were way too overpriced, especially to eat on a Wednesday afternoon.

Umm...really? (By the way, yes, at this point I was eavesdropping. Hey, I am easily entertained.)

"Well, I think cupcakes should be free for everyone!"

Cupcakes can be full of pizzaz!

I love the innocence and wisdom of a 5-year-old. (I only knew her age because her mom later told her that 5-year-olds should not act so pouty. I thought you were allowed to do that as a young child, but apparently I hold incorrect beliefs in this regard. If you're 5 and don't get your cherished cupcake, you'd better man-up and put on a happy face.) That was a really long parenthetical thought.

I started wondering what life would be like if everyone really did get free cupcakes. Assuming people wouldn't all become obese extreme gluttons, would there be a little bit more joy? As a teacher, I've seen the power of cupcakes at full force—people go crazy for those things! And it's not just the kiddos—apparently many adults have special cupcake-shaped holes in their hearts that they love to fill.

I honestly don't even like cupcakes, but I can see how just seeing them can excite people. They are generally presented in very attractive ways, and you can get really creative with them. And when they are topped with special toys, trinkets or plastic rings, talk about a glee-filled moment! Even I try to sneak a ring off a cupcake when the opportunity presents itself.

Plus, cupcakes are normally enjoyed at happy occasions. Birthday party? Cupcakes! Congrats on a new job? Cupcakes! Baby shower? Cupcakes! Wednesday afternoon? Cup—oops. I forgot. That's unacceptable.

The good news is that we can have our own cupcakes from God on a daily basis, even if they aren't quite in the form of sugar-loaded, bakery-made cavity-makers. But He constantly puts people and things in our lives that are meant to add that purple icing and sprinkles of multiple colors. And they usually last a lot longer.

You know what else is pretty neat? You could be a sprinkle or cupcake in someone else's life. You are a special piece of joy to another—a complete blessing from the most powerful and delicate Baker this world has ever known.

And one of the best parts is that His cupcakes are always available—even on Wednesday afternoons.

Dig a little deeper

I don't always do what I know I should do.

And I think this is often the case for many people, but we tend to overlook it.

The truth is, there are quite a few people in this world who are annoying. In fact, some of them straight up drive me crazy at times. The problem comes when I let the minor flaws in people be the only thing I see.

For instance, there is a woman in one of my grad school classes who talks way too much—often about things that are not relevant to the class or our topic of conversation in any manner—and it seems that she really is just doing this for attention and to make others have sympathy for her. It really aggravates me, especially when it forces us to waste time in class. I like to get out of there as early as possible, and her useless anecdotes don't help this by any means.

Enter guilty conscience.

It's later after class that I start to think to myself that perhaps she has no one else to listen to her stories. She seems like she leads a rather lonely life, and I truthfully don't know if she has a lot of friends outside of our grad class. And, honestly, though she can be a bit opinionated and sometimes even pompous, she has some great qualities to her. For example, she always asks how other people are doing, and she is quite articulate.

I've come to the conclusion that it's best to find the good characteristics in people rather than dwell on the minor things that send us to bonkersville. This is going to be my new goal: anytime I find myself in a situation where someone is annoying me, I am going to focus on all of the good qualities about that person. I believe that all people have some sort of good in them, and we should focus on that instead of their flaws.

This woman has a heart of solid love.

My mom is probably the best person I know who does this. I know I've said this before, but I have never heard her say a mean thing about anybody. Ever. In fact, she always told us: "If you don't have anything nice to say, then don't say anything at all." I find myself trying to be like her in this aspect more and more every day, though it's a lot more difficult than she makes it seem. She just has one of those genuinely kind hearts that blocks what the eyes see. I think we all need to look with loving hearts more often.

God made us all with purpose and love, and we are all special to Him. I can't sit here and be the judge of people, and I am sure that I do things that make people twitch. Because none of us is perfect, there are bad things in all of us. But, thankfully, there is also an inherent good in all of us, and I like the challenge of finding that in everyone. Even the meanest people have some glimmer of kindness somewhere in their beings.

I'm going to choose (and hopefully be successful) to embrace the challenge and embrace goodness and love.

I think the key word here is challenge.