New Blog

I have a new blog to go with my new name:

SaraKenyon.blogspot.com

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Let God be God

Why is it that rejection is such a scary thought? Because deep down I don’t truly believe that God is really enough? Because I desire some goodness of my own apart from him? Even as I write I recognize the utter foolishness of this. Without Christ I am nothing. With him I am everything. Redeemed, beautiful and victorious. Forever caught up in an intimate love relationship, included in the community of the Trinity, in on the most cherished thoughts of God himself. Filled with the Holy Spirit and viewed by God as clothed in the blood of Christ himself, there is no basis on which God rejects me. I am part of his family. His inner circle. Why do I long for a righteousness of my own when I have been given the more than I could ever ask for or imagine? My sinful nature at work with the lies of Satan distract my focus and make me forsake the things I have been freely given and instead turn to the dirt and filth that destroy me. They make me want to be God. That’s really what this is all about, isn’t it? It’s not good enough that I have been given righteousness. I want that righteousness on my own. But there is no one righteous but God alone. Desiring that for myself is in essence, wanting to be God. Oh that I would take my rightful place in his family as his child and let him be the God who clothes me with righteousness through grace that saved me from certain death!

Expressions of a fearful soul

Creative writing taps into my soul. Sometimes my writing flows freely. Other times it feels so forced. Why do my creative juices run dry? Is it because I fail to write from my heart? From my emotions? From my very being? Is it because I focus on my audience rather than the outpouring of myself? To write my thoughts and emotions on paper is frightening. It makes me vulnerable. Even though it is most likely that nobody will ever read the words I write, it still evokes emotions of fear and uncertainty. It brings my deepest parts out of hiding and puts them on display for the world to see. For possible rejection. Why is it that rejection is such a scary thought?

I'm getting married.

That's right. I'm getting married. Please see my wedding site at ZachAndSara.tschachingdesign.com.





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Life Is Hard

It was a touch decision. We spent the morning weighing the pros and cons. One option would probably lead to a fair amount of pain and fatigue. The other was a much larger time commitment.

The first would be a challenge, but should we succeed, we would be rewarded with much sought-after feelings of accomplishment. The work would be hard, as would be evidenced by the rough callouses and open wounds on our hands. But would it be worth it?

Should we choose the second option, we'd get away for several hours into the wild beauty of God's creation. The time would be relaxing. But we would have to submit to the orders of our superior; our well-being would be placed in the hands of another. Missions like this had been known to be aborted on account of unpredictable weather, leaving its challengers stranded. On the other hand, it would be exhilarating, fun and rejuvenating with very little work involved.

We chose the first.

It was a good row. The water was flat, fine company was abundant, and we felt strong, empowered, and inspired.

I guess sailing would have been a pretty sweet option also.

Zach's Boat

Vacation from My Vacation

That's right. I took a vacation from my vacation. To Colorado. Home sweet home. Even before we exited the airport I could feel it. Ahhhh...Colorado. Here's a brief photo recap of the trip:

Ellie & Dave's engagement photos were finally taken.

Abbey & Preston wed.

We ate a lot.

The family photo was taken.

Pikes Peak was georgeous, as usual.

We went night-hiking at Cutler,

my favorite activity.

Got a make-over.

Ate some more.

Ate some more.

Pitchoff Cliff

We aimed to leave our home at nine

or quarter past at least,

but rarely do we leave on time.

It was ten o'clock out east.

We were to climb a big rock wall,

then down into a cave.

Helmets, headlamps, ropes and all,

Sara, Ellie, Zach and Dave.

We trekked to the base and pulled out our gear:

the harness...the 'beaner...the sack...

Dave led us up with no sign of fear

and we followed him up the crack.

We paused in the crack to admire the view

and scouted the hole to the cave.

One was a little bit frightened, it's true,

but not Ellie, Zach or Dave.

Dave was the first to descend the crevasse,

while the rest of us watched him grow smaller.

The hole was no more than six inches across,

and twenty yards deep, maybe taller.

He disappeared into the groove

with only a tiny lamp,

wedged tightly - barely able to move

and freezing from the damp.

He yelled and it sounded so far away,

we thought he might be gone,

but he shouted "Hey guys! I am okay!"

so we knew that we were wrong.

He made himself a pulley

and we hoisted him back out.

He said "I enjoyed that fully!

That's what I'm talkin' about!"

"Who's next?" he asked, and pointed to Zach.

"It's right up your alley!" he said.

Zach wanted to try, as a matter of fact

and decided to go right ahead.

We lowered him down to the bottomless pit.

He got a little stuck.

He didn't have fun and was done with it

so then we cranked him back up.

He said "Ellie, don't do it" and Sara was freaked,

and everyone was cold.

The cave wasn't all it was cracked up to be

it turns out, after all was told.

When we rappelled down, now that was a blast

just hanging in the air.

You could choose to go slow and make it last

or zip down as fast as you dare.

Zach and Dave are asleep, it's the dead of night,

but we must stay up and drive this time.

We sit here brainstorming with all of our might

to think of words that rhyme.

May 19, 2007 Log

The morale is high as we set out on the voyage across Round Lake. The vessel is crewed today by twice the recommended capacity, making it perilous - a risk of life and limb. A passerby mutters that there are far too many passengers aboard, and we can only hope that his evaluation is proven false.

As we set sail, the lack of wind necessitates the use of the emergency back-up paddle. We lash down the boom and hope for any slight breeze to fill the sails. Spirits sink as Zach gets typhoid fever and we begin rationing our supplies. We choose to increase his fluid intake, and continue our journey.

As we approach the far edge of the lake, we realize the need to tack is imminent; all hands are on deck and prepared to come about. Ellie pulls the tiller to starboard as Sara looses the jib. As fate would have it, a sizely gale tears across the water, filling the main, which, may I remind you, is still lashed down. This causes the vessel to severely list, forcing the transom under water, and allowing a deluge of sea water into our craft. Zach and Dave scream and panic. Sara and Ellie calmly move to the bow, hoping the increased forward ballast will right the stern. Rapidly taking on water and with no one at the helm, we are at the mercy of Poseidon.

After what seems like hours on end, we manage to right the ship. All hands resume their positions and Sara and Ellie heroically remove their footwear, and begin to skillfully and efficiently use it to bail the excess water from the hull. Meanwhile, Zach, in a panic, is lamenting that he had given orders to leave the manual bailer on shore. Despite our tireless bailing efforts, our boat continues to fill, and we begin to suspect that we have sprung a leak. Upon further investigation, it comes to our attention that the plug on the bilge drain has been disloged in the scuffle, resulting in a blow-hole like geyser, and rendering our sacrificial bailing services in vain.

As we trim the sheets and regain composure, the aforementioned passerby approaches in his warship full of tiny, red-haired, midget-like warriors, eagerly waving what appears to be a child's sippy cup at us. We assume he is mocking our misfortunes, and attempt to avoid eye contact. He begins to holler for us to weigh 'nough, and issues a full-speed-ahead order to his crew. We realize that we will soon be overtaken, and reluctantly decide to cooperate. As he draws near, we realize that we are gravely mistaken. The passerby is simply Ellie's boss, and his midget-like warriors are his 6 small red-headed children. The Hopkins. They've seen our distress and come to our rescue, offering a plastic bailing tool, far more effective than the holey crocs off our feet.

The remainder of the voyage is uneventful, relative to the account I have just offered, and therefore will not be recorded. Our crew suffered no casualties today. For those concerned, Zach had a full recovery from his typhoid, although he still vehemently denies any responsibility for ordering the bailer to be left behind.

Adventures In New York

I'm now in upstate New York with my little sister, whom I refer to as Pepe Le Pew (see eyebrow - yes, it is turning white. No, she doesn't know why).

I think this is gunna be the funnest summer ever.

We live in an old barn that was converted into 6 apartments.

If you count the cupola (which we have termed our "boob-u-la"), it is 5 stories, none of which are aligned over each other (which unfortunately makes DDR and swing-dancing practice difficult since we do not want to disturb our neighbors).

FIRST FLOOR (entryway and designated smoking area):

SECOND FLOOR (kitchen, pantry and dining room):

THIRD FLOOR (living room, workout room, entertainment/game/tv room):

(Please watch your head. We've already lost two guests.)

SPIRAL STAIRCASE (use at your own risk - recommended footwork for descent=right...right...rightleft...left...leftrightleft):

FOURTH FLOOR (2 bedrooms and the tiniest bathroom you ever did see):

Master Bedroom

Guest bedroom, which has an open wall that overlooks the floor "below."

The larger of the two bathrooms

FIFTH FLOOR: the aforementioned boobula, great for watching the lightening come in.

Also of note, is that we live across the street from Round Lake. This photo is courtesy of the boobula.