"You Live for Fashion!"

Current InStyle

The title comes from an episode of Sex and the City called "The Real Me" and is spoken by Charlotte York to Jen Savery, I mean, Carrie Bradshaw. 

The September issue of all fashion magazines is the largest of each calendar year. Vogue's September 2007 Issue weighed nearly 5 lbs. The current InStyle for this month is 652 pages. Fall is, as you learn flipping through pages showing how to wear cheetah print boots and burgundy skinny jeans, not for the fashion fearful.
InStyle is my favorite magazine.* Colorful, well organized, diverse pieces and smart pairings for real women, it sings a seductive siren song of all the things, literally things, missing from my closet and therefore, a higher quality of life.

But does owning -------- (insert current item of lust) actually improve my quality of life?

2007 September Issue 

The ad below unapologetically flaunts what all ads, what all secular culture tells us-- this will fill your void, this will satisfy your desires and longings and you will never be the same after.

I admit that I have fallen for this trap far, far more than I would like to admit. And if you've seen my closet you'd think I was filled up by now.  I own more shoes than anyone I know. I am talking Toto, we aren't in double digits anymore-- but than why do I keep looking at fashion magazines?

Because fashion can quickly become my idol and, thus, my sin.

Anna Wintour, Editor-in-Cheif of Vogue. Oh, you devilishly stylish
woman, you. 

When discussing my long hiatus from blogging with a friend she suggested I write more just about food and clothes, less about "your life. I mean, I really like what you wear and when you talk about food." She did not mean this to hurt my feelings or to say my life isn't important, but let's be honest-- if all I am good for is fashion and food, it isn't.

That void I mentioned earlier, the one people try to fill with a purse or a drink or a one night stand or a bit of gossip, can only be filled and satisfied by God. We are guilty of becoming "culturally Christian," meaning we choose social practices that seem Christian, but we end up becoming judgmental and  complacent. Our idea of morality is defined by comparison. Good is subjective to what it is being compared to. Francis Chan really nails this one on the head in his book Crazy Love. We accept and even embrace our sins so long as we aren't "as sinful" as someone else. Abstaining from drinking, cussing, premarital sex, murder, drugs are not what make us Christians. Only through recognizing (read: loving as He did, talking about, praising, living as an extension of Him, loving, loving, loving, loving) Christ as our savior are we actually Christians. I have let myself shop because if that's my weakness, it's really not as bad as making alcohol or sex or drugs my idol. I don't intentionally hurt anyone, so what's one more pair of shoes?

If I am not wearing my faith as prominently as the red soles of my Christian Louboutins, I am the worst kind of sinner of all. St. Augustine, who was quite the partyboy, wrote "Grant me chastity and continence, but not yet." Translation in modern vernacular: Lord make me sinless in your eyes.... unless sinless means seeking your glory before my selfish desires, than in that case maybe just kind of sinless.

Those red soles are among the most brilliant marketing
 techniques in fashion history 

The Chic-Fila controversy aroused emotional reactions from all different sides. People who side with the franchise lined up to buy chicken sandwiches and those who disagreed, boycotted. (By the way, I am remaining impartial on the topic, this is to prove a much bigger point.) I saw a picture in Facebook that had a caption reading something about there have never been that many Christians lining up to volunteer at a homeless shelter or food bank. My thought process here was 1) That was a rude caption, especially considering the controversy surrounds equality and rights and my faith is a reserved right 2) At the same time, that people had more to say and stand up for over a fast food restaurant than they do for their faith-- no amount of chicken sandwiches will outlaw gay marriage, nor will the plummet of chicken sandwiches sales legalize gay marriage.


When asked if I am a Christian, I am not being asked if I eat at Chic-Fila or or if I own cross jewelry or have a fish bumper sticker or if I even go to church (My list inspired by Not a Fan by Kyle Idleman).

I am being asked if I love Christ and if I live to glorify God. 

I like love hearing people say they love my outfit. It totally validates the time spent picking it out and making sure I have the right balance of color, texture and coverage. What this really means is I need to spend more time being a Christ-like example in an ever-darkening world than I do selecting my clothing ensembles. 

John 20:15 (NAS) Mary is searching for Christ Easter morning. Before she recognizes him, he asks, "Whom are you seeking?" When translated into Greek, seek is synonymous with crave. This conjures not only images of delicious cupcakes, but all the material things I have saved to my Shopbop WishList. 

So here is the challenge to myself: No shopping in September.** None. Instead, working on making God what I crave.

What do you crave? What do you fill your life with?




* I enjoy Vogue, but there are more ads than content in most issues. Ahhh, the symbolism. 
** THE  fashion month. As in, fashion's birthday...basically. 

Phamily Time

Polly and I have made the journey to the land north of the Mason Dixon. These are our stats thus far:

Times I have been told I have an accent: 2 (False, in my opinion)
Times Joe has said he is glad that I am here: 100
Times that I have gotten mad for forgetting some article of clothing: 28
Bowls of Cinnamon Toast Crunch I have eaten: 11
Friends I have made: 12
Friends Joe has made because of me: 12
Laps Polly has run around the fully carpeted apartment: 22
Time Polly has been waking up and, thus, woken us up: 6:32 AM
Times I have introduced myself as, "Jennifer Wegmann, I mean, Savery" : 3
Days it took me to find Target: 2 hours after landing in Philadelphia
Times I have told Joe how thankful I am that I can be here: Not enough

My new friends and I hoping the grass isn't too wet

We participated in Family Day, which is geared more towards those who actually have more than 2 people in their family. Two other players' girls and I stood around joking about needing a prop child to fit in. It was precious watching all the kids in their uniforms run the bases, fall down, run the bases again and then jump on dad. Christmas card photo op if I ever saw one.

Joe's mom asked if I was doing well. His response went something like this, "Well, she got us on a triple date; tonight she is going to a wives' dinner; we are modeling in a fashion show. She is doing pretty well."

And, yes, we are in a fashion show. A charity one, not a legitimate one. My dress is gorgeous and fun and my shoes are bejeweled Christian Louboutin's with all the colors of the rainbow.... and they match Joe's shirt. I am sure he will make his multi-colored shirt very handsome, and if nothing else my shoes will make anything near it look good. Trying on the clothes was enough fun for me. Big thanks to Neiman Marcus and the Shane Victorino Foundation for the event and letting us have big girl dress up day.

My beauties. Move over, Cinderella. 

As tenuous as our position is here, we are thankful for the many modes of kindness people have shown us. If the rain and the cold weather can go away, I will be even happier!

Different jersey sizes? 

Here and already leaving soon. Joe played in Baltimore over the weekend so I came a little further south to visit a friend. In Baltimore, the hotel gave Polly a doggie bed and bowls and treats. Not 5 minutes after we got in our room the door rang with comforts for the princess. Must be nice to be so cute, huh?

I have a friend's wedding next weekend in Mississippi (sweet tea, anyone?). I am over the moon excited to see my friends next weekend. I know they will all agree when I say that all time has done is make us more appreciative for the friendships we have with one another. And what better way to reunite than our friends big Southern wedding? Stay tuned for the prodigal daughter to return to the South.....

I know, this is cheesy, but we will appreciate it in the future. 

Don't Mess with (me when I am leaving) Texas

I move very, very soon. My messy mid-packing apartment is a constant reminder of the rapidly approaching departure. Currently, we don’t know where exactly I am moving to; this includes both city and type of residence. Joe has bounced up and down and then up and then down again and then back up this season enough that we haven’t settled on what we should do about the roof over our heads. Polly says she isn’t worried about it.

We totalled up how many miles I have traveled this year thus far: 18,000 miles between January and today. The world is 24,0000 around so I am almost guaranteed to have traveled “around the world” by the end of the season. To those of you who have jobs like George Clooney in Up in the Air, you have far more patience than I. 

Can you imagine if Clooney sat next to you on a flight?
I might not get off the plane.
Oh, come on, even Joe might stay on the flight next to George!

Things I will miss about Texas:

Good Co. barbecue 

Goode Co. on Kirby

Dr. Pepper
My familyPeople saying Coke, but really meaning any carbonated beverage
“Y’all”
Cowboy boots in a non-novelty way
The Guadalupe River. By the way, this is my first summer in 4 years to not be working at Mystic and my first summer in 16 years to realize I can't go back and work there.... or be a camper.

The Guad at Camp Mystic's Waterfront

My friends
Steak
The Galleria
My church
Finding any item of clothing you can imagine can, in fact, bear the Texas flag

I think my sister owns one of these
shirts. They have
the real thing too, if that's what you're
looking for

The Rodeo
St. Arnold’s and Shiner Light Blonde
Swimming in October
Texas Country Music

In honor of my hiatus from Texas (as if four years of college were not enough), I am going to write a few little vignettes about the Texas I know, the Texas that has been created around me and the one we so love to romanticize when we have to be away.


Water from the sprinkler turned to steam on the concrete. Everything was wet and hot. Even the cars’ hoods looked like water as the heat rippled over them.  Somewhere in the distance an ambulance drove by, its siren’s tone getting lower as it passed. Zoe played in the soil with naked Barbies. Her toddling sister slept inside, her hair curling on her forehead from the baby sweat. Later their father would come home with his dry cleaning and golf shoes. Later they would eat Kraft macaroni and cheese and drink milk from cups they bought at the circus. Zoe’s was a pink elephant. Its trunk was the handle and it had long black eyelashes. She made the Barbies do the splits and tried to make them hold handstands in the grass. One of the Barbie’s hair was brown, which meant she wasn’t really a Barbie, but Barbie’s friend Susan. Or Brenda. Some name that was not Barbie and did not have an “i” with a heart on her box. A boy rode his bike, without training wheels, down the street. Zoe wanted her baby sister to wake up so they could fill up the inflatable pool and make the Barbies, and Brenda, go skinny dipping. Zoe liked to go under the water and open her eyes. She could see the pebbles and sticks poking at the bottom of the soft plastic pool and her hair stuck to her face when she finally came out. Her mom did not like it when she put her face under. Her mother, now, was moving the sprinkler to make sure her begonias and monkey grass got enough to drink. It had been many days since she watered the plants so much of it was dead. Little brown buds fell off and ran in streams to the hot, wet street.

The second canoe was smoother than the first. The Guadalupe water was still and green before the dam and we could see turtles heads pop up and the outline of their shells. Sweat prickled on my back like the insects that landed on the water. Their legs twitched and spasmed, then they flew to another spot. Or went to the tall grass on the road side of the river. I asked West if he wanted to turn back before the dam; he said no. We didn’t talk for a while after that, just listened to the sound of our paddles dip in the water and scrape against our old metal canoes. Sometimes my Dr. Pepper cans rattled by my feet. Sometimes West was so silent I could have sworn he was a Hill Country Indian. His bandana was tied around his head and his shirt, long discarded, was tucked into the seat of his shorts over his butt. He stopped paddling and looked at me while he took a drink from his water bottle.
“You’re doing a pretty good job there,” he said to me.
“I like the river.” He smiled but didn’t say anything and went back to his silent paddling. West’s back was burning and I was sure that mine was red, too. Later we would have to take turns putting cold aloe vera on each other’s backs. West would tell me to put it on my hands first before rubbing it in. I wouldn’t say anything. And maybe he would pat my shoulder as a way of telling me he was finished. The dam was upon us. We had to pick up the canoes one at a time and walk them down. Though the water was more shallow, the river floor was clay and dipped down in tubs. West got a leech on his forearm. He pulled and flicked at it till the leech fell off.
“So do you have to suck the poison out?” I asked.
“No, that’s snakes. This will just need to be cleaned. Plus, if I was bitten by a snake, you would have to suck the poison because I would be too weak.”
“I would do that. For you.”
“I know.”
The current moved us for a while without having to paddle except to stay straight. We would need to turn around soon to make it back before dark. Or we would just stay on the river till the breeze picked up and the water turned black beneath our canoes.


They sat on top of the picnic table with their feet on the bench, just like they had done in high school. They’d eat cafeteria yogurt and talk about their days, uniform skirts tucked between their thighs as to attempt modesty. They had on jeans and boots so there was less balancing involved now. There was also no yogurt, just some beers in plastic cups and a poorly sugared funnel cake. Marcy wore a push up bra that night and it was riding up her back and she was certain one of the straps was twisted. When she got dressed she looked like a sexy cowgirl, she thought. But now, sitting next to Allison and a few hours into the night, she felt like she had tried too hard. You could tell she had tried to look like a sexy cowgirl, and what she really was was a sexy cowgirl’s overly primped friend. Allison, who did not own a push up bra, wanted to get a cinnamon roll and maybe ride the ferris wheel. They got up to find the tent with the cinnamon rolls, but there was a cluster of high school students flirting and laughing too loudly. Marcy suggested they still wait in line, but Allison said she changed her mind about the cinnamon roll and she just wanted to go sit and watch the ferris wheel and finish their beers. Marcy had wanted to finish her beer in line with the high schoolers, but followed Allison back to the picnic table that now had two Hispanic boys playing with one of the prize stuffed animals. It looked like a squid. Marcy almost made a joke about things that look like squids; she decided against it though.  They watched the boys play for a while then looked back wordlessly at the blinking lights of the ferris wheel.

Polly Will Be Signing Autographs Later

Maybe it was the massive American flag. Maybe it was the Air Force flyover during the National Anthem. Maybe it was the Phillies Phanatic dancing to "Proud Marry." Or maybe it was just getting to see Joe smile on the big screen at Citizens Bank Park, but I was completely swept away by the romanticism of baseball on April 9, 2012.

Don't worry, I won't wear
it to a live game. 

And why shouldn't I be--my husband made the Opening Day roster for arguably one of the best teams in baseball history.


Tuesday night I was dressed to work out, but never made it. ESPN ScoreCenter app* kept updating me on the many pitching changes of the last pre-season game and Joe's name was continually not called. I folded laundry and bit my nails to ragged nubs and Polly wondered why I kept moving the clothes she was trying to sleep on.

iPhone photo of field because I can't find the cord
that connects legit camera
to laptop 

"It's been a long day," he said when I answered. I nodded and exhaled ready to get past the small talk.
"It has. How are you?"
"Good. I am good. Do you want to meet me in Pittsburgh tomorrow?"
I started crying hysterically and told him how proud I was of him. After numerous mass texts and phone calls, my parents and his brother "Potty" came over for a glass of champagne while I packed--


for 30 degree weather!


I bundled up in my best version of cold weather spring style (cream coat, tomato colored dress, black tights, black booties) and met my parents and sister Yulie in Pittsburgh. Even though the real show was a few days later when we were the home team, it was pretty amazing to see him run out and knuck with Charlie Manuel. The staff was very nice, kindly leading us to the traveling family room and brushing the dust off our stadium seats (this was a little excessive, but sweet nonetheless).

After Pamela's incredible pancakes

No trip is complete without some eating so I will give a quick run down of the best places we went. Primanti Bros prides themselves on a sandwich made with your choice of meat, topped  stuffed with cheese, cole slaw and french fries. If you have ever seen the videos of a snake eating a gazelle, than you have seen what one has to do to eat these sandwiches.** Totally worth the TMJ though. Pamela's was the breakfast place of choice, Michelle Obama's favorite as well. I ordered chocolate chip pancakes with bananas, also known as all of my favorite things. The pancakes are very thin, like a crepe and the cheesy scrambled eggs were made with Velveeta. I don't remember what anyone else got because mine was so good I didn't look up or breath for my whole meal.

Primanti Brothers 

One of my wife friends, Brooke, suggested I change my flight so I would leave out of Philadelphia. I told her this presented the dilemma of not having a car to get to Philly from Pittsburgh.
"Just fly on the team plane."

Uhm, yes.


I will be a huge bratface princess and say that flying privately is freaking awesome. Hospitable friends of my father have let me go to on their planes, but this plane was Delta without security, lines, other passengers or waiting. I cannot say that it was not sans motion sickness (me) or flight anxiety (Joe), but it was really great and the team is very lucky to be able to travel that way. And I am lucky I got to mooch.

Highlight of the flight? Joe is basically a fraternity pledge and has to carry different players stuff, so I tried to be as invisible as possible while he did his rookie stuff. A former Astro  was walking down the aisle of the plane and stopped to introduce himself, something that was very uncalled for and very polite. I jumped up, and I mean jumped up, and smacked my head on the low ceiling over the seats.


I only hope he forgot my name and has doesn't associate Joe with the head trauma patient.


Philadelphia was incredible. I choked up several times thinking about how happy I was for Joe. I thought about a particularly rough time last season when I visited him in A ball. He was hitting then and not getting enough playing time to even show what he could do. The stress of no playing time only made his at bats less than ideal, perpetuating the cycle.
"I don't even know what I am doing here. I don't like being treated like a little boy. Tell me I suck, tell me I need to retire. Hell, release me," he vented that morning. My heart broke for him. I prayed to God that I would sacrifice anything, anything at all, if he could feel like he had a purpose again. Because even that early on, I knew Joe was ultimately where I felt my greatest purpose and that is what happens when you love someone in a real way-- you fight for their happiness more than your own.


So when Joe smiled walking down the "red carpet," high fiving fans that lined the field and a boys' choir sang some song about Philadelphia-- I was singing songs of praise that what I had asked for in Florida less than a year ago had been answered.


Joe played in that game. Allowing one run, but holding his composure as he always does.


Tonight Joe was moved to AAA and had to take the longest route possible to Buffalo, NY to meet up with the team (Philadelphia to Detroit to Buffalo--what?). This is not to say that Joe won't go back up with the big boys, nor is it to say that he will. We don't know what the rest of the season holds.




But Joe has played in  Major League games, he has played in a Major League Opening Series game and God has used him to make an inspirational story that can make even a cynic smile.

Worn out from all of her publicity 

*I only have this to know Phillies game stuff during baseball season. I get alerts but don't get a lot of them. What I do understand is "FINAL" means the game is done.
** I looked at some pictures to put with this snake-eating-gazelle comment and decided that they were really too gross to post on here. Save yourself your breakfast and don't Google Image it either, I sure regret it. 

The Post with No Pictures

Opening Day is Thursday and as of this post, we don't know where Joe will be this year. More than likely, the big bosses have already made up their minds so it is just a matter of time before we know. I will be seeing Joe this weekend, be it in Pittsburgh (Majors) or Providence (Minors) I am holding my breath to find out. Today at church the sermon was about anxiety, and no better message could have been made for me today. Worry, said Ben Young our pastor, is looking in the future with the worst case scenario in mind, it is looking into a future without God.  And I know that whatever happens with and for Joe, God will be there no matter the outcome. I only wish I was there to be supportive. Giving major (pun intended) news via text or even phone call is not quite the same as in person. 


On Saturday we celebrated one of Joe's best friend's, Adam Z, birthday. Everyone brought their dogs and we all, canine and humans alike, enjoyed the sunny weather and new homeowner Derek's pool. Adam Z sacrificed birthday boy lounging and boiled big, fat crawfish. Crawfish, like many shellfish, are cooked alive so we had a giant cooler of pinchy little guys. Lize and Bryce and I became nine years old and poked them till they got in fighting stance-- claws up and out. What is it about things being small and aggressive is always funny? Lize's dog Duke got in a small tussle with one and I am sad to report the crawfish (kind of) won by a massive pinch to the snout. Duke flung it in the air and homeowner Derek got rid of it so we wouldn't have another incident. Polly would not have bounced back as fast as Duke had she been the curious dog of the day. Poor thing did come home with blisters on her paws from running all day. She hardly even made it to her bed before conking out when we got home. 
(I am a terrible photographer and rely on Bryce to document such things as this--- and the pictures aren't on Facebook yet for me to steal and claim as my own artistry)




All of this excitement also put me to bed early and all to aware that Joe was not there. I guess it is like never feeling as lonely as you do in a crowd when you're all alone (yeah, Wade Bowen lyric*), it is never more obvious that Joe is gone than when I am somewhere he should be. His good buddy Brian "Viernes", too, was notably missed and something feels off with the group's absences. When people ask, "How is married life?" I say, "Kind of like being single." But a really pathetic kind of single-- not the fun girl who says things like, "I don't have time for a relationship" or "I am just not into boyfriend/girlfriend labels." Not that I want to be this girl, I just want to be with my husband more. 


My creative writing class has reminded me why I have wanted to teach it and why I love to write. I submitted my story this week for my workshop in two weeks. I went with a piece I wanted to revisit from my thesis. It is easily one of my most controversial pieces and I fully expect for at least 6 people to hate it after the first paragraph... but hate isn't a bad thing, it is an emotional reaction and I want my readers to feel something. It makes me think more and more about writing a collection one day, or even a memoir about all the baseball stuff from my perspective. My friends from college liked this idea when I mentioned it in the summer, so long as I include them in the story and then write one about college. The latter might have to come much later and let the statute of limitations come into play for some incriminating tales.... mostly just so things that need time to be funny can do so. 
(If I put pictures with this paragraph I would either be a major creep in creative writing class or a very hated member of my college friend group)


But a baseball story, told from the stands with a hot dog in fluted paper balancing on my knee, might happen. I guess that will be something I worry (or not worry, thanks Ben)about later. For now, I will just not-worry about how what to bring on my trip to either Providence or Pittsburgh. Charlie Manuel**, give me a call if you can and let me know what you think I should pack. 


*Wade Bowen, Texas Country singer/songwriter. One of my favorites. 
**Charlie Manuel, Phillies manager.


Since I didn't have any cool pictures dealing with content, here is one just because.  This is what I wake up to if Polly stays in the bed with me: 

She has absolutely no sense of personal space. 

What are you getting?

Joe and I fell in love over a meal... or maybe a few more than that, but food certainly was and is a huge factor in our marriage. For this reason, we don’t take eating together lightly. We aren’t just going to swing through some franchise fast food place to grab dinner or worse yet, pour a bowl of cereal. Forget that noise. Oh, no. If there is food to be had, we want to eat at a place that we won’t soon forget.

The challenge? Minor league baseball teams are not in towns found in the Zagat guide.

First challenge: Clearwater, FL
Joe has Spring Training here. It is a short drive from Tampa, which is great in terms of getting to. The same cannot be said for the AA and AAA teams.

Below I have gone through the most important food stops in the Clearwater Beach area.

Breakfast: 
Lenny’s : Lenny’s is your typical diner. Big haired waitresses waiting for their cigarette breaks, syrup in the perpetually sticky pourers, signed baseball paraphernalia on the wall and eggs more ways than you can think of. The danish basket alone is worth it. They will make your omlette however you want and the waffles are delish, too. Joe and I usually team eat in order to get equal parts salty and sweet in our caloric indulgence. These people are beyond kind to Joe when he goes in alone about 5 days a week and does the USA Today crossword puzzle in a booth. 

Clear Sky Cafe: The French toast here is the best I have ever had. And I have eaten a LOT of French toast. Huevos Rancheros eggs are also amazing here. Notice how multicultural I am in my dining experience. I do not discriminate any food, except salad. Anyways, this place is great. Outdoor seating, which is nice in pleasent weather. Fill up a big coffee cup and eat till you start saying things like, “Merci beaucoup for la toast de France y los eggs de ranchos.”*  

The French Toast pictured is the Java flavor. No breakfast is complete without coffee. Heck, no day is complete without coffee.

Java French toast with cinnamon butter 

Lunch: St. Petersburg Italian Market is the place to go if you want bread with the consistency of a cloud and melted cheese and peppers in your mouth, than you need to go eat here. The Philly cheese steak with chicken is my favorite sandwich-- ever. Italians know food, they take pride in their food, and the Italian Market is very worthy of Italian pride. Get yourself some coffee made from the big copper coffee maker, sit at the bar and watch the pastry chefs make beautiful little sugary treats. 

Started eating the cheese steak before I thought to take a picture 

After your cheese steak or pizza panini (yeah, you read that right. It is a special item so cross your fingers it is there ), get a canoli and another cup of coffee and some gelato.  Real gelato, not ice cream that is calling itself gelato. Pisachio is a standard favorite (pictures below), but Nutella and Frutti de Bosco are other top choices of mine. Joe and I have sat here for hours. If there is one thing to look forward to in Spring Training, it is knowing I will go eat at the Italian Market. 

Pistachio gelato, don't let the color intimidate. Or do, more gelato for me than. 

Dinner: Ceviche
A totally random find, but a freaking gem. Joe and I Googled this place and thought, yeah, sounds better than Hooters (the original Hooters is in Clearwater, less than a mile from the field. Thank you for playing to stereotypes about athletes). It is tapas, meaning basically appetizers, meaning team eating at its finest. Get a sangria wine and begin a Spanish feast. The filetito is to die for. Beef, peppers, goat cheesed, toasted bread-- so simple, yet so tantalizing. Then get the piquenos rellenos. They are red peppers full of cheese, chorizo and veal. You just about want to get into the pepper yourself. The fish and garlic grilled shrimp is wonderful, though I personally think you have to get fish if you are in a place that you can see the ocean. Try the frog legs, too. I know eating Kermit sounds daunting, but it is totally worth it. They're fried and an old sock would taste good fried. So go to Ceviche if you are ever in the Tampa Bay area. Just tell them Jen sent you.

Actually, don’t because they don’t know who I am. But maybe one day I will be greeted at the door with a bouquet of stuffed peppers and a box of filetitos. 

After a delicious, gluttonous weekend, the time has come to return to Houston. You know when you don't care about PDA? When you're saying good-bye. Nor do you care about crying in public, Public Displays of Sadness? Of tears? Something like that. Even now, thinking about waking up tomorrow a thousand miles apart makes my eyes sting. 

Joe and I were very intentional on taking counseling classes with the church. We read stacks of books about being married and took compatibility quizzes. And they were very insightful. But I haven't found one that answers the questions we are faced with within this lifestyle. So tonight, belly and heart empty, I go to sleep praying to find a way to take on marriage from a distance and for sweet dreams of eating french toast and cheese steaks with Joe. 

* I am aware that this is a grotesque combination of two languages. I chose to write this for comedic effect, I don't actually think this makes any real sense.

The Shortest Distance Between Two People (and cheesy things like that)

I love how my head fits in the slope of Joe's neck and shoulder. I don't believe in "The One," but simple things like puzzle piece body parts make it very clear God places people in our lives  for a purpose. Joe's purpose is for me to lay my head on his chest-- the soft ba-dum of his heartbeat in my ear and his voice to seeming to echo off of it-- and feel at home there forever and ever.

Except  baseball season takes him 1,000 miles away.

A month into our marriage, this time has come. I will not sugar coat my feelings and say things about being stronger and "the course of true love never did run smooth"* I won't, because being away from him physically hurts. If you have ever come off of serious painkillers, the slow disorientating lull-ish pain, that's what it feels like being apart. A feeling that grew familiar with our dating last season, but seems to have amplified in some culmination of the newness of our marriage and the flouting of the distance in the off season.

I wish I had found this for our cake

I once told Joe that it seems better to remain small to the world, this is after seeing Country Strong**. I told him that in trying to be big to the world, or rather maintaining this status was the tragic flaw of people-- and the tragic flaw of our society for perpetuating it. What love does, though, is make your world shrink to a beautiful microcosm between you and that person. You are big to them, they to you, and that is all that matters. If you can find this in another person: be willing to admit every flaw you have, forgive them for all of their flaws, be willing to admit all the things you want and then put everything they need as a higher importance. It's that simple.  None of the "I deserve this" or "I have a right." No, it isn't about your rights-- it's a servantile love that mirrors the love of God, and the kind of love that lasts.  Romantic comedies, women's magazines and society's definition of success tells us to demand, tells us we deserve something from someone. God tells us to give ourselves and our needs up to take up another's cross.

This is all to say that baseball season has a specific cross to bear with it. So though I curse the distance, Joe is called to be there. And I know his Christian presence has to change people, his example has to affect and inspire. I can affect and inspire by supporting my husband and respecting him and loving him more than myself, which I do--

          And in the end, my head is on his shoulder no matter where we sleep at night.


Happy one month anniversary to the love of my life. You inspire me and build me up when I fall. I pray I do the same for you, always.

* quote from Shakespeare's A Midsummer Night's Dream. One of the most misunderstood quotes in Shakespeare. I'll explain another time, however.

** great movie starting Gweneth Paltrow. You have to watch it understanding what we do to each other as human beings, in the public and private spheres of life.



All photos except cake toppers courtesy of Kelly Hornberger Photography