I'm a jerk.

A month or two ago, a friend of mine told me a story about how he was driving to a friend's house when he came upon a car that had run off the road. He, along with another car full of non-English speaking friends, helped the driver push the stranded car out of the ditch it was in and made sure the car was working. I was pretty pumped to hear this story of selflessness, especially because it involved a language of love more than it did verbal communication, and since then I've asked God to give me opportunities to show His love to others in a similar way. I asked Him to lead me outside my comfort zone and to continue to humble me.

I was driving to church last night for our college ministry's weekly shindig, and I was running a little late. It was raining, and traffic was worse than usual because the storms had blown out the lights at a major intersection on the way to church. As I turned onto a new road, I realized the lady in front of me was stopped even though there was nobody ahead of her...or so I thought.

A guy had pulled onto our side of the road (for a reason I don't know) and his car was dead. He was desperately trying to push it out of the way of the lady in front of me, but he wasn't finding much success on his own. I sat in my car for a minute, watching him and thinking, "I should really help him."

I didn't.

The lady in the car in front of me parked her car and began to help the guy push his car. They were still having trouble. Again, I thought, "I should really help," but I convinced myself that it was a bad idea because A) I was running late for church, and OBVIOUSLY God wouldn't want me to be late for church (yes, that sentence is dripping with sarcasm) and B) I was wearing a dress and heels, and I probably would've flashed dozens of innocent drivers watching the incident from the other lane.

Seriously, those were my excuses to myself.

I kept hearing the Holy Spirit tell me to go, and I kept fighting back. My flesh took over. Anyone who knows me well knows that I can be quite persuasive, but I always know better than to try to persuade myself of anything. I knew that my excuses were, pardon my French, total bull. A) Had I helped, I wouldn't have ended up sitting in traffic for as long as I did, thus actually getting me to church EARLY instead of late, and B) I knew my outfit was cute, and I didn't want to get wet or risk messing up my style for the evening. That's right, I was being totally and completely selfish, proud, and vain. Even in the midst of the whole situation, I was pretty disgusted with myself. Instead of being a Good Samaritan, I chose to be the priest. I chose to acknowledge my Father with my mouth, but to ignore Him with my actions.

The good news is that the woman and man were able to safely push the car out of the way, and we all got along with the rest of our evenings. Some more good news is that I learned more than I could imagine from this ten minute ordeal, and I know I don't ever again want to feel like I did after being such a jerk. More good news--I know God will give me (and you) other opportunities to make His glory known to our neighbors through simple acts of love and service. Love God. Love others.

Try it.

Peace and Love,

Lo B.

Maw-wage...maw-wage is what bwings us togeva today.

Anyone who knows me well enough knows that I'm not overly keen on weddings. I love the concept of them, but I usually feel like they become too much of a spectacle. Most couples tend to spend more money and time planning that one day than they do investing in their relationship.

Last night, however, I was proud to be a part of a wedding that I've been eagerly awaiting for over three years.

That's right, I'm talking about Jim and Pam.

If you don't watch "The Office" you might as well stop reading right now. If you are a fan of the show, then I'm pretty sure you'll agree that Jim and Pam's wedding surpassed most any expectations held. From Jim's toast to the copy of the infamous "Forever" dance down the aisle to the elopement on the ferry, the show was absolutely brilliant. I was just glad to see that America's favorite fictional couple looked past the chaos that typically surrounds weddings and took their exchanging of vows back to a simpler, sweeter place. They did me proud.

I don't know if it's a good thing to admit, but I think I might have been more emotionally involved in this wedding than I have been in about 80% of those that I've attended in the past couple of years. Don't judge me, though...you know you feel the same way.

I feel just like a Child.

Julia, that is.

Actually, I feel more like Duff Goldman of "Ace of Cakes" fame, but "I feel just like a Goldman" didn't have the right ring to it.

In my previous post I mentioned that I went to Emerson's rockin' birthday party yesterday. What I didn't mention was what I was doing from 1:30 A.M. until 6:30 A.M. the morning of her party...I was making a birthday cake for Nimsy that was pretty flipping sweet (literally).

Now I'm sure you're wondering why I didn't start making the cake until 1:30 the morning of the party, and I have a very good excuse for my procrastination. I wanted the cake to be fresh, but I was busy all day Friday. I would have made it Friday night, but I was at The Dead Weather's concert. The Dead Weather is Jack White's new band, and they are pretty amazing; not only are they all incredibly talented musicians, they are also ridiculously witty. Check it out. The show ended around 10:30, but my brother and I hung around because we wanted to meet Jack. We did, he high-fived us, and I swear my fingertips tingled and he transferred a little bit of talent into my E.T. hands (if you don't understand that reference, just look at my hands. Really, my fingers are ridiculously long). That being said, I didn't get home until just after 1:00 A.M.

And I commenced to baking. And cooling. And carving. And icing. And cooling some more. And rolling. And covering the cakes with fondant.

You would think I would be tired at this point, but I had chugged a big energy drink (which I normally despise) after the concert, and that sucker worked its magic on my body. By the time I finally went to bed for a two-hour cat nap, my parents were already done drinking their morning cups of coffee. As crazy as my night was, it was totally worth it to surprise my favorite little buddy for her birthday. She loved the cake, and, more importantly, little Ms. Manners said, "Tankt too. Iii uvv you...sooo much, Lolie." (Translation: "Thank you. I love you...so much, Lolie.") She's just so precious.

So here it is:

The cake

Me and the birthday girl doing her "1, 2, 3, Cheese" pose (note the icing all over her face)

Peace and love,

Lo B.

Let them eat cake.

It is the week for birthdays in the Baker family. Yesterday we celebrated Emerson's 2nd birthday (which isn't really until the 9th) with the craziest party ever to go down in the ATL. We ate, we chilled with her posse--whose collective age is still younger than mine--and their entourage (also known as parents), and we played on a moon bounce. I know you're jealous, but don't hate.

Today is Shelby's 15th birthday. If you don't know Shelby, A) you should...she's awesome, and B) she's my golden retriever. I think I can speak on behalf of everyone in my family when I say that we aren't really surprised that ol' Shelby has made it to the ripe age of 15 or, for those of you that are mathematically challenged, 105 in dog years. The dog is invincible. Really. In her life, she has survived almost anything that would normally kill a dog. Shelby has been quite obese for most of her life, she's had hip dysplasia for as long as I can remember, she was attacked by our neighbor's dog, she was run over by the newspaper boy, she almost chewed off her own tail, she has/had more tumors than I can count, and she's half blind and mostly deaf. The vet told us five years ago around this time of the year that Shelby was going to go to doggy heaven soon.

5 years ago. The running joke in our family has become, "Say goodbye to Shelby...it's her last Christmas," since my mom said that to us after the doctor gave her the ill-fated news of our poor dog. While I love my little energizer bunny--I mean, she's been my constant buddy since I was 5--I do believe that this will be her last Christmas. She's had a good run, and I am grateful that God has kept her around for so long. Here's a little something for the road...

Peace and love,

Lo B.

I mustache you a question.

I'm sitting at Octane, a local coffeehouse, with my friend Merridith, and we have just fallen in love.

With a mustache.

The man that goes along with the mustache...eh...not so much. But the 'stache itself is a work of art. Think Yosemite Sam but black as a raven and a bit curlier. The mustache is singing right now. We are enthralled by its glorious sound.

If we could take a picture of this misplaced eyebrow, we would. Alas, there is no way to do so discreetly. You'll just have to envision this piece of beauty with that clever little imagination of yours.

The only reason we are writing this right now is because we wanted to make a Missed Connection on Craigslist, but we were too scared to enter such a public forum; the mustache is so worthy of recognition, though, that we couldn't allow it to go completely unacknowledged, so we figured my under-the-radar blog would be a perfect place to rave about the powers of the upper lip plumage. Just to give you an idea of how commanding this 'stache is, our eyes have barely even noticed the pink octopus shirt the 'stache's slave (man) is wearing.

We will never be the same thanks to this experience. May the 'stache be with you.

Peace and love,

Merr T. and Lo B.

Three little words.

I recently (and by "recently" i mean about five minutes ago) decided to conduct my own sort of social experiment. I've always hoped to present myself in the truest way possible to everyone I meet since, let's be honest, nobody likes fake people. It's interesting to think about whether or not I give the same impression to lots of different people, whether or not their perceptions are similar...

So I sent out a mass-text to friends and asked them to describe me with three words. While I'm not going to write them out, I'll have you know that the only word used more than once was "witty" and that was probably just my friends' clever thinking as a way to get the hook-up for their next haircuts...

That being said, it can be the eye-opening experience to find the very core of your being summed up with three little words. I highly recommend checking with your close friends to see what parts of your personality stand out to them and measuring them up to your own self-analysis.

I think my favorite was from my friend Lauren who took a different approach with her three choice words: "Full of life."

I'll take it.

Cheers to constant growth and to a full life!

Peace and love,

Lo B.

Oui, je parle Français.

I'm going to live in France one day.  I feel it in the depths of my soul.  It's a funny thing to know since I've never actually been to France, but I think it's just one of those things that I've always kind of known.  I don't think God gave me a fascination with all things French for no reason...He has plans for me there. 

Quoi, tu me demandes?  Je ne sais pas.  Maybe it will be for a job once I finish at Le Cordon Bleu - Atlanta; maybe it will be for the cultural experience; maybe it will be for missions work (people tend to forget that just because France is a wealthy and successful country it does not mean the citizens are spiritually rich).  I'm guessing it will be a cumulation of the three.

But until I go, I will have to continue to satisfy my desire to live La Vie En Rose through a continued exploration of the country's language, films, music, and, my favorite, the foods (parce que je suis une gourmande).  Here are a few of my favorites in case you want to check them out:

1.  Crêpes.  For apparent reasons.

2.  Amelie -- one of my favorite movies in the world.  If I could choose to be a character in any movie for one day, I would be either Amelie Poulain or Edward Bloom in Big Fish (but for the sake of this post I'll go with Amelie).

3.  "Tout Doucement" by Feist.  Okay, so Leslie Feist is Canadian, but the song is in French....and it's just so happy.

4.  Paris, Je T'aime -- a wonderful collection of 18 short films, one for each of the arrondissements of Paris, made by some obscure and some well-known directors.  A very unique film.  On a side note, an American version called New York, I Love You is going to be released soon...I hope it captures the same diverse moods and unique perspectives of another beautiful city as the original does.

5.  Edith Piaf.  Love her or hate her, she's a legend.  Plus, her music is very fun to listen to while cooking.

6.  The pastries.  I will definitely continue to indulge in these little bites of heaven (specifically from a local French restaurant, Doucer De France) until I'm six feet under.

7.  I'll end with lucky number 7.  I'm currently reading "My Life in France" by Julia Child, and it's really what prompted this whole post.  I think my inner-Julia is dying to escape soon and roam free around the streets of the City of Lights.  I'm really enjoying this book, and I recommend it to anyone that likes to eat, to live life to its fullest, or to do both simultaneously.  

Well, that about wraps things up...In the words of Mrs. Child, "Bon appètit!"

Peace and Love,

Lo B.