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The other day I was looking for tortilla shells at Fry's, which is our new grocery store now that we've moved across town. I have a thing with grocery stores, in that other than the actual home I move away from, they are the things I miss most when I move. I actually cried once on vacation in South Carolina when I was a kid because I felt homesick for the Giant Eagle on route 44 in Louisville. Other than that, no I'm not on medication, why do you ask? (Yes I am.)

Anyway Aaron and I hate Fry's. They sell couches. In addition to, you know. Cream cheese. That must be a liberal thing because I am so not on board and I feel like it has Joe Biden written all over it.

So I was looking for tortilla shells and I went down the aisle called "Mexican Fare," in which I found taco seasoning, crunchy taco shells, hot sauce, every chili-pepper-related spice known to man, but no tortillas. So I kept looking and then I found them in the bread aisle, next to the dried fruit and rubber-handled kitchen utensils, in case you were wondering. And then I did what any 25-year-old woman in uncomfortable heels would do at 5:30 pm on a Monday when she just found tortilla shells with really counterintuitive shelf placement, and that's start crying like it was the last day of summer camp.

I think I might have a permanent case of the "Am-I-Measuring-Up"'s, followed up by a great big perpetual NO. I don't know what causes it but I know the symptoms are uncomfortable and in addition to crying in poorly organized supermarkets they also include being short with your husband and forcing yourself to eat salad for lunch when really you would marry peanut butter if the U.S. was a little more freaking TOLERANT, damn.

This morning while I was blow-drying my hair I started humming an old song by Nichole Nordeman that I love, called "Legacy." And in addition to the fact that the starting note is exactly the same as the note my blowdryer sings (OMG FATE), it hit me that this maybe needs to be my anthem for a while. Maybe it's the antibiotic to the measuring-up disease that keeps giving me Overwhelm Spirals That End in Chocolate Cake.

I don't mind if you've got something nice to say about me
I enjoy an accolade like the rest
You could paint my picture and hang it in a gallery
Of all the Who's Who's and So-and-So's that used to be the best
At...such and such. It wouldn't matter much.

I won't lie, it feels alright to see your name in lights
We all need an 'atta-boy' or 'atta-girl.'
But in the end I'd like to hang my head on more besides
Temporary trappings of this world

I want to leave a legacy
How will they remember me?
Did I choose to love?
Did I point to You enough to make a mark on things?
I want to leave an offering.
A child of mercy, and grace
Who blessed Your Name unapologetically
And leave that kind of legacy.

You don't have to look to far, or too long a while
To make a lengthy list of all that I enjoy
It's an accumulating trinket and treasure pile
That moths and rust; theieves and such will soon enough destroy

Not 'well-traveled', not 'well-read'
Not 'well-to-do' or 'well-bred'
I just want to hear instead
"Well done, good and faithful one."

Drink that in. And maybe just find recipes that don't use tortilla shells for a while.